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But Sometime--- We Shall Know
By ARTHUR GOODENOUGH.
The Future’s dim mysterious face
With troubled eyes we scan;
But what we seek thereon to trace
Os good or guilt or grief or grace
Is hid from mortal man.
With Fate we journey, hand in hand
Thro’ all the world below;
And tho’ we fail to understand
Still God will work the thing He
planned—
And sometime we shall know!
The Book of Life is hard to read—
More hard to comprehend—
And howsoever great our need
Dear Friends: I havs been very ill
for weeks. I took pneumonia helping
nurse the sick child of a friend in a
close, hot room, filled with germs. But
previously I had run down completely
through reckless breaking of the laws
of health. Every early morning this
summer and fall I was out in the dew
and damp working among my flow
ers, forgetting everything else and not
coming in even to breakfast until
drenched and exhausted. I had my
reward and I had my punishment. The
reward came in the most lavish abun
dance of glorious flowers —chrysanthe-
mums, violets roses and gay graceful
cosmos of every lovely tint. I had the
joy of knowing that my yard was fur
nishing flowers for all my dear neigh
bors and friends —for festivals, church
altars, cemeteries, funerals and sick
rooms. The yard is perfectly gorgeous
even on this 10th day of November.
And I had my punishment. I was
taking it in a darkened room and fully
recognizing that the blow had come as
a check and a warning from a too kind
Father, whose laws I had long outra
geously broken concerning the care of
the body—the temple of the mind and
the soul. All my life I had taken no
care of this temple, which should be
sacredly caned for. I had continually
drawn on my bank of health, but now
I am going to heed the merciful warn
ing, lest I should be what I have al
ways dreaded —a burden on my loved
ones.
Friends have been inexpressibly
kind and attentive to me in my ill
ness; and, oh, the letters and cards
from the dear Householders!
Also there are several letters con
taining inquiries to be answered in
Chat. Two coming from Louisiana on
the outcome there of the intense ex
citement created by the trial of Mrs.
Mcßea for killing young Allan Gar
lend. The unprecedented sight of a
wellborn, wealthy, handsome, married
woman, of high social position, on trial
for murder, was, indeed, sensational.
She said she killed the boy in defense
of her honor and the question asked
was, “Has a woman a right to slay
a man in defense of her honor?”
It depends on the attendant circum
stances. If a woman is unprotected
and alone, and violence is offered her,
she has the right to take life in her
defense. But if, as in the case of Mrs.
Mcßea, she is in her home within call
of several servants —and is a large,
strong woman, ten years older than
her alleged boy assailant, whose
friendship she has persistently sought,
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think
It yields to neither grief nor greed
From Alpha to the end!
The meaning that we seek, in vain,
The angels will not show;
And stars must wax and stars must
wane
And dust to dust become again,
’Ere sometime we shall know. —
The secret of a Second Sphere
Denied to us below —
Tho’ much is vague or hidden here
Within Earth’s dust-dimmed atmos
phere—
Still, sometime we shall know!
CHA T
going hunting with him nearly every
day and prevailing on the old grand
mother, who reared the boy, to let him
sleep at her home, why then she
should have simply repelled him and
told a servant to show him the door
and never admit him again. She ac
knowledges that being so much larger
and stronger than he, she could have
thrust him out with one hand. Pity
she should not have done this, and
spared all this tragic sensation, which
has convulsed two parishes, spared
herself the shame of a prison and her
devoted husband and the heart-broken
grandmother of the lad, a world of
agony; spared, too, the little children
the dreadful memory of sitting in
court and seeing their mother tried for
murder. She will be acquitted. The
fact that she has a formidable array of
ten eminent lawyers as her counsel,
and that she is a woman in high social
position— a wife and a mother, will
operate effectually to save her, but will
she ever be happy again?
She says the Garlend boy, whom she
had summoned to her by telephone,
was advancing towards her when she
shot him three times —each time in the
back. He must then have been ad
vancing backward —a queer way to
advance! If a woman has a right to
use a weapon on a boy who is advanc
ing on her backward, it should be a
sharpened sweet potato, not a re
volver. Very, very seldom in social life
a woman called upon to defend her
honor. She can under any ordinary
circumstances prevent it’s ever being
assailed. No man in society, unless
brutalized with drink, ’will offer an
unprovoked insult to a woman. It is
against the instinct of a man, let
alone his civilized training. It is possi
ble that he may misinterpret the gra
cious of a woman friend,
but a word, a look, from her, can put
him in his right place. It is oftenest
woman’s vanity—her restless craving
for conquest, which tempts her to let
down the barriers of dignity and self
respect; then if man oversteps them,
she has herself to blame.
Just before I was taken ill, I was
greatly distressed to receive a letter
from the mother of our dear Margaret
Richard, telling me that Margaret was
very ill indeed. While I was at my
worst a card came from Mrs. Alice
Richard, bearing the unexpected good
news that Margaret was better. How
glad I am, how glad we all are! There
is but one Margaret Richard. And how
deeply we sympathize with the lovely,
intellectual, faithful mother of our
The Golden Age For November 16, 1911.
gifted girl. Dear Annice suggests that
we have a Margaret Richard House
hold number of The Golden Age, con
taining only her poems, stories and a
picture of her and a sketch of her life.
I second the motion. I am sure our
ever resourceiul Muda Hetnur, with
her treasured scrap-books could help
us out. Her Rainy Day letter today is
very entertaining. Very interesting,
too, is the little sketch, Chinquapin,
from Florida Pine, who is one of our
dear Sunny South band, whom we are
glad, indeed, to welcome. Her poem
is beautiful. W e hope to hear from
her often.
Wttb ®ur Corresponbents
THE VILE ILLUSTRATIONS WHICH
DARKEN THE PAGES OF SOME
OF OUR NEWSPAPERS.
One of the most important ques
tions which confronts the Christian
people of America, and which has con
fronted them for quite a number of
years, is that of the vile and demonous
illustrations which some of our news
papers employ, particularly in their
large Sunday issues. Is it the sole ob
ject of these papers to picture that
which is pure, noble and beautiful?
There is not every reason to be
lieve that this is the only object for
which tne pictures, which are. fre
quently of so obscene a nature that 1
hesitate to attempt to describe them,
are used. I am in receipt of a com
munication from an editor of one of
the most influential and popular pe
riodicals in America, in which it is
stated that it is difficult for anyone
to make any headway in the fight
against this institution, as long as the
public demands the publication of such
illustrations.
This editor has reached this conclu
sion, after many earnest efforts in try
ing to find a remedy, but I sincerely
hope that the editors of our country
will not give up the battle until the
minds of the citizens are treated, cur
ed and reformed, and until they have
pushed the nation forward into that
higher stage of civilization in which
such evil influences will not be de
sired.
These evil influences have been dis
cussed by several eminent literary
men, but the question will never be
come antedated so long as the evil ex
ists. It is true that these pictures
have an inexpressibly disastrous ef
fect upon the untrained mind and it
is also true that they have played an
important part in preying upon, pofc
soning and corrupting the minds of
the intellectual classes. This fact is
so unquestioned as to make further
elaboration unnecessary.
Perhaps, the use of and meaning of
the adjective “secular,” as applied to
newspapers, is one cause of the exist
ence of this evil. I wish there was
on such thing as a “secular news
paper.” If there were Christian men
in control of all of our newspapers,
who had the souls of the people at
heart, there would certainly be a no
ticeable difference.
J. BAILEY WRAY.
*
An old criminal was once asked
what was the first step that led him
to ruin and he said: “The first
that led to my downfall was cheating
an editor out of two years’ subscrip
tion. When I done that the devil had
such a grip on me that I could not
shake him off," —Exchange.
BILL HENRY’S WAY.
A Sketch From Life.
In summer, the farmers who live
among the foothills and valleys of a
chain of the Blue Ridge Mountains,
take their cattle and hogs up into the
heights and leave them until the first
frosts kill the grass. They then drive
them back, fat and sleek, ready for
the market. The hogs fatten fast on
berries, acorns and chestnuts.
The farmers or their sons go at
least every two weeks to give salt to
the stock, and see that they have not
wandered from the best range.
They combine duty with pleasure
and enjoy the trips greatly, taking
dog and gun along. The invigorating
mountain air gives them appetites to
enjoy the meals which they prepare
themselves.
One farmer (we will call him Bill
Henry for short) who lived some dis
tance from the mountain range and
who was extremely fond of outdoor
sport, decided to take his cattle and
hogs to the mountains for the profit,
as well as the pleasure the outing af
forded. First, he must get a good dog
and a hound of great reputation and
ugliness was at length found —a train
ed hunter, along and lean, whose pen
dant ears looked like saddle-skirts, and
whose bark sounded like a bass drum.
To feed him was like throwing bread
into a barrel.
When Bill Henry would come in
early in the morning and announce
to his family that he was going to
start to the mountains, to see about
his stock at 12 o’clock that day, every
soul in the house had to hustle. But
whenever he declared that he would
start at sunrise, it was sure to be noon
before he got on his way. When he
said he would start at twelve, the
chickens would be going to roost be
rore he would get off. That was Bill
Henry’s way. It did not matter that
his obedient wife and daughters al
ways had his provisions and other
things ready for him ai the appointed
hour. Bill Henry could think of more
things that he just must fix to take
with him than a peddler could possi
bly cram into his pack.
When he announced that he was
ready to hitch up and start, we knew
we must drop everything for the next
two hours and stand ready to obey or
ders, helping him get started.
When the old man was being hitch
ed to the buggy, there was sure to be
about a half hour’s mending to be
done on the harness. Then there was
the feed to be prepared and put up
for the mare, and other things that
had been put off until the last mo
ment. Somebody must get his leg
gings to prevent the snakes from bit
ting him, also a bottle of turpentine
and a piece of alum, for snakes don’t
like the smell of turpentine and Bill
Henry says if you will feed alum to
snakes it will draw their mouths so
they could not bite.
At last, the gate is opened. He
drives to it and stops. Every one
stands expectant. Bill Henry calls for
some one to bring him an axe. It is
carried to him in great haste. It is not
the one he wants. He’ll just get it
himself, as he must go back to kiss
the baby any way.
Ax, grub box, coffee kettle, frying
5 CHRISTMAS CARDS FRFF
Send only 2c stamp and receives
very finest Gold Fmbossed Christmas Post Cards
FREE to introduce post card offer.
Capital Card Co., Dept. 146, Topeka, Kan
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