Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 113, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 May 1910 — Page 3

fils hands fall from the wheel; he looks no more To see what reef or shoql may be ahead, What narrow channel there may be to thread. What jagged rocks may jut out from the shore! What message is it that the leadsmen send? “MARK TWAIN!" The troubled engines cease to throb, The song the breezes sang ends in a sob; The trip is done—the world has lost a friend.

THE ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD.

The hills far off were blue, blue, The hills at hand were brown;And all the herd-bells called to me As I came by the down. The briars turned to roses —roses; Ever vie stayed to pull A white little rose, and a red little rose, And a lock of silver wool. Nobody heeded —none, none; ’ And then True Love came by. They thought him naught but the shepherd boy, Nobody knew but I! The trees were feathered like birds, birds; Birds tyere In every tree, Yet nobody heeded, nobody heard, Nobody knew gave me. And he is fairer than all —all; How could a heart go wrong? For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine, Like an old, old song. —Josephine Preston Peabody.

A Woman's “No”

Cyril Otterson proposed to me for the first time at Henley Regatta. We were In a Canadian canoe, and Cyril pleaded his cause passionately into my left ear in the intervals between pushing boats and punts out of our path. Why he 'chose such a ridiculous time I have never understood, and I found it 'exceedingly difficult to convey my answer to him with the decision and clearness I should have liked —that answer being a decided negative. A widow of 23, with a tidy income, never lacks admirers of a sort; add a certain amount of gdod looks, which I know, without concert, I possess, and men become a positive nuisance. “No, Cyril, dear,” I said, “I really couldn’t. You know I like you awfully, and, what’s more, you amuse me, and, of course, we shall always be pals. But marrftige, dear, never again; so let’s leave it at that" , “All fight,” said Cyril, in that peculiarly aggravating way he has; “all right, old girl, but I’m a long Why from beaten, and you wait and see; I* shall marry you somehow.” The second time he proposed to me was in a box at the theater. It happened to be a very pathetic play, and Cyril, who has no idea of the fitness of things, kept whispering words oi love and adoration, while the audience were in a state of dreadful suspense as to whether an erring wife would return to her husband or no. When, I had the opportunity, which was during the entr’act, I said to him: “Now, Cyril, don’t be silly; you know quite well that I have given you my final answer.” Cyril said nothing much beyond reiterating his former statement that was the only woman in the world for him, and other nonsense of that z sort, and that he was not beaten. The third time that he proposed to me was in my own drawing room. He had been in a more or less dormant state for awhile, and that being so, I thought there was no great harm in asking' him to tea. We first of all talked about the usual banal ties; but, somehow, though I tried desperately hard to keep off dangerous topics, we soon found ourselves in deep water. “1 say, Muriel,” he said, Muriel belnjg my name, “it’s going to be beastly not seeing yM all October and No- \ *

MARK TWAIN.

Chicago Kecord-Hcrald,

vember,' and I’ve been thinking things over, and I have an idea, rather a good one, I think.” “Oh,” I answered’ “what’s the idea? Something sensible, I hope. You know my mind quite well on certain points." “Yes, I know all that, but, as a matter of fact, you don’t know yourself as well as I do. What are the plain facts? Firstly, that I simply adore the ground you walk on, that I am head over ears in love with you, with the complete You, mental, physical and spiritual, or, if you like it better, body and soul. I want your companionship all my life, and with it can do things, without it I can’t. Secondly, you are all alone, and you admit I amuse you; well,, then, why shouldn’t I amuse you perpetually? Anyhow, you can’t really suppose that I’m going to accept a negative answer. Why, Muriel, dear, it’s impossible, and if you won’t up your mind the way I want, then I am going to do It for you. I propose we get married on February 7. I’ll go ahead and make all the arrangements, and It’ll just give you time to clear off your engagements.” I must admit his cheek simply paralyzen me, and I said: “Now, look here, Cyril, you know I am quite fond of yop, but there is a limit even to friendship. The idea of your daring to make a cold-blooded proposition like that to me is simply staggering.” He made no direct reply, merely murmuring some nonsense about Monte Carlo having points over Cairo in the month of February. Then he buttoned up his coat, and said he must be off; kissed my hand—he’s never

I WENT.

dared to go farther than that—and said: “All right, Muriel, don’t worry; you’ll hear fro© me, and remember the seventh.” The next I heard of Cyril was about a month later, that being towards the end of November. He wrote a long letter, narrating all his shoots and so on, and then, if you please, ended up with the following postscript: “Don’t forget the 7th of February. lam quite sure that Monte will be more amusing than Cairo, unless you particularly want to go to Egypt. We shall have a ripping time, and 1 can’t tell you how I’m looking forward to it.” ? Of course, I had to answer, and likewise gave him my views on the matter in a postscript. It ran: “Don’t be an idiot. I hate silly jokes, and I don’t even knpw where I shall be on the date goo mention.” December passed off quickly, Cyril only writing once, saying he was making all his arrangements, and sending me a perfectly lovely bracelet—a flex-

On lips he taught to smile the laughter dies. The sun shines with a lesser, fainter glow; Along the shores where mirth was spread a low, Sad murmur passes, and, with tear-dimmed eyes, Men look out on the stream, yet, while they gaze, In silenpe share the comforting belief That, safe in port, beyond the last dread reef, His soul is gladdened by a Captain’s praise. —S. E. KISER.

ible gold snake with an emerald head hnd tiny ruby eyes. It was simply too fascinating, and, as Cyril said it was for Christmas, I saw no harm in keeping it, besides which I was fond of him in a Way. In January I was once inore back in town at my own flat, and he came to see me. He looked awfully fit and nice after his country spell, and never even referred to what I call unpleasant subjects till just as he was going, when he said casually, “Don’t forge', the date, dear, will you?” “I thought that joke was quite exploded,” I answered uneasily, for somehow there was something very compelling about him, which I wished to hide from myself. “Exploded, dearest; what do you think I am about?” and he caught me by the hands and looked straight into my eyes. “Don’t you know the truth yet, that I love you with every fiber of my being, and don’t you also know that I’m going to make you love me every bit as much?” With his dparture, a feeling that I had been very near the brink of surrender overcame me, and I began to allow to myself that my life was at times more than a little lonely, and, that being looked after by Cyril had its points. Day by day I turned the question over in my thoughts, and day by day I found myself weakening. Moreover, I had seen np more of him, and he had not even written. Men don’t realize what a weapon is theirs—one which always conquers the weaker sex the feeling that perhaps they are not paying one as much attention as heretofore. In fact, I was becoming actually worried—it was not the end of January and I had made no plans. Somehow I felt disinclined to, and the most absurd part was that I found myself packing mechanically all my prettiest dresses, to the astonishment of my maid, who asked me where I was going. I said Monte Carlo, which I positively hoped now was true. February came and still no news, with the result that I began to work myself into a fever. It seems almost incredible, but the silence remained unbroken till the evening of the 6th, when I received a telegram containing three words, “Remember the 7th!” Remember, why I had done nothing but think of it all the time, and now, at the very last minute, came a message like that. The man must be mad; how could one be married at a minute’s notice? I spent a horrible night, and came down ip the morning feeling miserable, and, What was much worse, ugly. About 10 o’clock in walked Cyril, calm and collected as though It was a most ordinary proceeding. “Well, little girl,” he said, “are you coming? I’ve got a special license from doctors’ commons, and we’ve just time to get married, have a bite of lunch at The Berkley, and catch the afternoon Continental express.” I went.—Alan Sethbridge in M. A. P.

Li fes Turning Points.

The climacteric years are certain years in a man’s life that were long believed to be of peculiar significance to him as turning points in his health and; fortune. These are the mystic number seven and its multiples, with odd numbers, 21, 35, 49 and 63. The most Important of all was the sixtythird year, which was considered fatal to most men. ' ~ A boy will get everything you promise him and as much more as possible. If you expect your frjends to fight your battles, you are apt to get whip ped

FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN

, Should Eliminate Drudgery. Especially la the woman of to-day changing in the scope of her mental development, states Judge Willard McEwen, 1 of Chicago. She has a much better understanding of what is going on in the world and her interest is more vital in the things outside her own particular sphere than it formerly was. Woman is waking up to a desire for individuality, which is just as natural an impulse as the desire for immortality. It is in a consciousness of individuality that people get their real happiness. Under past conditions man has been the individual and woman an impressionable creature, whose religion, training and sex instincts made her satisfied with children, and home, and working for a man, who is most of the time a false ideal. She is modifying that condition. In my judgment the real question of woman’s Independence as a factor in the partnershop is a question of sex. Taxation without representation, improvement in government through woman’s participation are idle arguments so far as being of any effect is concerned. Woman has been long in a condition of subserviency and is coming to realize it. Man might as well recognize this and figure that it is going to cost him something that he ought to pay. An economic question must be considered with reference to present conditions. If tested by the days of our grandfathers, woman’s present attitude and manner of looking at life is to be deplored, but tested by our times woman's situation and change in her relationship to man have injected a new element into the conditions which should be charged up to the account as legitimate expense. The drudgery in a woman's life should be eliminated as far as is consistent with the family purse. It is not incumbent on a woman to get tired out and overheated baking bread when a few nickels invested at the corner bak-

ery will provide the table with bread that no doubt will prove much more palatable. The day of the woman drudge is fast nearing its close, and we are not going to turn back to the good old days of the thatched roof and the dirt floor. Dainty Claaa Day Frock.

Many Women In the Law.

Few people realize that fully 20,000 American women of to-day have qualified for the law, says the New Idea Magazine, Nearer the average conception is the number who have become advocates before the United States Supreme Court—4o. Yet it is

undeniable that there are splendid opportunities for women lawyers, and the 20,000 of to-day promises to be largely increased in the coming years, one of the most authoritative legal publications declaring that women are needed to analyze, digest and classify the quarter million decisions of Federal and State courts handed down in the ten years ending with 1910. The fact that out of 20,000 admitted lawyers only 40 appear before the gowned justices at Washington does not imply that the remainder are engaged In housekeeping or other pursuits. These women lawyer? are representing clients and appearing before the courts in their own states, doing valuable and remunerative legal work.

Fads and Fancies in Dress

Bordered materials make many summer gowns. Plumes to match the gown are used on black hats. In Paris short-skirted evening gowns are fashionable. New combing jackets are made of flowered cretonne. Some of the cotton foulards are as beautiful as the silks. Hats of black straw are seen trimmed with silver braid. Crochet lace is»smart on gowns, jabots, blouses and even on hats. Cornflower yellow is one of the newest shades for evening gowns. There is a craze for brown and many new shades have been sliown. Many of the new turbans are trimmed with huge bows of changeable ribbon at the back. The black hat Is probably most durable from its power to withstand dust

SARGE SUMMER HATS

and spots and its satisfying harmony with any color of costume. Parasols are seen with long, fantastic handles of carved wood, such as elephant and bulldog heads. Women 1 ! Clothins;. Dr. Haig Ferguson in a lecture at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary the other day had some severe things to say about the clothing of an adult woman. It was hampered by fashion and superstition and nothing could be a greater tribute to the strong nerves and pqwerful muscles of women than the fict that their health had survived for centuries their habits of clothing. - A woman’s clothing was the despair of the hygienist. ’ Children .and girls were more sensibly clad, but when girls grew up they were often clothed in a way which made them unable to walk, run or breathe. Weighty skirts, low-necked gowns, “pneumonia blouses,” the modern hat, the highheeled shoe with its pointed toe, were all condemned. But, then, women will have it so and so it will remain. Sleep and the Brain. When the brain is at work marshaling ideas, producing mental pictures, and calling into action stored-up memories and impressions, the cells of its mysteriously potent “gray matter” undergo a change of form. Cavities are formed in them, which, as the brain becomes wearied by long-continued action, fill with a watery fluid. Part of the substance of the cells appear to have been consumed in the process of thinking, but in the hours of sleep the exhausted cells regain their original form, the supply of recuperative material coming from the blood, and on awakening, the mind finds its instrument restored and prepared again for action. A Dluppolntment. Artists, poets and writers generally conspire to represent woman as being beautiful, gentle, self-sacrificing and the embodiment of love. With this extravagant ideal of woman formed for them in their youth, is it surprising that many men are doomed to disappointment?—Ttu th. Woma» and the Motor Car. Can a woman drive a motor car? Robert Slass says she can, and in the Outing Magazine tells why. In one place he says: “Unusual physique is not necessary

for the woman motorist. Neither eeg needs extraordinary muscular develop* ment in automobiling, and also any woman not an invalid can master its •mysteries quite as well as a man, provided she has the will and the patience to acquire the know-how. Certainly in the sphere of patience woman by nature is equipped to give man a long handicap. The woman motorist is not half so likely as man Is to swear and call loudly for a tow when anything goes wrong with the car. She will more probably set quietly to work to find the trouble and remedy it quite as thoroughly as if she were cleaning otit the kitchen range. “Remember, nevertheless, that though sex and slight physique aye in no sense disabilities to the woman who wants to do her own motoring, and though her feminine patience and intuition stand her in good stead, she must not expect to succeed by intuition alone.” s . I A World Upside Down. Another announcement was lately made of the perennial discovery that women are alike the world over—that gentle birth, training, environment do not of themselves create a new feminine type. The fact is as old as the race. The beggar maid, we have been assured for generations, proved an excellent queen for King Cophetua. Maud Muller would have quickly learned to adorn the station to which the judge might have called her. So the reCent scheme of so-called "social leader” had not even the excuse of being a jnovel demonstration. Madam took two girls from ordinary boarding houses to her house, dressed them in her clothes, loaded them with her jewels, and introduced them to her millionaire friends. The next day she told the newspaper of her successful trick, exulted over the enthusiasm with which “society” had accepted her victims, and thus demonstrated that "wealth and false pride form the barriers between the classes.” The contriver of the scheme said to the reporters, “I* once dressed up my cook in one of my gownd, and she mingled with my guests. Her figure was beautiful, and she made a stunning appearance. But she did not feel at her ease, and stayed only a short time. Back to the kitchen she went.” It is to be hoped that the girls in her latest experiment, nay, that the hostess herself, may show as good sense as did Mary, the cook. But the

task of the two young women is not an easy one. Will they go back to simplicity and industry and honesty and womanliness? Or will they plot to force their way, by hook or crook, in the not too genuine world of which they have caught a glimpse?—Youth’s Companion. Summer Sleeve SuKVeetiona.

Very few sleeves now are all In one piece. An over and undersleeve are used In almost every case. The first sketch shows a foulard silk sleeve with deep cuff over an undersleeve of dotted net.* The second sketch is a lingerie effect in white batiste, strapped with lace insertion. Na 3 shows the “peasant" or seamless shoulder, an extension of the bodice forming the sleeve, which falls over an undersleeve of heavy lace. Nos. 4 and 5 show sleeves taken from two mohair frocks, one a tailored street gown and the other a little white mohair house dress. The last sketch is a ponge sleeve trimmed with oriental embroidery and mounted over an undersleeve of. cream tucked batiste. To Soften Paint Braahee. To soften an old paint brush in which the paint has been allowed to dry, heat some vinegar to the boiling point, and allow the brush to simmer in it a few minutes. Remove and wash well in strong soap suds, and the brush will be like new. Explained at Boat. Women are better than men, because they do not have women to tempt them.—Smart Set