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Light "Footsteps Leabe Their Mark
She was so young and beautiful,
So gay and full of fun;
I wooed her for a while and then,
Scarce, deeming she was won;
I left her, but it seems, alas’
A cruel work was done.
I went my way as business called,
And half forgot the child;
Though sometimes her sweet, wistful
eyes,
A memory beguiled.
A pang of self-reproach would come,
Which quickly I’d efface,
Twas such a light flirtation, sure,
It had not left a trace.
At last one dreary autumn day
I sought her home, and there,
I found instead of joy, a scene
Os sadness and despair.
Deserted was the house, dead leaves
Lay thick upon the walks,
' CHAT.
Good morning friends!
It is, indeed, a good morning—beau-
tiful and bright after the long rains.
The leaves and flowers glisten with
freshness and life, a mocking bird just
across the way, is singing as if he
were a Caruso, whose golden notes
are paid for in coin of the realm. For
the life of me, I cannot keep indoors.
My annuals are all in bloom, and 1
never saw such luxuriant nasturtiums.
All my beds are bordered with sweet
alyssum, little bouquets of dainty white
flowers, while the sweet williams and
petunias are paying well for the little
attention given them. All of us can
have a few flower friends —plants that
will greet us with a new bud or blos
som as a grateful good morning, and
the common petuna and portulacca are
the most appreciative of our love and
give the quickest and most constant
returns.
I had only one glimpse of the comet
and, really, to one who has seen two
magnificent specimens of these sky
wanderers, this one was insignificant.
But, then, when I saw it, it had given
our planet its whisk of the tail in pass
ing, and in consequence, had lost its
tail like little Bo Peep’s sheep. Cer
tainly it did the newspapers a good
turn by helping them to fill their col
umns with incidents and jokes,
theories and speculations. “What
would you do if you knew the comet’s
stroke was going to end the world in
two days?” was one of the newspaper
queries to its subscribers. The an
swers were various and widely differ
ent. Some said they would make all
the restitution in their power to
friends they had offended, and forgive
every one who had injured them.
Others that they would spend the time
in prayer, gathering their family about
them. One said she would go to the
theatre, concert or ball every night,
and keep going out and seeing every
.thing in the beautiful fated world
•before it was destroyed. One woman
.(was she one of the newly weds?),
said she would put her arms around
her husband’s neck and not worry as
to whether or not the world came to
an end. Mr. Orton, our New York
■journalist, said he liked this reply bet
ter, thaji.
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression Tor Those Who Teel and Think.
INEZ TABOR.
ggg SS) SS3
In ruins was the vine-hung porch
Where we had had our talks.
I went on to the grave-yard old,
A man stood there alone;
Young was he, but he looked as
though
His only hope had flown.
“Where are the household friends?” I
asked,
He said, “They’ve moved away,
They lost their only child, home
seemed,
Too sad a. place to stay.”
"Dead?’’ ‘‘Yes, she lies there, sweet
one,” he said.
And pointer to a gravve,
“She pined away; her tender heart
Was broken by a knave.”
Ah, God! that little snow-white heart!
So soft, I did not know;
Light had I trod, but lightest step,
Will leave its print on snow.
woman—and Mr. Orton approves of
the old-fashioned woman, who stays
at home and loves her husband and
children; though he has plenty of ad
miration and sympathy for the
plucky women and girls who are
out in the world’s arena, bravely
struggling for success, and often win
ning it. Os two such girls, he tells
in a private letter to a friend. One,
whom he calls “the New York M. E.
B.”—our one-time Sunny South House
hold member, Miss Buhler, is holding
her own splendidly as a journalist. I
hope she will not let the daily grind
crush the true poet in her. Another,
a delicate girl, is working with infin
ite patience and courage to support
herself and an invalid mother.
I want all of you to read the letter
signed “Happy Maiden,” written as a
reply to the “Unhappy Girl,” who
Avrote us of her travels some time
ago. Happy Maiden, as one who
knows her well has assured me, is
“one of the noblest and loveliest girls
in the world. Her vocation takes hei’
into many homes, where her faithful
ness and sympathy endear her to all.
I have recently forwarded to Mattie
Beverage, our afflicted girl-poet, a
sweet message and a little token from
Happy Maiden.
I hope we shall often have the
pleasure of a visit from our now home
member.
It is sad to know that so many girls,
notwithstanding the great blessings
of youth and of life in the grand pro
gressive age with the possibilities it
opens to the young, are yet dissatisfied
and fretting against fate. Another
girl has written me in almost the
same strain as “Unhappy Girl,” send
. ing her picture and asking “What do
you think of me, judging from my
face? Why is it that I am a failure,
socially and in a business way? I try
to win friends; I do my best to oblige
and to be generous; more liberal,than
I can afford, but I have no true, dear
friend. Ido not please my employers
and. they never advance me to a bet
ter position or increase my salary,
as I have known them to do in the case
of some other girls. Nor. am I popu
lar with young men. I have never
had an offer, though I crave to be lov
ed and admired and spend nearly, all
The Golden Age for June 2, 1910.
I earn in dress and in trying to keep
up with the quickly changing fashions.
This keeps me in debt, and often anx
ious and troubled. Something is wrong
in my make-up and I do wish I knew
what it is. I might be able to remedy
it. I worry constantly about being
such a failure. Can you tell from my
face what it is that keeps me ever
in the background? Is it that lam not
handsome? I know real ugly girls
who are popular and get along smooth
ly. I know one girl with fiery red
hair and a high temper who is a
general favorite, socially and in busi
ness.” I hope this girl will carefully
read the suggestion of “Happy Maid
en.” The fault lies not in her face
so far as features are concerned, The
photograph shows regular features,
and pretty hair, but the expression
indicates the trouble. The anxious,
peevish, discontented look tells that,
she is too self-conscious. She
thinks too constantly about her
self, worrying as to what is due her
and looking out for slights and af
fronts. She is over sensitive and ex
acting. She will need to rise above
this personal atmosphere and cultivate
a happy disposition. Nothing succeeds
so well as a cheerful unselfish spirit.
One cannot gain friends by giving
presents, nor win admiration by fine
dressing, cannot induce more consid
eration from an employer by seeming
to expect and exact it. “It is true that
a girl should study herself. She should
find out her weak points and try to
remedy them, but this self-study
should be done when alone. It should
not be kept up all the while. It will
produce the self-consciousness that
interferes so greatly with social suc
cess. A bright, genial manner, a
friendly interest in others, will do
more to make one popular than will
flattery and gift-making.
As to dress, attention to neatness
and to what is becoming and grace
ful is necessary, but trying to keep
up with changing styles is needless
and harmful. And going in debt to
do this! how unwise and ruinous that
is! It adds to your handicap on the
road to success in every way; adds to
the worry that spoils your expression
and your digestion and your chance
of pleasing.
As to business, the same suggestions
will hold good. A bright, cheerful
manner, a real interest in your work
and an absence of offence or discon
tent when an employer neglects to
praise or to show you what you may
think proper consideration. Often he
has no time to think of such details;
but he is apt soon to notice with ap
preciation when a girl employe shows
a practical interest, in the business by
doing a little extra, work on occasion.
A successful woman has said: “Too
many women are penny wise and
pound foolish. They do not. reflect,
that whatever furthers the interests
of the house which employs them, will
eventually further their own interest,
provided, they are industrious and
faithful.”
To Rebie D. —Quit thinking of your
grievances; show a bright, brave front,
to the world; be more independent
and self-confident, and less sensitive.
Think less of making yourself admir
ed by following fashion and being styl
ish,and think more of making the
best of yourself in manners, conversa
tion and disposition. A girl who has
lovely manners, who is amiable and
obliging, yet has spirit and self-re-
spect, cannot but be loved and es
teemed. MATER.
ROSE AND MAID.
The freshly opened, dewy rose
What lovelier thing can earth disclose?
No rose in beauty can compare
With a pure maiden, good and fair.
The rose soon fades in sun or rain,
The higher human charms remain,
For soul and heart give these a grace,
Time cannot wither or efface.
By you may this high charm be sought,
Beauty that grows from noble thought,
So that your flower-like loveliness
May live our hearts to cheer and bless,
—Ben R. Ivy.
TlXHttb ©ur Correspondents
WHITE FLOWER DAY.
How many of you observed “Moth
er’s Day”—the second Sunday in May?
It is very generally observed in the
North, but few localities in our South
land seem to remember or take note
of it. Yet, it is a beautiful thing to
set apart a day in honor of the moth
ers—the truest and dearest friend that
man or woman ever knows. The ob
servance is very simple. A white flow
er —carnation or rose —any white blos
som—is worn all day. If mother is
absent, a letter, unusually tender, is
written to her. If she is with us, a
fonder kiss than usual and some little
gift—flowers, fruit, a new book, a mag
azine. If she has passed to the Be
yond, a visit to her grave with memo
rial flowers if this is possible; if not,
tender thoughts of her and an attempt
to give pleasure to some one else’s
mother by a kindly act or a small gift.
In our little town, Mother’s Day was
observed by almost every one, owing
to it being so gracefully and feelingly
called to mind some days before hand
by our teacher —a very lovable
young woman, who is the sup
port of her invalid mother. We
had a big bed of white pinks
in our yard, and they were in full
bloom. You know how long they
keep looking fresh after being pulled.
We gathered large bunches of them
Saturday afternoon and put them in
the postoffice. Everybody who came
in was invited to take a white carna
tion and pin it on his coat lappel or
(if a woman) on the front of her waist.
There was even a paper of pins pro
vided. so that. at. Sunday school and
church every one wore the white flow
er of filial remembrance. Our ladies
sent white pinks to the jail and to the
hospital, and in the afternoon nearly
every one went out to the cemetery
and carried flowers to place on the
graves of the good women, who had
passed from this earthly scene, but
who were perhaps allowed to know
that they were still loved and remem
bored. In the evening, I went to see
a very charming lady who has been
afflicted for years and confined to her
invalid chair. She wore the white
flower, and she told us some beauti
ful stories about her mother during
the war, and how she had worked to
keep them fed and clothed while the
father was fighting on the front, where
he fell later in the bloody battle of
Shiloh. Then, this dear lady sang.for
us, accompanying herself on the guitar.
She sang the beautiful old song, “Rock
Me to Sleep Mother.” I do not think
