The age-herald., 1899-09-10
THE MURMUR
 OF THE WORLD

i and womanish men, of seXless DOCK fuo-
 bish and blasphemous speech, there be many persons who take issue with the divine dictum. It was but the other day 1 that new society play was put upon the l stage of the most famous theater of the
 world The central figure in the acting l was a woman whose beauty has been the toast oyer millions of wine, and whose in- l discretions have set a-wagging the tongues
 of millions of men, Tho playwright put l into her mouth the abominabe words "lt
 was my misfortune to be born female l Somebody blundered and I must suffer- We are told that this vulgar attempt at | witty cynicism called forth applause from representatives of society in the first city | of Chrstendom. Wherever that play shall
 be rendered it will be applauded by women | who, while they have kept themselves un- | spotted from the world, have ceased to be | pure of heart. The sentiment of it is re- | pulsive enough, one would think: it strikes | at the very root of all goodness, all sexual | virtue. It is an insult to virginity wife l hood and motherhood alike: it is subversive of womanliness and all-.our creed of | feminine purity, light. beauty, sweetness.
 Yet will woman with consciousness that it IS WTOHB lISttu lO II, lduSii ONci It, e'pP'e'"' | Yet shall this play-woman of the million
 wine and the million men Haunt herself up- on the stage within arms reach of the | white flower that rises and falls, and is fragrant of many precious things, upon the l bosom of purity The nolsome clouds of
 Leicester Square have been condensed into | a muddy downpour at the Haymarket. | "When she left tho village she was shy; ..l,a h1a al- | she had a merry little twinkle in her eye," | is a suggestion that bears monstrous fruit | for the mouth of Lan9try, and refresh- l men of a society iaded of Its own revelries | and weary of it's own shallow whimsicali- | ties, that empty of good and noble 1 things. Every hour is an hour for laugh | ter, every day a day for joy, every year | year for good and loving deeds, every life a life for charity. But there is appointed in the sweep of time space for un- righteous, unclean, degrading sentiment. 
 Breasting a gentle hill of Jersey and breathing the ncomparable atmosphere of that beautifulest of all the fair far isles of the sea, he who murmurs of the world to you, beloved listener to babble that is of- ten vain, came to an ancient church in a
 
 wayslde fountain where the water had laughted for thousapd years, and looked with some emotion upon the worship place of many generations of men. The grey
 walls bore the impress of ages. Even the black-green ivy that climbed here and there to the messy roof was silent witness to uncounted years. Some rocks were fussing
 on the tower. The venerable sexton was h,,-x ,bai throwing pebbles at flock of sparrows harmlessly The organist was al practice,
 as indistinct notes of music told. A hun- dred paces away in a garden of flowers
 stood the old gabled ,icarage wrapped in
 rose vines in the full blossom of a perfect summer day. A marvellous wealth of roses screened the walls and clothed the gables in wonderful richness of beauty. It seemed as if one looked upon the very throne of the roses of the earth. No sound came from it, save bird notes and the drowsy hum of bees in the heart of blooms. The old-world garden with it's cherries and it's berries, its balm of a thousand flowers and it's clingng vines, was a little sun- kissed paradise set upon the summit of the Jersey hill. The whole scene bore a charm that made common all the superlatlves-
 
 ter-years little child was carried to the baptismal font in the church. In the af- ter time that child grown to be a woman, walked to the altar and was made wife. In these days she mouths upon the stage, Ut was my misfortune to be born a female
 Somebody blundered and I must suffer-" The words were written of her and for her.
 E,n DasS1nt t-JOurOpVino a1onpr th.A hroo5 hard, white highway that leads away from old Vicar Le Bretons ancient church and rose-robed vicarage, The Murmurer camo to the tallest hill in fair Jersey Browning this hill is the Princes Tower, a lofty structure of the antique world. To!ling with weary feet up the winding stairway to the top of the tower, he saw all tho fields and gardens and orchards, woods and dells and green hills of the farest island laved by the encirclng sea. At every point of view flashed the SIue waters, silvered by the southern sunlight. It seemed to him that some mighty anthem had taken material form in the cathedral of the universe, and Silence was the high priest of voicelAs henedietion that bowed him in humility and the heart-song of thanksgiving and praise. Looking up and away to the southward beyond a mar row channel of the sea, he saw the beauti- ful land of Brittany spread out as amap, and his clear sight reached even unto Rennes, where there was but yesterday en- acted the crowning nfamy of the age. when upon the bent back of the innocent Jew was placed anew the damned burden of a tyranny that is guilt and cowardice in one. On that summer day when tho murmurer looked unto Rennes and thought of it's long history, poor. brave Dreyfus was far away on Devils Island. The court- nartial's crime of yesterday brings back with almost painful dstincuness the mem- ory of Brittany as it was seen from the ton of the Princes Tower.
 No apology is offered for this apparent Aggression. II is not without it's moral. It is not without its bearing upon that blas- phemous spirit that can say of the sex