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Vl the household
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think
Maraposa—The Butterfly
By JAMES W. BAIN.
Down in the shade where the wild
ferns grow,
Down in the glade where the damp
winds blow,
By the mossy log and lichened tree,
O’er the marshy bog, he is flitting
free.
Over flowery meadows and sunny
rills
Across cloud-shadows and laughing
I have been out in the back yard for
hours, pulling up and hoeing down
weeds, and thinking nearly all the
while about the new way in which
weeds are looked upon in these latter
days of scientific knowledge.
When Miss Elizabeth Cleveland —
Grover Cleveland’s literary sister —
went to Chicago to edit the short
lived “Literary Life” started by a
cranky enthusiast who persuaded her
that a great work lay before her in
Chicago, she refused to pose as a
grand reformer, refused to be ex
ploited as the President’s sister and
declined t o live in Chicago, which
Mr. Elder in an unauthorized inter
view had made he rsay, was the
Athens of America. She took up her
abode in a little country place near
the Windy City which she named
“The Weeds.” When her would-be
manager remonstrated with her for
dating her contributions from such an
humble sounding residence place she
answered, “Weeds are useful —and
beautiful.”
Now it is found out that weeds are
worth cultivating. Some of them
have developed into lovely flowery
plants and others have been proved
to enrich the soil; among these are
wild clover —the mother of the high
ly-prized Alfalfa —and beggar weed
which has also been discovered to be
most excellent food for horses and
cattle.
Many weeds are found to enrich the
->il by taking nitrogen directly from
the air and giving it to the earth.
Alfalfa, the velvet bean, soy bean
and other new cultivated plants were
originally weeds. Twenty years ago
they were unknown to our farmers;
today they are the most highly val
ued of all growths for hay, for for
age and for subsoilers.
“Weeds are no longer weeds,” de
clares a teacher of scientific agricul
ture. “Weeds are the material which
nature provides (made of the element
of the air for the most part) and of
fers us freely to enrich the soil.” A
few years ago, beggar weed was
known to the farmer only as a nui
sance, today it is the finest hay pro
ducer in the Southern States. The
prickly pear Cactus was a synonym
for the most troublesome of wild
growths; Today the word stands for
one of the most remarkable forage
plants in the world.
The milk weed, with its lush and
beautiful growth is being cultivated
as a grand milk-producing forage for
cows. When topped it spreads quick
ly; and is a most luxuriant grower.
Women, during the war, discovered
that the übiquitous rag weed makes
a fine and lasting dye, Jamestown
weed —a “Jimson weed” as we call it,
is valued as a medicine and as an
g-gent in curing patients of the habit
hills
He flits here and there, none freer
than he
No flower so fair, Forgot in his glee
Are his days as a w’orm, acrawl on
the earth.
Shall we too forget our lowlier birth
When the chrysalis breaks and our
great change brings
And the man-grub awakes to a being
with wings?
CHA T
of drink. Poke weed is of great me
dicinal value; bone set is said to cure
malaria with its chills and fever,
when all other remedies have failed.
Many weeds have beautiful flowers
that improve in color, size and fra
grance when the plant is cultivated.
I am making a little wild flower gar
den in a corner of my yard, which is
most satisfying in its results. The
gorgeous butterfly plant, the many
varieties of wild akes and daisies,
the rich crimson lobelia or snake
root, the splendid tiger lily, and many
whose names I do not know are
among the weeds that are now find
ing a place in gardens. Yes, it is
true that the word “weed” covers a
great deal to delight the eye, to ben
efit the body and to feed the soil, to
say nothing of the value of weeds as
medicines for cows and horses —ton-
ics and correctives which nature
teaches them to eat in spring and
summer.
“OLD HAYSEED IS DEAD.”
Not so many years ago, we had no
Bureau of Agriculture; farming was
regarded as an plebian occupation,
and the farmer was spoken of as
“Old Hayseed,” or the “Horny-handed
Son of toil.” Now, no office in the
President’s Cabinet is invested with
greater dignity and power than the
Bureau of Agriculture. The Secre
tary of this Bureau guides practical
ly our whole productive life. Under
his direction there is an army of busy
scientists scouring all lands for new
fruits, vegetables and grains. Statis
tics show that under the guidance and
instruction of this department our
country’s wealth is increasing at the
rate of five hundred millions every
year. “Old Hayseed is dead,” says a
writer on agriculture.. “The country
boy is once more proud of his birth
right, and well he may be.” A col
lege graduate said to me recently, “I
must and will have country life and
country work. The professions have
lost their attraction. I hold my di
ploma for four years of classical
study. lam now going to an agri
cultural college for two years more.
I hold it to be a true post-graduate
course. It carries me farther than
the older institutions in the way of
placing me in command of the
latest sceince and most vital knowl
edge. It not only teaches science
but applies it. I wish to know the
world around me and to feel that I
can not only buy and sell, but can
create what is bought and sold.” To
create something that lives and grows
and that feeds or clothes man. Isn’t
that a fine work to do?
Selma, a young working girl, says:
“I am employed in an office, where I
The Golden Age for June 27, 1912.
am very useful to my employer, who
is a young married man. He was al
ways kind and courteous, but lately
he is more. He is attentive in away
that causes me alarm. He has twice
brought me flowers and magazines,
and once I found a box of French
candy on my desk. He notices my
dress and says like this: ‘You simp
ly look stunning in pink, or ‘You
look today like you had just stepped
out of a picture.” Every day he is
worse. I repel his attentions •by show
ing him that they do not please me,
and he calls me proudish and old
fashioned. I dare not show anger
and leave his employ, for it would
ruin us. My mother is a widow in
delicate health. I have a deformed,
helpless brother. My earnings keep
the family in bread and with a shel
ter over them. It was hard for me
to obtain this situation and how can
I risk being out of employment?
There are only two courses open to
you. The first is to leave your pres
ent place and trust to Providence to
find another. Away will be opened
to you. Delay is dangerous, unless
you are strong enough to make a firm
stand against your employer. Ap
peal to his sense of honor as a man.
Tell him you do not want to leave
his office, but you must, and will do
this unless he treats you with respect.
It is a pity you accepted his flowers
and candy. A girl should never put
herself under obligation to her em
ployer —or any other man. It is a
great temptation to a girl who loves
pretty things and enjoys having a
good time, but the price is too high.
A man does not lavish flowers and
sweets, or theatre tickets on a girl
for nothing. He expects her to make
a return for them. It is hard to re
pulse a man whose gifts you have ac
cepted. If he does not heed your
appeal or heeds it for only a short
time, then delay no longer; throw up
your position. Don’t delude your
self into thinking you can control the
situation, for you can’t.
Tom Lockhart’s old friends must
rally around him and send him a word
of cheer and a little order for one
or more of his books. All of them
are interesting but “Plain Talks and
Tales” is full of good philosophy and
bright, funny stories. Dear Tom,
where is your novel? Are all the
copies sold?
1 think Arthur Goodenough’s letter
today is the first he has written to
the Household, but oh the long gar
land of poetry he has honored them
with! To very many beside his cor
respondents, his beautiful verse has
brought pleasure, comfort and inspir
ation. And many would love to tell
him this, but refrain from timidity.
Hi indeed, resembles our Southern
people in his love for poetic and spir
itual things above those more prac
tical. I hope he will write us an
other letter —a longer one. This will
make him seem more of a personal
friend. His warm sympathy for Miz
pah will be appreciated by her. She
greatly admires his genius. He and
several others, have asked for her
address. Any letter addressed to
“Mizpah” 132 Second Avenue, North
Nashville, Tenn., will find its way to
her.
IT QUENCHES THIRST .
Horsford’s Acid Phosphate
Teaspoonful in glass of water, sweetened
to suit, far more delicious and refreshing
then lemonade.
Wttb ®ur Correspondents
LOOKING OUT FOR SOMETHING
TO PRAISE.
A wise old teacher nearing her
eightieth birthday, told me long ago
at the beginning of my career as a
teacher, this incident. iShe said it
had lain at the foundation of her
success with boys and girls in day
school, and the spirit of the lesson
she taught me, has saved me many a
mistake in my own school room work.
She said that in her room of nearly
fifty boys and girls was one boy who
was perpetually going wrong. In vain
she punished, reprimanded, coaxed
and pleaded. Neither she nor the
principal seemed to strike the right
chord.
Finally one day she suddenly be
came conscious that the bad, or rath
er the troublesome boy, was unusual
ly quiet; he seemed intent upon his
work, and gave absolutely no trouble.
She breathed a sigh of relief; she had
succeeded at last! No more trouble
from that source! As the day pass
ed on, the situation was unchanged;
the boy was changed. This contin
ued for two or three days, and though
inwardly gratified and encouraged be
yond measure, she kept quiet, afraid
to interfere, and unconscious of the
presence of the psychological moment.
Suddenly one morning, with wrath
and amazement and indignation, she
saw the boy at his old tricks, and
seemingly accomplishing some of
them with hitherto unknown arts and
skill.
With all her power of sarcasm she
poured out her wrath; to her amaze
ment the tirade of her displeasure was
greeted by a burst of tears, and big
boy as he was, he seemed unable to
control himself. At last when he could
control himself sufficiently to make
his words understood, he was saying:
“You always see me when I’m do
ing bad, but you can’t ever see me
when I’m doing good!”
The lesson struck home; and the
old teacher said with feeling, “I never
again made that mistake; I kept an
eye on every one of my bad boys and
girls, too, to see the tiniest little
thing that might be rated good. And
I tell you, I saw almost as much of
the good as I had previously found
of the bad. The lesson applies all
through life, my dear, with the big,
the young, the old, and even the tin
iest mite of a little child!”
ELIZABETH FERGUSON SEAT.
* *
Dear Mrs. Bryan and Household
Friends:
Though a dweller in the far North,
I have always had a sincere regard
for the people of the South, and a
wish to visit that charmed region.
Some day, perhaps, I shall gratify this
desire. I have read with much inter
est the letters to the Household.
Many of them from our old friends
of the lamented Sunny South to whose
Household I was for years an almost
weekly contributor. Among The Gol
den Age writers, with whom I became
acquainted through their Sunny South
letters are gifted and noble Margaret
Richard, warm-hearted little Annice,
Fineta, Tom Lockhart, Mattie Bev
erage, Muda Hetnur, Mattie Howard,
Old Woman, Julia Coman Tait, and
Mizpah. Deeply did I sympathize
with Mizpah in hhr recent heavy af
fliction. I would have written to her,
but knew not her real name and full
address. I trust that by this time,
the dear girl’s grief hag lessened by
5*