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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,