Part 25 (1/2)

When soon his power imperial, shone O'er countless tribes, in widening zone; And wine was banished from the board Of Moslem millions, by the sword And victor's hatchet.

So may it be with this great nation, When woman tests her high vocation; Persuasion proves a futile power To quell the joints, but quick they cower At the whirling hatchets.

True chivalry must come again, And men, more n.o.ble, but less vain, Responding to its modern sense, Guard woman, while in self-defense She plies her hatchet.

When honor bright appeals to men ”The weak confounds the mighty,” then Side doors and slot-machines must close And such games hide, when women pose With sharpened hatchets.

'Else are men brutes, and all their pride And gallant valor, they must hide In coward s.h.i.+rking. This shameful end They must accept, or else defend The ”home-guard” hatchet.

'Tis woman's crucial, fateful hour, Her fine soul's test, 'gainst man's coa.r.s.e power.

In war, she can not be man's peer, But for home's weal, all men sincere Bow to her hatchet.

Man's ”Vigilance” is oft condoned, When Vice and Crime has been enthroned.

Shall women then, be more to blame, When she In Virtue's sacred name Raises her hatchet?

'Tis she must grasp the nation's prize-- A pure, proud home, earth's paradise.

The joints must go, but, never till Woman exerts her potent will And holy hatchet.

As men, once slaves, their freedom gained By force, and power at length attained; So, cultured brains and force combined, Shall mark the sphere of womankind And surely reach it.

In valor, more Joan d'Arc's are needed, Woman's high social power's conceded, But she herself, must blaze the path To public morals, by her own worth And ”Little Hatchet.”

--C. BUTLER-ANDREWS.

Dr. Howard Russell told in his address at Kokomo, Sunday, March 24, how when Mrs. Nation was on her way from Topeka to Peoria recently, a pa.s.senger on the same train came into the car where she was and sang a song of his own composition. He was evidently a farmer with a large stock of mother-wit. He was lame, and limped into the car, and hopped up and down while he sang. A great deal of merry enthusiasm was aroused, and the car, packed full of people, expressed their appreciation by round after round of applause. It is evident that Mrs. Nation is quite popular in that part of the country.

The song is as follows:

Hurrah, Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town!

So get on your bonnet and your Sunday-meeting gown.

Oh, I am so blamed excited I am hopping up and down, Hurrah, Samantha, Carrie Nation is in town!

Get you ready, we are going to the city, Where the ”Home Defenders” are all feeling gay, And the mothers all exclaiming, ”Its a pity That Carrie Nation does not come here every day.”

I want to hear that mirror-smas.h.i.+ng music, And to look in Mrs. Nation's blessed face, And to see the saloon men all cavorting With that hatchet bringing sadness to their face.

Hurrah, Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town!

So wear your brightest bonnet and your alapaca gown.

Oh, I am so jubilated I'm a-hopping up and down, Hurrah! hurrah! Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town.

OUTCAST.

(Found in ma.n.u.script among the personal effects of a prost.i.tute, 22 years of age, who died in the Commercial Hospital, Cincinnati, O.)

Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell, Fell like the snowflakes from heaven to h.e.l.l; Fell to be trampled as filth on the street Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat; Pleading--cursing--dreading to die, Selling my soul to whoever would buy, Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, Hating the living and fearing the dead.

Merciful G.o.d, have I fallen so low?

And yet I was once like the beautiful snow.

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow, With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its glow, Once I was loved for my innocent grace-- Flattered and sought for the charms of my face!