\ Women’s Antagonism
To the Suffrage
’ Ey Mr. Humphrey Ward 5
FTER sixty years’ agitation—for the movement is generally
A dated in America from tho meeting held in New York in
July, 1848—the woman-suffrage demand, which during the
second third of the nineteenth century was active through¬
out the States and succeeded in forcing a constitutional
X sparsely defeat amendment and peopled extinction—and in favor States of of the the that women’s West, not is at vote now the in in hands four process of of the the of
men, but at the bands of women themselves.
Since 1896, indeed, in five States the suffrage constitutional amendments
have been defeated at tne 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, resolute and slowly strengthening opposition the women of
America,, then, have defeated the woman-suffrage movement, The same re
suit 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.
£ Go West, Young Man £
£
- . M
n £
£ By J ?. P. Ftnderson.
HEN “Ambitious” asked the question, "How can a young
w man without money obtain a college education in the
West?” he voiced the inquiry of hundreds of young men who
aim to meet the requirements of the age for trained minds.
The colleges, particularly of the West, are answering
* * the question to the satisfaction of scores of their graduates
every year. They are inviting others to “come and see.”
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 he chosen, Their instruction is ex
cellent, their courses are varied and complete, and the opportunities for per¬
sonal acquaintance with tho 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 by applicants. Board may he had at about $2.50 a
week, and an excellent room at 75 cents more, Boarding clubs are estab
lished by (lie 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—
lie comes East.—New York Times.
The Proper Treatment of
’ 4 * Wives *
\
Ey the Rev. J. L. Scudder,
■ First Congregational Church, Jersey City.
ELFISHNESS Is the rock upon which domestic bliss gener¬
s ally goes to pieces, A model husband never plays the ty
rant, He treats his wife as an equal, not as a subordinate
or slave. Seme women are married to bears. Some are
caged birds, too sad to sing. Others have that word “obey”
X eternally scatter band is sunshine his thrown determination in at his them. home. Another to He cultivate will quality make cheerfulness in himself a good handy hus¬ and
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.” lie 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 Butcher’s Smock.
The butcher’s smock was blue, It
looked much neater than the white
smocks of his friends all smeared
with dried blood, “Every butcher, * ■
said the man, “ought to wear a blue
smock. Why? Because dry blood
won’t show on it. Dry blood turns
bluish, and on a smock of this color
it, fs invisible. I am descended from
a long line of butchers, and from
father to son the word has hsen
passed down always to wear, for neat¬
ness’ sake, a smock of blue.”—New
Orleans Times-Democrat.
Immortality.
The doctrine of the endless life is,
in all likelihood, as old as man him¬
self. In Egypt, Greece, Rome, rndia,
the philosophers all taught the doc¬
trine of the immortality of the soul.
The wonderful art of embalming, as
practiced among the ancient Egyp¬
tians, rested solely upon the notion
that the body must he preserved ior
the return of the spirit, which was to
inhabit it through eternity. Chris¬
tianity emphasized the belief in fhe
endless life, but did not create it.—
The American.
GUARDIAN.
HI* name Is Ouardlan. He's mine.
I don't know Just how old.
• l Come here, sir! Give your pawl” Oh,
he yes,
does what he Is told.
*« Down, down, I say! Why don’t you
mind?”
he really has to run
And Jump about a little, lest he's too
. brimful of fun.
Well,—no. he’s You can't exactly say
When any 1 special kind. , ... , day
catrie home from'school one
he followed close ' behind.
I'm not to speak to stranger dogs,
but though we couldn't play,
That little beast would wag bis tail
If I Just looked his way!
We tried them at tbe stable, first—
they didn't need him there;
And F.llen couldn’t keep him,
for he "gave her such a scare.”
And even Mother thought perhaps
he'd better run away;
But when she saw how thin he was
of course ho had to stay.
So then we fed him thoroughly
and made him very clean,
And let him lie beside the door—
outside the door, I mean.
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•i* A SHIFT OF THE WIND. *
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The small desk from which Pauline
pushed away her chair seemed a liv¬
ing menace to her distracted mind.
An hour before she had seated her¬
self with a brave resolution to
straighten matter, and now after the
worrying hour, heartsick and hopeless
over the result, the woman stared in
despairing wonder. What should she
do?
There lay her little bank book, the
pile of neatly arranged bills, her
check book, three letter^ from insist¬
ent collection lawyers and, most dire¬
ful of all, a writ of attachment placed
in her hands that very morning by a
polite man who wore brass buttons on
his vest. This man had surveyed her
surprise with an air of benevolent
suspicion.
The emptied pigeonholes appeared
to glare at her like eyes of reproach;
also the red figures in her recently
balanced bank book, indicating a sad
overdraft. The bank had a dreadful
way of accounting for its errors and
invariably put her in the wrong. She
would not go to the bank. There was
only one thing to do.
Opening a drawer Pauline drew out
a photograph, gazed at it, moaned like
a hurt creature and finally, with
smarting eyes, began to tear the card.
Her fingers trembled. She could not
see for tears.
“I can’t,” she whispered, droppin rr
the picture. “He. is only a memory
now, but I can’t destroy it. When 1
am Mrs. Winch—John—oh!”
Her maid was answering the door¬
bell’s clear peal. Pauline’s fingers
were quick with handkerchief and
hair. What on earth did Carson
Winch want at this time of day?
“I’m in the library, Mattie,” she
called, a bit amazed at her steadi¬
ness.
“It’s Mr. Winch, ma’am,” pushing
aside the portieres.
“Well, show him in here, I thought
it sounded like Mr. Winch. Is he
alone ”
“No, ma’am. Another gentleman is
with him.”
“All right, I’ll see them, She
pushed the telltale hooks and papers
in a heap and rose to draw a curtain
for a softer light. Pauline was nearly
twenty-eight and showed it in the sun.
The men came in smiling.
“I’ve brought Dear Wickham to see
you, Miss Allard,” said Mr. Winch.
“You’ve heard me speak of hint.”
“Oh, yes, I am very glad to meet
Mr. Wickham.” Pauline’s hand went
out cordially to grasp the clutch of
a bronzed, bearded, thick set man,
who regarded her admiringly.
“Sit down and get acquainted, you
two,” said Winch. “I can’t stay. I’ll
get around again before noon and car¬
ry him off, Pauline.”
There was that in liis tone sugges¬
tive of proprietorship and familiarity
which grated on Pauline’s nerves. It
was a new note, something more than
usual, and the woman felt a pang of
resentment. Carson should wait a
little longer to pay for that.
Pauline had been quite all winter
and spring. The money left by her
aunt must be about dissapated, Mr.
Winch thought. Pauline had lived on
legacies with small doubt of more
coming at opportune times. Some¬
thing always turned up.
Her disregard of consequences
could lead to hut one end. Her ser¬
vants had indignant noses. Winch
heard rumors and chuckled gocY nat
uredly. Pauline was a superior wom¬
an. He wanted her and meant to get
her. It was merely a question of pa¬
tience. Lately his reward seemed in
his hand. Pauline’s negatives lacked
the true ring.
After his cheery departure the host¬
ess talked brightly to Wickham and
soon had the stranger recounting hits
of his history. She liked the man.
There was a fine streak of simplicity
in his direct, crisp manner.
And Sister called him Wanderei
the afternoon he came; "Guardian
Until we thought that
was a politer name.
And now when people come to tea
and sit and talk and eat, Guardian
And Fluff and Frill and
are scrambling at their feet.
And Sister says, “I hope the dogs
are not disturbing you?” with the rest
They always pat him
at least, they often do.
Of course he’s not a pretty dog, i
like Sister's Frill or Fluff;-— though,
I like the color of him,
that sort of brownish-buff.
Ills coat Is neither rough nor smooth
it’s something just between;
I think he has good-looking green! eyes,
they’re such an honest
Of course, he's not a dog-show dog,
lie’s not the kind, you know;
They never have a single class
in which that dog can go.
But Sister says if love could count,
and looks be just left out,
He 'd win a ribbon every year
without the slightest doubt!
—Elsie Hill, in the St. Nicholas.
"Mr. Winch tells mo it paid you to
wait, grubbing away on that lonesome
claim in Alaska,” she said.
“Yes, it pays to wait when one has
a feeling about it.”
“You mean a doubt of the wisdom
of leaving a thing?”
"That’s it. There have been lots
of us,” he continued. “I tell you five
years makes an awful difference. The
isolation, the rough life, the doing for
oneself, rarely seeing a woman and
never a cultured, refined lady grow a
coast of fur, all right. But I’ve made
my pile if I have lost five years of real
living. I’m satisfied.”
“Surely,” said the woman. “Not all
are as fortunate.”
“That’s the worst of it. It is heart¬
breaking to think of some feEows,
gentlemen, you know—confident, eag¬
er, impatient, anxious to strike quick
luck and to go home with flying col¬
ors. They can’t wait. They get to
roaming, and heaven only knows
where some of them land. One loses
all trace, but now and then”—He
paused for a moment, half smiling.
Pauline Allard had grown pale. Her
caller did not notice the droop of the
fair head. He went on speaking.
“I’ve felt mighty sorry for one chap.
We were real friendly. He couldn't
wait. I took over his little- claim for
a trifle. It was next to mine. Bless
you, it proved the richest dirt of all
when I got to working it deep. He
was daft on surface finds. And off
went my hopeful acquaintance in spite
of entreaties. Funny!”
Again he smiled queerly.
“Mr. Winch must be delighted to
have you here,” remarked Pauline ab¬
sently. Her thoughts were wandering
in a dreary vista of toiling, disappoint¬
ed men, far from their homes, reck¬
less, proud, the sort that never would
come back bearing the brand of fail¬
ure.
“Oh, Carson, yes,” returned Wick¬
ham. “He’s a decent enough fellow
after his fashion—I—I—I beg pardon!
There, Miss Allard, you see how a
man blunders whejn he has led such a
life as mine—no tact. I meant to say
that Winch is a splendid chap person
nally, but I’m not used to these smart,
successful men. We have had con¬
siderable correspondence since he
heard I was doing well—a school
friend, you know, and, of course, in¬
terested. Welcomed me royally. 1
couldn’t say too much for Carson. He
has been most kind and confidential.
I was thinking of him in a business
way. We don’t exactly agree about
investments. That was what 1 had
in mind. Ahem!”
Pauline’s amused smile was seren¬
ity itself.
"I don’t think a gentleman should
‘count his chickens’ and tell the
neighbors, do you?” she asked mis¬
chievously.
“Ah! I misunderstood; jumped at
conclusions; entirely my fault.” Wick¬
ham’s blood showed redly through
his tan, and he stammered.
“You are a delightful bear,” observ¬
ed Pauline placidly. “Maybe I will
become Mrs. Winch some day, if that
will relieve you. I shan't promise.
The wind, however, points in that di¬
rection.”
They smiled at each other for a few
moments, and then Pauline said ser¬
iously:
“Mr. Wickham, I like you. I trust
you. I am going to ask you a ques¬
tion. What you may surmise will be
a secret between us forever.”
She stopped at her desk and
brought forth the photograph. The
man's face set. He was averse to
sudden confidences. There was a
tenseness in her graceful figure- that
seemed unnatural. He coughed un¬
easily.
“I want you to look at this,” said
Pauline. ‘1 want to know if in your
travels you have ever met the origin¬
al?”
“Let’s see It," said Wickham blunt.
I y.
He took the picture, gazed upon it
for a full minute and did not lift his
eyes.
Meanwhile he fumbled in a pocket
and drew out a letter.
“You may read this, dear lady,’’ he
said thickly without looking up. "The
writer is ulive and well. Please sit
down.”
His head turned from her gras;
and glad cry.
“Jack Frederick’s girl,” he whisper¬
ed to himself. “My God, she mustn’t
sob like that-”
Presently he went over to her. Hi.
touch on her hair was very gentle, his
deep voice tender as a woman’s.
"You see, he will meet me in New
York on Wednesday. He learned or
my luck and obtained my address. He
says he has ‘made good’ at last, Yes.
it was John Frederick who sold his
claim and helped enrich me. Now, if
you have read what he has written of
his hopes, his prayer to find some one
free and glad to see him, you must
stop crying.”
But Pauline would neither cease her
soft weeping nor give up the letter, so
Wickham left her and made his way
to the door.
From the street he glanced back at
the attractive house and tasteful
grounds.
"Whew!” whistled he. “I guess I’d
better not wait for Carson. There is
a New York train in fifteen minutes.
If I were not so mighty tickled for
Jack, I should feel sort of sorry for
Winch.”—New Haven Register.
FATE OF A STAGE PRODIGY.
Master Betty, Who lit Appears Over
styed His Welcome.
It may Interest readers of the Week¬
ly Mail tb know that rather over a
hundred years ago—in 1807 to be pre¬
cise—the country was worshipping at
the shrine of a twelve-year-old prodi¬
gy, a boy actor—the juvenile Henry Ir¬
ving of liis times. While at the height
of his fame and popularity this infan¬
tile marvel visited among other places
Glasgow and Edinburgh, and in both
of these towns he is said to have cre¬
ated a hitherto undreamt-of sensation.
The wonderful youngster’s name was
William Henry West Betty, and he was
Irish to the backbone. His histrionic
capabilities were evidently born with
him, for it is recorded that when at
the age of eight his father treated him
to his first visit to the theatre young
Betty at the conclusion of the play
solemnly informed his parent that he
had decided to be an actor himself.
How the youngster subsequently
came to get a footing on the stage is
not known, but in the month of Au¬
gust, 1803, we find him making his first
appearance, performing the leading
part in a popular drama at a Belfast
theatre. He leaped at one bound into
the very forefront of popularity, and
it is said that on one occasion when
he turned ill the whole nation awaited
with feverish anxiety the different bul¬
letins which were regularly issued to
tell of young Betty's condition.
The boy’s first appearance in Glas¬
gow, which happened in' May, 1804, cre¬
ated unparalleled enthusiasm in the
city during the several nights he per¬
formed in the now long defunct Dun¬
lop street theatre. The enormous
crowds that flocked to see the wonder¬
ful boy were unprecendented in the
theatrical history of St. Mungo, and
hundreds, it is said, were nightly in¬
jured in the great crush and desperate
struggle for admission to the theatre.
In Edinburgh, where the boy actor
afterward appeared, the same enor¬
mous crowds rushed to see him. To
quote from one of the local papers’
criticism, he “set the town in a
fiame.” His subsequent appearance at
the world famous Drury Lane complet¬
ed the prodigy’s triumph, for it was
not long before the metropolis also
succumbed to young Betty’s magnetic
acting.
But Master Betty’s stags success was
comparatively short lived. In the
course of a few years he—or his par¬
ents—compiled an immense fortune,
and with the wealth thus speedily ac¬
cumulated the young actor was given
the chance of a first class education.
When out of his teens the glamour of
the footlights again appeared to have
appealed to him, and he again made a
bid to regain his position as a popu¬
lar idol. By this time, however, the
people had quite forgotten their for¬
mer hero, and young Betty had to rest
content with only a very ordinary de¬
gree of success. He had, so to speak,
overstayed his welcome.—Glasgow
Mail.
Yes, She Knew.
Lord Houghton’s sister was often
annoyed at her brother’s indiscrimi¬
nate hospitality.
“Do you remember, my dear,” he
asked her at dinner one day, “wheth¬
er that famous scoundrel X- was
hanged or acquitted?”
“He must have been hanged, or you
would have had him to dinner long
ago. replied the lady.—Tit-Bits.
Early Glass Bottles.
Although glass bottles were made
by the Romans as far back as the
year 70 A. D., their manufacture waa
not begun in England until 1558.
