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THR ^OtTTH
HOUSEHOItD and WOPS’S KINGDOM
“ Lovest Thou Me?”
Have you looked for my sheep in the desert.
That Is barren, fruitless and lone '?
The-e have strayed afar from green pastures,
And long to be rescued, brought home.
Have vou taken their hands, my children.
And’shown them a better way.
That loads from the paths of folly and sin .
Do you oft for these poor weak ones pray ?
You say “Thou knowest I love thee.
Great love means great sacrifice.
Then go work to-day in my vineyard.
Go tell these poor lost ones of Christ.
Have you given the cup of cold water
In mv name to some thirsty one ?
“What you for these least ones, my brethren.
Also unto me ye have done."
Sea rev. DOLORES.
Because as one of the great army of
the women of the future whose office
will be the service ol' humanity, and
the solving the problem of human life,
! she would have greater facilities with- j
in her reach to aid her in hor work J
than in any other field of human en- <
deavor.
* * *
I would say to her as I now do to all |
who are medi ating such a career, fear ^ re away . it is distasteful to discuss
a subject that has given so
When I reflected on the above, I felt
ashamed of myself and resolved then
and there to “throw it off,” to leave
these cares behind me.
“There ! s a Divinity that shapes our ends—
Rough hew them as we may?’
In spite of all our efforts we some
times find that the hand of fate is
doing more for us than we can do for
ourselves.
The agnostic acknowledges this, and
attributes it to the Great First Cause,
the Unknown. But did you ever know
the real difference between resolving
to do a thing and doing it? Between
resolution and action?
To be cheerful under the most try
ing circumstances is almost impos
sible; but all can learn to drive dull
a
T HE top o* the season to each one-
1 hope that your new year opened
auspiciously, and that it may continue
thus throughout 1>44. With the be
ginning of this year many of us com
mence life under far different circum
stances from those of January, 1S93.
If they are pleasanter let us be thank
ful and try to do as much for some
fellow worker. If they are not as
pleasant, then we must cherish the
hope that the inconvenience is tempo
rary and that things will brighten
after awhile.
* * *
I X my varied experience I have found
very few lives without sorrow. The
thing we call sorrow is as different
from our * neighbor’s as the prick of a
rose thorn from the sting of the ser
pent’s tooth. But each sufferer may
know nothing of the other's hurt and
bewail their own sad fate. Death
may come to the one and a scar may
result from the other—it is the excep
tional sorrow that kills. Patience is
gentle handed. Sorrow may leave if
scar that is tender and the best way is
to touch it as softly' as possible, if it
must be touched at all.
W E are queer compounds, and I
have seen people tell fish (?)
stories until they really believed the
story. Then why not whisper to your
heart that your life is as pleasant as
your circumstances will justify and be
content. I admit that, to many, it
may be hard to cheat (?) your heart,
but does not the reward justify it?
But I don’t think that “cheat” is the
right word
school: they may not love to study;
few of them persevere day in and day
out without being told that they are
‘‘eating their white bread.” We are
but “children of a larger growth,” and
we must school our hearts to lessons
of submission and contentment.
not, even though your lot be
the i t personal journalist, even though
your brain, children, may be given to
others and attributed to the most un
worthy, while you may bear the re
proach of having given false utter
ances. unworthy thoughts, ba-e coun
sels, and dangerous examples to the
world of readers who gain the largest
part of their information and food for
thought from the dai'y press.
* * *
I would say to my daughter, as I
now do to you. young reader of these
words : Of all the cru-1 monopolies of
this age of unscrupulous syndicates for
purposes of aggrandisement of th-
few—the shrewd, ignorant few, a f the
expense of ti e many, but par icu’arly
the gifted ones among the many, whose
talents do not lie in the direction of
the accumulation of the gold that per-
isheth, the monopoly of the great news
paper is the cruvlist.
* * *
But, for all that, remember that the
work you are called to perform, if con-
scentiously done, will bring its own
reward, all the richer,all the more glo
rious for the difficulties overcome, the
dangers which tncompassed you, the
disasters which befell, after every
Gethsemane, alter every Judas kDs of
betrayal, after every journey to Cal
vary, every crucifixion, every burial in
the garden, there surely comes a
resurrection. ‘We call our sorrows
destiny, but ought rather to name our ; leaving bare and bleak the waste places
- * • - over w hich beauty once cast its
glamour.
much
trouble to a whole nation
For the panic is not confined to any
one portion of the United States, but
takes in the wnole of America. We
must be patient and truthful. It is
not so bad as it was just after the war.
Besides I find that half our troubles
are purely imaginary.
A great number of us have lived
without work, and now that we must
do something it hurts us.
If we have nothing to comfort us
but the dollars and cents we reap daily
it is difficult to be cheerful. The
miserly will naturally fret and worry.
But this financial distress is some
thing that all can tide over. Other
things are worse—the bereavement of
parents and other loved ones!
Let us not bring gray hairs and
wrinkles upon us before the time.
Cordially,
Irma.
Whence 1 Whither! How!
Dear Members of the Household:—
Summer has waxed and waned since
last I was in your midst. Oh! how
fast time flies! How surely, how
swiftly, how noiselessly his venomous
tooth knaws away the mile posts of the
years; how soon the eager feet of
youth presses the threshold of age;
how fast the illusions of life fade;
high successes so.’
In this bread winning age, this age
I have never been a pessimist. T have
of the worship of the plutocrat, tins always tried to find the sunny side on
may seem a strange utterance, but
there is for the women of the future,
I hope, a higher destiny, a nobler mis
sion than that of mere materiality,
mere money getting and bread win
ning. And, above all, I base my dear-
j est hopes of the women of the future
upon the work of the army of young
women who are striving to enter the
field of journalism.
* * *
I wish I could live to see every news
paper office in the land equipped with
We seAd“the children to * ful1 complement of women journal
ists on its staff. One-halt, at least, of
the workers on the newspaper of the
future should be the women journalists
ot the future.
* * * •*
Let us all strive to place as many of
our dear girls there as possible. Their
presence will purify the atmosphere of
the press. The more of them that are
in that great work of the present and
the future the better, for they will be
a mutual protection and an aid to eacn
other, and man’s best helper in keeping
this “fretful realm in awe,” in realiz
ing the poet’s dream of “the sleep of
the kindly earth, lapped in Universal
Law.” Emily Verdery-Battey.
D O you think that I am preaching
to you? Xo, I am only giving
you a leaf from my book of observa
tion. Apart from the future that lies
in the grr-at beyond. L fe is pleasant
or unpleasant as we build the citadel
that guards us from the “slings and ar
rows of misfortune.” Faithfully yours,
Mother Hubbard.
The Women of the Future.
If I had a daughter, which alas! I
have not, if she had any newspaper in
stinct, any literary taste, any of that
sacred fire which burns in the artist’s
soul, l would say to her:
“Go, my child, if you wish to follow
in your mother's footsteps, go, and be a
journalist—a newspaper woman. For
in spite of the fact that I have achieved
neither fame nor fortune and have
spent the best twenty years of my life
—of any woman’s life—in the most ex
acting of all occupations, and have
apparently worked in vain, I am sure,
my child, you will stand the chance of
laying up a richer inheritance in that
field of labor now open to women than
in any other.
* * *
Why would I give my daughter this
advice?
Because I know that journalism,
newspaper work, when pursued with
conscientious ardor, with that soulful
purpose which keeps the mind intent
on the higher, nobler possibilities of
our nature, would give my child a bet
ter opportunity for self-education, for
the study of the highest art—the art of
life—of metaphysics, of psychology,
than any other legitimately open to
women.
* * *
Because I knew that from the mo
ment she began her work as a journal
ist my child would, perhaps, ali uncon
sciously, become a student of nature,
of human nature, of human life in all
its developments, that she would learn
or have the chance to learn how to live
so that no change of fortuue,or condi
tion, or surroundings could make her
poor in soul or in mind.
The Effects of the Hard Times.
I wonder if any other woman has
been kept back by the “hard times” as I
have been for the past six months?
‘•When woman wills, slic will,
You may depend ou’t;
And when she wont, she wont,
And there’s an end on it.”
Exceptions only the prove rule, and
such is the case in this instance.
“We are getting used to these hard
times,” 1 heard a woman say to the
cashier of a bank not long ago.
He replied : “Well, I should like to
have you teach me that philosophy.
Tell me the secret of your cheerful
ness.”
Looking af him over her shoulder,
as she walked out, she said :
“Throw it off.”
This set me to thinking of my own
rebellious spirit. I thought of how 1
had let the blue devils take complete
possession of me, and of how 1 had
been driven almost to the verge of in
sanity only the night before, in my
frenzy, raving thus;
“And so the days past! How rest
less and how unsatisfied! Something
muxt be done. As the wind moans and
howls and the rain beats upon the tin
roof, I wonder not that there is such
mad tumult in the contending ele
ments, for this is in keeping with the
pent-up feelings in my poor body. I
have lived so many years in vain!
Years of ambitious longing, hut hamp
ered on every hind. Want of finances
or something, I cannot tell what, has
kept me traitung! waiting ! WAITING !
Almost half my life is past and nothing
done. Life is short, they say. It is
too long for me. 1 have exhausted all
my energies and nothing is left I
Nothing before me and nothing be
hind! All that is worth living lor is
gone—irretrievably gone 1”
the rough road of lif*-, but Clarissa
' Johns' enquiry in one of your last
i issues: “What is existence anyway?”
i found an answering chord in my own
heart, ir, but echoed the question I
have been asking of my own soul for
lo! these many years.
What is this mixture of joy and pain,
this combination of lights and shadows
which w 7 e call life r Where did it be
gin ? Where will it end? Oh! the
dark veil, the mystery that is all about
us. We travel on and say we see, but
we are blind as bats and helpless as
any poor winged thing that ever beat
the air in a restless endeavor to be free.
Does death open the prison door?
does he set the prisoner free ?
I hope so, I pray so. If I knew that
in some rad ant realm, on some glad
day, I should find the joy—the bliss—
the freedom of which I dream, until
the dream lies on my heart a leaden
weight of pain, then I would gladly
bear all the burdens which at times are
so heavy. I would gladly, humbly,
bravely wear the shackles laid on me
by the ruthless taskmasters of toil.
If I knew that somewhere, on some
glad isle of beauty, I should find my
loved and lost, who go from me one by
one our on that unknown journey from
which no outsider ever brings "a mes
sage back, then I could lose the c'asp
of their loving hands and bid them
God speed as the surging waves of the
rive** of death bears them from my
sight on earth forevermore.
But we don't know; we can't see,
we can only hope and wait and pray,
placing our trust in the “Man of
Galilee,” believing that when the last
tattle has been fought. He will place
on our brow the iruerdon of victory.
Dear Householders, we stand on the
threshold of a new year. We cannot
• ift the veil that covers the face of
th s fair, shy stranger; we do not
know whether the chalice he bears in
his hand contains for us joy or sor
row, but .let us go bravely forth to
meet him, prepared to bear any bur
den he lays upon us, thankful for any
gift of blessedness he brings us, ready
to fight the battles of life (ill tne la *t
eiiadel of the enemy has been stormed
and the last outposts of hiseatnp taken,
sure that sometime and somewhere we
will be free forevermore.
Zenohia Chastain.
over an old Indian trail to Millard,
where we took the cars to Sissens, in
California. The scenery on Rogue
river is grand, and a description of it
would compare favorably with any
canyon and mountain scenery in
America; but space and the object of
my letter—a description of the summit
of Shasta—forbids; so I will go on,
and leave the river part for a future
letter.
At Sissens we laid in a three-days’
supply of provisions—our blankets we
had with us—consisting of Bologna
sausage, sardines, cheese, crackers,
bread, beefsteak, baked beans, raw
onions, coffee and tea. We also had a
gunny sack and sheepskin pouch each
and an alpenstock; thus equipped,
making about twenty-five pounds each.
We started about 10 a. m. for what w’e
knew would be a long, hard, rough,
cold tramp. We each had a tin cup
and one bottle of whisky for the
crowd. The slopes of the mountain
are delightful, and the first few 7 miles
were made w T ith comparative ease, and
we all enjoyed it. At noon we stopped
and had a lunch beside a small spring.
The timber consists of the sugar pine,
the yellow pine, the Douglas spruce
and silver fir, oak being scarce. Man-
ganita brush was thick in places and
made the trail a difficult one.
Before reaching the timber line, or
limit, we saw snow in several gulches,
and after passing the timber line we
noticed a difference in the flowers,
they assuming a more brilliant hue.
The camp, w 7 f ere every one w 7 bo makes
the climb stops, was easily found, be
ing on the edge of the timber, and the
trees are cut w 7 ith names, and the
ground is strewn with empty cans,
bottles and remnants of camp life. We
made camp and soon had supper, after
which each one busied himself burning
cork with which to make a blaekamoore
of himself, so that the glare of the sun
upon the snow and ice, the next day,
w'ould not he so severe. Our shoes
were well spiked with hob nails and
long spikes in the heels to prevent
slipping when crossing the glaciers
Everything being prepared, we took a
“niglit cap”and turned in early, for we
had to he on the go by 2 a. m. in order
to make the summit and back there
the same day.
At the appointed time we were ready
for a start, having had breakfast. Our
faces were blacked, and if we were not
at par with even a Georgia minstrel,
then the fault was not ours. Our load
was made as light as possible, leaving
everything but a lunch, canteen of tea,
gunny sack and alpenstock behind
and the bottle—we sailed forth. There
w 7 as no moon, but the stars made it
light enough to see to climb by, and
the route was a plain one. .lust as
soon as we started we got into snow,
and in August, and it lasted until w 7 e
reached the top of the ridge, Thumb
Rock. The timber line is about 10,000
feet high, and the snow, save where
the wind kept it sw^pt away, lies
deep, and it would be impossible to
climb through it without an alpen
stock.
fair to he a bright one xtriti.
in sight, but the smoke from C f° u ^
117^ d,stant
The climb from here led Q
glacier, which was the most d^ r08B a
part of the ascent, upon each
a narrow path was a deep c»m e
but eighteen to thirty inched n ’ wi U»
upon which to walk. Coin.
and close together we found r , gefile
necessary, as ’twas not so peSu n-
whatwewalked with ease and*?^
summit we ^
oftener. It was hard to breath ^
mg carefui there was no >lipp in? -
we neared the
A Trip Up Mount Shasta.
Dt'trr Mother lluhha^d:—Would a de
scription of Mount Shasta, in North
ern Cali lorn ia, and a trip to its summit
be of interest to our band ami your
many readers? If so, then I will fy
and describe my trip there in August
last.
Three of us, having nothing else to
do, and more t ime t han money to spare
decided to make the tramp up Iioguo
river to the railroad, t lienee on the ears
to Sv-sens, ami up to the mountain
r.'Ot. Leaving Gold Beach, at the
mouth of th6 river, we leisurely
tramped up t he canyon,over the Devil’s
Stairway and backbone; thence out
At the start the snow was soft, for
the day had been a warm one and the
night not cold, consequently walking
was like the frog proposition in tht
well, we stepped two feet and slipped
back one: but as we advanced the
snow became firm, but full of holes,
rendering progress difficult indeed.
Above where we camped there is sec
ond horse camp, with Thumb Rock
looming up in the gray of night to its
back like a lone watch on duty, and
the snow T banks we had to cros* before
reaching there were fearful stretches,
each one being wider than the entire
distance looked. Just below Thumb
Rock is a bare spot called the Mitten,
and when you reach it, you feel as
though you had “got it” sure enough.
One would imagine it a small space as
seen below', in fact it looks as though
a lady’s hand could cover it, but when
you climb for two hours hard, and it’s
always right in front of you, you are
not surprised to find it nearly a half
mile long.
The ascent from here to Thumb
Rock is very steep, in fact it is like
walking up the roof on a house, and
one would guess it to be an angle of
from 45 to fiO degrees. The surface
abounds with small holes in the ice
and one is constantly slipping and
sliding into them, and no doubt but for
them, one might get quite a long and
dangerous slide or fall. It was very-
cold here, the wind chilling us tlirougti,
ami our hands and feet suffered, none
ot us having once thought of gloves,
so our hands had to suffer. The alpen
stocks were indispensible, for without
them one could not climb with any
degree of safety. We voted ourselves
a pack of fools often, for ever havin 07
undertaken the trip, and such ex*-
pressions as, “Catch me again, will
yon?” “Guess l don’t want any more
ot it,’ “This does me,’’ “I’m satisfied,’’
etc., etc., were indulged in by all.
Thumb Rock, which juts out from a
ri>igc of lava, was reached some time
alter the sun had been shining upon it
'N hat a paradise! To its left was a
ridge of rocks with a level spot ex-
posed to the south, upon which there
was no snow, and the sun was shining—
here we called a halt and made a raid
upon our lunch bags. We spent one
hour here basking in an August sun
amid perpetual snows, viewing the
surrounding scenery. The day bid
the air seemed rare, and didn’t
like it does a 'ew thousand f«. Hf , "P
down. The glare of the sun t0 n° Wer
very severe, but we hid a fine X* as
a glacier upon the other side
canon from us, a sight bur G tfle
see, and as we contemplated it* 0-/'^
ure we w> re constra-ned to
“how insignificent” are we ? tUlID -
It was noon when we reached a
monument on top. This monumen t
erected upon a pile of rock and s ’
tended to be impressive. That Da S'
however, is with the observer i£
w'hen he, or she, gets there, so grand?
the surrounding scenery that this h!
of sheet-iron, a mere cylinder-like b
of stove pipe with a cap on it, pa
into insignificance. However h
only mule that ever climbed 'Shall!
carried the monument to where
stands, and performed the feat with
out a mishap. Lassew, a peak. i s Z
nearest one in view, and looks equal
as high as Shasta, which is 11 uo W
A tin box with a sliding cover lip,
on the summit, and after drinkin®.
toa-t to “Grover” and Uncle Sam and
giving three cheers for California and
the Union, w'e began to inspect its
contents. It contained a register in
which visitors enter their names
few 7 newspapers, several notebook?
and a Bible. The first to ascend this
year w 7 as Professor Brown, of Stanford
University, California, and the first
woman was Miss Alice Eastwood of
the California Academy of Sciences
We spent forty minutes here, eatiG
our dinner and discarding everythin®
else but the bottle; feasted our eyes
upon rhe grandest panorama thatVe
ever looked upon. We then y,sited
'the hot, springs that saved John
Muir’s life when about to perish from
exposure. The water bubbles up from
the ground and is very hot. evidently
from the smoldering remnant of some
crater, for the surrounding rocks in
dicate that at some time Shasta was a
volcano.
The descent
was more hazardous
and was accompanied by many thumps
and bumps, but when Thumb Bock
w-as reached we got into our
gunny sacks and tied them on as
though preparing for a sack race, but
it wasn't: it was to be a sack slide.and
as none of us w'ere ever there before
we felt a little timid at first, but we
had hardly started on the slide when
fear vanished and the sport begun,
and such fun; ballanced with the
Alpenstock we shot down the slopes
like a toboggan, bumpety bump,
thumpety thump, over the ice and
through the snow like birds we flew.
It was glorious fun. We lay back and
went down slope after slope, and never
once more regretted having made the
climb.
After aw-hile the snow got soft and
sloppy, and we had to abandon the
acks and walk. We reached camp
wet, tir-d and hungry, as well as
dry,” and making a fire we were soon
comfortable. From 2 a. m. until 4 p.
m., a long day, but one well spent.
From there the trip was uneventful,
and, as this is already too long, 1 will
stop. Promising another letter soon
and, wishing for each member a merry
Christmas and a happy New Year. I,
am, if seldom, * Mist.
Gold Beach, Ore.
An Excursion.
Instructions had been given, and
grandly, majestically the long train of
heavily la'en, lumbering coaches
swept out from the city of O • with
its broad winding river, its turrets and
spires, that were soon to be lost in the
disrance.
Village after village and town after
town greeted the coming train and
added to the number already fillingthe
cars to over-flowing. This was an1 ex
cursion bound for a neighboring city
It was a bright Summer morning
the day, too, on which God has said.
“Thou shalt do no work”—the day A®
has set apart for rest—the holy Sab‘
bath.
The swiftly flying train awoke
echoes in the dim forest, startling
many a bird from his merry song, ^
he flew in fear away, while the rabbi
tied, too, in fright or hid himself lo* el j
in his burrow. The sun had satiate^
his thirst on ilie long blades of g ra5 ’
that yet sparkled with the mornm,
dew. Many an admiring eye looked 01
the bright landscape that in a monie
flitted by, only to present a I air
scene. *
The great engine was guided b
masterful baud and the brave fi re ®
i-tood at his post of duty. A y° u J
brakeman stood in the baggage <
casting furtive glances from the w
dow as if ever on the alert. E re Z :
he thrust his head out at tb . e .°L,f
window as if he felt a premonition