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THE COURIER.
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You must tako charge of it youreolf.'
"Mrs. Johnson's trunks woro packed
for a prolonged stay in Europe Death
and the Boston lire had swopt away her
family and homo. She recheckod her
trunks, weub to Shorborn, and there for
fltteon years has boon guide, philoso
pher, and friend, in tho noble sense of
theso terms, to thousands of poor womon.
Last yoar, at tho earnost solicitation
of some friends who feared that tho his
tory of much of hor work would die
with hor, Mrs. John bo n rolatod many in
cidents of her prison life, which were
writton down and submitted to her cor
rection, Many of them aro too enwrought
with the lives of well known persons to
see print; but tho following can hardly
fait to interest those to whom the word
"convict" meanB something apart from
"women."
A young woman had been sentenced
to the reformatory who for a long time
gave great trouble. Mrs. Johnson had
visited her day after day, trying in every
way to reach her, but without success.
One evening, when she wbb in a violent
temper, the superintendent took hor to
her own room, but all her tact failed of
response, and feeling driven to the wall,
she mechanically opened a book on her
table. It wbb Whittier's poems, and her
eye fell absently upon "The Eternal
Goodness."
'Here is a beautiful poem,' she said to
tho prisonor; 'take it to your room, learn
one verse, and rocite it to me in the
morning:
I bow my forehead to the dust,
I veil mine eyes for shame,
And urge in trembling self-dlstruit,
A prayer without a claim.
'It is beauZiful," the girl responded
and carried the book away.
The next morning she repoated not
one verso but seven and memorizing is
one thing for tho educated and quite an
other for tho ignorant and the third
day said it all. A transformation soon
marked her face and actions, and one
day she stopped tho superintendent in
the hall. 'When I awake in the night
and the old rage comes over me, and I
want to kill people, I say those verses,
and they quiet and comfort mo. They
have saved me.'
Shortly before hiB death Mrs. John
son told the story to Mr. Whittier. 'Thy
heart must have been tilled with love
for that poor woman he said with
moist eyes.
Such incidents might be prolonged in
definitely, but they are sufficient to em
phasize Bishop Whipple's recent re
mark concerning this great and humane
institution the only one of its kind in
the country.
'I know of no place where the labor of
love haB been crowned with greater suc
cess than at the Massachusetts Reform
atory under the devoted cure of Mrs
Ellen Johnson.'
'Mrs. Johnson's reformatory methods,
wore so successful that last year she re
ceived over a thousand applications for
discharged prisoners as house-servants.
In her drives about the country, from
house after house, cooks, nurses, and
houso-raaids used to rush to her carriage
and whisper confidences into her oar
waiting anxiouBly for hor words of ad
vico. Apart from her care of the pris
oners, Mrs. Johnson carried on vast
business enterprises. In order to find
work for her women she established a
shirt factory and an apron factory, a
public laundry and dairy, boaides carry
ing on the immense Reformatory farm,
conservatories, and stock-yards. Every
article, from a pin to an engine, used at
the prison she purchased, and it wub she
who personally found markets for the
prison wares. In addition to this, sue
attended prison and charity congresses
all over this country and Europe, and
HddreBBed clubs and meetings without
end In the loss of such a woman the
world is much the poorer."
There seems to be a growing convic
tion that the best interests of club life
can be conservod through a common
medium. Recently Alabama decided
tho best interoste of its state work de
manded a stato organ, and with the
September number, Woman's Work pub
lished at Montgomery, Alabama, becomes
the business register or record of the
stato federation, and tho sole medium of
communication between the officers and
committees, and the clubs, as well as be
tweon tho clubB themselves. In their
announcement the stato clubs are urged
to boar in mind the great and good
purposes of the federation and to send
any suggestions or information that
may tend to further the various lines of
club work,
You have asked the club women of
the state to express themselves regard
ing the reorganization of the O. F. W.
O. This is the light in which it ap
pears to me: I cannot but feel that
through the mere consideration of the
idea of reorganization upon the basis
suggested, the G. F. W. C. will haveloBt
its hold upon many of the clubs which
go to make up its strength; and through
which it must work for the benefit of
woman and the elevation of the stand
ard of her work along various lineB. The
chief benefit derived from membership
in this organization haB been the stimu
lus imparted to clubB throughout the
length nnd breadth of the land through
feeling themselves working factors in
this great body. Through personal con
tact with the electric currents of enthu
siasm and progress by which biennials
are sot in motion, high aims and .philan
thropic purposes are awakened iu many
a woman whose common place lite has
shut her out from such aspirations pre
viously. The unwieldiness complained
of is an expression of the strength of
the body through a display of the inter
est manife6ted from all quarters. May
not the maturing influence of the years
overcome the uncomfortable concious
nesa of its 6ize? The G. F. W. C. muBt
gain interest from numbers. The more
delegates the wider the influence, and
the cities of entertainment certainly
gain from this influx of women. Let ub
move on united for awhile longer.
MargtretSackett.
The National Association of Colored
Women which has juBt closed its first bi
ennial, held in Chicago Augubt 13 to 14
inclusive, is fortunate and proud in the
possession of such a leader as Mrs
Mary Church Terrell their president,
Mrs. Terrell was formerly a trustee of
public echools for the District of Co
lumbia, and has recently been elected a
trustee of Hartshorne Memorial College
of Richmond, Va., for a period of three
years. This institution is the foremost
college exclusively for colorod women in
the Bouth. It is supported by the Bap
tist church and is under the control of
the great Baptist association that has
dune so much educational work through
out the south ever since the civil war.
Mrs. Terrell Ib tho only colored woman
on tho boajd and was elected at the
convention recently held by tnis associa
tion at Providence, 11. I. At the last
commencement of this college Mrs. Ter
rell delivered the address before the
Alumni Association. It made a pro
found impression upon her audience,
and it is gratifying to note this tiibute
paid to ability and a high type of woman
hood regardless of color.
"Skillet has invited me out to his
summer home. Are there any mosqui
toes out there?"
"Well old man, you would better take
along a 'First Aid to tho Injured'."
"Why, she's only a more child."
"Oh I don't know. She's stoppod
giving birthday parties."
BOY BfoUE.
By Mautua Pikbce.
Father came up the path from the
barn wth a brimming milk-pail in
either hand. It wbb the silent hour
before dark, when the stars come out
and the dew gathers. The enchanted
hour when evening trails her purple
robes over the long fields, and gathers
the weary into her hushing arms, In
the fading light, familiar things took on
beauty and clothed themselves in peace
as a garment. Eastward tho thick
growth of willows marking the course
of the creek, became merely a deep, soft,
irregular shadow, lying transversely
across the pasture lot, and wandering
through the cornfield beyond, and finally
sinking into the encroachiug darkness.
WesiWard the pale gold wheat fields
glimmered grayish-white, almost as
white as the little farm house which
stood out from the background of tall
black poplars.
A cheerful light shone from the win
dows of the lean-to, and a faint clatter
announced to the knowing that Mother
was doing the supper dishes with her
customary sprynese. The clink of tins,
and tho clatter of earthen ware kept
cheerful accompaniment to a high thin
voice ninging
"When through the deep waters I call thee
to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow."
Father stopped and listened, his sun
burnt face softening. "Alius a singin,' '.'
he said softly to himself, "she was alius
a great hand to sing. J mind when he
childern was little, she used to set down
after supper 'nd sing 'nd sing to 'em.
Mollie she was bIIub for havin' er sing
in' Lord Lovell, but George he liked
Boy Blue 'nd he'd make her sing Hover
'nd over. I c'n bear 'im yit, sayin' so
cute like 'Sing it agin, ma, sing it agin,'
lies' see, howd that thing go now,
Under the haystack little Boy Blue,
Sleeps with his head on his arm,
"Um, urn, lee' see I can't mind
Sleeps with his head on his arm
"Oh yes,
While voices of men and voices of
maids
Are calling him over the farm.
Little Boy Blue come blow your horn,
Sheep in the medder, cows in the corn;
Where's the boy t' look after the sheep?
He's under the haystack fast asleep.'
The old man sighed heavily and went
on up the path, carefully avoiding a hen,
which had chosen to brood her chicks
close to the back gate. This back gate
opened iuto a paradise of holly-hocks
and phlox and sweet-williams and other
old-fashioned and beautiful flowers from
whose delights all hens and chickens
were forever excluded.
"You old simpleton," Father chuckled
kindly, "what possesses ye, to settle
right here every night? Ain't ye ever
goin' t' learn V roost in yer cocp?
What'd ye spose I made thet coop fer.
hey?"
Tho hen replied by a succession of
short, nervouB gutterals, watching with
a wary eye, while Father performed the
mysterious ceremony, including much
lifting up and setting down of paile,
which admitted him to the sacred pre
cincts, through which the flower border
ed path led up to tho back porch.
There was the breath of commingled
blossoms in the air: mignonotte, sweet
peas, sweet margoram, and forgetmenotb.
Beyond the lattice where the morning
gloriea climbed the trembling voice still
quavered over tho comforting hymn
"And sanctify to thee thy deepest (lis
trees. And sanctify to thee thy
But here the first step creaked under
the combined weight of Father and the
milkpails and the voice ceased, a quick
stop crossod the kitchen and Mother
opened the door, whisked the pails out
of Father's hands and started back
knto tho kitchen and down cellar with
them before his slow step had crossed
the porch and halted at the screen
which still trembled with its late col
lision with the door jamb. As he stepped
inside th orderly kitchen he took off
his old soft black hat and ruffled up his
scant gray hair, with a half articulate
expression of weariness. He hung his
bat in its place over the sink and was
turning back his wrist bands, when he
became suddenly conscious of a voice
addressing him from subtorrenean re
gions. "Father! Father!! Land sakes alive!
Are you deef? Oh Fatherl
He reached the cellar door and peered
down anxiously.
"Well, well, Mother," he said in a
conciliatory tone, "here I be. Whadye
want of me?"
"Bring the little lamp down here will
ye? It's on the lower pantry shelf.
The chimney's right beside it. You
know where the matches is I guess.
And hurry. It's gittin so dark 1 can't
see h thing, and I've got three more
pans to skim, and the night's milk to
strain. Seems like I"
But the voice no longer reached
Father. He was hopelessly lost in the
intricacies of the pantry shelves. He
felt carefully along the lower shelf and
back again before it occurred to him
that he might strike a match. He had
burnt his third match and was rummag
ing on the top shelf before he happened
to think that she must have meant the
lower shelf on the other side. As he
turned to look his match went cut
Reaching for another he knocked down
a couple of pans, and a dish full of
something which splashed. He struck
his match savagely. As bis eye fell on
the little lamp he broke into vocaliza
tion. "Dogon it! Why didn't I think of
that before? I'll strike a light bo's I
can look without knockln' down ev'ry
durn thing in the pantry."
Accordingly, he lit the lamp and tak
ing it in his hand made a systematic
survey of the shelves. Arriving at the
end of this fruitless expedition at the
pantry door, he met Mother.
"Fer land o' livin's sake!" she said,
"why don't ye come on with that lamp.
Air you goin' to keep me waitin' all
night?"
"Taint here!" he said triumphantly.
"Iv'e looked ev'ry shelf over fer the
blame thing. That's once ye missed it!"
he chuckled.
Mother surveyed him with amaze
ment which was presently lost in laugh
ter. She was little and. wiry. Her grey
hair was parted and smoothed down be
hind her ears. She wore a pair of steel
bowed spectacles through which her
grey eyes looked out shrewdly. When
she laughed there were a hundred little
wrinkles around them.
"Father Wilson! Air you goin' crazy
or what does ail ye? What's that ye
got in your hand?"
The old man looked at her perplexedly
for an instant. Then as his gaze fell
slowly upou the lamp in bis hand a
sheepiph expression spread over his
face. "I guess," he said slowly turning
toward the cellar door, "1 guess we'd
best go down 'nd git that milk put
away."
"I gueBs mebbe so," said mother
following him. Her shoulders shook
and she furtively wiped her eyes with a
corner of her greon checked apron.
Father put the lamp on the cellar
table, than slowly and stiffly tat down
on the stairs, put his hands on his knees
and watched Mother as with a deft
turn of her wrist she ran the skimmer
around the edge of a pan, and with a
skillful tip sent its rich crinkled cover
ing sliding into the cream jar.
"Seems like I don't git through the
work like I used to," she said, drawing
another pan toward her. "I miss Mollis
mora now, seems to me, than when she
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