Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 38, Number 277, 29 September 1913 — Page 8

PAGE EIGHT

THE RICHMOND PALLADIUM AND SUN-TELEGRAM, MONDAY, SEPT. 29, 1913 PALLADIUM'S MAGAZINE AND HOME PAGE

Married Life the Second Year By MABEL HERBERT URNER. IT was growing dusk. The porter had turned on the lights, and a waiter had just passed through announcing "First call for dinner; dining car in the rear."

Helen turned from the window. I "Are you hungry, mother? Shall we j go now, or wait for the second call?" j Mrs. Allen looked up from her mag- i azine. "I think I'd rather wait. We ! had luncheon late, you know." j Helen nodded ber assent, and once j more gazed out at the flying fields and j farm houses. Here and there a light j shone from some distant window or j from the street lamps of some small j village throush which they whirled i with a warning whistle, but with un- j slackening speed. i

Six hours of their jorney passed. Most of the time Winifred had slept, while Mrs. Allen read some magazines bought from the train boy. But Helen, too nervous and disturbed to read, had gazed Incessantly out of the window. Her mind was full of Warren. She thought, now, of many things she wished she had said when they parted. Those last moments had been so hurried and unsatisfactory. She might have made much more of them. SHE PICTURED HIM ALONE. It was now almost sir, just about the time he would be going home to dinner. She pictured him entering the apartment. Would it be empty and desolate without her? How much would he miss her? If she could only know what he would think and feel as he sat there at. the table, alone, tonight, while Delia served his solitary dinner. And what would he do after dinner? Would he stay there and read or would the loneliness be unbearable? But if he even went to the club or some theatre, there would still be the coming back to the deserted apartment later on. Would he miss her then? And when he turned out the lights and slipped into bed would he lie there and think of her? And how would he think of her? Would he regret any of his coldness and indifference? Would he, at least, wish that he had been more responsive, more tender in those last few moments She thought of how she had clung to him just before the train pulled out how she begged him to say something, "to say that he loved her," And he had answered hurriedly, indifferently: "Why of course I love You. There, don't be foolish, goodbye, take care of yourself." If there had only been a note of real love in his voice it would have given her something to cherish, to hold to

all through this visit. But his whole attitude had been perfunctory. His chief desire had been to say good-bye and quickly to avoid anything on sentiment or tears. DINNER ON THE TRAIN. The waiter came through now with the "last call" for dinner. Helen aroused herself from her reverie, took Winifred, whose head still fell drowsily against her shoulder, and they made their way back to the dining car. The head waiter led them to a table near the center of the car. "Mother, look, isn't that Will Farrel at the table behind us? Mrs. Allen turned and gazed at the broad back and head of thick closely cropped brown hair. "It looks like him, but I couldn't be certain. It's been so long since I've seen him. "I wish he would turn around!" whispered Helen.. "I'm almost sure it is he. I think I told you I met him in New York a few months ago, and he dined with us." "That was the night you said" her mother hesitated. "Yes," bitterly "that was the night Warren came home half intoxicated. I don't think I was ever so embarrassed. Oh, there he's turning now! Yes, it's Will and he sees us." Helen flushed and looked down at her plate as he rose from his table and came towards them. "Why this is a surprise," shaking cordially with them both. After the first few moments of greet

ing and explanation, he insisted that they both dine with him. Helen's mother had always liked Will Farrel and now her presence relieved any embarrassment which Helen might have felt. It was a very pleasant dinner, Helen had always had a childish delight In a meal on a dining car. SO DIFFERENT FROM WARREN. Will was most thoughtful and attentive, and Helen found herself comparing his solicitude for their comfort with the careless indifference she had so long received from Warren. After dinner he took them back to the observation car. Just the way he had the porter place their chairs, the eager service he seemed always to receive impressed Helen, as it always had, with the strong personality of the man. There is nothing that so thrills a woman as the sense of being looked after and taken care of by a man whom she feels could .easily master any situation that might arise. There is an atmosphere of reserved force about such a man, that is the essence of their masculinity. And now, as she

CONSPIRA TORS

By Nell Brinkley

Ella Wheeler Wilcox On Self-esteem People Resent Attitude of "1 Am Holier Than Thou." We Should Be Patient and Condone Short-Comings of Others, As None of Us Is Perfect.

By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. A YOUNG MAN who prides himself upon his good habits, and tries to live up to the ideals implanted in his mind by a good mother, is made very unhappy by the malice of his enemies. He says: 'The reason I write Is, I suffer not from weapons, but from tongues of my adversaries, who seek only to drag me down to degradation with lies which I cannot understand. My nature is more like a woman's: by that I mean, more refined than a man's nature usually is." No lies of our enemies can harm us if we pass on in the path of truth and pay no attention, further than a calm denial of misstatements. We are judged by our lives and actions in the long run, not by the gossip of our detractors.

The only human being I recollect

as you are living, then you are not really so good, after all not really so much better than they, with all their sins. For you have the sin of self-conceit, of self-satisfaction, of uncharitableness. of lack of human sympathy. And you forgot that jou haTe not their inheritance and environment. The human being who puts on airs for any reason is a pitiable creature. The very best of mortals is still full of faults. The very brightest is dull or weak or incomplete, in some respects. Success of Present Day Pigmies Compared to Ancestors. The most successful in the art or profession or trades are pigmies, put beside men and women who have lived in other eras. There is nothing which we can with any reason pride ourselves upon having done or been to the extent of hold-

who attained maturity without being I nK our heads above our fellows. What

lied about and having enemies was a blind idiot. This young man quoted above quite possibly is too silf-centred. Regards Himself as the Superior of His Companions. He is continually thinking how refined and good he is, and how much better be is than his associates. This state of mind naturally attracts criticism. When any one assumes an "I-am-ho-lier-than-thou" attitude toward his fellow men, he is certain to be a target for lies. People resent that attitude more than any other. Real goodness, real worth, real morality, is always accompanied by a sort of gentle humility ;a manner which invites confidence; a deportment which carries with it sympathy and understanding. Unless you feel near to your fellow men; unless you are conscious of their kinship, no matter how erring they may be; unless your thought is one of pity rather than condemnation for their failure to live as good a life

ever our achievements, we need to feel humility in the presence of The Great

All-Mighty Creator of the universe. We need to walk softly and speak kindly, and be patient and chartatable aud sympathetic and helpful; and wa need to talk much of the good qualities of others and little of our own. This young man. quite possibly, brought all his troubles on himself by trying to impress upon his associates how very much more moral and refined and delicate he is than they. He needs to develop some robust qualities. lie needs to turn his thoughts out toward his fellows, and not In upon his own good self so continually. We Should Do Good to Those We Know Despise Us. Let him do good to those who despitefully use him, and speak pityingly of those who lie about him. even if he keeps away from their society. And let him forget all his troubles, which are mainly Imaginary. No lasting or serious barm can come toany one who fills his mind with good thoughts, his mouth with good words, apd his life with good actions.

MOTHER AND FATHER

est.

MOTHER loves that child most that is weakest; a father loves the child most that is strong-

When photographs of Mother as she appeared when young are shown the children, they regard her wrinkles and gray hairs more as the result of putting up with father than as the natural work of time. And usually with reason. As children we depend on Father's money taking us through the world, and Mother's prayers making everything all right in the next, and never live so long that we entirely outgrow the latter notion. When Father is wakened sufficiently to realize that the baby is crying, he is wide enough awake to see that its mother Is up and caring for it. Mother's fears that she may die are

. based on the kind of stepmother their

Father will bring the children. His

THE BACHELOR lies at his ease. He wriggles his toes in his slippers (which he can leave all night on the piano if he wants to) and swims in clouds of thick blue smoke. He is free of the torment of love. He dreams of no misty luring face. His pipe does not go out or his dinner grow cold. His heart beats regularly and gently. Calm, perfect, unutterable content flows through all the channels of his blood. His eye takes in all women with a fine detached appreciation. And his pulse beats strong and slow. But his peace is doomed. Over his quiet colorless sky of days will be drawn a veil of flame that will blind his eyes and blaze through his once quiet nights. His

heart will catch fire and hurt perhaps 'till he will wish to die. His pipe will go out many times aud his carefully ordered dinner go uneaten. He will fly from his couch of ease and wander rapidly about like a tortured ghost. And out of the conflagration he will come with one wonder-face seared on his heart. For there are TWO who plot against him! A fat baby, with soft, white wings and a pink chin, and a roguish girl with merciless eyes and a heart that glows and warms with the whispej?ig of Love's breath upon her ear! ; , .

sat beside Will Farrel, Helen was more than ever conscious of this. For almost an hour they stayed there looking out on the moonlit country and the tracks that seemed like an endless ladder always slipping from beneath the car and leading back through the dark hills. When at length they arose, Will insisted on carrying Winifred, who had fallen asleep. Before he told them good night he rang for a porter to make up their berths. "And now you are all rights Is there anything I can do?. Well, then remember you are to have breakfast with me in the morning." Helen's mind was full of many things as she absently watched the porter pull down their berths, take out the covers, slip on the clean linen

aud then fasten the heavy curtain on the rings. HELEN'S STRANGE DREAM. When she helped her mother to undress and get comfortably settled she took Winifred in with her. All day Winifred had been unusually good, and now the motion of the train soon lulled her to sleep. Helen drew up the shade by her pillow and long after the other passengers were quiet she still lay gazing out at the night. And when at length she fell asleep, it was a strange and confused dream in which she seemed always trying to reach Warren, but in some way he always seemed turning from her. The place changed from a desert-like waste to a dense forest. And still she was calling out to Warren who still was just a little further on. And yet she could never reach him or even make him hear.

Moods of Love Are Like Wind

By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. X iir I HE moods of love are like the I wind; "And none know whence or why thev rise." COVENTRY PATMORE.

1 1 if

OW," writes some lover every

av in the week, "can I tell

she loves me?"

"He is very nice to me and wants to be with me every evening, but he never says a word about love," writes some distressed little girl. "How can

fears concern the man who will enjoy his life insurance money. The children are always glad that Father didn't marry his first love, beInr perfectly satisfied with Mother, but they always have an undefined notion that the family would be happier If Mother had married hers. The children are always more grateful to Mother than to Father. True, Father has to earn the money, but then Mother has to coax it out of him, and sitting down town behind a desk can never be as hard work as coaxing money out of Father. The public generally doesn't share this opinion, but the Mother and Father sitting in the audience, who kept their daughter in school In spite of her kicks and screams, and who bought all the pretty white stuff she is wearing though depriving themselves in doing it. are Infinitely more interesting than the Young Thing on the stage, who thinks she knows all about Life, and who doesn't know any more about It than a mouse that has lived all its life inside a fruit cake.

miration is less than his noisy neighbor's.

SOME SIGNS. It is the same with Love. Some laugh from morning till r,ht. and pass into dreamland with smiles on their faces, and others seem almost paralyzed through awe of this great wonder that life has brought them. And there are others who will agree with John P. Brown, who wrote: "The sign of those who are tormented by Love's passion is tears; above all, of

that lover who finds none to sympathize with him." If there are any who imagine that the dimensions and capacity of the heart may be measured as one measures the capacity and dimensions of a cistern, let him learn to the contrary

f mm oc arimr an antHrritv r n T s i v o a a

I tell if he loves me? What are the Marie Corelli: signs of love?" , '-pacts and figures," she writes, "can They are as varied and interesting to a certain extent be relied on. but and uncertain as the signs of a storm ! th.e fluctuating humours and vagaries , . , . . ; of a man and woman in love with each or a fair day, and no one can describe j other are bevond thp mogt precise calthe symptoms in one man's case that j culations of the skilled mathematician. will apply to the symptoms in another. For it often happens that when they Love is not like' the measles. ! Peem to be coldest, they are warmest ... , , . , . and acses have been known where Love, rhymes Takenham Beatty. , they have taken the greatt pain8 to "comes to some with smiling eyes and j avoid each other at a time when they comes with tears to some; for some ; have most deeply longed to be toLove sings, for some Love sighs, for gether." some Love's lips are dumb." THE PERVERSE IMP. Two persons will stand before a ! Sometimes with the perversity of wonderful scene. One will burst into ; tbe human heart, which no one can exclamations of pleasure and admira- explain or account for, girls and boys tion, exhausting his vocabulary and ; assume their worst behavior, and are growing almost maudlin in his at-; in tneir mogt unattractive moods, tempt to express his delight. The other j when in the presence of those they will stand dumb with awe at the mira- iong to attracL It is as if they put cle, yet no one may say that his ad- j on a garment the seamy side out

when the occasion calls for the finest apparel. The girl who knows tbe man she loves abominates slang will use more when he is present than on any other occasion. Men are rudest when gentleness Is the trait their lady love admires most. Loudest when silence is more appealing and pugnacious when the little girl whose favor they seek fa a lover of peace.

So one may not define this tender passion as if it were as tangible as a Spring hat or a rock wall, nor attempt to describe it. The glorious characteristic of love and its universal trait is that somewhere, somehow, it finds expression at last. It may be strangely dubm in the beginning, so dumb tbe little heart that waits for its avowal begins to ache, but the dumbest loTe breaks silence at last, and w-n tbe time comes the Joy more thanfipeneates for the waiting. To be sure that it is Love, the Love for life, and not the little imp which masquerades as Love, and which has its origin more in a fervid imagination than in the heart, apply to the sentiment that is crowding every other

emotion out of your being, this -test poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: "Unless you can think, when the ong is done. No other is soft in the rhythm: Unless you can feel, when left by One, That all men else go with him: Unless you can know, when upraised by his breath. That your beauty itself wants proving; Unless you can swear, 'For life, or Oh. fear to call it loving." death:'

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