SOME TALK ABOUT WOMAN'S EDUCATION.
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The foot hills and valley were still in shadow and the little city not yet wakened to life. Early though it was I could not resist the temptation of a morning tramp. Out through the quiet streets my willing feet led me whither I knew not. I was contented and supremely happy, almost selfishly happy. It seemed to me that here amid such charming landscape was that long sought, mythical fountain of perpetual youth, and that I had but to reach forth and possess the coveted prize. But a sharp turn in the road suddenly brought me face to face with a quiet city of the dead. In presence of so many "soft green mounds" that health giving fountain vanished.
The roads across the Blue Mountains are reported in horrible condition, but the die is cast, I am going by next stage. Lest some accident does happen me, I have written in my journal; "Departed from Walla Walla this 14th day of April, 188----K.H.-Plant a rose that it may bloom."
A genuine Concord coach drawn by six magnificent horses comes sweeping up the street and halts long enough for me and one other to get in. Then the door bangs shut and away we bowl down the gravel road to
Pendleton. Fields of green wheat flank the road on either side and the lullaby motion of the coach almost tempts me to tear that hateful leaf out of my journal, but upon reflection I conclude not to do so. For I recollect they said the road to Pendleton was splendid, but beyond there was where the "sweet bye and byes" were said.
My fellow traveler I sized up as a student of Blackstone, but in conversation I soon found his calling was administering allopathic doses of spiritual food after the formula of John Wesley.
An Oregon mist comes pouring down as we leave Weston, making all things outside liquid, but not in the least deterring all the ugly curs in the place from yelping after us. Toward evening the clouds break away, and favor me with the rich shifting colors of an Oregon sunset.
It is nine o'clock when we arrive at Pendleton. I stop at the "Villard," of course, but am disappointed to find that no stage will cross the mountain for two days. So here neath the glittering stars of the New Northwest, I, the lone flower of a Kansas prairie, am left to wait.
KERN HOLLAND.
SOME TALK ABOUT WOMAN'S EDUCATION.
Every question apparently has two sides, and some have many sides. If we may judge from the discussions concerning it, woman's education is a polyhedrous subject. These discussions have generally been carried on by individuals who could look at but one side, while those most directly interested have remained silent. Work rather than talk accomplishes the most after all.
But if one of these nineteenth century sages could, with prophetic vision, look into the future a hundred years, he would certainly be amazed to see his pet theories so completely destroyed.
All real and attempted arguments written and spoken may be declared either pro or con, while the con in general concerns itself with the mental, moral, and physical wel-