Our Women and Children Conducted by Lucille Skagg* Edward*. HAVE A PURPOSE. The summer has past, autumn is here. September, “With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.’’ The cool weather brings a relief to us after the continued warm days of summer. Our children have returned to school and we have settled down to our work in the home, the office or whatever be our vocation, with fresh zeal and interest. In fact, it like beginning of a new year. Are we merely drudging along or have we a purpose in life? Are we making every action count in perpara tion for working out some aim? We best help ourselves by helping others. We accomplish most good by not seeking happiness, but by creating it. Of the children and youths in school we would ask: “How are you spend ing your time?” Are you studying merely to pass examinations? Is your effort for school and not for life? It is a mystery we cannot fath om that not only life but eternity depends so much for its happiness upon the first years—those happy, free-and-easy years when life has no burdens. But it is true nevertheless, that we must start in the right di rection if we would reach a given point and we must cultivate the no blest virtues from childhood if we would be distinguished by them in mature life. Dear child, dear youth, you are laying the foundation for the building you are to erect; and you are not a wise architect 1f ytob \do not build according to some plan and lay every block in its proper place. If, as the poet tells us, “Our todays and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.” Every day of our lives will need to be strong and sound. Let us live tor the things that are worth while, for nothing is really lasting but that which is good. L. S. E. STORIES PICKED UP He always wuz a-singin’ Ter “make de gospel fly,” But, come ter payin’ fer de wings— He let de hat go by! W’en dey took up a collection Fer de heathen ’crost the sea, He shut his eyes en raise de tune; “I’m glad salvation’s free!” En w’en he gits ter heaven— De glory ter behold, He’ll sho’ walk in en tell ’em: “Gimme dem streets er gold.” —Philadelphia Inquirer. MY FRIEND A drunken wit once remarked to me that “ a real friend is a feller that knows you ain’t worth a-and yet he tries to forget it.” In the cameraderie of alcoholic con viviality he was, perhaps, not very far wrong but I hope I am right in my belief that friendship is the weave of a stronger cloth. I glory in the belief that my friend can see in me my two sets of attri- i butes—the one for good and the one for evil; that he impartially judges their relative strength and, with kind ness of spirit, generously applauds the one and gently condemns the other. I feel that he sustains and strengthens me in overcoming my errors and that he rejoices with me in my successes. I depend upon his loyal adherence, for without it I would be weak or filled with a vain conceit. His voice is the one that speaks to me in the still watches of the night and its mes sage rings true—unfalteringly and directly true, for he does not fear. Unselfishly he journeys with me through life’s highways and byways— through sunshine and shadow, from mountain to plain. Guide, censor, comforter and adviser, I make of him—My Friend—Pills and Pallet. MOTHER’S CHAIR By T. DeWitt Talmage Mother’s chair had rocked the whole family. It made a creaking noise as it moved, but there was music in its sound. It was just high enough to allow us children to put our heads where we deposited all our hurts and worries. Oh, what a chair that was. . . . It was a very wakeful chair! In the sick day of children other chairs could not keep awake—it kept easily awake. That chair knew all the old lullabies, and all those word less songs which mothers sing to their children. Songs in which all pity and compassion and sympathetic influences are combined. That old chair has stopped rocking for a good many years. It may be set up in the loft or garret, but it holds a queenly power yet. DUBOIS DRAMATIC CLUB PRESENTS “THE STARRY FLAG” “The Starry Flag,” a stirring three act drama, was presented at the Boyd Theatre the evening of September 21, by the Du Bois Dramatic Club, to a large and appreciative audience. In aa.l'tion to the drama, Mrs. Marguer ett Lee, the Hawaiian Nightingale, charmed and thrilled the audience with song; and Mr. Walter Bell, as usual, made his hit. The cast of characters was as fol lows: Miss Beatrice Majors, as Mabel Horton, acted like a professional; John A. Smith, as Harvey Maitland, ia love with Mabel, was charged with performing a humorous and difficult role, and acquitted himself cleverly; Mrs. Ada Smnn, as Alice Maitland, sister of Mabel, was excellent; John 0. Woods, as Captain Kenneth Tracy, was a sensation and a star; Andrew Reed, as Captain Le Clare, admirably delineated his part; Mrs. Jessie Moss, as Bridget, housemaid, was superb, and, later in the attire of a man, as Jose, friend of Don Alfredo, Cuban, he kidnapper, was a scream; Cecil Alexander, private, as Barney O’Shea, in love with Bridget, matched the in imitable maid in their “soft captiv ity;” Edward Turner, as Lieut. Hor ton, was every inch a soldier; Mr. Maitland, a wealthy New Yorker, was portrayed by H. A. Chiles, and as a sad, dignified father, left nothing to be desired; Juanita, the kidnapped girl, was Miss Cordelia Johnson, who was good; Don Alfredo, Cuban, the kidnapped, was well played by Benj. Gray. The net proceeds of the play amounted to over $100.00, which was turned over to the St. John’s Church. At the close of the drama, Mrs. Osborne, in a very neat speech, thank of everyone for their co-operation during the four years she has been in the city. 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