The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-11-29
Eor Z1s ASAassew zrGUaZev.
 WHAT CAN A BRooM.Do3
BY O. E. L..

"Why sweep, of course" the busy housewife cries. Who ever heard such silly nillyl" Well, let's sec if she is not too hasty in con6ning the usefulness of the broom to its usual tread-mill ex- istence. live repeat Gae hackneyed old expression, "the broom is womans weapon" we may be pardoned for we must all acknowledge, that yielded by a pair of dextrous white hands, aided by a pair of saucy bright eyes, the broom be- comes formidable weapon, that occa- sionally takes captive some poor fel- low" of an old bachelor in search of a wife and housemaid.
 In the fathers advice to his son on choosing wife, we see..the wisdom that does not always come. with age. He perhaps had made a like choice and found domestic bliss or.elsein his failure to do so had prc6ted by experience. He advised his son to give "a tea-party out on the lawn, and to place broom in the pathway leading within, and |" she who picks it up choose ye to wife" Some of the young ladies giggled, and stepped over it Some high headed and sky seeking stumbled over it Some walked round it, others ju nped over it, and one, yes one, stopped and picked it up. We'll for the wise young man whose wife she became that she did for he had put his all on the throw in the lifting up of the broom, and to this day he might have been roaming..over the world. with g broom, ready..to fall at. the sight of womankind.
 Hyour carpet is old and worn it is said that tea leaves will ..restsre the faded colors. About the Carpets that fade we are given much advice, but no one comes to the rescue of those that will wear out guess, it would be a good idea to darn the holes with bits of bright colors and then let the ether .generation picture a wonderful history from the faded flowers. There are footsteps sounding OCT the floor that no broom sweep away. There is the batter of little feet echoing through the room; they die away, and instead we hear the tread of the strong man whose bounding step gives place to the weary walk of old age that keeps time to the slow music of long ago. Looking farther on, away back to the yesterdays, we see careless girl sweep ing lightly away with laughing eyes, tiny bits of white paper; it was nothing to her, but mans heart had been written there. And from this faded rose we learn how short the reign of youth and beauty.
 Like Charlotte Cushman, we are prone to say we strut and fret one little hour and then the curtain falls and all is dark ness and silence. Still letting fancy hold the reins we draw a scene of surpassing beauty lovely to behold. No kingly knight of old with waving plumes and prancing war-horse ever sat his charger more gracefully nor thrilled his heart with brighter hopes than we find em. bodied here in this laughing, sunny hearted boy riding his broom, his golden curls flying in the wind, like silken banners of lady fair. Ride on, dear child, your little day. But the vision is over, the house is swept and dusted. Closing the windows look in down the valley of silence and let the mellow light and shadows fall there is beauty in ddsting the shadows of doubt away from the light of hope; and the cob-webs of time are of our own weaving.
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