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?