Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1894-11-17

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v motherly o ok n
woman, but just at
" present there Is a
slight GOODNESS between the families, owing
to some alleged remarks of the matron's
which were repeated by her youngest
daughter to Susie West End not long ago
with intent to wound that young lady's
sensitive feelings. The meeting, however,
was no less successful than it's predeces-
sors, though the narrow escape of the
tailor made woman from sitting down on
a piece of taffy the hostess little son had
left In her new blue brocade chair caused
a slight ripple Of excitement at the open
ing of the session.
Miss Pension Bureau was In the chair.
for contrary to the custom Of the club the
hostess did not preside. She sat instead
very near the door. through which from
time to time she disappeared as disturb
ances in the nursery above demanded her
attention.
II would like to ask" said Miss PEN
sion Bureau as the club members settled
themselves to begin the afternoons dis
cussions, If anybody knows who Mother
Goose really was? 1t seems to me that
now we are becoming reasonably familiar
with her philosophy We might very prop
erly spend little time discussing her
life and the influence Of her environment
on her poems"
why, was there really such a person."
asked the bluet hat, carelessly toying
with her lorgnette so that the solitaire on
the third finger Of her ungloved left hand
caught the light enticingly Il thought
Mother Goose was only name"
Everybody assumed a non-committal look
and Miss Pension Bureau went on:
Il will ask Mrs. Georgetown Heights to
look up the matter of Mother Goose's iden-
tity and tell us about 1t next week.
We'll, / must say" remarked Mrs. Fin
de Steele, that / don't see the least bit
OF use In that. Who cares who Mother
Goose was? All were interested in is the
poems 1t doesn't make any difference
who wrote them. 1 never could see the
use of digging into the graves Of dead
and gone authors just to drag out facts CT
their private lives. Who cares what they
did? Who wants his enjoyment Of the
beautiful things poet writes ruined by
learning that the poet beat his wife or
liked corn beef and cabbage?"
The Queen Of Hearts.
II quite agree with Mrs. De Steele" said
the advanced woman. For my part,
think all the discussion about Shakespeare
is waste of time. Who cares who wrote
the plays? All we care about is the plays
themselves. and it's all the same to me
whether William d. Howells or Charles
Darwin wrote the Mother Goose poems"
20, let's insist that a woman wrote them!
We must make a good showing for the
sex" put in the cerise collar
20, bother the SEX" said the woman with
a past. 'one never dares pronounce wo-
man without a capital these days. / am
tired OF hearing of woman. / move We get
down to our poems. I'm going to begin.
The verses I have illustrate how a woman's
consistency to worthless man will outlast
everything else.
The Queen of Hearts. she made some
All on a summers day;
The knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,
And with them ran away.
The King of Hearts called for the tarts,
And beat the queen full sore:
The Knave of Hearts brought back the
tarts,
And vowed he'd steal no more
1.-The king is old, wrapped up in cares Of
state; cold, severe. The young queen loves
the knave. The tarts-well, the stealing Of
the tarts is merely Mother Goose's express
sion for some scrape the knave is in. Some
thing has been done that incenses the king
dreadfuly. The knave is to blame, but
the queen will not tell on him-not even to
clear herself. She endures unjust suspi-
cion, undeserved punishment, even dis
grace but until the knave sees fit to come
back and take his own deeds on his own
seems to be her fault A woman actually
enjoys suffering martyrdom for some mans
sake"
II think" said the new member, who Is
literary, that one might develop that
poem into a novel Suppose the knave
were the queens brother. He is IN debt.
She gives him her diamonds to get him out
of trouble. The king suspects she has sold
the jewels to pay-well, her own eXtrava-
CANT debts, or, perhaps, a lovers debts.
Finally, however, the brother returns, re-
deems the diamonds and they all live hap
Ply ever after
"Ah, yes" remarked the Congressman's
wife, "but do they? DO you think the
queen can ever forgive her husband his I'M
tvanr ,hA
see how slight a thing his love is, how
frail his trust in her? Do you think she
will ever really love him again?'
Lack of Masculine Trust.
80, my dear" said the woman with q
past "a man never trusts woman. Every
man would like to keep his wife locked up
in a harem. He recognizes in every other
man a potential destroyer of his domestic
happiness Trust! Who ever heard of a
man who wasn't the first to believe evil
of his own wife? A woman will believe in
a man even against the very evidence of
her senses. You see, woman doesn't love
a man for this or for that. A man loves
the ideal in woman. woman-well,
man never let's her keep an ideal of him
long. OF course, the queen forgave the
beating. Why, you know what Mother
Goose says farther on:
"A woman, dog and walnut tree,
be-
80. that dreadful womanv' whispered the
bride on the sofa to the tailor-made wo-
man. mo wonder she didn't get on with
her husband. It's such bad taste, too, to
quarrel with ones husband"
The tailor-made woman smiled at the
bride in a way that made that little woman
suddenly remember that the woman she
was speaking to was divorced. The bride
said a few awkward things in a laudable
attempt to improve matters, and then sat
back with a sigh of despair, while the
tailor made woman began to read:
peter White
Will neer go right
Would you krow the reason why?
He follows his nose
Wherever he goes,
And that stands all awry.'
This is the first mention we have had
so far of heredity. Poor Peter White does
his very best, but he has Inherited a hope
lessly warped moral nature, and despite
his endeavors he is continually going wrong
man is no more to blame for the color Of
his moral eyes than for the color of his
physical eyes. 1t is impossible for some
people to be good. 1t is no more wicked
for a born thief to steal than for a born
reformer to devote his life to reform"
20, my dear, dear woman" protested the
hostess, don't you see what a hopelessly
immoral doctrine that is? Why, II all the
hat nObOdy would he