Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1914-03-31

young ucu Al fuiiooo oISAeooSS VA 49,
attention. l am trying to tell them
something Of the ideal poetry that
marked the rebirth Of the Saxon gen.
ius. They are bored. I-well, gentle
men, in confidence, even the mind Of
a college professor has been known to
wander at times from the subject In
hand. And then-I begin to read a
poem-a poem descriptive Of q woman
dead GOO years and more. All, gentle
men,
He sat erect on the edge Of his great
chair. Back Of the thick lenses of his
spectacles he had eyes that still could
fash.
"This Is not an era Of romance" he
said. "Our people grub in the dirt for
the dollar. Their visions perish. Their
souls grow stale. Yet now and then,
Mt most inopportune times, comes the
fash that reveals to us the glories that
might be-"
Mr.. Bland wrapped his gay quilt
more securely about him. Mr.. Magee
smiled encouragement on the newest
raconteur.
81 shall be brief" continued Profes-
sor Bolton. "Heaven knows that ped
agogic room was no place for visions,
nor were those athletic young men it
companions for soul gone giddy. Yet
Il lost my head. AS l read on there
returned to my heart glow l had not
known In forty years. The bard spoke
Of her hair:
Her yellow locks, crisped like golden wyre,
About her shoulders were loosely shed.
And | saw, as In dream-ahem, l can
trust you, gentlemen-a girl supposed
had forever forgotten in the mold
and dust of my later years. l will not
70 further into the matter. My wife's
hair is black.
And reading on, but losing the
thread of the poets eulogy in the gold
en- fabric Of my resurrected dream, It
came to me to compare that maid l
knew in the long ago with the women
know today. Ah, gentlemen! Lips
made but for smiling ding weighty ar
guments on the unoffending atmos-
phere. Eyes made to light with that
light that never was by land or sea,
blaze instead with what they call the
Injustice Of woman's servitude. White
hands made to find their way to the
hands Of some young man in the moon
light carry banners In the dusty streets
It seemed | saw the blue eyes OF that
girl of long ago turned. sad. rebuking,
on her sisters Of today. AS l finished
reading my heart was awhirl. said
to the young men before me:
""There was a woman, gentlemen-a
woman worth million suffragettes.'
"They. applauded. The fire In me
died down. Soon I was my old meek.
academic self. The vision had left no
trace. dismissed my class and went
home. found that my wife-she OF
the black hair-had left my slippers by
the library fire. put them on and
plunged into a pamphlet lately pub
lished by a distinguished member OF a
German university faculty. l thought
the incident closed forever
He gazed sorrowfully at the two
young men.
"But, gentlemen, had not counted
on that viper that we nourish In our
bosom-the American newspaper. At
present I will not take time to de-
nounce the press. I am preparing an
article on the subject for respectable
weekly of select circulation. Suffice 1t
to record what happened. The next
day an evening paper appeared with
huge picture Of me on its front page
and the hideous statement that this
was the Professor Bolton who had said
that One peroxide blond is worth
million suffragettes.'
"Yes, that was the dreadful version OF
my remark that was spread broadcast.
Up to the time that story appeared |
had no idea as to what sort of creature
the peroxide blond might be. pro-
tested, Of course. / might as well have
tried to dam tidal wave with table
fork. The wrath Of the world swept
down upon Inc. was deluged with
kilograms, editorials. letters. denounc-
Ing me. Firm faced females lay In
wait for me and waved umbrellas in
my eyes. Even my wife turned from
me, saying that while she did not ask
me to hold her views on the question
of suffrage, she thought l might at
least refrain from publicly commend
ing a type Of woman found chiefly In
musical comedy choruses. l received
a note from the president of the uni
versity asking me to be more circum-
ypect in my remarks. Me-Thaddeus
Bolton-the most conservative man on
earth by instinct!
"And still the denunciatons OF me
poured In; still women's clubs held
meetings resolving against me; still a
steady stream Of reporters lowed
through my life. urging me to state
my views further. to name the ten
greatest blonds in history, to-heaven
knows what. Yesterday l resolved l
could stand 1t no longer. determined
to 90 away until the whole thing was
forgotten. But they said to me.
there is no place on land or sea where
the reporters will not find you talk
ed the matter over with my old friend,
John Bentley, owner Of Baldpate inn.
and he in his kindness gave me the
key to this hostelry."
Wisely Professor Bolton blinked
about him. Mr.. Bland was half asleep
In his chair. but Mr.. Magee was quick
with sympathy.
professor" he said, you are much
suffering man. feel for you. Here, l
am sure, you are safe from reporters.
and the yellow journals will soon for