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About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 14, 1891)
lOli WEST SHORE. UNREST AND CONTENT. Whei the mt aea ram, like millon lions. With Jawe wide open end laahini manee, And flinfi HmII In terrible paeeion Aoroea I he ttde'e long , reeking plains, Mr eonl leaps op in lie elar-walled priwn, In t mad deelre lo be out tod free To ehake the earth with that terriblo power, And be one with Ibe tempwt that roclu the ne. Whan the title oea oat, and I lie moon looki oeer Tie far, blue, olood-nied monntaln lines, And the duik la sweet, and the white and red olorer Like aUra In the marmnrotu mtadowe ahinea i When tha we? m oreep back, like beaaU that are oonqnered, And the aea Ilea Bobbins, bar paiaion spent, Ml aoul reeta, glad, In Ite wiee, atern priaon, And llnka to aleep, Hweet, aweet i oontent How often 70a nd I have heard gentlemen blindly and magnani mously remark that 1 woman looki more beautiful and more deelrtble when delicately preparing aome dainty in the kitchen tlian when thrumming her guitar In the parlor. How ahallow thoee men are, or elae how ehallow they oonaldtr ua. Do we not know that they apeak time straight from the palate, and never from the eye or the heart? Once I had a lUter-ln-law who loved mince plea, but who deteited the making and the baking of them ; ao ahe need to aay to me, with the moet eoulful and lamblike expression in her eyea : " 0, yon do make the moet dellcioua plea I ever ate. Now, I can't make them good for anything. And, beaide "here ahe would asaume a positively envioua expreaaion" you don't know bow pretty yon look with your aleevea turned np and your kitchen apron on and your handa fluttering over the flaky cruet," and ahe would algh until I fancied ahe waa dying of envy. May I be forgiven, for I waa very young, but I actually believed her. And the reault waa that ahe fairly reveled in mince plea of my making, and waa on the high road to dyapepaia, when one day I overheard ber telling a friend, with little hysterical ahrleka of mirth, how ahe waa flattering me, so she would not have to make the pastry. Well, that waa ten yeare ago; and I would believe aome things then with my eyea wide open that you could not get me to believe now with them abut and one of them ia that you or I look more deairable gowned in a work apron, with our cheeks burnt scar let and blisters on our arms, than we do in cool, soft alike, amillng into sumebody's eyea, In the parlor. If it be necessary for women to do their own work, I like to see them do It cheerfully and lightheartedly; if they can allord servants, I like to see them keep a steady hand and a calm eye on the work in the kitchen, but I do not wlah to hear any man tell hla wife that aha looks better in (lie kitchen than ahe does In the parlor. That means simply that he appreciates her more aa a cook than as a wife. So, dear, if your husband ever says that to you, smile at him like an angel and reply : " Yea, aweetheart ; and I think you, too, would look more deairable and more manly carrying np coal, In a flannel shirt and blue overalls, than going to the opera in a dress suit and a white camellia." See how be rel ishes that, dear. If I were a world-famous artist and a king should say to me; " l'aint me a picture that will live to the end of the world, and at which no eye can took without burning purer "what do you think I would palntf Two peasants listening to the twilight bells scross the fields? The ravishing beauty of woman's form or face? A path of allver trembling across a midnight sea? A flams of crimson and purple In the western sky at sun set ? The gold heart of 1 white flower, where the bees cling, sweet-drunken ? A sunlit aea; a (roaen wood ; a dream of moonlight atealing over a bed of violets; the northern lights? Ah, no. I would paint for him a home. Hlmple and small It might be, but I would paint flowers and vlnea about It; and about the doors and windows birds with such little, swelling throats you would think you beard the liquid notes that poured from them; and sunshine 0, 1 would make the walla yellow with the sun's gold ; and within I would paint a young mother with Mary's soul In her eyes, and at her aide, kneeling, a little child with uplifted face and trustful, unquestioning eyes, faltering " Oar Father who art la heareo. Hallowed ne llil 1 And 1 would say to my king : " I have painted you that which will live to the end of Uie world, and at which no man can look without being better therefor ; for one may weary of bearing the muale of the softest bells, or of the perfume of the sweetest flower; the woman who is beautiful todaj may be old and sad tomorrow ; thrones may topple and fall ; wars may ran, red handed, through our fair land; nations may sink into the dust; but as long as there is a woman with a little child left on this earth there will be a home." A young wife, who had been deeply loved, died, leaving her three chil dren to her husband's keeping. The husband was heart broken, and, soon, to drown his sorrow, plunged into all forms of dissipation, gradually leaving bis children more and more to the care of others. The angel wife sat alway at the golden gate of heaven and pleaded that she might go back to earth for one night only and be with the hearts she loved. 80, at last, pitying her, he who sits always at the gate left it open ; and straight she fled through and sunk down the heliotrope dusk to the earth. And she found the one she loved drunken of wine, with other kisses upon his lips and a stain of shame upon his brow ; and her children were alone, neglected and crying. Looking np in that hour, he saw her standing white and cold beside him, and a great horror fell upon him. But she only said, with a passionate sob, "What have you done with my children?" and went struggling back through the midnight to beat ber lonely breast and ber bleeding hands upon the gate of heaven. How often do you think our tender dead, who never change, come back, to find us changed and, with one terrible cry that our consciences catch and hear forever, go back again to that land where one day we will shrink from going for fear of those saddened eyes? Two who had deeply loved came one day to part because of tome trivial misunderstanding, and because each was too proud to say, " I am in fault; forgive me." Bo they stood with cold eyes but trembling hearts and looked at each other. " Hore Is the ring," she said, drawing it slowly from her finger. He took it as slowly, turned it over and over, and, as she did not speak, flung it upon the glowing coals. She paled a little, but unclasped from ber throat a tiny chain and gave it him with a shaking hand. It shared the same fate. Then they stood silent. " I I have given you nothing," at last she said, in a tone of dull regret ; and be replied, his voice breaking with deep emotion : " No; you have given me no ring, no petty bauble, it is true, which may be returned and flung to the flames ; but you have given every thought for two years past to me ; yon have given me your eyes, your lips, your heart; you have given me to know that heaven still lives on earth to the man who is loved by a chaste woman. These I can not give back to you" Then, all in a moment, the heart tears leaped up to her eyes, and his words were silenced on her lip J. Once upon a time a man went to a certain Judge and said he : " Jedge, I want a devorce fnom my wife, 'n' as I hain't no bible reasons, nur seen, fer gitt'n' it, I jiat thought I'd come t' yuh kind 0' quiet like 'n git it without any fuss." " Oh," said the judge, smiling affably ; " and what charge do you bring against your wife, sir ? Upon what complaint do you seek a divorce ? " " Why, jedge," and he straightened up and spoke in an awe-struck tone, " my wife was th' meekes' sort of a gell yuh ever see, 'n' I 'lowed 's how we'd git along swim'n'; but, sir, 't yuh'll b'lieve me, afore we'd ben married aix months thet wom'n let out thet she hed opinyuns yes, sir, actyully hed opinyuns, same's I hed, only dif'runt-I may say mostly dif runt. Now, thet won't do fer two people 'n th' same house, jedge ; so I jlst made up my min' I wouldn't hev no wife what's got opinyuns." " I see," said the judge, sympathetically; " it is a bad business, but I'm afraid I can not help you out." Why should you carry white flowers to the house of death, save, indeed, it be a little child that has died? Is not death colder itself than any ice flower and whiter than any snow? Why not bring crimson roses and pile them about those cheeka from which the roses have fled, that they may catch something of their old time glow? Why not lay claret carnations near those dear lips, and heap blo)d-red poppies In the cold bands and on the colder breast that they may at least seem to press a little warmth there? And about that brow, that was for so long a time the home of a tender aoul, put white narcissus blooms with their hearts of gold ; and cover over the slender body down to the quiet feet with the wild pink roses that she so loved. Do not let your last remembrance of her be of something all white, all cold, but let a little warmth go with her even into the grave. They tell us that heaven Ilea beyond the skies only to persuade us to oak upward ; uplifting the eyes elevates the mind. 80 each time that we took up to the song-pierced, violet vault above n. w. are on. step above th. rthly thing, and on. step nearer the heaven that ia not above us bnt all