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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