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Women’s Antagonism
To the Suffrage
ik By Mr. Humphrey Ward.
FTER sixty years’ agitation—for the movement is generally
dated in America from the meeting held in New York in
A July, 1848—the woman-suffrage demand, which during the
. second third of the nineteenth century was active through
—=z=====|| out the States and succeeded in forcing a constitutional
amendment in favor of the women's vote in four of the
sparsely peopled States of the West, is now in process of
-J defeat and extinction—and that not at the hands of the
men, but at the hands of women themselves,
Since 1896, indeed, in five States the suffrage constitutional amendments
have been defeated at the polls, and in 1903 the Legislatures of thirteen
States rejected woman-suffrage bills of one type or another. School suffrage
has been secured for women in twenty-five States, but the striking thing is
that the suffrage agitation and the “unwise pressure brought to bear on Leg-
Islatures and public officials” have hindered the natural progress of women
in this field of work so well suited to them. In two States—Connecticut
and Ohio—the abolition of the school suffrage has actually been discussed.
School-suffrage votes have been defeated in five States in the last three years,
and a bill “requiring that at least one-third of the members of boards of edu
cation appointed by mayors should be women was defeated in New York in
1899.” 'This melancholy result—from an English point of view—seems to be
mainly due to the general disapproval and opposition which the woman-suf
frage movement has excited; so that we have even the untoward fact that
at the present moment there is no woman upon either the New York or the
Boston Board of Education, The movement has not only failed; it has
checked the legitimate development of women’s influence in the spheres
which most truly belong to them.
By quiet, resgolute and slowly strengthening opposition the women of
Awmerica, then, have defeated the woman-suffrage movement. The same re
sult has now to be achieved in England, and can be achieved if only the
women of this country will rouse themselves.to the danger before us,—Lon
don Times.
S 5&1:
& Go West, Young Man
é By AP. Anderson. i
St doons radiernnind) ol 2
. —— HEN “Ambitious” asked the question, “How can a young
man without. money obtain a college education in the
| West?” he voiced the inquiry of hundreds of young men who
i aim to meet the requirements of the age for trained minds.
- The colleges, particularly of the West, are answering
m| the question to the satisfaction of scores of their graduates
I every year. They are inviting others to “come and see.”
J And the young men and women, on the upward climb to
success, whose struggles are made easier by the training
which these institutions of learning have offered, are loud in their praises of
their Alma Mater.
The two qualities which the West demands of its young men and women
are perseverance and capacity for work. The colleges of the West are no
exception, If “Ambitious” is seeking a royal road to learning, let him spare
himself the trouble of crossing the Jersey meadows. If he has pluck and a
genuine desire to get his B. A, let him save money enough to pay his fare to
some college town of the Middle West—the rest is a matter of time.
One of the smaller colleges should be chosen, Their instruction is ex
cellent, their courses are varied and complete, and the opportunities for per
sonal acquaintance with the instructors are advantageous both intellectually
and socially. Their endowment funds enable them to reduce the cost of
tuition to a minimum, and many have a special fund from which they loan
to needy students, without,interest, such amounts as may in the judgment of
the Faculty be deserved fimnppllnants. _Board may be had at about $2.50 a
week, and an excellent r at 76 cents more. Boarding clubs are estab
lished by the men to reduce the cost of living. The writer lived in such a
club for a year at a weekly expense of not more than $1.50.
The Western measure of a man is based upon what he is, not what he
has. The cad or dude has no place among the undergraduates of the West—
he comes East.—New York Times.
’ el mgiermnm O™
g The Proper Treatment of
¥ ives
By the Rev. J. L. Scudder,
! First Congregational Church, Jersey City.
U wovcawmt b enl s AT AlO
ELFISHNESS is the rock upon which domestic bliss gener
ally goes to pleces. A model husband never plays the ty-
S rant. He treats his wife as an equal, not as a subordinate
or slave. Some women are married to bears. Some are
======——=| caged birds, too sad to sing. Others have that word “obey”
eternally thrown at them. Another quality in a good hus
band is his determination to cultivate cheerfulness and
scatter sunshine in his home. He will make himself handy
around the house and not expect everything to be done for
him. When his wife asks him to mend the sewing-machine, or put new wire
on the screen door, he will not pout and say, “That was not down in the mar
riage contract.” He removes burdens wherever he can, and moves around
the house like a bearded angel, blessing everything he touches, He over
looks any little weaknesses his wife may posses, instead of calling her a
“cross-patch,” and then becoming ten times as cross and ugly himself. He
sympathizes rather than irritates. He is not always insisting that he is
right and his wife is wrong, He is jovial and lenient, and lets the little wo
‘man have her own way in many things, always allowing her to have the last
word. A good husband also keeps up his courting as long as he lives. He
never forgets to tell his wife how much he thinks of her. He speaks words
of praise while she is living, and doesn't wait until the funeral to deliver sen
timents she cannot hear.
The
Cost of Convention
* . -
9 .« ‘Badges .
eo e 3 e A
é Ey H. L. Beach.
HE badge of the chairman of the munational committee is
usually a thing by itself. It frequently is of such gorgeous
appearance as might make imperial Caesar groan at the
sight of magnificence unattained. Then come the decora-
Fe——=—==] tions of the members of the committee, and usually there
| ' is little modasty about these. This year the Republican na
"‘i) tional committee have decided to distinguish themselves by
e Dadges which will each contain two-thirds of an ounce of
solid gold. This matter is evidently intended by them as a
pleasant surprise to the rank and file of delezates, for they have made espe
clal effort to keep the matter quiet. “Solid gold” means anything between
eight carats and twenty-four carats fine. The quality generally used in the
construction of badges is ten carats fine, which sells in the commercial world
for ‘about $9 per ounce. Assuming that the badges of the committeemen are
of this degree of fineness, the members of the national committee will wear
upon their chests $6 worth of gold voted by themselves to themselves for
reasons which they themselves best understand.—The Worlde To-day.
THE SOPHOMORE PLAY.
By GRACE MARGARET GALLAHER.
You would never have selected
Tilly Ingersoll as an understudy for
fute. She was such a foolish little
person, so reckless and irresponsible.
Even the professors, who flunked her
with a harmony of judgment pleasant
to contemplate in a faculty, never
took her at all seriously. Yet it was
she who, imeshe impersonal, indiffer
ent way supposed to characterize the
walk and conversation of fate, turned
from its course the most beautifully
ordered career in college.
She, with four other unfortunates
whom the weekly raid of the sweeper
hiad driven from their rooms into the
corridor, was seated on a forgotten
trunk-truck, one April afternoon.
The others, mindful of the nearness
of their next recitation, were vigor
ously acquiring a few “glittering gen
eralities” on the early English drama.
“His window-blinds are shut
tight!” announced Tilly, suddenly,
leaning out of the window with such
a swoop that her neighvor made a
startled clutch at her apparently dis
appearing form.
“That means he is either gone to
town or dead. In either case, we have
a cut in English. Do you hear?”
“Tilly, if you want to quit this
naughty world, please choose some'
other means of exit than hurling
vourself on the stones down there.
It’s such a messy style of dying!”
complained Marcia Grennell, the girl
who held her by the skirt. ;
“Away or dead!” ghanted Tilly.
“We have a cut. Hi! you—"to a girl
who came swiftly round the corner.
“Oh!—er—l heg pardon, Miss Ains
ley. I thought you were some one
else.”
The girl hardly turned her head as
she hurried by.
“It’s a regular shame about her!”
said Tilly, in a half-whisper, waving
toward the disappearing figure.
“Somebody ought to stop that. We
ought; she belongs to our clras!?
No one made any reply. Tilly went
on excitedly: “We ought to get her
to know some girls, to have some
fun!” 1
The others were only half-listen
ing; the subject was so old it had lost
all interest. Keith M¢Knight raised
her soft, earnest eyes to Tilly.
“Should we do something?” she
asked, anxiously.
“Of course we should! You should!
Put her on your play committee!”
“But, Tilly, dear child—" =
“What’s that?” Tilly’s head was
out of the window again. “A cut ¥,
English! I told you so! Come on,
fellows! Hot chocolate and frabjous
little nut-cakes in my room to cele
brate. I've got the cakes all right,
and we can borrow the rest.” Off
darted Tilly with all other thoughts
swept from her mind.
The others followed joyfuilly, Keith
sat still on the trunk-truck. She was
the president of '9—, and held that
“a public office is a public trust.”.
She felt herself responsible for the
success and happiness of every girl
in the class.
“Ought I to look after Miss Ains
ley?” she pondered. “Her life cer
tainly is queer; it can’t be good for
her. How am I going at it?” Keith
frowned at a mild little freshman who
happened to be passing, to the terror
of that innocent child,
Whenever you mec Orpha Ainsley,
you desired to put your fingers in her
dimples, ruffie up her dandelion hair,
and handle her generally as you
would a baby. She was so round and
pretty and attractive, so altogether
lovable. Strangers who saw her run
ning down the walk, golf-clubs in her
hand, her cheeks rubbed red by the
wind and her eyes aglow, smiled as
they said to one another, “The typ
ical college girl, vigorous, wide awake
and full of fun.”
And that proves that “the world is'
still deceived by ornament.” The
girls would rather have kissed the
statue of Minerva that adorned the
main entrance, than crinkle one of
Orpha's immaculate frills, and as for
being the typical college girl—
Why, Orpha was a “grind!” A girl
who studied from the time she got
out of bed in the morning until she
got into it at night; studied straight
through class-meetings, basketball
games, ice-carniyals, plays receptions;
sometimes without even knowing that
all these important things were hap
pening. She was not even the typical
grind, for she was rosy and of calm
nerves, and went outdoors every day,l
making this one excepticn to her all
work program. ; !
Orpha had come to college deter—!
mined to be “an educated woman.”|
To her that meant to have her intel
lect cultivated to the highest degree
Jpossible, Of that broadening and
sweetening of the character, that
learning to “view life with appropri
ate emotions,” which is so far above
any training of the mind, she never
dreamed. She was unnaturally clever
already; her essays always were
marked with a neat little ved-ink
“excellent;” her Greek prose—still
more potent cause of swelling pride—
bore no red ink at all; she received
commendatory notes after each exam
ination; and she asked such “intelli
gent questions” in class that the pro
fessors themselves could not answer
them. .
But of the world of college outside
of books, that happy, jolly, whole
some world, the girls, she knew noth
ing. She had no friends. All the
gay, warm life about her she resy
lutely shut out of her days. She
would have none of the widening, pol-
Ishing process, due to the daily inter
course of girls from all countries and
of all kinds with one another. She
would have none of the deepening
and strengthening of sympathy which
comes from knowing the longing and
struggles of many different lives.
Saddest of all, she refused every
chance to aid those struggles. Col
lege offers uncounted ways to be help
ful and unselfish and loving. Every
day all a girl’'s gifts, from the
humblest to the most ideal, may be
used—to help out a sudden hurry, to
quicken to hope a sullen discourage
ment. Few girls have ever again so
many people to whom they may be
“neighbors.”
But Orpha, blind to all the beau
tiful opportunities, resented the
smallest hindrance to her chosen pur
pose. She shut herself away in her
room behind the sign, “Engaged,”
and even regarded the necessary con
versation at meals as an intrusion on
’her time and thoughts. Every day
she grew less of a loving, lovable girl,
‘and more of a selfish pedant.
~ She had gathered up her notes for
the English lecture this particular
afternoon, when some one knocked.
She stared as Keith McKnight en
tered. ‘
“There’s a cut in English,” began
the visitor, for Orpha looked ready
to flee.
Orpha stared more than ever.
“Miss Ainsley, I—ah—will you do
me a great favor? I'm the head of
our Sophomore Dramatic Committee,
you know, and I want you to be one
of the members. Please be! We must
have this play fine, our freshman one
was such a disgrace. You are so
clever and so well-read, you’ll know
about all the old dramas and be able
to tell what sort of costumes people
wore, and-—oh, help every way!”
Keith ended with a smile that never
failed to win whoever saw it.
; This invitation was one of the hon
~ors and glories of college, had Orpha
known it. Her only feeling, however,
was one of rage that any one could
for a moment suppose she would be
drawn into such a silly waste of time.
Yet when Keith left, after a weary
half-hour in which she was unvary
ingly sweet, but persistent, and Orpha
by turns scornful or appealing, the
Intter had yielded a reluctart promise
to come to the first meeting. The
committee were all present when
fl{pha entered Keith’s room that
ght. Her first look told her that
the girls were the brightest in the
class, those whose scholarship had
gained even her critical admiration.
“How can they waste time s 0?” she
thought, scornfully,
A thorough look about the room
showed Tilly Ingersoll curled up on
the couch. Orpha despised Tilly as a
mindless person who could not lead
even the simplest problem in “trig” to
a triumphant issue. l
“Great use she’ll be!” she thought,
with scorn. ’
The rest of the committee were
busily setting forth a feast, of much'
size, evidently, Keith was nowhere '
to be seen. |
“I beg pardon—" began Orpha.
“Come in,” hailed Tilly, ““we're
just waiting for you. Keith smashed
the olive-bottle a minute ago. She’s
in the bath-room, picking out the
glass from the olives.”
“I think these are undamaged,”
said the hostess, entering. “Good
evening, Miss Ainsley. It's ever so
nice to have you here.”
“What promiscous kind of food are
we to have to-night, Keith?” asked
Marcia. *“You remind me of the Kip
ling man who ‘clawed together a meal
he called dinner.’ ”
“Don’'t quarrel. with your food!”
admonished Tilly.® “The rest of us
haven't had supper in town. We're
thankful for anything!”
“Anything! My beautiful oysters,
my ‘tasty’ chicken sandwiches!” cried
the giver of the feast. *“The last time
I came to one of your balls I had two
crackers and an orange!”
Orpha sat very stiff and prim. For
the first time in her self-satisfied life
she felt inadequate.to the situation.
She eould not sing, or tell funny
stories, or make witty replies. She
~could not even laugh in that casy, in
fectious way the others did.
. When the girls began the discus
sion of*the play, she was no happier. ‘
lHer knowledge of the classic drama
'did not seem especially helpful iu}
lstazjng a college play. She went
home determined to come to the next
, meeting and show tho girls how really
superior to them she was.
She came to the next meeting, and
to rehearsals in the hall. She did
not grow any more comfortable, how
ever. The girls were so capable, so
tactful in managing one another! To
Orpha, coming dazed from a world
of books, they seemed marvelous.
Even the despised Tilly showed an ex
traordinary resourcefulness in all dif
ficulties. There was another side to
the girls that made her oddly un
happy. This was the sympathy and
love which existed among them, some
imes-as between friend and friend.
sometimes—and this seemed strangest
of all—as a bond to be expected
among members of the class.
This friendship showed itself in re-
Jjoicing over any good luck that came
to any of-them, and in constant readi
| ness to help one another, '
“How ridiculous!” Orpha would
say to herself, as she watched the
girls prance about somo friend who
had said a clever thing in class or re
ceived a bit of praise from a pro
fessor. “What she did I've done
twenty times before!”
Once when she saw the girls fairly
overwhelming a member of the class
with their congratulations, she asked:
“What’s she done?”
=« “Oh, haven't you heard? Her fa
ther’s going to take her to Europe for
the whole summer. Isn’t that gay?”
“Wish I were going!” muttered
Orpha; then, still lower, “It wouldn’t
be any use!” which disconrected re
marks, nevertheless, told that some
very unusual feeling had seized her.
She wondered still more at the way
in which the girls gave up the most
cherished plan for work or fun, to
help some friend in her work or fun.'
Bertha Johnson, to whom a high
rank meant everything, cut two lec
tures and a laboratory period to sit
with a foolish freshman cousin, who
was in the infirmary and therefore
homesick.
And Marcia, Grennell resigned from
the economics debate—that- great
honor—because she was helping her
roommate make up back work.
} Orpha stood up straighter than
ever when she heard of any new act
‘of this sort. “If you wish to be a
‘scholar, you must subordinate every
‘thing to that end,” she told herself.
‘Then she went back to her lonely lit
tle room and was very unhappy.
The afternoon of the dress re
hearsal, actors and committee were in
‘the hall waiting for Keith and the
heroine. Every one was excited, for
the play was always the event of the
year to the class. Each class gave
one a year, and rivalry ran high.
Keith entered and cast herself on a
pile of “progciiies.” .
“The play is ruined!”
“What?” in a frightened chorus.
“Margaret has broken her ankle!”
A dead silence, then all talking at
once. ;
“No, we can’t postpone it! Every
Saturday is taken, up to commence
ment. We can’t even give it up, for
we can get another heroine. Emma
Twemlow acted the part at home last
summer. She was as stiff as a poker,
and oh, you know her voice!”
“And she's as awkward as a duck!”
cried Tilly. “Keith, she’ll make the
whole play absurd!” |
“I know it, but I can’t help it! She
knows about Margaret and she;
offered. If we don’t give the play,
of course we lose all chance of the
prize cup!”
Orpha stole out. She walked a
long.way hefore she knew what she
was doing.
“I don’t look like Rosalind”—the
play was “As You 'Like It"—“but I
know I can be like her.” She spoke
out loud. Orpha had an English
voice, sweet, with organ tones in it.
“The Morgan prize!” She had for
gotten tha’, : l
The Morgan prize was one offered
to the sophomore class for the best
essay on a given subject. If you won,
you had two hundred dollars, and un
limited glory. Orpha longed unspeak
ably for the glory. l
She wanted her people at home to‘
know what great things she was do
ing. Most of all, she wanted the
girls to realize how very clever she
really was. She had been ruffled seri
ously, during the progress of the play,
by her unskilfulness in practical af
fairs. She would prove that her mind
was too great for such trifles. She
knew she could win.
" The competition closed the next
night, the night of the play. Her
essay was finished in conception, but
it had yet to be written out. Orpha
was a slow worker. She haZ planned
to spend all that day and the next, up
to the play, on it. |
She sat down in a deserted corner
of the campus. There she fought a
fierce battle. On one side warredi
ambition, her wounded pride, her real ‘
scholarship; on the other—she knewi
not what. Confused idoas of Keith'’s
disappointment, Keith, whom she had
begun to love—of the shame of the
class at failing in its play—of the
girls loving her, too, and crying,
“Good girl, Orpha!”—all these
thoughts chased one another through
her brain.
Orpha stood shyly before the dreary
party just starting for Emma Twem
low.
*Keith”—she had never called her
that before—“won’t you let me be
Rosalind? I know I can be, even if
I don’t look her. 1 have Jeard the
‘rehearsals so often I know the part,
and I'm willing to rehearse all day
‘to-morrow.” p
| » =® * .‘ * * - .
[ The hall was full. Qirls sat on the
window-ledges and crowded the door
ways. There were the seniors, friend
ly to the sophomores, of course, but
rather superior; the juniors and
freshmen fiercely hostile; the class
itself hapeful, but nervous. Besides
the undergraduates, there were a
‘number of visitors, alumnae and out
- siders.
l Orpha stood in the wings. She had
seen the amused smiles of the audi
' ence as it read her name on the com
'mlttee. Up to this time the names
'of all concerned had been kept secret,
'and to enhance the excitement Mar
garet’s name had not been taken from
the program. The girls knew only
that Rosalind was to be a surprise.
Orpha had never acted before. In
~all that audience there was not one to
| “give her a hand” for friendship's
! sake. .
’ She stepped out on the s%age. In
{ the dead silence she heard a whisper
'from the front seats. *What, that
gloomy grind!” and a giggle.
She felt sick. That was what she
was—a grind, a Miss Dryasdust. She
~ad no place among these alive girls.
‘e was a fool ever to have tried to
be lise them. She stood perfectly
still in a silence that might have been
of hours.
Her eyes traveled slowly to the
wings. In the wings stood the com
mittee. Their faces were rather
white and their eyes looked unusually
large, but they smiled and clapped
noiselessly, and Keith blew her a lit
tle round kiss. They did not think of
her as a grind! She had become one
of “us.” She was frightened, they
must help her out.
Orpha turned to the audience with
a smile that made her dimples peep
out. Frightened? No, but stirred as
she had never been before. She had
sacrificed a dear desire to help the
girls. Her act should not be useless.
But most of all she thought not of
her own success or failure, but of
Keith and the others who had trusted
her so. Perhaps that is why she did
not fail.
For she inspired the rest of the
cast with powers they had not shown
at any rehearsal, and she captivated
every girl in the hall. She seemed
really one of ‘that brave mimic
world that Shakespeare drew.” The
play was a mighty success.
As the curtain fell the audience,
unable to contain itself longer, gave
a rousing cheer. They shouted for
Keith, for the committes, and for the
cast. Then some one by the door
cried, ‘““What’s the matter with Or
pha, the best actor ever in this hall?”
With the answering, “She’s all
right!” the girls swept upon the
stage. :
They almost tore little Rosalind
to bits shaking and hugging her.
“Good for you, Orpha!” “You're
a regular star!” they cried. She had
made their play a joy to their friends
and an envy to their foes; what else
about her mattered now?
An impulsive freshman flung her
arms about the amazed actress, fairly
shouting: ’
“Miss Ainsley, you're a peach: a
fuzzy, downy peach!”
The older girls disapproved of such
slang, but it was permitted to impul
sive freshmen.
Orpha stood quite still through all
the excitement. She felt dazed. All
at once she began to laugh and talk
and hug everybody, just as the other
girls were doing. What she was say
ing, if any one had heard her, was:
‘“Oh, oh, you’re so nice! Why
didn’t I know it! Oh, I'm so glad I
do now!” This sounded wild, but it
really meant that Orpha had come to
her senses.
It was not that the praise satisfied
her ambition. She never once re
membered that she had proved her
superiority. It was the realization at
last of the loyal and warm comrade
ship, based on mutual need and mu
tual help—the very heart and secret
of college life — which made her
happy. ;
She needed just sueh a vehement
demonstration of college spirit to
rouse her out of her selfish self. The
love ofgthe girls had reacted her
heart a&ast. e
The tired, but triumphant, com
mittee was going home to Main Hall.
““Say, Tilly, were you ever so sur
prised in all your days as & - Orpha?”
said Marcia Grennell, in a low voice.
“I knew she had stores and hoards
of knowledge, but I never supposed
such a grind could act.”
“It was because she is a grind.”
Tilly’s voice was that of one working
out a problem. “Did you see how
nervous she was at the start? She
just pulled herself in, though, and
acted her little part as she works
over Allen and Greenough—with all
her vengeance. llt's that grinding
that’s given her such a grip on her
self. Do you suppose I could have
come out of a regular panic like that?
No, sir, I'd have scattered into igno
ble bits right before the assembled
populace!”’
“Well, sirs!” ejaculated the aston
ished Marcia.
“Oh, I know it’s queer for me, but
it’s true, all the same. This all play
and no work may be great joy, but it
won't give you what Orpha Ainsley
has — and that's character! I've
fooled away two years here now, and
nobody’s had more fun than I, but
to-night — Tilly stopped, then
spoke very quietly, with uncommen
seriousness: ‘‘Marcia, I'm going to
work after this more than I ever did.
It will please my father, and maybe
give me some character—llike Or
pha.”
Marcia was too wise to answer.
Both pretended to be interested in
the others girls’ talk.
Those ahead were still discusging
the great success of the play.
“It’s just gay to-night,” sighed
Keith, ‘‘but, oh, me! Monday when
we have to ‘rid up’ the place and re
turn the ‘borroweds!’ ”’
“Don’t you care!” called some one
whose joy no gloomy visions, even of
Monday, could daunt. ‘lt won't take
long!” y
“It takes hourg, always!” retorted
Keith, *“I have four recitations, ex
tra ‘lab,’ a special topic and an essay
interview!”
Orpha, marching in a sort of Ro
man conqueror procession, heard
Keith. Gratitude and the sense of
obligation to the class surged within
her.
“I'll do your share of straightening
up, Keith,” she called. “I haven’t
much of anything Monday.” She
tried to have just the matter-of
course tone the girls used when they
made such offers, but she could not
help her voice shaking a little.
There was an instant's silence, then
Keith answered easily:
“Ob, will you?. Thanks, ever g 5
much.”
And Orpha knew she had received
the seal to her title as a colieza girl,
with all the privileges and responsgi
bilities.—Youth's Companion.
The c¢ustoms serviee of China es
timates the total population of that
country at 438,214,000,
