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THE HOUSEWIFE’S SONG
I'm tired of walking the daily round
On the rugged road of Duty;
I long to run in the sunlit fields
Os Pleasure, Ease and Beauty.
But it seems for me the hours all bring
Some thankless task of serving,
From which I can never find away
Os honestly, rightly swerving.
Must nights and morning be always
spent
In cooking and washing dishes,
For people who show but slight regard
For either my wants or wishes?
Is my only sceptre to be a broom —
My flag, a dust cloth, waving?
Is the only problem for me to solve
A question of household saving?
From work that dulls both heart and
brain
We are so glad to have your splen
id letter “Elyod,” or Sadie Doyle, and
appreciate, I assure you, your special
appeal to the Householders. No one
knew 7 better than I how much Mrs.
Bryan loved this department because
it gave her constantly an opportunity
to cheer those w r ho needed “a bit of
heartening up,” to think with those
w T ho had problems to solve and to
urge on to the best possible use what
ever talent God had blessed each mem
ber of her Household family with. And
she loved and fitted into The Golden
Age work because these were a great
part of its foundation purposes. With
all her heart she gave the work the
EXIT “ELYOD”—ENTER SADIE
DOYLE.
Dear Household:
How kindly the eyes of our mater
looked out for a full month after her
going away on the page she graced
with her brain gold! How I would
that her mantle might fall on me!
Well I remember when yet a school
girl I gloried that she should put my
junior letter on the page of those who
feel and think.
She asked the true meaning of this
life, and she lived it nobly, wholly
and well.
Let us make this page to live as
she would have it —glowing with the
humane messages from women and
men whom her life has ennobled.
We would not call our Mary Mother
dead, for she doth live wherever hei
charges dwell. From tumult, soul-tire
brain-rack she hath fled whence these
passions fall. O Golden Age! Well
mayst thou proudly boast, a woman
who has lived gave thee thy life. She
TRY THIS FOR PAINFUL. AND ACHING
FEET.
Get a twenty-five cent box of Tyree’s
Antiseptic Powder from any drug store or
direct from tlie manufacturer, sprinkle
some into the shoes or stockings, or dilute
strongly with water. Apply morning and
night. This will reduce any swelling, al
lay pain and stop the odor of perspiration.
Pleasing and gratifying. Try it and if
not pleased, return the empty box and tret
your money back. J. S. Tyree, Chemist.
Washington. D. C. Mr. Tyree will send a
liberal, free sample of his powder and full
directions free to any who write mention
ing this paper.
THE HOUSEHOLD
A DEPARTMENT OF EXPRESSION FOR THOSE WHO FEEL AND THINK.
By Sarah A. Heinzerling.
Am I never to And digression,
Or be permitted a chance to give
The dreams of my soul expression?
Well, maybe the dreams are not worth
while,
And are better left unspoken,
And better a heart that is dulled by
work
Than one that is crushed and
broken.
And better a mind that is slow to
think,
If it keeps to the path of Duty,
Than one that foolishly roams abroad
In the fields of Ease and Beauty.
Though body and mind and heart all
fail
Under stress of hard endeavor,
The soul so tried shall surely shine
With a brighter glow, forever.
CHAT
THE GOLDEN AGE FOR WEEK OF AUG. 21
best that was in her, thus calling out
the best in those she gathered about
her, and to such we would make our
call and our welcome not only to
those of the old regime, but to our
readers everywhere who have thought
they would like to have the world
know about, or which they feel the
rushing, hurrying throng need to
make them think.
We are giving the continuation of
Mrs. Bryan’s “Random Sketches” this
w r eek and will continue to run these
for some little time.
Remember, we welcome you to The
Golden Age Household. L. M.
gave theq of life’s aftermath the
most. This all the more shall make
her haven bright, with joys replete.
And all shall of her say, we pay
thee homage mater kind and true.
Thou hast most faithful been to e’er
allay, the reeking winds that oft our
lives review. O, mother, blest thy
memory to earth’s men, when such as
thou hast lived, no dying then.
The Golden Age is truly strong and
young in life. Give us such a staff
behind every journal in the land, and
soon we’ll view, and then we’ll gain
the accessible summits of civic right
eousness.
She knew me as “Elyod.” Thence
forward I am,
SADIE DOYLE.
Thomasville, Ala.
IT MAKES US FRIENDS.
Dear Little Mother: The Golden
Age has just come to my rural box
in its neat wrapper to gladden my old
heart today. Maybe I will spoil it all
to say my “old heart,” many of us do
not want to admit that we are growing
old because the world loses interest
in us when we cease to be young, but
this gives all the greater reason why
I want to come into the cheerful,
happy group of The Household. He
who writes and runs away may live to
write another day, though it gets into
the waste basket. I have just written
a little talk for the Baptist Courier
of South Carolina about “Dignity,”
Presently the black curtain parted,
and out came first a well-dressed, fine
ly formed woman, with a thick gauze
veil over her face. She was evidently
a consulter of the oracle, for she
glided out of the room without a word.
There came after her a strange-look
ing figure —small, humpbacked, with a
weird little face of which you could
note nothing except a pair of very
large light-gray eyes and a perfect
mane of iron-gray hair that fell over
her shoulders, partly concealing the
hump.
She beckoned my friend to come
with her behind the curtain. She
seemed to divine, somehow, that she
and not I was the one who wanted
her offices. They disappeared behind
the purple drapery, and I was left
alone.
Alone I did not remain. There soon
came a pull upon the door-knocker,
and the door again mysteriously open
ed. I think there was some wire ar
rangement connecting it with the re
gion behind the curtain. This time a
man entered —a quiet, respectable,
1 nsiness-like looking personage. He
glanced at me, and then walked to the
window, got behind tne curtain, and
stood strumming on the glass. Appar
ently he did not want to be scrutin
ized. He was ashamed to have it
known that he consulted a fortune
teller. Probably he had suffered a
loss in his establishment, and had
come to find out where the blame lay.
The door opened again, this time to
admit a girl, very young, very pretty,
so far as could be seen through her
veil. She looked pale, and tier lingers
nervously opened and shut her porte
monnaie as she sat waiting. Some as-
for those great folks who are so
grand that they cannot condescend to
read the children’s column, “The Lit
tle Ones” of The Household, whom
Burns calls the “Un-Co-Good,” to those
who never stop on the street to take
the hand of a little child, who never
have time to paint a smile on their
glorified features for them, or to cheer
a heart that may be sad; no time to
cast a ray of sunshine —those little
things that make us feel younger and
happier always. Even the writing
made me almost forget that 1 was only
a “little old baldheaded man.
If any of the Household readers
ever see the Baptist Courier and “Un
cle Mett’s” little stories on “The Lit
tie One’s” page, then I am introduced
without further ads.
My old heart is with the Golden
Age family, and when I saw some
weeks ago that our dear Mrs. Bryan
was critically ill, the week passed
with sad forebodings. I feared to see
the next paper and as I read it the
tears came and since then there has
been a sorrow that has lingered. Some
time later I want to tell you how I
learned to know and to esteem very
highly that great heart, that wonder
fully bright intellect which God gave
her. How glorious to be such a
friend as she was.
t am =orrv that the excessive heat
and strain have been too much for
RANDOM SKETCHES
MARY E. BRYAN.
(Continued from last week.)
fair of the heart brought her here I
was sure.
I heard still another step on the
stairs, but at this moment my friend
came out, and the sorceress appeared
behind her and beckoned to thi man
at the window.
We met the last comer outside the
door. A seedy-looking, lank individ
ual, with a pasty, unshaven face and
a wild gleam in his eye.
“A crank of the first water,” I said.
“Either an anarchist or a dreamy dab
bler in art or literature. He has a
wild idea of trying his luck in a stock
speculation, and comes to consult
Madame Wye about it.”
“But tell me w 7 hat information did
she give about the ring?”
My friend looked grave.
“I hate to tell you,” she said. “It
seems unkind and even dreadful. She
says it was stolen from my finger
while I w r as asleep, by a person room
ing next me, a woman w T ith light hair
and black eyes, who sent it to a friend
in Philadelphia to be sold or pawned.
Now there is just such a woman occu
pying the room next to mine, and I do
remember that I first missed the ring
one day after I had fallen asleep on
the lounge with my door half open.
But my neighbor is a sweet, high-ton
ed lady who gets a good salary, be
longs to the church and is a friend of
mine—nursed me devotedly when I
was sick last summer. It is perfectly
dreadful to suspect her of stealing my
ring. I just won’t do it.”
But she did, nevertheless.
She tried not to, but the shadow of
suspicion fell between the two friends,
and has never been lifted. I don’t be
lieve the light-haired lady had any-
“Little Mother.” May she soon be
with us again. Bless the baby, our
“Golden Age Baby.” Os course, she
must be beautiful, since she is red
headed. “Making desperate efforts to
converse,” did you say? Os course,
for
“Nature seemed partial to his sex,
When he made man the strongest,
In justice then, to make amends
Made woman’s tongue the longest.”
I live out in the conn’ ’ and when
I go to town and meet our pastor, he
always asks, “Did you bring a Gol
den Age. It helps me with my ser
mons.” When I handed him the one
about those seven speeches the editor
made in one day, he slapped me on
the back and said: “Pshaw says he
is ‘agin licker,’ and so am I.”
The Golden Age is worth the price
to me just to see the preacher en
joy it. It makes us good friends.
Remember our department will be
what we make it.
M. MELLICHAMP.
PILES CURED AT HOME BY NEW AB
SORPTION METHOD.
If you suffer from bleeding, itching,
blind or protruding Piles, send me your
address and I will tell you how to cure
yourself at home by the new absorption
treatment; and will also send some of this
home treatment free for trial, with refer
ences from your own locality if requested.
Immediate relief and permanent curcj as
•tured. Send no money, but tell other's of
fliis offer Write today to Mrs M- Sinn
tners. Box 576. South Bend. Ind