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Come, little boy, with the sleepy eyes!
The stars are up and the curtains
down;
It is dark outside —it is time to ride —
And ’tis time we started for Slumber
Town!
Come, little boy, with the flaxen locks,
And the pansy eyes and the pale bed
gown,
Your toys will keep ’till another day,
So haste! and we’ll journey to Slum
ber Town.
Come, little son, it is time to go,
The clock in the corner seems to
frown;
The steed is steady, and safe and slow,
And sure to take you to Slumber
Town.
See! your playthings are weary, quite,
With all of the daylight things they do;
ENTER 1913.
The New Year has slipped across
the threshold of our lives. Let us meet
him hopefully. Cares and griefs there
are —and always will be —but it is the
wiser way to look for the shine behind
the cloud; to gather small pleasures
and be glad of what life gives of love
and kindness and friendship.
After all, it is a beautiful world, per
ennially young, renewing its youth and
freshness with the kiss of the sun
after its seeming death in the icy
arms of winter.
But the people who live on it, are
they fitting themselves to enjoy the
beautiful world, or are they degenerat
ing? Are they shrinking morally and
physically as the years go by? We
often hear it remarked, with a doleful
shake of the head, “The world is grow
ing worse.” Do not believe it. Physi
cally, the race is growing better. Peo
ple are stronger, women particularly,
and live longer. The latest census
showed how much the life limit had
advanced, a result which is due to the
incessant advocacy of fresh air in the
house, winter as well as summer, tem
perance, self-control, exercise and sim
ple nourishing diet.
The world grows better intellectual
ly and morally. Charity—(Love)—is
spreading her white wings more
broadly. The sense of brotherhood is
permeating mankind more deeply.
“Look,” you protest, “at the crimes
and wrong doings which the news
papers proclaim every day under flam
ing headlines.”
Well, these are not so numerous,
considering how thickly our country
is peopled, and with what a long, fine
broom the industrious reporter sweeps
the utmost corners of the globe for
news —the more sensational the news
the more acceptable it is.
In proportion to the population, the
crimes of today are at a minimum,
compared with the crime-record of the
so called “good old days,” when there
were no telegraph lines to flash the
news across the world, and no morn
ing and evening papers to array evil
doings in startling capitals and double
heads.
Crime and suffering are here in
plenty, and wherever these exist law
and charity are also there to check
THE HOUSEHOLD
The Journey
By ARTHUR GOODENOUGH.
CHA T
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think
For the little cloth dog is tired to
night,
And the sawdust sailor is weary, too.
Rupert, my dearest, away! away!
Just as we are we will take our flight;
O’er roads that nobody rides by day
And only the children know by night!
Papa will hold you—you can not fall!
The Path of Dreams is the one we’ll
go;
The distance is nothing great at all,
And you will be there before you
know!
Droop, little lids, over tired eyes
Droop, little head, on the white bed
gown!
We have reached the gate—but the
hour is late,
So tonight we’ll tarry in Slumber
Town!
them, the one with the strong hand
of force, the other with the gentle
hand of persuasion and helpfulness.
It has been found that the two great
means of checking crime at its foun
tain head are education and work. In
dustrial schools are being established
everywhere, and made attractive and
self-supporting. Mothers are learn
ing that to give their children the
habit of work while they are young, is
to save them, in great measure, from
the temptation of wrong-doing. Al
ways idleness and temptation come
hand in hand.
Three Kinds of Mothers.
Speaking of mothers, it was asked
at a Mothers’ Club meeting recently,
what kind of mother does most harm
to her children? It was agreed that
the answer should be the one who
loses the confidence of her children.
The mother who tries to control by
promises and threats, promises that
the children soon discover are broken,
and threats that are never carried out,
that really mean nothing as the chil
dren quickly find out. Such methods
are sure to result with children in loss
of respect for parent, whose word is
so little to be depended on.
The nagging mother is one who
should also change her tactics with
the advent of the New Year. It is
said that a nagging mother, who was
unconscious how strong the habit had
grown upon her, was broken of it final
ly by overearing her two small chil
dren imitating her talk, as they play
ed with their dolls.
“I am just going to spank Elsie, for
getting that smut on her dress,” said
little Helen. “I shant scold her and
nag her. I think nagging is just the
meanest way to punish. It makes you
feel like you’d rather be dead.”
The mother who deceives her chil
dren and invents falsehoods to keep
them from doing what she objects to,
is laying a foundation in their build
ing of future deceit and dishonesty,
sure to result in a bad character.
The weak mother, whose appeal to
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Beeson, President.
The Golden Age for January 9, 1913.
her children is comprised in the one
word, “Don’t,” uttered fifty times a
day, will fail to have any good influ
ence over her children. They come
to notice this continued “Don’t” no
more than they do the ticking of the
clock.
It is amazing how speedily these
youngsters learn to gauge their par
ents’ dispositions and temperaments
and find out how they may circum
vent them and secure their own way.
The Chinese Way.
Letters, dozens of them, are on my
desk this bright morning. Some ask
ing questions of the Household Edi
tor.
Meta, a girl, says she heard some
men, one of them a doctor, talking at
a party, about the Chinese method
of employing doctors. “I could not
understand what they meant,” she
says. “Will you please tell me?”
The Chinese, wise folks that they
are, do not pay a physician to cure
them when they are sick; they employ
him at so much a year to keep them
well. Don’t you think this plan is
best? You remember the old saying
about the unwisdom of locking the
stable door after the horse has been
stolen, instead of before. Well, many
of us do not call in the doctor until
our health is gone. We spray our
fruit trees before the curculio gets
in its work; we have our cows inspect
ed; we scale and spray our poultry
houses, but we use no before hand
measures to ward off disease from our
bodies. There is now a pretty gen
eral demand for the doctor as a home
and family inspector, visiting the
household once every month or two, to
examine the physical condition of the
members and suggest preventive meas
ures —sanitary, physical or dietary,
that may keep the family in health.
This practice would save many a large
doctor’s bill ancT many a precious life.
No Right Over Her Own Property.
Isabel S., of Texas, says: “I have
married a second time. I have some
real estate property, two small houses,
which I rent. Since my marriage, my
husband collects these rents and
spends the money. Can I not prevent
his doing this? I do not know the
laws of Texas. i am a native of
Georgia, and have been here only
about three years.”
A married woman in Texas can not
exercise control over her seperate
property without her husband’s per
mission. He can lease or rent her
real estate and collect all rents there
for and use the money as he pleases.
The law is unjust, and efforts are be
ing made by prominent Texas women,
aided by several eminent jurists, to
annul it. It may be that they will
soon succeed in this. Men have been
known to sell the jewelry and clothes
of their wives and squander- the
money.
The Cave Man.
D. L. O. writes an interesting let
ter concerning the discovery in his
county (in Tennessee) of fossil re
mains of the pigmy, prehistoric men of
which Egbert Craddock writes in her
novels of the Tennessee mountains.
He asks if bones of the “missing link”
between men and the ape have not
been discovered in caves. “I have
somewhere read that these cave men
were hairy. How is this known to be
true?” he asks.
That the cave men were hairy is
shown by pictures of themselves cut
on horn and bone, but their skulls do
not show the resemblance to the ape,
which would lead them to be regard
ed as missing links. Even the lowest
savage and the oldest fossil human
skull have a brain capacity larger in
proportion than the highest ape. Ev
en advanced thinkers now doubt the
Darwin theory of evolution so far as
man is concerned, and believe that he
was a distinct creation.
That Woman Who Makes Fifty Thou
sand Dollars a Year.
I made my Chat too long last week,
being so much interested in the Corn
Club boys —so it was cut short right
where I began to tell you about Mrs.
Sarah Taylor, of Bowling Green, Ky.,
who makes fifty thousand dollars a
year.
“She doesn’t surely get this as a
salary?” some one asked.
No, indeed; nobody but the Presi
dent receives such a salary as this.
She makes all the money through a
business which she has built up her
self with no capital and no one to use
influence in her behalf.
She built it up with the needle —
woman’s own implement, and she was
a tiny architect, too—almost as small
as Mollie Willis. She weighs only
eighty pounds, but there is a whole lot
of her that is not ponderable—vim and
enterprise and initiative.
She did not go out of her own town
—a comparatively small town, at a dis
tance from the city. She built up
her business right where she had lived
all her life. She had fine taste, and an
intuitive knack for designing and
making pretty dresses. She began
on a small scale, in her own house,
with two assistants. Now, she has
one of the finest factories in the Uni
ted States, lit by electricity and all the
machines run by the same swift pow
er. Four hundred girls attend to
these busy machines, and they do
their work under the best modern con
ditions, in airy, well-lighted and warm
ed rooms, with rest room and dressing
room at hand.
Mrs. Taylor is a past mistress in the 1
art of advertising and also of systema
tizing her business. She buys cloth and
trimmings by the wholesale in New
York, the merchants sending their
samples to her in the hotel. She
makes trips to London, Paris and
Vienna, to get new ideas. Her
dresses and other garments are sent
all over the United States. Her bill
for trimmings, laces, braids, linings,
buttons, often aggregates more than a
a hundred thousand dollars.
The lesson of this woman’s success
for her sister women is just this: Try
to create a business where you are.
Don’t look away in restless discontent
to the big cities. She is a fragile
little woman, and she built up a for
tune with that same old implement
that came in when Eve sewed her leaf
kimona with a thorn and a thread of
bark fibre. With courage, energy and
enterprise, a woman can usually make
a living in her own neighborhood, if
not with the needle, then with some
other form of industry.
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