,. Jain .. . a: . \ 7/1 .4 11,7" x ,’ Ram / » ’3 " ‘ ' is“ 4—..— - ._..V_~_._. . _ -. ._, _ . __. _ __.____.— DETROIT, OCTOBER 19, 1586.. THE HOUSEHOLD-"Supplement. THE CHILDREN WE KEEP. ! __ I The children kept coming one by one. Till the boys were five and the girls were three. And the big brown house was alive with fun From the basement door to the old roof tree. like garden flowers the little ones grew. Nurturr-d and trained with the tender-est care. Warmed by love‘s sunshine, bathed in its dew. They bloomed into beauty, like roses rare. But one of the boys grew weary one day. And leaning his head on his mother‘s breast, He said: “ I am tired and cannot play: Let me sit awhile on your knee and rest." the cradled him close in her fond embrace. She hushed him to sleep with her sweetest song, And rapturous love still lighted his face When his spirit had joined the heavenly throng. Then the eldest girl, with thoughtful eyes. Who stood where "' the brook and the river meet,” Stole softly away into Paradise Bre “ the river” had reached her slender feet. While the father’s eyes on the grave are bent, The mother looked upward beyond the skies; -‘- Our treasures," she whispered, “ were only lent, Our darlings were angels in earth’s disguise.“ The years flew by and the children began With longing to think of the world outside: And as each in his turn became a man, The boys proudly went from the father's side_ The girls were women so gentle and fair, That lovers were speedy to win; And with orange blossoms in braided hair. The old home was left, new homes to begin. So. one by one, the children have gone—— The boys were five and the girls were three: And the big brown house is gloomy and lone. With but two old folks for its company. They talk to each other about the past, As they sit together at eventide, And say, “ All the children we keep at last. Are the boy and girl who in childhood died.“ —-—-—-¢o¢—— “WILD GIRLS.” The “wild” girl is a purely American instantiou. In every other country young femi iinity is tamed being turned loose in Society; in America we let down the bars and it cavorts at will in social pastures till caught by the lasso of marriage. Henry James gave us one type of American girl- hood in “Daisy Miller,” and American girls were not particularly pleased with the de- lineation; yet “Daisy Miller” is not a typical “wild” girl, only an unconven- tionxl one. And I think that if some clever satirist were to draw us a pen picture of the gen'iine untamed, as she is met with in circles which if not the most refined, the most exclusive, or the highest, are yet fairly representative of the great middle stratum of Society, we would very probably declare the likeness a caricature or a libel. remr at the outset, in mistaking con— nence in some circle or "set." She is in spicuousness for pronrnence. She espec— ially covets admiration, and her “wildness" is assumed for the purpose of drawing about her the young men, and gaining at- tention. She discovers early in her career that flippaucy and pertness will provoke laughter, she cares little whether men laug hs with her or at her. She finds that girls who ”push” and crowd themselves for- Ward get the attention and the compli- ments; what does it matter that the latter are “fished for,” and the invitations ex- torted? The young men laugh and are amused; and often, I am sorry to say, provoke her from one excess of folly to an' other, to see how far she will go, till that respectable sober-minded class whom she designates "old fogies" and “loves to shock,” are really aghast at her indelicacy and daring defiance of even ordinary etiquette. But there are some disadvantages in being a “ wild ” girl; for even “ old fogies" have considerable weight in Society, and their disapproval is sometimes in the end too strong to be ignored. These antiquated ones are so unappreciative of the beauties of “wildness” that they accuse her of bad manners in interrupting her elders in conversation, in running shrieking through a crowded parlor, in telling young men to “dry up,” “put up or shut up," or to “skip out,” or trenching on the privileges of the other sex in saying “Now Charley, you’re going to take me tothe opera, are at you?” These “poky old folks” have a way of condemning street flirtatious and “pick-up ” acquaintances, having such old- faslrioned idea about introductions; and sometimes these middle-aged tongues can make quite sharp, biting remarks; though generally she is too absorbed in devices to be seen to care particularly how she is seen. The wild girl has about her a train of youths, often quite callow and unfledged, who know a great deal more now than they will ten years later, who satisfy her longing for notice; she does not see that the “nice” young men, whose ad- miration she covets, pay butterfly visits to her and soon flutter away, first amused, then disgusted. Her court is constantly changing; it is as disorderly as King Petaud’s; there is nothing to hold but noise and nonsense, the jingling bells and motley garb of Folly. She devoutly desires to make an advantageous marriage, but rarely does so. What sensible man wants a The wild girl usually aspires to promi- leering, frisking giggler for a wife? She beautiful lips will weary; even a rnuskal voice is unrnusical in loud laughter, While always favors that are free to all are lightly held. So the wild girl’s lot, Ts, after all, "not at happy one.” She sees other girls mar- ried, while she still lingers. u tlower pretty well gone to seed in the "rosebud garden of girls." She hears remarks about herself which cut through even a wild girl’s seasoned cuticle. Too late she realizes that a young man who is worth having does not choose a wife who has been Tom. Dick and Harry’s "' best girl,” and that always to a man with the normal complement of good sense, there is a vast ditfercnce between the girl he seeks and tries to win, and the one who seeks to win him. Our wild girl labors under a further dis- advantage in being often misunderstood. She may be simply silly or imprudent, disregardful of social conventionalities, without being bad in heart or morals. But she is constantly liable to be mistaken for one of the bad ones. because her loud talk and laughter in public places, her freedom of speech and manner, and conspicuous dress, are after the fashion of Phyrne of. the brazen stare. She thus encounters dangers the modest, quiet gir never ex- periences: in fact, she invites danger. She never knows the respect and admiration in which these lady-like girls are held. Some one has compared the American girl to a flower, saying: "Nothing can be freer than the wild rose dancing in the breezes and sunshine; but then, nothing is sweeter or more natural. It needs no tall hedges for protection. It has its own little thorns and can use them." And yet. half the beauty of the wild rose is in its environ— ments, its retiringness, its inaccessibility. When its' petals are crushed apart. as thorns bent and broken down, who Utkrdb‘ for it! ' The career of the wild girl is not fit subject for connnendation. She makes her friends ashamed of her, and till she becomes so brazenly defiant that she really cares no th— ing for the opinion of others. conscience and good sense goad her with innumerable tiny stabs of shame and regret. And when she gets grey and wrinkled, and sees other wild girls making iliots of themselves, just as she used to do, the sight would seem to call an autumnal blush to her hardened cheek as she recalls her own career. No, girls, it does not “pay,” in any sense, to be “ wild.’7 Better be “wall- flowers” than resort to the wild girl’s may be pretty, but srlly platitudes from methods. Better keep the respect and ad- ,_».,. .Mu, -kéWk‘: 31:...“ - . g ‘fiéfiwev .. » ';v-—-—-———- - "4".— I? 2 THE HOUSEHOLD-. miration of the “old fogies” than be re- nowned for flippancy. There is one thing we are none of us strong enough to do, and that is defy Mrs. Grundy by reckless dis- regard ot' decorum and good manners. We may rebel inwardly, but we must obey ont- wardly, and none of you can afford to be “wild." BEATRIX. -——-—