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Heart of my heart, the world is young;
Love lies hidden in every rose!
Every song that the skylark sung
Once, we thought, must come to a
close:
Now we know the spirit of song,
Song that is merged in the chant of
the whole,
Hand in hand as we wander along,
What should we doubt of the years
that roll?
Heart of my heart, we can not die!
Love triumphant in flower and tree,
Every life that laughs at the sky
Tells us nothing can cease to be;
One, we are one with a song today,
Was ever such a lovely morning as
this on the very verge of “sad and
drear November”? I went out in my
flower yard directly after sunrise. It
looked doubly beautiful to me through
my having been ill so long —two
dreary months—but I feel cheerful and
capable again—and it seems so good
to be out in the crisp fresh air of
outdoors, and so comfortable to
write otherwise than sitting up in
bed. I learned to like the bed, how
ever. All my life I have looked on it
as an unpleasant necessity, and used
it as little as possible, retiring so
late at night and leaving it eagerly at
sunrise. But now’ “that old bed”
seems like a friend, on whose soft
bosom it is sweet to rest. However,
I hope I shall not need to rest there
and more, save during the normal
hours of sleep.
But about the flow’ers. Some of the
roses show’ed signs of having been
kissed too roughly by Jack Frost, but
the chryanthemums, the heliotropes
and the cosmos held their heads up
as bravely as ever. While I looked
at the white chrysanthemums, pure as
if carved of pearl, a messenger came
to say that a neighbor’s little baby
had been called back to heaven in
the starry stillness of last night, and
flow’ers were needed for the funeral.
Here w’as a use for all this w r ealth of
living snow, as w r ell as for the violet,
the heliotrope and the few w’hite and
shell pink rose buds that were in
bloom.
Many old-time Household friends
have written me lately, among them
sweet Margaret Richard, who sent
several of her beautiful poems; bril
liant Fineta; Annice, the ever faith
ful; Faye, the w r ell remembered; and
Mr. and Mrs. Pleas, the versatile
farmers, gardeners and artists of
Chipley, Florida. They are planning
to sell the picturesque “Palms,” in
order to move in a new house on
their large farm, where they will raise
fine Holstein, Aberdeen and Angus
cattle. Mrs. Pleas, in the intervals
of raising flowers and chickens, has
found time to paint two landscape pic
tures for the Corcoran Art Exhibit in
Washington City this fall. One paint
ing is a view of glorious St. Andrews
Bay, w’here Mr. Upshaw spent the
delightful outing and held the success
ful campaign, of which he told you
week before last. The other picture
is a piney woods scene—“ The Gate
way to the Forest.”
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think
UNITY
By ALFRED NOYES.
One with the clover that scents the
wold,
One with the Unknown, far away,
One with the stars, when earth
grows old.
Heart of my heart, we are one with
the wind,
One with the clouds that are whirled
o’er the lea,
One in many, O broken and blind,
One as the waves are at one with
the sea!
Ay, when life seems scattered apart,
Darkens, ends as a tale that is told,
One, we are one, O heart of my heart,
One, still one, while the world grows
old.
CHA T
Fineta is always busy—hands, heart
and brain. She is always planning
something unique and interesting for
her history study and musical club,
also for her eager little friends of the
Sunday School. Just now she is
reading for me a manuscript novel
by Mrs. Summers, who wrote “The
Girl of the Ozarks.” She is reading
it with a view’ to its possible appear
ance as a serial in The Golden Age,
and she says it is a very realistic
story of real life —partly of married
life —with sunshine and shadow, and
involving the problem of divorce. I
w’onder if you Golden Age readers
would like this kind of story? Would
you?
Annice sends me a poetic pen pic
ture of the lovely pond at her home
now snow’ed over with water lillies.
A long belated letter has just been
sent me from The Golden Age office
—with the information that it had
been misplaced ever since May, and
just found. It has the last page with
the signature missing, but the ad
dress is South 12th Street, Birming
ham, and the writer says she is an old
Sunny South Household contributor.
I think I can guess who she is, but am
not quite sure. She must let us hear
from her again. She wrote very in
terestingly and tells of sending a
sketch for The Golden Age—a true
incident by a new’ contributor. Also
she pays a high tribute to the fine
poetic work of Arthur Goodenough,
and tells of lately reading one of his
poems, “The Lure of the Sea,” in the
scrap-book of a friend, whose roman
tic and tragic life throws fiction in the
shade.
The pathetic letter I published
week before last, without signature,
was from James T. Durrett, of Searles,
Alabama —a talented, worthy and
most unfortunate young man, who
was crippled by a fall while working
in the mines to support himself and
his mother. His back was broken,
and he is paralyzed from the waist
down, but can use his hands. I have
since had a heart-touching letter from
his mother, which will probably ap
pear next week.
WHEN THERE IS SICKNESS IN
THE HOME.
When a member of a family is sick
it is best for the nurse to be positive
and devoted. Positive, because the
directions of the physician must be
The Golden Age for October 31, 1912.
strictly carried out, and devoted or
loving because much care is needed
to bring a patient to recovery.
Where there are loving and positive
mothers, sisters or daughters and
they are physically strong enough to
do the nursing it is better to have
them than hired trained nurses but
the trained nurses, which are becom
ing so common, are fine to have also.
No doubt,many deaths, not only in
poor, but also in well-to-do families re
sult from poor nursing, inattention to
doctors’ directions and proper nour
ishment. For instance, here is a deli
cate member of a family who needs
daily care and encouragement. She
tries to keep cheerful and helpful and
the members of the family who are
absorbed in their own interests do
not realize her true condition. Moth
ers are likely to be dead in this case —
sisters fond of society, etc. She goes
herself to a doctor, gets some medi
cine and takes it. This she does until
she is obliged to give up. Even then
the self absorbed step-mother and
sisters do not pay her much atten
tion. True the doctor is sent for, but
no one takes the matter in hand —the
step or unnatural mother says her
hands are so full that she cannot be
in the sick room all the time —one
sister says, she is obliged to go to her
music and club and another says, she
has engagements she cannot break;
another pretends to be very affection
ate and sits by the side of the fever
ish sister reading a charming book
and forgets to give the medicine at
the right time or is somewhat fretted
when the sick one wants ice. “I'll
make a pitcher of ice water, it is so
much trouble to crack ice so often” —
but the doctor prescribed ice instead
of water. The untrained cook is left
to prepare the nourishment and she
brings in a waiter full of course greasy
food as though she were going to the
pig pen to feed the fattening hog.
Thus the poor sick one is neglected
and dies. Sometimes, however, there
are loving devoted ones, but they are
not strong enough to bear the con
stant watching and care or maybe
they are ignorant. A good doctor
looks to all of these matters and when
he sees nurses are deficient he hires
some or gets reliable persons to as
sist, but every good doctor cannot do
this even. Contributed.
Wttb Our Correspondents
MY FLOWERS.
My home is surrounded by a grove
of oak trees —fine for shade and for
the children to play under, but its al
most useless to try to grow roses, an
nuals, etc., under them. I know for
I have tried it. And so as I want
flowers and still more flowers, I have
had a garden built purposely for them
just outside the trees and now I can
dig and plant to my hearts content
with the satisfaction of knowing that
they will grow and bloom.
I have in bloom now, Oct. 8, roses
—above all other flowers give me my
roses —the finest I have being Paul
Neyron and White Maman Cochet,
dahlias, phlox, petunias, marigolds,
touch-me-nots, zinnias, cannas, ver
bena, dianthus, coxcomb, quantities of
cosmos just now in full bloom and
rows of chrysanthemums in full bud
to brighten the late autumn days.
Among the flowers which have
bloomed earlier is a row of hardy
phlox, which every one ought to plant,
it is so beautiful, the old time “sil
ver moss” —portulaca they call it now,
asters, lilies, the finest of which Lili
um Auratum, Japanese sunflowers,
and great fluffy poppies of several
shades of,red, lots of the sweet pink
pinks which bloom in May, snow-on
the mountain, and some Japanese
morning glories on the fence. I have
planted some bunches of yellow Jes
samine by the fence —ordered from
that fair Florida Mother Meb loves so
much. Also a red and yellow wood
bine brought from the woods. I have
great bunches of bear grass in my
yard brought from a nearby moun
tain, honey-suckles, a small flowered
yellow jessamine, blooming before the
leaves comes, also the sweet jessa
mine with white star-shaped flowers,
lilacs, snow-balls, bridal wreath, gold
en-bells, and by my front piazza is a
Kudzu vine, a Wistaria and at the
corner a pink climbing rose which
blooms only in the spring, as this class
of roses will grow where the ever
bloomers won’t. I have hyacinths, tu
lips, narcissus, crocuses, etc., for early
spring blooming, also blue and white
violets.
A few days ago 1 went with the
children for a ramble through the
woods, carrying buckets and baskets
and we came back loaded with mus
cadines and picked off the grapes and
flowers. I made jelly out of the mus
cadines and picked off the grapes nad
put in jars, a layer of grapes then a
layer of sugar—without cooking —and
next winter they will be delicious.
Yours florally,
GYPSY OF SQUTH CAROLINA.
❖ *
UP THE CLUMBERLAND MOUN
TAIN.
The powerful but spiteful little en
gine grappled our train and threaded
its sinuous way up the crest of the
mountain. Up and up we go, often on
a grade of 180 feet to the mile. This
road was built by Engineer Tracy,
from whom "Tracy City” was named.
The Sawannee Coal 1 Company wanted
to develop its mines on the top of this
remarkable range of mountains, get
its coal down to the valley on the line
line of the N. C. R. R. and sent for
Tracy, who had had experience among
the mountains of Peru. In 1859 when
I first went over the road, the train
was drawn by the engine “Gen. Mos
quera,” the name of a president of
Peru, and father-in-law of Mr. Tracy.
Up and on we go through forests
clothed in autumnal livery and flaming
like a cathedral window.
“Red globes of autumn strew the sod,
The bannered woods bear crimson
shields,
The aster and the golden rod
Deck all the fields.”
Scarlet sumac plumes, the yellow,
star-leaved sweet gum, the glistening
red pepperidge, the rich brokn. oak,
and the dark green pine and hemlock
glorify the scene, while enormous
masses of rock, hurled down from
the beetling cliffs above, stand grey
and solemn along the track.
On the edge of a precipice the train
halts, and a vast, billowy landscape
spreads out before us, on the farther
end of which the red sun is plunging
into a sea of amethyst. Tn the lovely
FOR INDIGESTION
Take Horsford’s Acid Phosphate
Half teaspoonful in water before meals rec
ommended as grateful relief from distress
after eating.
