Chapter X: Part 10

2. Political affairs in a party sense; the administration of
public affairs or the conduct of political matters so as to
carry elections and secure public offices; party intrigues;
political wire-pulling; trickery.

3. A man’s political sentiments, party preference, or
connection.

The word, then, has three shades of meaning. The third one we need not bother with, since it merely means any man’s opinion on the things given under Number 1 and Number 2.

Now let’s contrast Number 1 and Number 2. There are some large words there, but if we take it a piece at a time we shall at least see that there is a tremendous difference between the two shades of meaning.

In Number 1 politics means the fair and unprejudiced study of how a nation should be governed, but in Number 2 politics means _How much can you get out of it regardless of the general welfare_!

In Number 1 the object is the “peace, prosperity and safety of the state,” but in Number 2 the object is to “carry elections and secure public offices”—“party intrigues; political wire-pulling; trickery.”

It is Number 1 we are considering primarily. True, if our daily bread depends on politics, we are also interested in “how much we can get out of it,” but we mean by this how much we can get justly and honestly—our equal share _along with everyone else_. “Equal rights to all, special privileges to none.”

No, no! I’m not advocating the People’s Party principles just because I quote one of their watchwords. That motto is not theirs alone, but that of every honest citizen, no matter to what party he belongs. It is merely an expression of the principles set forth in the Declaration of Independence. Whatever I may believe personally, it is no part of my business to plead the cause of any political party in our Department. We have nothing to do with parties. Our object is to consider how our nation is governed and how it _should_ be governed—national, state, county, township and city governments, under whatever names these divisions may be called in different places.

We are primarily concerned with definition Number 1. We want to know how our nation should be governed. After that we will consider Number 2, and see how it _is_ governed.

Now, considering the awful amount of writing and talking there is about politics, the infinite number of questions there are to decide, and the unending difference of opinion on these questions, we can see at the outset that we can’t decide it all in two numbers of our Department. Nor in a hundred. We are not going to try to. All we want is an intelligent idea of the general situation and of our duty in the matter.

What is government at bottom? In the beginning there was no government or organization of any kind, not even the family organization. Each man or woman lived his or her own life separate from all others. The first organization came about when a man and woman decided to live together and raise children. They soon found that when they had a child to take care of they could not go on independently of each other as they had before. They had two things to do—to care for the baby and keep it safe every minute from wild beasts and other people, and to secure food for themselves and their child. If they both went hunting for food there was no one to watch the baby; if they both watched the baby, there was no way of getting food. They saw that they had to have some _arrangement_. They had to _divide_ the labor. So the woman tended the baby and the man went hunting for all three. Each of them gave up a little of the former independence and received a new thing in _return_—help from another person. Thus the “family” began. It was the first step towards _society_ and government. They gave up part of their freedom _in return for help_ from others.

People lived by hunting animals and gathering fruits and berries at first. If a man laid by any food for his family, another man was likely to take it away while he was away hunting. He found it pretty hard to have to do anything himself and he at odds with other men. Pretty soon it dawned on him that it would pay to make some “arrangement” with those other men. He wouldn’t rob them, if they didn’t rob him. Later he arranged with a few of them to keep their families close together so that some of the men could protect them while the other men hunted for all. In some such way began the “town.” Each of them gave up a part of his freedom _in return_ for help from others.

When many towns had sprung up these towns began to see they could to advantage make “arrangements” among themselves (just as individual men had done) for protection and other purposes. Thus the “state” or country came into existence. Each town gave up part of its “independence” _in return_ for help from other towns.

Thus “society” was formed and grew more and more complex. Of course, I have only sketched the process in a very general way, but the idea is there. The one point we have to consider is that no one of these arrangements or institutions—the family, town and state—would be possible _unless_ every member gave up part of his original freedom _in return_ for help from others. A _bargain_ has to be made. For instance, the different men and their families each made a bargain with the whole number to give up part of their freedom, time and energy to the band. _In return_ each was to receive his share of the freedom, time and energy the others had given to the band or town. Each man made a _bargain_ with the town. He owed the town something: the town owed him something.

That was the beginning of government, and that is the arrangement at the bottom of any government to this day. Every government (town, county, state or national) is just a bargain between the various individuals and all of them taken together. Each owes something to all: all owe something to each.

The point is, in each case, is this bargain a _fair_ one? Does the individual give up more than he receives in _return_?

In olden times the average individual did give up far more than he got in return. Often he didn’t get much besides protection against some other government. Yet for this he frequently had to give up _nearly all_ his freedom, time and energy. A few individuals gained control of the government and, though they might not contribute as much as the others, took most of what the others gave for the use of the whole number, calling themselves kings, or dukes or emperors. The mass of the people forgot that originally the “government” meant _all_ the people. They came to consider the few who had gained control of the government as _the government itself_. That is, they let themselves be cheated out of their share in it.

Our Declaration of Independence was one of the things that resulted when, after centuries of misrule and suffering, the mass of the people began to wake up to the fact that they had been cheated all that time under a bargain which had originally been fair. They had been giving more than they got in return.

In an absolutely fair government every individual would receive just as much as he gave and give just as much as he received. A modern government is so vast and so complex that it would be hard to measure each man’s share exactly, but the nearer any government comes to that, the better and fairer it is. England, for example, comes nearer to that ideal than does Russia; Russia nearer than Afghanistan.

The chief trouble in Russia is that the mass of the people have to give more than they receive. A comparative few have gained possession of the government and each takes a very, very large share of what _all_ contribute, leaving almost no share at all for the majority.

Of course it is almost impossible to trace out just what each Russian peasant gives up to the government, and what he receives in return. Without a government of some kind he could not produce or hold anything except by force against his fellows—land, goods, money, family, all would be _totally_ insecure. As it is, he does get _some_ security in these respects. In return he gives practically _all_ his freedom, time and energy. On the other hand, a Grand Duke may give up to his country hardly any freedom, time and energy, and yet be rolling in wealth. Something is wrong. It is not a fair bargain. It is not a good government.

How about _our_ government? Is it a fair bargain?

Modern civilization is very complex. No two men can really give just the same amount to the common country, since all men differ in ability. But the country asks only certain things from its individuals. To be fair the point is to _ask the same from all_. The country gives only certain things to its individuals: the point is to _give the same to all_. Our country doesn’t demand military service in time of peace, as do many other countries. And, in _return_, it doesn’t give us a tremendous standing army. If it _did_ demand military service, to be fair it would have to make the demand equally of _all_ able to bear arms. If it _did_ give us a big standing army, to be fair it would have to use this army to protect us _all_ equally.

If our country taxes certain goods, it must tax them everywhere—not for one man and not for the next. If there is a tax of one cent on every bale of a certain commodity, each man should pay one cent for every bale he owns. If there is a tax of one cent on every dollar, each man should pay one cent for every dollar he owns.

Is this the case in the United States?

If the Government gives certain privileges to a few men, it should give the same to all. Is this always done in our country?

Of course all may not always want a certain privilege. It is open to all, but only a few use it. Is this all that is required of the Government? Or, since the Government has nevertheless given some of the general fund to only a few, should these few make some adequate _return_ for what they have used from the common property? Is this always done in our country?

Ask yourself similar questions about every case that comes up. What I have said doesn’t pretend to “explain politics,” but it ought to give everyone a test or basis to refer everything back to. Ask yourself whether any law or custom is a _fair bargain_. You can tell well enough when you deal with the grocer or the milkman whether you are getting a fair bargain. Try to in these other matters.

But to come back to why women should take an interest in politics. One reason has been suggested—that her daily bread is affected by them. Another has been hinted at—that it is partly your fault that politics as practiced in this country are corrupt (definition No. 2). Since we are to devote the next number of our Department to this same question, we will do little now in this issue except suggest reasons and ask questions. I’m not going to do all the expressing of opinion just because I happen to have the chance all to myself this month. By next month I hope there will be letters and opinions from a great many of you.

In some parts of our country women can vote and it is likely that some day they will do so everywhere. When the country or state gives her the right to vote does that put her under any obligation to do or give anything in return for this privilege?

Who gives women (or men) the right to vote—the city, state or country?

Is it fair to give it to some women and not to all? Is it fair to give it to men and not to women?

Would politics be purer if women took more interest in them? If women voted?

In those places where women cannot vote what can they do towards securing good government? Can they do anything through their husbands, brothers and fathers? Through their neighbors? Through their own children? Can they do anything through the church? The schools? Last year, when Philadelphia threw off boss-rule, what was the method that succeeded in making the corrupt politicians surrender after all other methods had failed?

Can you tell the Department of any instance where the women have brought about, or helped to bring about, reforms in town, country, state or national government even when they were not allowed to vote?

Do you remember the saying that “the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world”? How much truth is there in it?

If you had a really intelligent idea of politics as they should be and as they are, would it bring you into closer touch with the men-folks of your family? Would it broaden your horizon? Would it interfere with household duties? Would it make you a better citizen? Could you accomplish real good by having this knowledge?

What is the best way of acquiring an intelligent idea of the subject, it you haven’t one already? Take the opinion of those around you? Read weighty and technical books and articles? Read first a very simple book on civics—on the organization of our Government? Would it be a good plan to read your boy’s school text-book on this subject?

Can some one point out a few articles in the numbers of this Magazine which make their point very clear and are easy enough for anyone to understand? Send the Department the names of a few that appealed to you, so that some more of us can venture on them. Similar articles in other magazines which the average woman can grasp without a previous extensive knowledge of politics or political economy? Books?

Can you decide a question until you have heard both sides of it?

Is it safe to believe all you read, or does it pay to consider when you read it, who wrote it, what personal or party reason he may have had for writing it?

Consider your local newspaper. Do you know the difference between the “set” matter and the “plate” matter and the “ready-print” matter in its pages? Why is this difference _very_ important in deciding as to the value of an article in that paper? Who writes set matter? Has he “any fish to fry” when he writes? Who writes plate and ready-print matter? Has he any fish to fry? With a little care you can tell these three kinds of printed matter apart in your local paper. (Ready-print matter is used only in some country weeklies and dailies and some other small local papers. It can be “spotted” by noticing what pages of the paper always have it. Unfold the paper and lay it flat on the floor. If it is ready-print and has few pages enough to make only one sheet, all of the pages on one side will be ready-print. There won’t be any local articles or items in the print. Both ready-print and plate are in different type from set matter.) If a corrupt man or corrupt men wrote the ready-print and plate could they wield a vast influence? More than by writing the set matter? It is well worth thinking about.

Are there many magazines or papers that are not controlled by political or business interests? How much can you believe in a publication controlled in that way?

The voters of the country are divided into several political parties. Would it be better or worse if there were no regular parties and every voter voted independently?

What is a real democracy? Is the United States a real democracy now? Why?

What is meant by direct legislation—the initiative, referendum, recall and imperative mandate? Big words, but they stand for things worth knowing about and having an opinion on. And they are easy enough to understand. Would these things tend toward real democracy? Have they been tried in actual practice? If so, have they proved a success? Why? What effect would they have on the whole party system?

There, I think that is enough questions for one person to ask. Someone is likely to ask me a question in return—_How_ do politics affect our daily bread? Well, there are several hundred answers to that. Let’s each of us suggest for the May number one or more ways that politics (according to both definition No. 1 and definition No. 2) affect our daily living.

We are not going to try to become experts in politics, but we do want to have an intelligent general idea of them. It is our _duty_. In our May number I hope to have many opinions from women all over the country.

We had a glimpse last month at some of the interesting things concerned in bread and bread-making. The house is full of things we have known so long that we scarcely think of them except as parts of the daily routine, but which, if we turn our attention to them, prove veritable mines of information, history, travel and even romance.

_Sponges_

A sponge is the skeleton of a very, very, tiny animal, or rather of a colony of thousands of such animals that live under water. When the little animals die they leave behind them this network of elastic fibers that they have built up. For a long time it was thought that sponges were plants, and even now scientists know really very little about these little animals. You have noticed how many kinds of sponges there are. These different varieties are caused partly by differences in temperature and chemical composition of the water and partly by the fact that there are more than one species or variety of the animal itself. There is no need to enumerate all the kinds of sponges from the fine, soft ones used in surgical operations to the big, coarse ones used for washing carriages. Nearly all the sponges inhabit salt water and the best ones come from the Mediterranean, particularly the Levant or that eastern part of the Mediterranean bounded by Syria, Asia Minor and the Holy Land and Egypt. Others are found in the waters around Florida and in those near Australia. The sponges are secured by means of native divers. In some places these men work all day long from sunrise to sunset through six months of the year, resting during the winter. The work is, of course, very hard and few of them reach old age. Often they are treated with inhuman cruelty by their employers and many are killed by sharks. Particularly in Florida there have been attempts made to raise sponges artificially, but though it is easy to secure the spawn of the tiny animals and succeed in getting them to attach their little colonies to stones, coral or other objects under water, the sponges never reach any considerable size and are commercially useless. They have also tried to propagate them by cuttings or slips, but here arises the difficulty of making the cuttings attach themselves to other objects, which is necessary to their development. And the little animals themselves, they go right on very quietly drinking in water and getting all they need from it—air, food and drink—whether they are off the coast of Europe, Asia, Africa, America or Australia or in a little glass aquarium being looked at through a microscope by a dried-up old man with spectacles and side-whiskers. And we use the sponges.

_Maize_

The right name of what we call corn or Indian corn is maize. The word is derived from the Spanish word _maiz_, which comes from the native Haitian word _mahiz_. Corn in Europe means what we call wheat. Maize, or corn, like all our grains, belongs to the big Grass Family and is a native of America. Most of our other grains come from Europe and Asia, just as we ourselves did. It probably came from the table-lands of Mexico and Peru and has always been the chief food of the Indians. It was introduced into Asia, southern Europe and northern Africa and spread quickly and widely for a while. However, the climate was not hot enough for it in Europe and it is not raised there very much now. The English generally consider it fit only for animals and rather turn up their noses at us for eating it ourselves. The only time I ever saw any offered to an Englishman he was very polite about it but managed to avoid eating even a single mouthful from the nice, tender ears. Other nations are horrified at seeing otherwise well-bred Americans pick up a roasting-ear and gnaw it off the cob, and it must be confessed that it does look pretty bad unless a person is careful to hold it with only one hand and bite it off daintily. Many Americans who travel in Europe miss it terribly and one woman confessed to me that her chief reason for coming home was just to get some real American corn once more. I understand, though, that the English look on our popcorn very differently. It is said that two New England spinsters introduced it over there a number of years ago and their little stand rapidly became so popular that they amassed a very considerable fortune and lived happily ever afterwards. We use sweet corn not only on the cob, for fritters, puddings and so on, as corn-meal and for stock, but extract from it whisky, starch and glucose sugar. Besides sweet corn and popcorn the common kinds are flint and dent. Sweet corn gets its name from the large quantities of sugar in it. Popcorn pops because it has a great deal of oil and this oil explodes when sufficiently hot. Corn varies in color from white to black, but most of it is yellow or white. Like wheat, Government experts and other scientists in this country, Canada and elsewhere have been experimenting with corn for years and by cross-breeding and selection (about which processes I hope the Department will receive some interesting contributions for our June number) they have vastly improved the old varieties and produced many new ones.

When I was a child I remember being much impressed on being told that you never, _never_ could find an ear of corn with an odd number of rows in it. Maybe you can, but I never have been able to, and, as that advertisement says, “there is a reason.”

Can someone tell us for our June Department? You may have heard the story of the Southern planter before the War who offered to give freedom to any slave who could find an ear of corn with an uneven number of rows. None of them could, though it is easy to believe they hunted a good deal, until finally another white man showed one of the slaves how he could cut a row out of an ear when it was very young so as to leave no mark when he presented it and demanded his freedom. The master kept his word and the slave went free.

It was almost equally hard to award the prize for the best general suggestion or recipe sent in. After some careful deliberation, it seemed that, all things considered, the free subscription this month should go to Alicia E. Storm, of Plessis, N. Y., though we hesitated, especially between this and Mrs. Richardson. A little later I hope to be able to send a little souvenir to _everyone_ who sends in a contribution and doesn’t get a regular prize. In case this plan carries out, as I think it will, of course all who have contributed before that time will be remembered. And always there is the gratitude of those who benefit from your suggestion, and my own sincere thanks and your consciousness of having helped other women in their daily trials and perplexities.

_Home Talk._

We have no kitchen cabinet, and we keep a small table set for three in our kitchen, which is not large. The cooking stove, sink, and cupboards taking most of the room. I needed a small table to use for work and mixing table. There was a space behind the stove. I bethought me of the crate in which my sewing machine came. It is just the thing. The table is just about the right height, and the shelf below is as convenient as the top. I find that on baking day it helps very much to get everything one needs before commencing work. I use an earthen mixing bowl. After the bread and biscuits, I make pies, as the lard is then cold. Then I make my cakes and afterward doughnuts. It is a saving of time and fuel if one can bake a variety at once, as in cold weather victuals keep longer than in summer. A convenience for storing pies can be made by having several shelves sawed out large enough to hold your tins. One can use laths (four of them) for uprights, fastening them well at the four corners of the bottom shelf; then fasten the others about three inches apart. This gives more space, and keeps pies from being mussed.

Did you ever experience the difference between two neighborly calls? Mrs. A. relates the latest bit of gossip, making up in insinuations what she lacks in fact. She talks about her dressmaker, criticizes the appearance and dress of her friends, and gives you an uncomfortable feeling—thinking perhaps you will be the subject of unpleasant remarks. Mrs. B. is fresh and cheery. She asks about your plants, and tells of the growth of her own—of every new bud. She tells of the cunning things her baby has said, of the nest her canary is building, of the new book she is reading. She tells, perhaps, of some ludicrous mistake she has made in her cooking, laughing at the same. This woman may not be intellectual in the highest sense, but she is charming. Her call will have made you happy all the day. We leave the effect of our presence—sometimes for long. So should we act that no sting of uneasiness be left in the hearts of those with whom we come in contact.—_Alicia E. Storm, Plessis, N. Y._

_Valuable Pointers_

Every work is easy and pleasant if you go at it as you go to a picnic. In house cleaning I fix one room at the time. It takes a week, but I have the most of each day and I do my work better, as I don’t have to hurry. No confusion in the regular routine of work; one thorough sweeping and dusting is enough for one day. If the tablecloth is clean enough for the home folks, it is all right for company. Don’t try to cook a variety of dishes each day. You won’t hold out so well, and one or two will do as well, and change them every day. Sheets, towels and some other things can be used all right without ironing. If you smoothed all the wrinkles out of all the rough clothes, you might have the wrinkles in your face. I read and rest some every day. Prepare two dinners on Saturday, and go to church and Sunday-school. I do have some trouble and everyone does, but I am always thankful, and my life-work is a delight to me. Let us try to do all things to the glory and honor of God. Although in the country, we have one of the best “teachers.” Our children attend, cold or hot, regularly. They are taught the Sunday-school lesson at school Friday afternoon.—_Mrs. E. A. Richardson, Thomaston, Ga._

_To Make Sure of Milk Churning in Cold Weather_

Many persons who churn in winter have trouble because butter will not come if chilled, and are obliged to throw the milk away, or feed it to the stock. If they will steam, not boil, the milk after milking, they can allow it to freeze solid and it will churn all right if thawed and warmed properly. This recipe has been worth many dollars to me, and hope it will help other women housekeepers.—_Mrs. D. L. Burrows, Gibson, Ga._

_To Polish Nickel on Stoves_

Use stove polish. It is the very best thing. Rub a light coating over it and polish with polishing cloth or brush. The cloth or brush is generally sufficient. Only give an occasional coat of polish.—_Mrs. D. L. Burrows, Gibson, Ga._

_To Clean Iron Kettles_

Boil skim-milk in it and then wash with good soap-suds. Use six quarts for an eight-quart kettle, and boil and simmer for twenty-four hours. This will also prevent future trouble.—_Mrs. E. R. Putney, Kansas City, Mo._

_To Remove Large Stones From Fields_

Make the stone very hot on one side only; pour water on it to make it crack, and help it along with a heavy hammer. Another way, in the winter, is to bore a hole pretty well into the stone, fill with water and plug it firmly shut. The force of the water as it freezes will crack the stone. Still another way is to make a hole in the direction of the veins or cleavage of the stone, put in a cleft cylinder of iron, then drive an iron wedge between the two halves of the cylinder. _L. L. Deweese, Piqua, O._

_Shoe-Soles_

Melt together tallow and common resin, two parts of first to one of second. Apply hot—as much as the sole will absorb. Neat’s-foot oil is good also. These remedies keep the leather soft, prevent its cracking, and make it waterproof.—_Mrs. N. O. Baker, Jersey City, N. J._

_To Clean Wall Paper_

Take off the dust with a soft cloth. With a little flour and water make a lump of stiff dough and rub the wall gently downward, taking the length of the arm each stroke, and in this way go round the whole room. As the dough becomes dirty, cut the soiled parts off. In the second round commence the stroke a little above where the last one ended, and be very careful not to cross the paper or to go up again. Ordinary papers cleaned in this way will look fresh and bright, and almost as good as new. Some papers, however, and these the most expensive ones, will not clean nicely. In order to ascertain whether a paper will clean nicely, it is best to try it in some obscure corner. Fill up any broken places in the wall with a mixture of plaster of Paris and silver sand, made into a paste with a little water, then cover the place with a piece of paper like the rest, if it can be had.—_Mrs. B. C. Benton, Denver, Col._

_To Clean a Chimney_

Place a piece of zinc on the live coals in the stove. The vapor thus produced will carry off the soot.

_For a Cut_

Sift powdered resin on the wound, wrap with a soft, clean cloth, and wet occasionally with water.—_Miss Anna Paisley, New Orleans._

_To Cleanse Sponges_

Wash in a solution of a teaspoonful of ammonia to two quarts of water, and afterwards in a solution of one part of muriatic acid to twenty-five of water. Sponges should be thoroughly rinsed, aired, and dried after every using. Unless they are kept very clean it is not well to use them. A piece of rough towel or tablecloth hemmed at the edges is much better. Another way to clean sponges is to steep them in buttermilk for some hours, then squeeze out and wash in cold water. Lemon juice is also good.

_A PRIZE FOR THE BEST TRUE STORY_

Every month the Department will publish a little story of heroism _in the home_—not any one act of heroism, but the tale of how someone _lived_ heroically, _lived_ self-sacrifice _in everyday life_. It must be _true_ and must be about somebody you know or have known or know definitely about. _It must not have over 500 words._ The shorter, the better. _Whoever sends in the best story each month will not only have it printed but will receive a year’s free subscription to WATSON’S MAGAZINE sent to any name you choose. Tell your story simply and plainly._

_Please state whether the names and places mentioned in your story are real or fictitious._ The Department does not print real names in these stories. Please do not send in stories about someone rescuing another from drowning or anything like that—we don’t want stories of single acts of heroism but of lives bravely and unselfishly lived out.

* * * * *

The stories of “Heroism at Home” have begun to come in. We can not print all of them in this number, but there will be a place for the others later on. Only one told of a single heroic incident. It was a brave, unselfish act, but that isn’t what we are going to use under this head—not things done suddenly, perhaps on impulse or by instinct, but the kind of heroism that lasts day after day. This one story, too, was told in verse and though it was good I fear we had better confine ourselves to simple prose. I hope the writer will send us another good true story in prose and of heroic _living_.

The prize this month is awarded to “Her Career.” It was very hard to decide among several stories that told of some very beautiful and useful lives, so I got others to help me. I imagine it is never going to be easy to decide which is the very best of the stories each month. How the stories are told is not considered at all, but the heroic lives described are very hard to weigh against one another. But I will do the best I can.

_HER CAREER_

No, she never wrote a book, nor went as a missionary to Japan, nor won a degree in college. She never even taught school, nor belonged to a woman’s club.

But she has been the inspiration of her family and has radiated blessings on all she knew.

Thirty years ago she was a dark-haired, dark-eyed bride of eighteen. They were poor, but they had health and strength and bright dreams of the future. They built a small log house on the land they had bought on credit and began to improve it. Their days were filled with hopeful work and their nights brought rest and refreshing sleep.

But soon a shadow fell across the sunlight that streamed on her pathway. Her husband began to drink. He was soon a helpless victim of the fiery appetite and could not go where liquor was without getting drunk.

She was refined and regretted to the very depths of her soul her husband’s weakness. Sometimes she was righteously indignant, but she never upbraided him with moral lectures in which she posed as a mistreated angel, though she often talked it over with him after the “spree” was over.

Children came. The “sprees” became more frequent and things looked more gloomy, but she worked tirelessly and trusted everlastingly.

At last the county voted liquor out. This did some good; the temptation was farther away. But even then he would make several trips a year to the nearest liquor town and always with the same result. If a neighbor were going to town at the same time she would ask him to look after her husband. And when the erring man staggered home she would put him to bed and cook him something to eat—not always ham and eggs and delicacies, but the best she had. She never slipped anything in his coffee to cure him secretly.

And she has almost won. He is not proof against them yet, but the “sprees” are few and far between.

Six children call her mother—two womanly daughters well married, another a lovable and accomplished young woman, a handsome son, with his mother’s wonderfully calm eyes, who detests liquor, and two young girls at school.

A neat white house with green blinds has taken the place of the log structure. She is a model housekeeper and has always done all her work—cooking, sewing, washing, ironing, scrubbing, milking, churning, sweeping, poultry-raising and one thousand and one other things. Besides this she has tied up sore toes and cut fingers, poulticed boils, applied hot salt to all manner of aches and pains; doctored mumps, whooping-cough and la grippe; and successfully nursed measles, pneumonia and fever.

Her face has lost some of its freshness and her hair is turning gray, but she is still the blessed counselor of her family and she still finds time to visit and make herself a true, cheerful friend and neighbor.

_HER SACRIFICE_

Miss ⸺ lives in ⸺, Ohio. She was born on a farm where she lived with her father and mother and two brothers and one sister. The father became surety for a friend who failed, and it took the father’s farm to pay the debt. The family therefore left the farm, and moved to the county-seat, in the suburbs, and in a small house and two lots began life anew. He rode the country buying stock for other men, kept cows and peddled milk in the town, kept forty hens and sold eggs, cultivated the lots in garden produce, and kept the family together. One fortunate result of leaving the farm, the children were put into the city schools. Miss ⸺ graduated in the high school, and obtained a certificate to teach. The two brothers married and left the city. Then finally the sister married and left. Miss ⸺, at the age of 26, was left to care for her parents in their declining years.

She obtained a position as teacher in the city schools and devoted her wages to the care of the home, and looked after her parents when out of school hours. There came offers of honorable marriage, for she was strong, healthy, comely and attractive. She could not consider them. Her parents could not do without her. They were declining in strength and looked to her for the care of the household. She taught on, and with her wages kept them in comfort. Two years ago the good old mother, weary of life, departed for the better land. Two years longer the old father lived, kept the house during the day while the daughter was in the schoolroom and awaited the sound of her footsteps in the evening returning from the school. In January he lay on the bed stricken with a fatal sickness, though unknown to him or her, and while they talked together as she bent over him he ceased to breathe, and she was left alone in the world, unmarried, without a home, and the prime of her good life spent in assiduous care of her parents—at the age of forty years! All hope of a home and family of her own sacrificed to her sense of duty to her father and mother! What is to be her reward? Many another has made a like sacrifice, but how is she to recoup the loss of the fourteen years spent in their service—the loss of her own home and family and children and all the sweet consolations of the state of motherhood? Was it not a heroic life? How few would have met it! Only those who know of her self-sacrifice will know how to honor her. Her fidelity, so unobtrusive, will be little noted by the world. But how grand and noble the sacrifice she has made!

_QUIET COURAGE_

Elizabeth Stanton was born about sixty-five years ago in a beautiful Southern town. She was the youngest daughter of Judge James Stanton, one of the ablest jurists of the state.

Few young ladies had superior advantages to Elizabeth, and fewer still possessed her amiable disposition and strong character. Being beautiful, accomplished and wealthy, it is no wonder she married the only son of a millionaire. A few years after their marriage her husband erected the finest residence in the state. Although built forty years ago it stands proudly today without an equal in the state.

Elizabeth had everything that heart could wish save one—her husband was dissipated and grew more so as years came on. But no ear save the Master’s ever heard her complain and she was always cheerful.

A few years after the Civil War her husband died, leaving his palatial home mortgaged and his vast estate squandered. Elizabeth was left with three children and a small amount of money. She gave up her magnificent home and wealth without a murmur and returned to her old home. In a few years she married again, a man of fine personality, a scholar and typical Southern gentleman, one born to wealth and knowing little how to acquire it. His fortune was like that of most Southern people after the Civil War. They remained in their native home till their small fortune was nearly gone. Then they removed to Florida and lived on a homestead, in a tent with a dirt floor for two years. Elizabeth had never before lived without servants, never cooked a meal or laundered a handkerchief. Now she did all her own work, even to the washing, and taught a country school several months of each year. She found time to visit and elevate the poor, rough people around her, and never by word did she let them know she was not of their class. She was greatly admired and beloved by all who knew her. During these years of hardship she was just as bright and cheerful and apparently as content as when she trod the marble floors of her former mansion. She smilingly remarked to me once that she was glad they had been chastened. It had made her a better woman and was the means of her husband’s conversion. As fortune always favors the brave, she did not always live in poverty. In a few years they had a fine orange grove bearing, and her husband was elected to a high office.

I have never known a more heroic life of any woman. When clouds have hovered over me I have thought of this brave, beautiful character and it has been my inspiration.

From a collection of recipes that dates back almost to “War-Time” we shall give a few every month. Along with them will be given new recipes of the present day.

_Bread Pudding_

One pint bread crumbs, fine, one quart milk, three or four eggs. Season and sweeten to taste, then bake. Spread a layer of jelly or jam quite thick or white of eggs a little sweetened, and brown a little.

_Ginger Snaps_

Three cups of molasses, one cup of brown sugar, two small cups of lard, four tablespoons of ginger and one of cloves, and enough flour to roll them out.

_Corn Batter Cakes_

One and a half pints of corn-meal, the same of milk, one half teaspoon of salt, five eggs beaten together and put in with the corn-meal and milk, one and a half teaspoons of baking-powder.

_Sponge Cake_

Six eggs, one pint of flour, one pint of sugar, three-fourths of a cup of water, two tablespoons of baking-powder.

_Pea Soup_

One half peck peas. Take the shells and put on with two quarts of water. When well boiled take off and put through the colander. Take the water and pour into it the peas. Let boil until very soft and tender. Take off and put through the colander again. Take a quart of cream, or cream and milk, two even tablespoons of flour and less than one ounce of butter. Put in and let come to a boil. Pepper and salt to taste.

_Warren, in Boston Herald_]

_DeMar, in Philadelphia Record_]

_Rogers, in N. Y. Herald_

April, 1906]

_BY Thomas E. Watson._]

Note: _Reviews are by Mr. Watson unless otherwise signed._

=On the Field of Glory.= By Henryk Sienkiewicz. Little, Brown &
Co., Boston.

After the reader has finished reading this book he disapproves of the title. He has been taken into ancient Poland, where the winter snows lie deep, where the wolves of the forest come with the night to make danger for the traveler. He has been shown how the upper class lived in the time of the Soldier-King, John Sobieski. He follows the thread of a passionate and tender and happily ended love-story. He laughs with and at the four brothers, the huge, rude, boisterous, but brave and good-hearted foresters. He feels impressed by the genius of the author during the whole time, for he knows that this strange Polish world, with its unfamiliar men and women, is a creation born of the mental processes of a great literary artist.

It is not an historical novel in the sense that “Quo Vadis” was. There is no field of glory at all. John Sobieski does not appear before us as Nero was made to do in the book just named.

The John Sobieski of this novel might be any other King. So far as we are told about his appearance, manners, dress, personal peculiarities, he might have been Rudolph of Hapsburg or Henry of Valois.

There are no battles, no sieges, no heroic advance or retreat. As the book closes, the Polish army has set out from Cracow to Vienna; and that’s as near as we approach the field of glory.

With the heroine the reader never gets in full sympathy. She drives away the man who has always loved her and whom she loves _without knowing it_.

She then consents to wed her hideous, lecherous, old guardian. More indignant than the bride, the spirits of the Unseen World resent this unnatural union, and they prevent it by claiming the groom while the marriage feast is being eaten.

With the hero the reader is on good terms from first to last, for his is a fine character finely drawn.

When the guardian and intended husband is dead, and the rejected lover is far away, the hero is subjected to trial and temptation, beset by dangers, marked for destruction by a lustful brute, neglected and hated by family connections. It is then that human interest of the deepest kind centres in the poor orphan girl _Panna Anulka_, whom we had condemned on account of her readiness to marry old _Pan Gideon_. We follow her fortunes then with painful attention and we rejoice when she is saved.

While “On the Field of Glory” is not, perhaps, so great a book as “Quo Vadis,” its atmosphere is purer, its store of love more tender and its portrayal of ancient manners and character apparently quite as faithful.

=The Strange Story of the Quillmores.= By A. L. Chatterton.
Stitt Publishing Company, New York.

To write a novel which shall hold the reader with a strong and constant grip, and yet give him no love-story, is a feat not done by everyone that tries it. Mr. Chatterton tells no story of love, but I have not read many books that interested me more than “The Strange Story of the Quillmores.” Mr. Chatterton’s pictures of life are true to life: his men are the men who wear breeches—not impossible abstractions who say or do things which no human beings ever said or did. And his women are as real as his men.

_Uncle I’_ and his store, where the neighbors buy all sorts of things, from ham to coffins, and where a group of loafers and tattlers is generally on hand, are as well known to the reader as if he had been there. _Uncle I’_ must be a character taken from life. He is full of quiet humor, homely wisdom, sound common sense, manly courage and loyalty.

Old-fashioned _Uncle I’_, keeping his old-fashioned carry-all store, swapping stories and repartee with his old-fashioned neighbors, struggling heroically with his old-fashioned telephone, and with it all, living up to the best standards of honesty and usefulness—yes, _Uncle I’_ is a complete artistic success.

So is _Doctor Gus_. True, he reminds the reader, in a general way, of Ian Maclaren’s Scotch country doctor, but _Doctor Gus_ is American, and he is stamped with sufficient individuality to make him a very live man to the reader.

What could be better than the old German woman, _Mother Treegood_? The chapter in which _Mother Treegood_ comes to visit Uncle I’s wife, who is broken with grief on account of her dying daughter, is one that is worthy of Dickens. It has the heart-throb of human sorrow, human sympathy, human love.

I don’t know of anything more touching, in its simple unpretentious way, than the story of how _Mother Treegood’s_ boys, the twins, ran away from home, and how one of them was drowned in the Ohio River, and was sent home for burial.

“My pretty boy was to our house brought, aber no one could him know—he was in the wasser—de water—so long—_oh das Kalte, Kalte Wasser!_ so many, many days. I took more of the fever—und go out of my head—und so I never my Liebling seen again.”

The cry that was heard in Ramah, “_Oh, that cold, cold water!_”

Then, later on, there came a little box of tin-iron, “mit a hole cut in the on-top side.” But let _Mother Treegood_ tell it in her own way:

“One day there came by the express company a little bundle. When it was opened—it was an oyster can—a box of tin-iron, mit a hole cut in the on-top side. The letter was from de other boy—und it say—that his brudder, who vas ver-drownded, did begin his business life in a hotel in Cincinnetty, as a bellboy, und he safe his money und put it in the oyster can. Und in dat oyster box was the shin-plasters, the five centses, und de ten centses—yoost as he take them in for noospapers and shoe-blacking—und it was yoost enough, ach mein lieber Gott!—yoost enough to pay for his grave at Brookfill.”

Surely this is very effective. It probably happened just that way. To know that it could, and perhaps _did_, is just the right impression for the author of a novel to make on the reader.

Another splendid episode is that wherein a “run on the bank” begins, as the funeral of Colonel Quillmore is in progress. The chapters which relate the tragedy, the fire in the Colonel’s laboratory, the wild ride of _Father Lessing_ and _Uncle I’_; the dramatic climax where _Mrs. Quillmore_ lashes herself into raving madness; the funeral procession whose mourners get caught up in the growing excitement of the “run on the bank,” and leave the hearse to fly to the bank for their money; the nerve and resource of _Doc. Gus_ in saving the bank, and in saving the cashier from the would-be lynchers—are chapters which bear convincing testimony to the power and creativeness of the author.

The book is so finely conceived and written that one is tempted to scold the author for a few glaring faults which are well-nigh inexcusable.

Why paint _L’Oiseau_ so black when he was to be white-washed at the end? There was no need to have him behave so brutally to the boy, _Lanny Quillmore_. It was a blunder to make him insult the boy, incur the hatred of the boy, assault the boy, and drive the boy from his own home. The lad is allowed to think and believe that _L’Oiseau_ is on terms of criminal intimacy with _Mrs. Quillmore, Lanny’s_ mother. There was no necessity for this. If _L’Oiseau_ was brother-in-law to _Mrs. Quillmore_, and was prompted by paternal interest in paying her such suspicious attention, and in being out in the woods with her at unseasonable hours in the night, why permit the lady’s son to torture himself under a misapprehension?

What earthly reason was there for keeping from her only son a knowledge of the fact that _L’Oiseau_ was her brother-in-law, and that her abnormal physical and mental condition required these unusual and suspicious attentions from him?

Again, _L’Oiseau_ was rambling about at night with _Mrs. Quillmore_ when she lost consciousness, fell by the wayside, was found by the priest, and succored by _Doc. Gus_.

What had become of her escort, _L’Oiseau_?

He had mysteriously disappeared, and _Doc. Gus_ had a right to put the worst construction upon his conduct. _Father Lessing_ knew the truth; why did _Father Lessing_ allow _Doc. Gus_ to remain in ignorance?

But the most serious blunder in the plot relates to the climax—the fire in _Colonel Quillmore’s_ laboratory.

_Doc. Gus_ sees the shadow of two men thrown upon the window shade. Only one of these men is accounted for, and the reader is left not only in doubt as to what happened, but in hopeless confusion. He cannot adopt any theory which will explain _all the facts_.