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77/E JUDGE'S DREAM
"Bessie M. Marr.
’Tis midnight and the judge at last
Has closed his weary eyes,
But memory’s door —ne’er easily
locked —
Lets troubled vision rise,
And thoughts from out the distant past
Once more their vigils keep,
And vanished forms now reappear
• To mock him in his sleep.
For days with party leaders
He has striven in. the race,
How great has been the struggle
His haggard looks bear trace;
For the Temperance League was ear
nest,
But the “license men” at last,
With the judge’s wealth to back them,
Can victory now forecast.
As the Lethian waters bear him
From the present far away
He sees once more his childhood
home,
Once more his brothers play
In the dear old apple orchard
As in the long ago.
And again he plucks the ripening fruit
From the branches bending low.
Once more he hears his mother’s voice
With loving cadence call
And feels again her tender kiss
Upon his young brow fall:
And then the vision changes,
All the brightness fades away
As the shadow of the wine cup
O’ercasts the light of day.
Only a social glass at first
Offered with winsome smile,
Then deeper portions drained with
friends
With little thought of guile.
The realm of sin once entered in
Shuts fast the door behind
And the deepening of the shadows
Makes the outlet hard to find.
CHAT.
I am writing on a box-top in front
of a tent surrounded by trees to which
hammocks are swinging, occupied by
happy-looking feminines, who listen
with half-shut eyes to the wind-whis
pers in the stirred leave overhead.
There are a group of tents, and an
other group farther back with a
brown bird’s nest cottage or two near
the spring—the Polar Rock Spring,
which is growing to be quite famous.
This is Lakewood Heights, a few
miles from Atlanta, and half a mile
beyond the trolley car terminus—a
beautiful, healthful summer resort for
those who love quiet and freedom,
glorious trees, pure pine and scented
air, better than show and expense.
There is no dressing-up here. Chil
dren go barefoot with no fear of the
hook worm; women indulge in sacques
and kimonos, and men in shirt sleeves.
The housekeeping is very primitive.
Oil and alcohol stoves do the cook
ing, but I am bound to confess that the
oil stoves are a trial to sweet temper
when children are hungry and hubby
anxious to get to his business in the
city. However, there must be some
drawbacks. The trail of the serpent
is over all our Edens. Early this morn
ing. after I had walked to the spring
and climbed the steep mountain-like
hill from whose foot it gushes, I went
back' to the tent and found two girls
puckering their foreheads and pouting
|heir red lips over the two stoves —the
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think,
The gleam of worldly honors
Lured on the wayward feet
And conscience seemed to slumber
When votes flowed from a ‘ treat.”
A mother’s earnest pleading,
A fond wife’s tender prayer
No longer woke an echo
In the life they could but share.
Then still another vision
To his startled gaze appears —-
A vision of his little boy
In his young manhood years.
He sees him start with kingly grace
On the road to another land,
Sunshine, joy and beauty
Greet him on every hand.
But as he journeys onward
The flowers seem less bright,
The joy is changed to sadness,
The sun gives a dimmer light.
And the father sees that pitfalls
Are all along the way,
But the son unheeds the warning voice
That bids his steps delay.
At a mother’s broken heart he laughs,
And loved ones vainly plead,
Then he makes the fatal plunge
And is lost to them indeed.
Vain is the judge’s plea for justice,
Mocking words alone come back,
“We hold a license for every pitfail
And every snare along the track.”
“We paid our country for the right
To lead youthful feet astray.
You aided us with time and money,
What is there you can say?”
The judge awoke and with that
wakning
Temperance won an ally strong,
Resolved at last to do his duty,
Retrieve the past and right the
wrong’
R. F. D. No. 1, Brookhaven, Miss.
larger of which insisted on blazing
up and burning everything, while the
smaller could not be coaxed out of
a feeble flame. I looked on awhile
then went out, picked up some stones
and made a kind of furnace, then
gathered wood and soon had a fire
over which we cooked breakfast in
primitive camp fashion. After this,
they went to the near-by lake and
had a plunge. One item in the morn
ing menu was fried cucumbers, which
were really delicious, and fried green
tomatoes, which tasted like oysters.
Our Household “Old Woman” asks
who discovered away to make arti
ficial ice? Freezing mixtures, such as
sulphate of sodi m, and dilute vitric
acid, had long been in use, but the
first person who attempted to freeze
water for practical use was Dr. Cui
len, as early as 1755. He used a
vacuum and the French and German
scientist developed his method great
ly, but it could only produce ice in
small quantities. Then, in 1854. came
Perkins’ ether machine, followed by
Tuinnigi’, Harrison’s, Leibe’s and
Mackay’s—all using ether and sur
rounding the refrigerator with brine,
which flows around the cases contain
ing the water to be frozen. Some of
the later machines substituted nap
tha or gasoline for the ether, and
others used ammonia, notably, a
Frenchman Carre, whose machine, in
vented ’n 1859, is still used, though
modified and developed. Another
The Golden Age for August 11, 1910,
Frenchman, Linde, took a prize at a
world’s exhibition for his machine
which forms blocks of ice between
the spokes of a revolving drum, whose
icy spokes dip into a tank of water..
I don’t half-way understand the up
to date ice machine, though I have
watched its process with fascinated
eyes in the ice plant at Cocoa, Fla.,
owned and operated by my son —the
“little Fritz” whom Muda Hetnur asks
about. He supplies the beautiful twin
cities, Cocoa and Rockledge, on In
dian river. The plant supplies the
two cities with ice and double dis
tilled water all the year round; also
with electric lights. My boy has a
partner. Fred Fisher —another Fred,
who is young and energetic, like him
self.
I receive, every little w r hile, beau
tiful picture postal cards from our
gifted Household member, Mary Pet
tus Thomas, poet and pedagogue —
teacher in Baylor College, Texas, who,
during her vacation, is piloting a band
of congenial friends over Europe.
They are having a perfect time; have
journeyed over Italy, seen glorious
Rome and Naples, and paced the pic
ture galleries at Florence. Also, they
have been to Oberammergau and wit
nessed that most impressive of all
spectres, the wonderful Passion Play,
performed at the expiration of every
ten years by the natives, who began
its performance a number of years
ago, in fulfillment of a vow made to
God in gratitude for the removal of
the plague. The inhabitants are a
simple and devout people, imbued with
piety through their occupation—that
of making rosaries, crucifixes, and re
ligious symbols and toys. The con
stantly increased artistic beauty and
elaboration of the play, which draws
so many thousands from all parts of
the world to see it, has not spoiled
its beautiful majestic simplicity or
detracted from the earnest, reverent
realism with which the roles of Christ,
the apostles, Mary Magdalene, Mary,
mother of Jesus, and the other Biblical
characters are acted.
These lovely days of lingering
summer should inspire you dear
Household people to write often for
your department. I was so glad to
welcome Fineta back to us. She is
such a busy girl and with so many
friends and correspondents that it is
not easy for her to find time to meet
with us. Her Ouija story proved very
entertaining. I have another story
from her graceful pen; also more sto
ries and talks from our versatile and
loyal Muda Hetnur, whom the print
ers continue to misspell. I am sorry
I can not tell the friends who are anx
ious about her that dear Julia Coman
Tait is well again. She had a re
lapse, and is still confined to bed. Re
member to send her cheering card
messages at 1240 Mississippi Avenue,
'Memphis, Tenn.
With ®ur Gorresponbents
THE HELPING HAND.
There are so many ways of helping
others. Few of us try to find out
these ways, or put them in practice.
Money is not the only way to assist
another. There are words and deeds
full of helpfulness that call for no
money—only a little work, or self de
nial. A lady I knew who had several
small children, was ill for weeks, and
during the time the neighbors took
turns in looking after her house, her
children, her chickens and her flow
ers. One good woman took the young-
est child to her own cozy home and
kept him “until the mother was en
tirely well and strong.”
Wasn’t this working for the Mas
ter? It seemed to me such a beauti
ful thing for one to do. But my
friend regards it simply as a pleasant
duty.
Another lady whom I know brings
sunshine and pleasure into many
homes by taking old people and in
valids out driving. We know, in cities,
many people who have no ways of lo
comotion, save to walk in dusty
streets or ride in crowded, noisy street
cars. To these a horse and carriage
seem a great luxury. This lady has
more time at her disposal than most
of us possess, but she does this good
service. And she does it so willing
ly and is so pleasant that each one
she takes driving wants to go again.
I have still another friend who
doesn’t wait for the Christian En
deavor, to show her where her duty
lies. She has a fad for giving show
ers, and with the aid of her girl
friends, she manages to give fruit,
flowers, or post-card showers to both
old and young who are sick.
If we are Christians we have to
work in God’s vineyard. He intends
that we do something for humanity.
After my dear mother was called
home, more than three years ago, and
the 15th of August came around (the
anniversary of her birthday), I long
ed to have strength for something. As
we had such an abundance of beauti
ful flowers, more than we could use
at the cemetery, the idea of sending
them to my mother’s friends who were
sick, came to me, and with the help
of my sisters, Ido this each year. In
commemoration of my mother’s birth
day, this year, we intend to broaden
the work by sending flowers to those
who are sick, or in trouble, in other
localities, as well as to her friends.
LURA LINDLEY.
ICE-MAKING. THE OUIJA.
Dear Household Friends:
I know you will be glad with me
to know that my daughter is much
better. She is so greatly improved
that I have been able to leave her for
a little trip into Alabama—the State
whose name means rest.
I was sorry to see the crops making
such a poor showing, cotton particu
larly. The Georgia crops this season
are nothing to boast of, but they are
better than those of Alabama.
I paid a visit to an ice factory—the
first I had ever seen. I had never been
able to imagine how artificial ice was
made. It requires a lot of machinery
—a compressor, a steam engine with
boiler—funny that it requires fire to
make frost. The pipes are hoary
with snow. In an upper story is sit
uated a wooden tank with partition*,
for cans with wooden covers that holu
the ice. The engine runs day and
night. One would think an ice fac
tory would be a cold place, but I djd
not find there a much lower temper
ature than outside, though I walked
all over the top of the ice tank. It
is a wonderful discovery, this of mak
ing ice artificially, and think how ben
eficial it has been to the sick —those
who are burning with fever in close,
warm rooms. All honor to the man
who discovered that ice may be made
artificially. Who was he, M. E. B.?
What did you think of Fineta’s
Ouija? I believe that Ouija made love
to Frances, because her lover was
present and had the board under hio
control so as to make it do his love
making for him, he being too shy
