Shiner gazette. [volume] (Shiner, Tex.) 1893-current, 1908-05-14

ned life boat and rescued
drowning souls as did Grace
Darling; she never went to hte
front and nursed sick and
wounded soldiers as did Flor
ence Nightingale; or the many
other brave and heroic deeds Of
glorious women, but she has toll
ed and suffered and endured for
years and years without num-
Der, and we can find no line to
her credit in history or a monu-
ment that marks her bravery.
She is a very insignificant her.
oine-this mother. She wears
no armor, no badge of distinc-
tion-just a plain, ordinary,
every day dress. At one time,
perhaps, her style was different
there were ruffles and tucks
and knots of ribbons, and a flow
er coquettishly nestled in her
hair, but that was in her sweet
heart days, when her lover adj
mired each little change-long
years ago, before she became a
heroine. Then she dreamed like
other young girls-she was no
different from the girls of today,
they all dream of the perpetual
love making, the never ending
lover-like attention of the man
the one man.
But husbands grow indiffer-
ent, they forget to admire the
pretty flower, the bow of ribbon,
or the ruffle of lace, they let the
anniversary slip by without even
a word of remembrance-Oh!
the pity of it. They do not seem
to realize that it is the little
things in life which go so far
towards making up the sum of
human happiness, they do not
remember that a few words of
affection, a clasp of the hand,
the slightest caress is to a woman
the greatest thing in the world.
Poverty and love is the true
woman to superior to wealth and
indifference, but few husbands
understand the true woman.
Our poor heroine! she grows ac-
customed to this heartache-this
void of something for which she
longs, her dreams fade away
until-until a future is before
her, something that will fill this
void.
Oh! then is when our heroine
shows her mettle, she accepts her
Gethsemane as part of her life,
she rallies her strength and be-
gins the battle anew. She has
something else to live for now
the dreams are forgotten in the
martyrdom of motherhood, the
thousand and one little cares and
tribulations, the Shaving over the
sewing machine that baby will
look pretty, the toiling over the
wash tub and ironing board that
baby will be clean and sweet, the
bending over the hot fire that
baby will have proper food and
nourishment, and so it continues,
the same round of monotony all
through school days until college
time is reached, and then comes
an extra task, the pinching and
squeezing of every penny, the
self-denial of everything but the
bar necessities of life so that
her boys or girls may share
equally with the others.
How many of us have stood
and watched with admiration the
returning victor of some petty
battle, cheering until we were
hoarse, exhausting ourselves
with the vehemence of our en-
thusiasm, when right beside us,
possibly touching our hand, was
one greater than he? One whose
battle has not been petty-whose
conflict has not been of short
duration, but has for us fought
many a severe fight.
When we had the scarlet fever
or diphtheria and not one could
come near us, who held the cup
of cold water to our fever parch-
ed lips? Who bent over us day
and night and fought away with
almost supernatural strength the
greatest of all enemies-death?
The worlds greatest heroine
Mother! Who is it that each
SUNDAY dinner time chose tha