THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.
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miles in Louisiana as safely and unafraid as I could walk the halls of this Woman’s Temple.
Divorces are almost unheard of in my state. Even in the newspapers a woman’s name is sacred.
The South has faith in its women, especially its coming women; such faith even as Mrs. Gladstone, who knows him best of all, has in the Grand Old Man. One day a clergyman went to call on the Gladstones to condole with them at a particularly troublous time. Mr. Gladstone was not present, and the visitor said: “ Do not despair, dear Mrs. Gladstone, there is One watching overall.” “ Indeed, I know there is,” exclaimed the lady; “he’s just changing his shirt, and bid me say he’d be down in a moment.” They tell the story of a Kansas family who moved so much that whenever the chickens saw a covered wagon come into the yard, they laid down on their backs and put up their legs to be tied. If that family had only moved South, even the chickens would have known it was for good and forever.
Come South, young woman, and you will never leave it. You will take root in its rich soil and flower there, perfuming all the air with your sweetness. There you can be freely what you will—an ant in the morning, a bee at noon and a butterfly at night. Once on a time there were two knights who went away from their beautiful home gardens to search for some wonderful roses. They went the wide w r orld over and at last came back with empty hands. Lo! upon the old familiar walls there grew, as for years, the very roses of their quest.
In the sweet gardens of Louisiana there are blossoming the most beautiful roses the heart can wish—the immortal flowers of time, opportunity, content, love and happiness. These are the roses of our quest.