Wit, Humor, Reason, Rhetoric, Prose, Poetry and Story Woven into Eight Popular Lectures Part 8

"There's my boy. I never thought the saloon would take my son. Don't talk to me about regulation. Come, you fathers whose sons are not here, and help me save my boy."

Another would press through the crowd to be sure that he was not mistaken and say: "There's my daughter. I never dreamt she would be a drunkard's wife. I have said prohibition won't prohibit, but I will say it no more. Come, good fathers who love your children, and help me save my child."

This is but the forecast for some parents in this audience. Would it be wrong if I should say: "O G.o.d, if the saloons are to continue in this county, if they are to have their victims in the future as in the past, let the fathers who vote the curse on the county furnish the victims." I do not offer up any such prayer, but I do say: "O G.o.d, give to the home the protection of a prohibition law, and may the victims not be anybody's boy or anybody's girl. Go out of this hall tonight resolved you will link your faith in principle with your work.

Faith and work!"

I like that story of the mother in New England, who on a visit from home, received a message calling her to the bedside of a daughter who was hopelessly ill. Hurrying to the nearest railroad station she said to the conductor: "Sir, do you connect at the junction with the train that will take me to my sick child," at the same time handing him the message.

"No, madam, we do not run our trains to connect with trains on that road. The train will be gone some little time before we reach the junction."

"Sir, are you a Christian?"

"No, madam, I'm a railroad conductor."

"Have you a Christian man with the train?"

"Yes, that man you see oiling the engine claims to be a Christian, and I think he is; you might consult him if you like."

Going to the engineer she said: "Please read this message and tell me if you can catch that train at the junction."

The engineer read the message and said: "I'm sorry, madam, but that train goes fifteen minutes before we get there."

"Please sir, catch that train and let me see my daughter before she dies."

"I would give a whole month's wages if I could," said the tender hearted engineer.

"Then don't you think G.o.d can hold the train fifteen minutes till we get there," said the distressed mother.

"Oh yes, G.o.d can do anything," was the reply.

"Won't you ask G.o.d to hold that train? And I will ask Him."

The engineer said: "Yes, I will."

The mother boarded the train, and on schedule time the engine moved.

The engineer took hold of the lever and up with the smoke from the engine went the prayer: "Lord, hold that train fifteen minutes for that good mother." With this prayer more steam was turned on than usual and at the next station the train was two minutes ahead of time.

At the next station two more minutes had been gained. It was in the early days of railroading when rules were not so strict as now; the conductor knew there was nothing in the way, so he concluded to let the Christian engineer have his way. As the train was starting for its third and last run for the junction, the engineer said: "Lord, if you will hold that other train seven and a half minutes, I'll make up the other seven and a half."

When the engineer had made up his seven and a half, sure enough there stood the other train. When the engineer said to the conductor: "What are you waiting for," the reply was: "Something the matter with the engine, but the boys have it fixed now and we'll go on in a minute."

"Yes," said the engineer, "you'll go on when this G.o.dly mother gets on and not before."

Each one of you do your part, G.o.d will do His part, and the end will be victory for "G.o.d and home and native land."

IV

THE NEW WOMAN AND THE OLD MAN.

In the exhibition of fine paintings it is important to have the benefit of proper light and shadow. So it should be in the study of questions. Those who look at the new woman through the distorted lense of false education or prejudice, see the monstrosity such as we have pictured in the public press. They see Dr. Mary Walker, whose dress offends our sense of propriety; they see the ranting woman on the platform, or suffragettes throwing stones through plate-gla.s.s windows, and defacing costly specimens of art. These no more represent the genuine new woman I indorse, than does the goggled-eyed, kimbo-armed dandy represent true manhood. Fanaticism marks every new movement, every life has its defect, the sun its spots and the fairest face its freckles.

The new woman is not to be judged by exceptions, nor is she to be measured by the standard of public sentiment. Public sentiment has often condemned the right. It ridiculed Columbus; put Roger Bacon in jail because he discovered the principle of concave and convex gla.s.s; condemned Socrates, and jeered Fulton and Morse. It p.r.o.nounced the making of table forks a mockery of the Creator who gave us fingers to eat with, and broke up a church in Illinois because a woman prayed in prayer meeting.

Hume said: "There is nothing in itself, beautiful or deformed. These attributes arise from the peculiar construction of human sentiment and affection; the attractiveness or repulsiveness of a thing depends very much upon our schooling."

Prof. John Stuart Blackie wore his hair so long that it almost reached his waist. Seated one day in front of a hotel in London, a bootblack halted before him and said: "Mister, will you have a s.h.i.+ne?"

Professor Blackie replied: "No, but if you will go wash that dirty face of yours I will give you the price of a s.h.i.+ne."

The boy went but soon returned with his rosy cheeks cleansed, saying: "Sir, how do you like the job?"

"That's all right; you have earned your sixpence," said Prof. Blackie as he held out the coin.

The bootblack turning away said: "I dinna want your sixpence; keep it, old chap, and have yer hair cut."

The long hair of Professor Blackie was as offensive to the boy as the dirty face of the boy to Professor Blackie. One had been schooled to short-haired men, the other to cleanly children.

I have in my presence now scores of persons, who believe the sale of a negro on the auction block in the South to the domination of a white man was wrong. I did not think so in my youth. My schooling was that j.a.pheth was a white man, Shem a red man and Ham was black; that it was a divine decree that the descendants of j.a.pheth should dwell in the tents of Shem and send for the children of Ham to be their servants, thereby supporting the white man in his dealings with the black and red races. As the Bible was used to justify slavery, so it is quoted today in favor of the liquor traffic, and against the new woman movement. Yet it's the Bible that has given woman her broader liberty.

It was the Bible that broke the chains that harnessed woman to a plow by the side of an ox. In the vision of John, a woman is crowned with stars, the burnt-out moon is her footstool and the wings of a great eagle given to bear her above the floods that would engulf her.

The viewpoint of schooling has much to do with our convictions and prejudices. When the bicycle craze first came upon us, women bicycle clubs were formed throughout the country. Wheels were made specially for woman, and to facilitate the pleasure and comfort, bloomers were worn by women in all our cities. The fat and lean, tall and short, old and young wore bloomers. At that time if a man from the country neighborhood where I was reared, one given to dancing, had gone to Chicago and seen these bloomer-clad women, he would have thought the whole s.e.x disgraced. And I must admit I didn't like the bloomer girl myself. I can appreciate the Yankee farmer who lived between Boston and Wareham, Ma.s.s. A young woman who lived in Boston had a friend in Wareham, and donning her bloomers she mounted her wheel and started for the village. Pa.s.sing several diverging points, and thinking possibly she had missed the right road, she decided to inquire at the next house. Seeing the Yankee farmer at the front gate she rode up, dismounted and said: "Sir, will you please tell me, is this the way to Wareham?"

The farmer, with eyes fixed upon the new garb, said: "Miss, you'll have to excuse me. I can't tell you, for I never saw anything like them before."

I said our opinions are based upon schooling. Let the man from the dancing community leave Chicago, go back to Kentucky, attend a country ball, see a young woman with low neck dress and short sleeves, in the arms of a man she never met before, and he thinks her the picture of propriety, as well as grace and beauty. Yet the bloomer girl was completely clad from her chin to the soles of her feet while the other is so un-clad that when a woman, now noted for her great work among the unfortunate of New York City, was a society leader, and was pa.s.sing through her library to her carriage one evening, her little son said: "Mama, you are not going out on the street looking that way, are you? Why, you are scarcely dressed at all." The mother realizing as never before, the immodesty of her attire, returned to her room, changed her apparel to what met the approval of her boy, and has never since worn a decollete gown.

Let a respectable woman in this town stand on a street corner to-morrow, and utter an oath; she would shock every one within sound of her voice. A man can "cuss" to his satisfaction and, if not a church member, the community is not shocked. Let a young woman seeking a position in a public school in one of our cities, call a member of the school board into a saloon and order beer set up for two; would she get the position? Not much. Not if the community found it out, or the remainder of the board who were slighted. A man can invite a dozen men into a saloon, order drinks for the company, and thereby help to win the position he seeks. In the city where I reside a young man can get drunk and howl like a wolf through the streets, yet if he has wealth and family influence, in ten days he can attend a social gathering of the best society. Let a young woman step aside from the path of right and she is hurled to the depths of the low-land of vices.

Some years ago a young man died in our city whose family name was honored and whose father was wealthy. The young man went the pace that kills and in the very morning of life died a victim to his vices. A long line of carriages followed him to our beautiful cemetery, his pall bearers were from the leading families of the city; flowers covered his grave and the daily papers paid a tribute to the young man cut down before the river of life was half run.

Soon after, a poor girl died in one of the wicked dens of the city.

She had been left an orphan in early life without a mother's love to guard and guide her, she went astray. Two carriages followed her to the stranger's burying ground. In one were two of her kind; in the other the pastor of the church of which I am a member. He afterward said to me: "We had to get two negro men at work near by to help lower her body into the grave."

No wonder woman cries out against these standards, these peculiar constructions of human sentiment. Public sentiment demands of a man that he shall be physically brave. If a woman appeals to him for protection, his bosom must heave with courage like the billows of the ocean, though he quake in his boots. Yet the woman he defends will endure pain without a murmur, which would make the man groan for an hour. When my wife is ill it takes about two days to find it out; she does not seem so cheerful the first day, and the second, she will admit she is not so well. Let me get sick, and the whole family will know it in half an hour.

I know a woman will scream if a mouse runs across the floor, but give her a loved one to defend, let supreme danger come and she's no coward. John Temple Graves tells of a Georgia girl so timid she was afraid to cross the hall at night to mother's room. She married a worthy young man and by industry and economy they paid for a cottage home. He began to cough, and the hectic flush told his lungs were involved. The doctor advised a change of climate.

"We'll sell the home," said the little wife, "and go where the doctor advises, for the home will be nothing to me if you are gone."

They went to Florida and knowing they must husband their small means, she took in sewing. A few months later the doctor advised a higher alt.i.tude. They went to a little city in the Ozark mountains. Here again she plied her needle, wearing upon her face by day a smile to cheer her husband, while at night her pillow was wet with tears as she heard him coughing his life away. After several months she was informed by physicians that but one chance in a hundred remained, and that was still further west.

"I'll take the hundredth chance," she said, and on west they went.

Soon after, in the far-away city he died; she p.a.w.ned her wedding ring to make up the price of tickets back to Georgia. There the little widow buried her dead by the side of his mother, and after planting her favorite flowers about the grave, she turned away to face the duties of life, and though a dead wall seemed lifted before her, she met each day with a smile and hid her sorrow beneath the soul's altar of hope.

Man has won his t.i.tle to courage upon battlefield, and yet the battlefield is not the place to test true courage.