Newspaper Page Text
10
K TH E HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think.
THOSE HOMESEEKERS
• “A special train from New York with
sixty babies on board —foundlings—-
seeking homes —is on its way to New
Orleans.” —Newspaper paragraph.
Sixty homeseekers coming down
From Gotham’s overflowing town,
Coming fast over hill and plain,
All on a specially ordered train,
To the land where myrtle and orange
bloom,
Each one seeking a needed home.
Not a penny in purse have they,
Nor will they offer “promise to pay,”
Nor work at even the lightest task,
Nor beg, or the smallest favor ask.
Weak and halt are they, and some
Speak gibberish strange and some are
dumb,
Yet no ways lacking are they in
“greed,”
They will take the best, as it were
their meed.
Queerest Immigrants ever seen
Are these that come to the Crescent
Queen —
A helpless, moneyless, speechless
band —
Seeking homes in a sunny land,
Homes forsooth, which to have and
to hold,
Calls for either credit or gold;
Neither have these, who seek so bold
Homes where the fig and the orange
grow.
What can they offer as quid pro quo?
' ' • I
*
I’ll tell you, dimples and winsome
smiles,
Laughter, -which careworn souls be
guiles,
Cooings that fancy may translate
To “Sesame,” opening Love’s closed
gate,
Helplesss innocence, piteous cries,
Clinging fingers and w’istful eyes,
- In whose depth lies the dumb appeal
Os the motherless—which women
feel.
So not as paupers they come today,
Seeking homes without gold to pay,
To silent hearths they will music
bring,
To long-chilled spirits the glow of
spring,
Scars of bereavement will they efface,
Filling the crib by the fireside place,
Opening to joy and love once more •
Hearts that to these had shut the
door;
Hopes and prophecies round them
play,
Better than gold have they to pay.
Never did hero or capitalist get
Such welcome as those homeseekers
met,
When into the Crescent town they
came
Penniless strangers without a name,
Corralled by cops on the public square,
Babies and nurses —all were there
And women! a crowd ’twas a sight to
see,
Women of high and of low degree,
Pushed on the blue-coat guarded
rope,
.'That fenced in the all unconscious
: group,
With outstretched hands and eager
eyes,
Intent on snatching a baby prize.
Plumes were crushed and jewelry lost
put the dames stopped not to cpunt
• •-. the cost,
Sv Mary E. Sryan.
It was “forward, charge!” to that
brigade,
Like the rush on a bargain counter
made,
Where are dollar waists, bowed new
and nice,
Marked ninety-eight cents as special
price.
No, never was greeting rapturous
glad,
Like that bunch of strange little
Yankees had.
It gives one a reassuring thrill,
For it proves that women are women
still,
Spite of committees, conventions,
clubs,
Where man-made measures meet
with snubs,
It proves that the childless home is
sad,
That babies bid fair to become a fad,
Ousting the poodle from jeweled
arms,
Making it pay to run baby farms,
Though, methinks, that to take T. R.’s
advice,
And have some of their own —would
be more nice.
R
JACK AND LARRY.
Clear and beautiful broke the morn
ing of an eventful day over majestic
Kennesaw mountain. Sunlight crown
ed the heights, but mist filled the val
ley, and shrouded its momentous se
cret.
As the sun rose higher, his lance
pierced the mist and awoke it to mo
tion. It rolled upward in soft billows
that silently drifted away like ghosts.
Then was disclosed the secret of the
valley, which the mist had hidden.
Two opposing armies arrayed for bat
tle, two flags playing in the breeze —
one the Stars and Stripes, the other a
blood red cross on a fold of blue, the
battle flag of the South.
At the base of the mountain the
men in gray were massed, awaiting
the onset of the enemy’s cavalry and
batteries, that were preparing to ad
vance. Soon they came on, met by
a burst of flame and the rattle of
musketry, then in turn encountered
the shot and shell of the well-equipped
batteries. The roar and flame became
incessant. Oh! the thrilling excite
ment of battle! Oh, the horror that
follow in its wake!
“Jesus, pity, how it thickens, now re
treat, and now advance,
Right before the blazing cannon
shines their furious charging
lance.
Down they go, the brave young riders,
horse and man together fall,
Like a plowshare in the fallow,
through them plows the deadly
ball.”
Where the fight had swept on in its
progress, there could be seen the
bloody harvest of its cruel scythe.
There on the trampled ground lay the
mangled bodies of the men who had
so lately gone into the battle full of
•vigorous life and eager courage. Gray
and blue, friend and foe, were there
blent together in the crimson of their
life-blood. And from them came groans
of mortal agony and piercing cries
for “water, water.”
“Jack, Jack, where are you?” The
call came from a heap of dead and
dying, lying beside a breastwork that
The Golden Age for June 30, 1910.
had been desperately defended before
it was finally carried. A young man
wearing a captain’s insignia, had af
ter hard struggling extricated himself
from the pile of bodies and succeeded
in sitting up. Wiping the blood that
gushed blindingly from a ghastly gash
across his forehead, he gazed around
and again called, “Jack, Jack, my
brother, where are you?”
They had met that last awful
charge fighting together, side by side.
He remembered seeing Jack’s eyes
full of anguish turn on him when he
went down to unconsciousness. Had
he been killed? Would he never see a
look from those dear eyes again? Sud
denly, he caught sight of the face he
looked for and longed to see. Dead
white was that face, the shadow of
death was creeping over it, but as
Larry cried out: “Jack, I’m here close
by you;” the eyes opened and met
those of his brother. A faint smile
crept over his face; his lips moved;
he murmured half as one dreaming.
“Good-bye, Larry; tell them at home
I died true to my colors,” then more
faintly, “Elizabeth, tell her I loved
her to my last breath; tell her —.”
The voice died away. Larry thought
forever, but presently Jack cried: “I
see the lights of home. Mother is at
the door —Larry—.” That was the
last. The brave young spirit passed
out with his brother’s name —one
among the hundreds of victims sacri
ficed to horrible war. Jack would
never see the lights of his earthly
home, nor receive the welcoming kiss
of his waiting mother, nor see Eliza
beth’s soft, gray eyes grow bright with
tears of joy as she came to meet him.
It -was only one of the pitiful trag
edies, which blackened the beauty of
that fair day, and the peace of the
grand old mountains. Let us pray;
let us women especially pray earnest
ly that there be no more war.
M. E. B.
TOitb Out Gorresponbents
ON A FLORIDA TRUCK FARM.
The Up-to-Date Methods Used.
In her Chat Mrs. Bryan asked me
to tell The Golden Age Household
readers about the irrigated lettuce,
cucumber and cantaloupe farm which
we are carrying on with fair success
near Gainesville, Florida. My hus
band is an enthusiast about truck
farming, but he says one going into
the business, needs to adopt the new
ly-improved methods, or in this pro
gressive age, he will “get left.” He
believes in getting out of truck farm
ing all there is in it. Hence he adopts
canvas shelter and irrigation.
This winter we had finer lettuce
than any one in the neighborhood.
There were four acres of the plants,
sleeping under canvas on all frosty
nights. When these were ready to
begin to ship, the frames were beds of
living green with hard white heads,
touched with pink by the frosty air.
The shipments are made in baskets,
each holding half a barrel. The let
tuce is packed in the baskets, with
stalks to stalks and heads to heads,
beginning with stalks down, twenty
five and thirty heads to a basket is
the average number. New York and
Philadelphia are the principal mar
kets. But for the past month, we
have been shipping cucumbers —
cukes as the Florida folks call this
jnelpn, We have three acres in
cukes, which were under canvas un
til the cold was over. During the hot
dry spell they were under irrigation.
More than three thousand baskets —
bushel size—have been cut this
month. Our irrigation is from wells,
driven a hundred feet or more into
the ground. We use a Jack-of-all
trades engine to pump the water from
the ground into a pond; then a twelve
horse power engine forces the water
from the pond over the three acres at
one time through pipes overhead, put
up for that purpose. In fact, it is a
Skinner System irrigating plant,
If one can live on a farm or in the
country, I believe it is the best place
for bringing up boys and girls. There
are no temptations to habits of vice
and dissipation, and there is always
healthful work to do in the open air.
I never sigh for the pleasures of a
city. My children are getting the best
that God can give from the country.
Ail of us work, each has a part to do,
and there is no idling until it is done.
Every summer, we go to the ocean
beach, beautiful Daytona beach being
our preference. When school begins,
our children are ready for it, in body
and in mind, and they remain well
and hearty the entire school term. God
has given us many great blessings
and our prayer is that He will use
the best in our boys and girls for His
good service.
MAGNOLIA.
Ca'ncsville, Fla.
H' ’ i
some hints as to children.
My three little girls are constantly
in need of having their schoolbooks
covered. Paper wears so quickly I
tried covering them with table oil
cloth. Now they can be cleaned with
a wet cloth when soiled, and they
wear well. I cover some of them with
white oilcloth and others in pretty
colored patterns. One frequently has
bits of oilcloth remaining from
shelves or tables. This is a good way
to use up such left-overs. —G. H. F.
When I fixed my children’s room, I
pasted all the way around the center
of the walls a border, three feet wide,
of pictures. I also made a screen,
the foundation of which was cheap,
stout cotton cloth, tacked on a frame.
On this were pasted pictures covered
with clear varnish.—Mrs. G. T. Hen
derson.
Wilth children in the house, things
have away of disappearing down the
register. We have fitted beneath each
register a piece of wire netting, and
on each sweeping day we “take up a
collection” that would otherwise be
beyond cur reach. —Elinor Branch.
If one finds it necessary to adminis
ter castor oil or salts to children, it
can be given in away that is less
nauseating than usual. Make a sand
wich of the oil —put a small amount
of diluted lemon juice, in the bottom
of a glass, then tne oil, with more
lemon juice on top. No taste of the
oil will be detected. With salts, mix
a little ginger and it acts sooner,
without the chilly sensation, besides
it goes (Town easier.—A. E. Perkins,
M. D.
Don’t give ice water to children —
it often causes serious trouble with
their bowels. Place corked bottles of
water on the ice. Buttermilk is a
healthful drink, and can often be had
fresh daily. Some learn to like it if
a little salt is added, or it ean be di
luted with water and served
cold,—A, E. Perkins, M. D,
