The chains were golden,
And fine as a baby's hair,
And the beautiful children
Were wound in them.

I was dreaming;

And I saw the maidens,

Strong and straight,

With the beauty of youth in their faces, With the promise of years before them; And I heard a voice:

"Bring the chains, the chains of custom."

And the new chains were brought,

Beautiful and golden;

And the maidens did not know

They were chains.

I was dreaming,

And the mothers stood before me,

With their children around them;

And a voice said:

"Bring the chains, the chains of custom."

And the mothers were bound

With chains not golden,

And the links held them

With the strength of years.

The mothers knew they were chained;
And they looked at their children.

A Thanksgiving

By Theodosia Garrison

(One of America's leading contemporary poets.)

For the friendship of women, Lord, that hath been since the world had breath,

Since a woman stood at a woman's side to comfort

through birth and death,

You have made as a bond of mirth and tears to last

forever and aye,—

For the friendship of true woman, Lord, take you my thanks today.

Many the joys I have welcomed, many the joys that have passed,

But this is the good unfailing, and this is the peace that shall last;

From love that dies and love that lies, and love that must cling and sting,

Back to the arms of our sisters we turn, for our comforting.

For the friendship of true women, Lord, that has been and shall ever be,

Since a woman stood at a woman's side at the cross of Calvary;

For the tears we weep and the trust we keep, and the

self-same prayers we pray—

For the friendship of true women, Lord, take you my thanks today.

Women Run in Molds

By Frances Power Cobb

(From "Woman's Work and Woman's Culture," a compilation of essays published in 1869, in London.)

Of all the theories current concerning women, none is more curious than the theory that it is needful to make a theory about them. That a woman is a Domestic, a Social, or a Political creature; that she is a Goddess, or a Doll; the "Angel in the House," or a Drudge, with a suckling of fools and a chronicaling of small beer for her sole privileges that she has, at all events, a "Mission," or a "Sphere," or a "Kingdom," of some sort or other, if we could but agree on what it is,— all this is taken for granted. But, as nobody ever yet sat down and constructed analogous hypotheses about the other half of the human race, we are driven to conclude, both that a woman is a more mysterious creature than a man, and also that it is the general impression that she is made of some more plastic material, which can be advantageously manipulated to fit our theory about her nature and office, whenever we have come to a conclusion as to what that nature and office may be. "Let us fix our own Ideal in the first place," seems to be the popular notion," and then the real Woman in accordance thereto will appear in due course of time. We have nothing to do but to make round holes and women will grow round to fill them; or square holes, and they will become square. Men grow like trees, and the most we can do is to lop or clip them, but women run in molds, like candles, and we can make them long-threes, or short-sixes, whichever we please.'

A Sheaf of Quotations

By Mme. Necker

Woman's tongue is her sword which she never

lets rust.

By Marguerite de Valois

A woman of honor should never suspect another of things she would not do herself.

By Mme. dé Sonza

It is vanity that renders the youth of women culpable and their old age ridiculous.

By Mdlle. de Lespinasse

A woman would be in despair if Nature had formed her as fashion makes her appear.

Mme. Fee

Do not take women from the bedside of those who suffer; it is their post of honor.

By Eugenie de Guerin

A mother's tenderness and caresses are the milk

of the heart.

By Margaret Deland

The best things of our nature fashion themselves

in silence.

By Edith Wharton

Life's just a perpetual piecing together.

By Agnes H. Downing

(In "The Progressive Woman."'

The woman is censured with the idea of protecting morality. And the man is let go; why? Nobody knows why. Because he is a man and no one ever thought of punishing a man for a little thing like that... Would you avoid tragedies? Then advocate sex-equality. We will always have individual and social tragedy so long as the woman is stoned and the man goes free.