Harrisburg telegraph. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1879-1948, 1917-08-15
WE TALK ABOUT
COMMONPLACES
Group of Three Has Some
thing Truly Great
About 1t
BY Mrs. Wilson Woodrow

We talk about the eternal COM
monplaces, but is there really any
thing commonplace in the world?
st. Paul had one of the most pro-
found, rich and varied minds which
has ever illumined the ages. He was
many men in one-the great the
ologian, with the Law" at his finger
ends; the subtle casuist, splitting
hairs with the Greek philosophers;
the master of verbal expression, who
condensed the meaning of one of the
most elusive of words into definition
clear and clean and accurate as the
stroke of sword.
Now faith is the substance of
things hoped for; the evidence of
things not seem"
He was the mystic who ascend
ed into the third heaven; the great
poet who wrote the thirteenth chap
ter of First Corinthians. And yet
, when st. Peter rose above the law
and perceived that there is nothing
| common or unclean, one wonders
If he, in his moment of vision, had
not penetrated the beauty and myS-
terry of life more deeply than his
vastly more brilliant contemporary.
These were just some of the re-
hections which came to me the other
day when l sat at luncheon in 4
hotel restaurant. There was a little
group of three at table near me
the father and the mother, and the
son in the uniform of an aviator
From the scraps of conversation that
l could overhear, the parents had
come to town to meet the lad. He
had already seen service and was
going back to the front.
They bore all the evidence of be-
ing plain, well-to-do people on the
shady side of middle age. The wom-
an was of the austere. repressed
type. Her carefully brushed suit was
of no particular cut; her prim, plain
hat was of the vintage of several
years ago and in its pristine fresh
ness had certainly not been an eX-
| treme model"
Fashions siren call had fallen on
! deaf ears as far as she was concern
ed, and she had never even had 10
resist the lure of pretty clothes. You
could imagine her going into the
| village emporium and saying: II
want a plain, tailored suit. Some
thing that will last me several years
and not too expensive. 1 want good
wearing material; don't care any
/ thing about the style"
And then fancy follows her to the
| village milliner's.
NO, 1 don't want any of those
| fussy shapes; just plain everyday
| hat. Not any flowers, they are so
| perishable and they fade; and no
feathers, they are too fussy. Just a
/ bow or two of ribbon, very quiet and
mot to expensive"
She was a thrifty body, one who
rejoiced more over one penny saved
than over ten thousand spent. There
was about her a sort of an aura, an
agreeable one, of spotless kitchen
and fragrant linen closets and
shelves with orderly and shining
rows of pickles and preserves upon
them.
Imagination failed at the thought
of her being the life and soul. of any
party; but, If not exactly popular,
she would always hold the admira-
ton and respect of the neighbors.
She was plainly Mortified with the
prices on the menu, and when her
frugal order was filed, she looked at
it and shook her head bit, as If
about to murmur: 80 little food, so
much to pay" She ate her meal
disapprovingly, but was careful not
to leave even a crumb on the plate.
Whether she wanted it or not 1t
would have been sinful to waste
anything that had cost so much.
The husband was stout and
stodgy and matter of-fact, but pros
porous. You seem to see broad, we'll
farmed acres behind him and to feel
that his safe and sane investments
were drawing good interest.
The son was tall, handsome
lad, stunning in his khaki uniform.
The family did not talk; a few brief
questions, a few repressed answers.
They evidently considered conver-
sation during meals as unnecessary
and even frivolous. If there was
nothing actually had to be said, why
talk?
A commonplace picture, lacking
in color and charm and emotion, and
yet, looked at just as a picture, 1t
was full of sentiment and feeling.
For twice, at different moments, /
saw both parents look at the boy.
He did not see them, his eyes were
on his plate. But oh, the pride on
the fathers face! This was not only
his son who sat there beside him,
1t was the spirit of his own youth,
glorified.
In his prosaic. plodding young
manhood. he had cherished his own
dreams of adventure. But the inn
pulse was not strong enough. the
dream not sufficiently vivid to push
him beyond the confines of routine.
Yet the spirit which had been weak
in him was strong in the boy. The
boy had embarked on the greatest