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10 The young moon hides behind a drift ing cloud — The stars shine dimly through vast, misty space; The earth, enwrapt in midnight’s gloomy shroud, Turns slowly in its place. Upon its shadowed surface mountains loom, And broad plains stretch in ghostly “This home is dedicated to good will. It grew out of love. The two heads of this household were called together by a power higher than they. To its decree they are obed ient. Every tone of the voice, every thought of their being, is subdued to that service. They desire to be worthy of their high calling; as ministers of that grace they know their peace will go unbroken only for a little time, and often they sus pect that the time will be more short than their anxijous hope. They cannot permit as much as one hour of that brief unity to be touched by scorn or malice. The world’s judgment has lost its sting inside this door. Those who come seeking to continue the har mony which these two have are ever welcome. The rich are wel come, so they come simple. The poor I think it highly probable that the doctors of those days did kill more than they cured. For with us in the darker corners of Dixie, the old-fash ioned methods of physicking still lin gered. And oh, the cruelly murder ous absurdity of these methods. The heroic practice for fever in the ma larial regions was to dose with calo mel until one was thoroughly staurat ed. When the gums became spongy and bleeding, and the teeth loose, it was time to lessen the dose or blue pill of calomel straight. I have seen so many women and young girls otherwise fair to see, cruelly disfigur ed by having a nose eaten off, the lower jaw-bone gone entirely, the pal ate eaten away, or all the teeth gone through calomel or “blue pill.” Then there was the horribl mix tur given to every patient of jalap and rhubarb, taken in molasses. Quinine was given in coffee —half a tea-cupful at a dose; and castor oil THE SPREAD OF TYPHOID FEVER and other infectious diseases to other mem bers of the family and to neighbors ran be safely prevented by dissolving a tea spoonful of Tyree’s Antiseptic Powder in two teacupsful of boiling water, adding this to each stool and keeping stools pro tected from flies. A similar solution In tepid water makes a grateful sanitary sponge bath for the patient. Get a 26c box from any drug store (or by mall). If not pleased return the empty box and get your money back. J. 8. Tyree, Chemist, Washington, D. C. Mr. Tyree will mail a liberal sample es his powder and full di rections, free, to any who write mention ing this paper. THE HOUSEHOLD A DEPARTMENT OF EXPRESSION FOR THOSE WHO FEEL AND THINK. NIGHT By Sarah A. Heinzerling MOTTO FOR A HOME RANDOM SKETCHES THE DOCTOR OF THE FIFTIES. By MARY E. BRYAN. THE GOLDEN AGE FOR WEEK OF OCT. 23 lengths away— Deep rivers flow and mighty oceans boom And fling aloft their spray. The man, the heir of all this wonder ous world, Forgets the Giver and lives out his days In foolishness until his soul is hurled Where none may serve or praise. are welcome, for they have already learned frendliness through buffet ing. Youth is welcome, for it brings the joy which these two would learn. Age is welcome, for it would teach tenderness.” Looking over my scrap book clip pings I found this splendid “Motto for a Home” that I think just at this time is well worth passing on to my “neigh bor.” I trust you will think the same thing, and pass it on into some home that is not so founded, for out of such homes will come the solution of the vexing social, religious and political questions that are stirring our coun try today. Be sure to read Dr. Stahl’s article on “The Death of Miss National Mod esty,” page 13 and pass it on also. Remember, we want your thoughts and heart interest, in our department. L. M. also by the half cupful. The pills were immense, bitter boluses, formidable to look at, and seeming in your throat the size of a billiard ball. The mere thought of swallowing these nauseous mixtures in such quantities was so sickening to 1 a nervous, deli cate child that it often produced con vulsions. If the disease were at all serious or obscure, out came the thumb-lancet, a vein was pierced, and the patient watched his life blood flowing away, and felt his strength ebbing with it. Or the terrible fly-blister was spread and applied, or the patient was covered with mustard plasters so big that one involuntary thought of poor Hood’s pathetic jest as the huge plas ter was applied to his emaciated chest: “Seems to me, doctor, it is a great deal of mustard to so little meat.” But worse than jalap, lancet, and blister in those days was the ban upon cold water and fresh air. On no account must the patient drink as much water as he wanted, while cold water a s well as fresh air was death. Water was administered to the pa tient by the spoonful, the “chill” be ing first taken off it by having a piece of hot toast cr a live coal droppedin to it. Often have I seen the poor, crisped, blackened, fevered lips ea gerly taking the scant spoonful of tepid water, and murmuring: “Good! good! But, oh, if it was only cold.” I think I saved my own life once by breaking the rule of nurse and doctor in this respect, and drinking my fill of cold water. It is a piece of deception I have never confessed un til this monent. I had “pernicious fever”, I think they called it. Inward fire I knew it was. Water, water, was my one de sire. “Give me one drink of cold water and let me die!” I cried. And in the transport of delirium they say I raved of cool springs and shaded rivers, and of the cold sweet snows and green icebergs of the arctic re gions I had been reading about in Dr. Kane’s Polar Expedition. But a few spoonfuls of water with the chill taken off was all I got for my pleadings. In the middle of the hot sultry night I woke from a short respite of sleep, burning up. gasping, lips and tongue dry a s Sahara’s desert. I raised my head and looked around The nurse was nodding in her arm chair. The wild resolve seized me to reach the well, it was just outside the hall door, only a few yards away from where I lay parched with thirst Desperation and fever gave me ■strength. I crept from the bed and tottered to the door. How I managed to get out to the well only my guard ian angel knows, but I did get there and I found “The old oaken bucket, the mossy rimmed bucket,” nearly brimmed with cold water. How I plunged my hot lips into it, how I drank and drank, until the fire within seemed all quenched, and I felt a delicious peace and ease stand ing there under the summer stars in the sweet, dewy night, and how I crept back to bed and fell into such a refreshing dreamless sleep, and woke so much better, the crisis all passed; all this I remember as though it were yesterday. And old Doctor Mclntosh believed my sudden change for the better was all owing to his prescriptions and his rules being carried out. I knew better, but I never told un til now. “A woman always tells on herself sooner or later,” says the cyni cal French proverb. FICKLE FASHION Fashion is a fickle goddess. There are always those who are ready to follow every change, and eager to adopt the extremes; while there are those ready to keep up but are ever between the extremes —sensible ones who know it is better thus to be than to attract attention by being too far behind. Then there are those who are shocked at Dame Fashion’s sud den changes, and who cannot become accustomed to them. Some seem to be following Diana in the chase with their few garments and slit skirts. Diana was noted for her chastity. We hope these follow ers are like her in this respect. Some followers of the extreme fashions look very much like loons on cold days and evenings with their thin clothing, short skirts, part of the body bare and thin shoes and hosiery. The present styles are on an extreme in scantiness. Take some old fashion plates of fifty years ago where large hoop skirts were worn and dreses were flounced to the waist and we laugh at the absurd contrast between the fashions then and now.. Then at a later date large bustles and elabor ately looped overskirts, and later still, trails, large sleeves and full skirts show the absurdity of foolish fashions. There was once a good woman who cared so little for dress that her friends began talking about how much she needed a new black dress she was a widow with plenty means to get what she needed. One friend went to her and suggested that she buy a new dress. “I do need a new dress,” she replied, “let me see how long I have worn this? Yes, quite a number of years, and really it is very much soiled and getting brown, but I just hadn’t thought about it.” She was indeed an exception of a woman and rather on an extreme. While such a case as the above is very rare, there are many who are always ready for change and sacrifice fine dress in order to nave something new and in the latest styles. There are ways to dispose of sec ond hand clothing and it is commend able for the rich to do this. Os course they must keep up in their circle else they will appear odd or stingy. Some rich people, however, are econ omical and have fine clothing re modeled. We of the South have the poor at our doors who are ever ready to take “what you min’ to gimme” for any little service. “Miss, I think you done wore that dress long enough now, so giv’ it ter me an’ I’ll sweep your yard or clean up your kitchen.” So the dress goes and a charity is done by the disposal. What is the use of having closets and wardrobes full of old garments, hats, etc., when they would help the poor by giving them out? New things are better enjoyed. They need not be in the ex treme, absurd height of style, but something fresh and modest is al ways to be desired —and again good is done to our merchants by buying what they have to sell. MUDA HETNUR. ARE YOU A MURDERER? That sounds hard, doesn’t it? But deny it. You are sure that you are not a murderer. It rouses your an ger to even have one think it nec essary to ask you such a foolish question. But listen to this. A while ago I received from a little fifteen-year-old girl who lives out West, a letter in which she told me of ill-health of her mother. “She is getting better every day, but she would get better faster if the fool women that came in did not al ways tell her that she ‘looked like a ghost,’ or ‘you look like a dead per son.* Mrs. Northam came in yester day and told her she was looking fin® and that one could see that the walks in the open air were doing her a world of good. After Mrs. Northam left, mother sang and laughed and A WOMAN’S APPEAL. To all knowing sufferers of rheumatism, whether muscular or of the joints, sciati ca, In mb ago a, backache, pains In the kid neys or neuralgia pains, to write to her for a home treatment which has repeated ly cured all of these tortures. She feels It her duty to send It to all sufferers FREE. You cure yourself at home as thousands will testify—no change of climate being necessary. Thia simple discovery banish es uric acid from the blood, loosens the stiffened joints, purifies the bleod, brightens the eyes, giving elasticity and tone to the whole system. If the above interests you, for proof hddress Mrs. M. Summers, Box 576, South Bend, Ind.