Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1895-06-17

the clamor of partisanship? The right
of suffrage as we men exercise 1t seems
to be feeble thing. You, a Christian
man, come up to the ballot box and you
drop your vote. Right after you comes
a libertine or a sot-the OfTscouring of
the strickland he drops his vote, and
his vote counteracts yours. But if iE
the quiet Of home life a daughter by
her Christian demeanOr, a wife by her
industry, mother by her faithfulness,
casts a vote in the right direction, then
nothing can resist it, and the influence
! of that vote will throb through the eter-
| mites
Her Most Glorious Rights.
My chief anxiety then is not that
woman have other rights accorded her,
but that she, by the grace of God, rise
up to the appreciation of the glorious
rights she already possesses First, she
has the right to make home happy
That realm no one has ever disputed
with her. Men may come home at noon
or at night, and then tarry compare
lively little while, but she, all day
long, governs it, beauties it, sanctifes
it. It is within her power to make it
the most attractive place on earth. 1t is
the only calm harbor in this world
You know as well as I do that this out
side world and the business world are
long scene Of jostIe and contention. The
man who has a dollar struggles to keep
it the man who has it not struggles to
get it. Prices up. Prices down. Losses.
Gains. Misrepresentation Undersell-
ing. Buyers depreciating; statesmen ex-
aggerating. Tenants seeking less rent;
landlords demanding more. Struggles
about office. Men who are in trying to
keep in; men out trying to get in
Slips Tumbles Defalcations. Panics
Catastrophes. 0 woman, thank God
you have home, and that you may be
queen in it. Better be there than wear
Victoria's coronet Better be there than
carry the purse of princess.
Your abode may be humble, but you
can, by your faith in God and your
cheerfulness of demeanor, gid it with
splendors such as an upholsterer' hand
never yet kindled. There are abodes in
every city-humble, two stories, four
plain, unpapered rooms, undesirable
neighborhood, and yet there is a man
who would die on the threshold rather
than surrender. Why? It is home.
Whenever he thinks of it he sees angels
of God lowering around it. The ladders
of heaven are let down to that house.
Over the child's rough crib there are
the chantings of angels as those that
broke over Bethlehem. 1t is home.
These children may come up after
awhile, and they may win high posi-
ton, and they may have an af1uent
residence, but they will not until their
dying day forget that humble roof, I'M
der which their father rested and their
mother sang and their sisters played.
Oh, if you would gather up all tender
memories, all the lights and shades of
the heart, all banquetings and reunions,
all flial. fraternal, paternal and conju-
gal affections, and you had only just
four letters with which to spell out that
height and depth and length and breadth
and magnitude and eternity of mean
ing, you would, with streaming eyes
and trembling voice and agitated hand,
write it out in those four living capt.
tails, HOME.
The Realm of Home.
What right does woman want that is
grander than to be queen in such a
realm? Why, the eagles Of heaven can
not fly across that dominion. Horses,
painting and with lathered TANKS, are
not swift enough to run to the outpost
of that realm. They say that the sun
never sets upon the English empire but
I have to tell you that on this realm Of
woman's influence eternity never marks
any bound. Isabella fed from the Span
ish throne, pursued by the nations
anathema, but she who is queen i'll a
home will never lose her throne, and
death itself Will only be the annexation
of heavenly municipalities.
When you want to get your grandest
idea of a queen you do not think of
Catherine of Russia or of Anne of Eng
land or Marie Theresa of Germany, but
when you want to get your grandest
idea Of a queen you think of the plain
woman who sat opposite your father at
the table or walked with him arm in
arm down life's pathway; sometimes to
the Thanksgiving banquet, sometimes
to the grave, but always together
soothing your petty griefs, correcting
your childish waywardness, joining in
your infantile sports, listening to your
evening prayers, toiling for you with
needle or at the spinning wheel, and on
cold nights wrapping you up snug and
warm. And then at last on that day
when she lay in the back room dying,
and you saw her take those thin hands
with which she had tOiled for you so
long, and put them together in dying
prayer that commended you to the God
whom she had taught you to trust-oh,
she was the queen! The chariots of God
came down to fetch her, and as she
went in all heaven rose up. You cannot
think of her now without rush of ten
derness that stirs the deep foundations
of your soul, and you feel as much a