Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 29, 1890)
WEST SHORE. 245 BEHIND THE BARS. A prisoner la within hii dangMD smell. And kept hit eyes strained on ni ray ol light That lifted in. Through drU7 day and night. He proiwd hit burning hold egaiast the will, Thet h might hear Ood'i merry rein drope (ell ; And erer, when the itu-eyee feint end white Peeped in, he thrilled with exquisite delight Until, remembering, derkneee crept o'er lU, So I, condemned to touch thr lips no more, Turn yearning eyes to thr eonl'e high, pure light; Barred ont from heev'n. with eplrit feint end lor, I leen my ear to catch thr tones aright ; And when thr glanoe meete mine, one moment I Feel hope leap forth remembering, feel it die. The lightest lip often hides the saddest heart ; the weakest shoulder often bears the heaviest burden; and the gayest feet find the cruelest thorns. Why should not Oregon and Washington each have her "state" flower, as well as other states? California is trying to decide between the snow white poppy ol Southern California, the butterfly-lily of the 8irraa, and the flimehued poppy of the valleys. Let us, too, have our own " state " flowers. The vote for the Critic'i twenty immortelles, those " twenty American women deemed the truest representatives of what is best In cultivated American womanhood," places at the head of the list Harriet Beecher Stowe; at the foot, Blanche Willis Howard. And far too near the foot to please many comes the name of her whose tender poems none can read without loving the writer Louise Chandler Moulton. There are few people, indeed, who are capable of criticising the work of a writer kindly, sensibly, and with reason ; but the world is fall to overflow ing of unkind, cruel and malicious ones who are always eager to childishly attack the writer himself (or perhaps herself). Generous criticism, unmixed with personal prejudice of any kind, is helpful and encouraging, and wel come to any writer not overburdened with conceit; but a malicious and personal assault upon the writer himself (or herself) works no good, benefit no one, and many and many a time hya ons more bitterness upon a life which already holds enough of sadness and unshed tears to satisfy Its bit terest enemy, did he but know. " God bless you " should never be need lightly, but always with depth of feeling and reverence. A striking and amusing illustration of the abase of the words was afforded the other day on a railway train. A little girl traveling alone for the first time displayed great nervousness and uneasiness until the train stopped at the first station and a woman with whom she was acquainted entered the car. The child rushed to meet her, and exclaimed breathlessly: "How far are you going?" "To 8 ," was the reply. She drew a long breath of relief. " Oh, I am so glad," she said; " God bless you I " and then, evidently realising that she had not yet fully ex pressed her gratitude, she added, emphatically : " And God bless God him self ; because I know He Just put you on tills train because I was so lonesome and so scared." Mr. Oicar Fay Adams Is saying some very severe things about women In one of the leading reviews. His articles are more eloquent than reason able, however; and in any other, or almost any other, magaiine would not even be noticed. Us declares that, while others may believe that woman supplies the restraining, softening influence at work In human society, he la convinced that woman, so far from being the refiner of manners, is dis gracefully inconsiderate, superlatively selfish, and exasperatlngly insolent, Mr. Adams bss doubtless been unfortunate in making acquaintance with the class of women he describes with so much bitterness of spirit and sever ity of language. There are men who believe there is no such thing as vir tue, simply because they have chosen to waste their lives in company with those who are not virtuous; there are men so narrow minded that they believe there is no such thing as a faithful woman, simply hecause thsy have known only faithless one. But sach men are rare. And between yoa and me, I believe Mr. Adams to be in hi remarkable opinions as rare a specimen of his sex as the women he so caustically describes and whom he met where? " You are ugly, " said the blue-jay to the canary, poising on a limb out side and pluming her beautiful feathers; "yoa are only a common yellow color, and your body is ill-shaped. " " And you are caged, " Baid the gay robin, turning her saucy bead to one side with a superior air; " who would be shut up forever behind gilded wires? not I "and she flaunted away. " Yon are passionless, " said the love bird, cruel in her own happiness even as women sometimes are" you have no mate ; yoa do not know how to love I" " Yoa are ungrateful, " said her mistress ; " I feed you and you do not sing!" Then the pr canary fell to grieving silently, day by day. Ugly and passionless and ungrateful and not even free I Was not that sad ? Then one day they brought her a mate, and he abode with her. Yearning for love, she fancied (or awhile that this was it; but one sweet morn a lark called to her from across the green meadows to come out, c jme out! for the skies were blue, and the waters were cool, and the very winds were psr fumed of flowers, and here was love, love I And she longed to go. Her lit tle heart panted for freedom, after all these years, and she beat her poor bosom against the cruel wires until it was bruised and bleeding. 0, to be tree, (reel But all in vain the desire, so she sunk down, prone, suffering, crushed. Then, all in a moment, something leaped up within her little beating breast something strong and sweet and passionate; and out of that swelling uncertain throat flowed such a lyrical gash of melody that the whole world stood still to listen. So, song was bora in the canary's soul, and so it found it way to expression and cheered many a lonely heart, and comforted many a sorrowful one, And the mad world praised her, and those who had sneered at her were silent of envy. Bat she only said : " I am ugly, and I am passionless, and I am ungrateful and I am not even (reel Is It not sad?" And with the song still flowing from her lips, and with the hashed world still listening, she poured out her little heart to death. The wives of the most prominent artist In Paris have given evidence of the small quantity of brain they possess and of the quality of that possessed by holding a meeting, at which it was unanimously resolved that hereafter no artist should have any nude model save his own wife. They claim that a large proportion of Infelicitous marriages among artlnts are brought about by adventuresses taking advantage of such situations. The resolution, accompanied by It reasons, Is so very droll that one must at first only see the ridiculous and smile a little. But In a moment deep thought comes up. Can It be possible that there are virtuous wives in the world who could stoop to do such a thing? I can understand a wife's heart breaking because she sees her husband' love bis real, true love, which she has not been able to hold going out unconsciously to some other good woman, bat I cannot understand her putting out one finger to prevent it, or giving bim one look of pleading recall. And the wife, then, who could be jealous of, or make even the faintest effort to win her husband's fancy from a woman who would pose, nude, in an artist's studio, lower herself in the first moment to that woman's animal level. II women would learn that marriage 1 desirable only with men who are worthy a pure woman's trust and full confidence, and that marriage under any other condition is the vilest I do not use the word thoughtlessly wrong on earth, there would be fewer marriages, fewer divorce, fewer hysterical, unhappy women weeping to the whole world of their " wrongs" and there would be more men who deserved trust. I may add right here that It would be an exceed ingly wise Idea, loo, if each woman would so equip herself (or the battle of life while she is yet young, that she may be able to feel Independent of any man who may llluse her. Another wise Idea would be that she never imag int italic please herself wronged; and still another, that she cast her mind's eye luward frrquenlly and look frankly at her own shortcomings, Men and women, we are every one of us human; your sin is not my sin, perhaps, and mine is not yours, but the sin itself, like the poor, la always with ni. And now I am going to make an assertion that may cast a little bomb of consternation into some camps at least. It Is my firm belief that there is one thing which causes more marriages to turn oat infellcitously than doe immorality, and causes more husbands to go astray from wife and children and home than do all the bittersweet fascinations of forbidden pleasures and that one thing 1 the wife who makes herself and her hus band not only miserable, but ridiculous also, by (it 1 t coarse, ugly word, but none other will do) nagging I There. Now that I have said It I am a little bit scared, and I shall stop right here and give yoa time to think it over before you decide whether you ever knew or heard of a woman who did such a thing. Beside, I have wandered away from my text, which U: An arrant fancy I not worth holding, or trying to hold. Be true to yourself, and in that way, alone, command truth. My sisters would ye have a faith that must be held with bonds of steel or with garlands of love?