The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1884-04-26


term OF years would hardly calculate
an eclipse or ease heari-ache; noI
would the study of human nature from
the dead levels Of conventional society.
Here Impulse is dead, enthusiasm I'M
born, earncslncss precluded. The eff
fort is TO shine" and that in candle
light. The sun has gone out OF fash
ion.
Still another class of women in
Washington are those working in the
government departments. a hopeless,
weary task for educated. refined, we'll
reared women, as many OF them are.
would rather 90 away to the western
prairies and prcempt few acres OF
Gods good soil, and with my own
hands guide the pillow and plant the
seed, in the free air and sunlight OF the
blue heaven, than take position AT
one OF those mono,onous desks, to
write, write, write dreary copies OF
soulless documents, until the light
fades out of the face. the warmth from
the heart, and health from body and
soul. Woman was never meant 10
be a machine. Every nerve in hel
body protests against it. Every fiber
of her soul revolts against the murder
of her own fred will. Automatic action
in society or independent labor is her
doom and death.
In room adjoining this where l
write, lies at this moment, on bed OF
suffering, a gentle girl whose life for
eight years has been in the treasury
department, here. And, by the way,
! George w. Peck never wrote better
| thing than his humorous but kind and
! lust defense of the women in the treas
ury work here. This young woman is
very finely cultured, trained in the at
moSphere of books and music, in the
| library of studious father, who, dy-
ing. len small competence that was
soon swept away by lack of manage
ment. For eight years she has written
in that Office, until her health has gone.
and she lives to-day in constant fear
| lest her position shall be taken from
her and given to another whose vitality
is unmpaired. As she lies there now
her greatest dread is lest she shall hear
tomorrow that there is no more work
for her. Across the way, perhaps, my
ladys carriage rolls to her door, and
she enters it in disquiet lest her neigh
boris is more magnificent. She does
not see the sunlight as she rolls along;
she does not know that the yellow jcs-
samine is in fragrant bloom on the
sunny side OF the Soldiers home, for it
is not fashionable to 90 there until
later i'm the season. She does not
know that my young friend is dying
there from toll, yet suffering because
even it may be denied her; but she does
know, and it clouds her face and hard
ems her heart, that rival leader went
to the presidents dinner last night,
while herself was unlimited.
Were one to make choice between
these two and take the place of one of
them, would take that of the poor,
fral girl. Better, even, the discipline
through which she has passed, if that
be necessary to give birth to so sweet
soul, than the cold, dead arrogance OF
her whose birth of spirit must be in an
other life, if ever, since she has lived
too long for ''change OF heart here.
Beauty of character! How few are
striving to attain it! Fewer, even, than
they who are asking for intellectual
development. Courage, high-minded-
ness, guilelessness, true kindness!
How rare they are!
AN ISLAND OF PRETTY WOMEN
The grass grows green and rank and
the perfume of the rose fills the air
even in the bleakest days of the bleak
autumn in this little Sea-encircled par
adise, writes a correspondent from st.
Helier's, on the island OF Jersey. There
are hundreds of beautiful lanes wind
inc among the valleys and hillsides,
with trees on either side growing so
close together that no sunshine can
ever penetrate through the interlacing
boughs to the hard, smooth, beaten
track beneath; miles of white, shingly
sifted flour, and is left by the receding
tides as hard as cement; quaint little
farm-houses empowered in sweet
smelling shrubbery and flowers, and
acres of moorand that is covered the
wear round with heliotropes, petunias,
and marruerites. A bluc-gray sea
rises and fails around the island forty
two feet Sweet little Jersey" Dear
old ST. Heier's," is the atfectionate
way in which the people here speak of
their island home and its chief town OF
80, 600 souls. ST. Helier's is Il queer
old place. Its streets are narrow and
crowded. Massive earthworks and
miles of masonry crown the hills about,
and render the pace apparently I'M
pregnable against the foe.
The channel islands, and particular
" Jersey, possess much of interest TO
the stranger, but the GROWING glory OF
Jersey is the beauty of her women.
For general comeline>s they would
readily be awarded prize in any COM
petition of feminine grace Rare,
creamy complexions that would put
the bloom on the peach to blush, iig-
ures made graceful and sinewy by bod
lily toll, with rather strongly cut fea-
lures, eyes like aloes, and lustrous
dark hair, the girls met on the streets
of 81. Helier's seem to the stranger the
persouliication of womanly indepeud.
ence, beauty, and maidcnly reserve.
The soft white miSts that wrap the is
land avpry pipht from suDuoWD to sum