The Savannah morning news., 1901-09-15
WOMAN'S
WORLD.

preston of Titles is being commended
by some and condemned by others.
Dorothy Dix, in an article in the New
Orleans Picayune. is one of those who
condemns it. She says among other
things, that another reason why the
Society for the Suppression of Titles
should be suppressed and muzzled, is
that there is no telling how far they
will carry their baleful researches.
They may not stop at clearing mp mill
tary titles, and one can but shudder
at the thought of the awful slump in
human happiness there would be if all
the people who are enjoying reputa-
lions as beauties and wits and philan-
throplsts and artists and for being lit
erary, were suddenly called upon to
make good their right to these distinc-
lions.
Perhaps the idea of one enjoying
what the Virginia society stlgmatizes
as a spurious distinction does not APP
peal to me as so heinous an offense,
because of a gentle little old maid
once knew who went through life en-
veloped in an adulation of authorship,
that real authorship seldom brings, yet
who never published line.
When I first knew her the gentle
old face was as reminiscently beauti-
full as a rose long pressed between
the covers of a book, but she still
wore girlish frocks and her hair drawn
back in flowing ringlets as became a
daughter of the muses..
We always spoke of her as poet.
The local paper invariably referred TO
her as one of our most talented au-
thoresses, or sweetest song birds, ana
in the little village in which we lived
we guarded her as something almost
too fine and precious for human ma
lures daily food. When guests from
the cities came to see us, we took them
to see her, proudly conscious of the
distinction of living cheek by jowl, as
it were, with genius, and somehow Miss
Aurelia, sitting in her dim old parlor,
with it's faded brocade and carved ma
hogany, or wandering down the paths
of her rose-scented old garden, looked
so much the very incarnation of poetry
nobody ever thought to question her
right to the title.
Only once was the matter brought
into discussion. Maria Wheats cousin
from Chicago, a rude, material young
man. coming home from Miss Aurelia's,
asked Maria what Miss Aurelia had
published.
Miss Aurelia doesn't waste her tai
ent on mere common newspapers, like
you do" said Miss Maria, with freez-
ing reproof; "she is writing a great
book. She doesn't have to publish a
thing the minute she writes it,"
And, indeed, none of Miss Aurelia's
writing had ever seen print, but there
wasn't a house in the village where.
hidden away in the leaves of the fam
lily Bible, next where was written in a
trembling hand, Little Janey, or Baby
Tom died on there wasn't one of
Miss Aurelia's poems. Perhaps they
were faulty in construction, childish
and commonplace in sentiment. and
would not have passed a single canon
of literary criticism. God knows. We
blistered them with our tears, and
somehow they seemed ministers of
healing.
Miss Aurelia had been left a little
property that sufficed for her simple
wants, but by and by she did a strange
thing She turned her beautiful old
house into a boarding house. and filled
it up with strangers. We grieved over
it as If it had been a public misfor-
tune, for we felt somehow that the
atmosphere of boarders was inimical
to poetry, and that the great book that
Snc was WTlllIlB MOulu De postponed,
but Miss Aurelia only smiled at our
protests. and said mysteriously that
she was doing her greatest work.
We did not understand, and we never
thought of putting two and two to-
gether; not even when the black
smiths oldest son, who had taken
every honor the village schools could
offer, suddenly went off to college. We
wondered a little how he got the
IL. 60 Il
to give him a penny, but we forgot
even this in surprise and admiration
at the reports that came back of the
boys success.
Two years, three, four passed Miss
Aurelia still kept her boarding house.
The lad finished college, went into
Journalism, wrote a book that was so
simply sweet and true to life that 1t
took the country by storm. and swept
him into sudden fame and fortune.
Strangely enough, the first copy reach
ed the little village on the day when
Miss Aurelia, having come to the end
of the last chapter of life. lay a-dying,
and then we knew the whole story, and
that she had worked and toiled and
sacrificed herself in order that the
boys flower of genius might come to
full fruition.
Very gently we put the book into
dered caressingly over it. Long, long
ago" she murmured, brokenly, II knew
that-that ] was a-fraud-that l could
never write the book everybody expect
ed, and / did not deserve the praise
and admiration you gave me, but l
could not bear to part with 1t. 1t was
so sweet, and has made by life so beau
tiful / wasn't consciously dishonest,
you know, at first. / believed in my
self, and afterwards l didn't have
strength to tell you that l was just a
poor farthing rushlight of talent, that
could never do anything worth while,
but now ! have atoned. l have given
to the world a genius, and another
hand shall write my great book"
And it did, but over Miss Aurelias
grave we carved the word Poet" for
as Maria Wheat said, IL is just as
much a poem to live beautifully as 1t
is to write beautifully, and Miss Au-
relia's whole life had been one glad,
sweet song.
There are more ways of wooing than
there are nations, says the New York
Herald, and to the everyday American
many Of these may well seem very
strange indeed.
The etiquette of love among the Hun
garian sypsies, for instance, as as fol-
lows: Cakes are used as love letters
A coin is baked into the cake, which
at the first opportunity. is flung to the