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Show II Dorothy Dix Talks I I l j OLD WOMEN i: I ': j -By : DOROTHY DIX, the World's Highest Paid Woman Writer - K . Sometimes I go down to the poorest B p:.rt of the city and see the old women, M the very flotsam and Jotsam of life. m that misfortune has flung upon its dir- ty pavements. Often these wonen are U- staggering along under great loads of . sweat-shop work, loo feeble for their ' strength to bear, or pise their backs ore bowed under loads of wood that1 they have gathered on the street, and I 8 that they ' are carrying home with which to make a fire to try to warm irt their cold old blood. Long years of toil, and hardship, and. i . privation have robbed these women of almost evory semblance of femininity.1 Their shoulders are stooped- their Lands are knotted and gnarled; their i wrinkled faces are parched by sun and j wind until they lojok like leather; their i- oyyes are faded; their hair, thin and H Frizzled, blows like witch locks around their faces; they mumble with tooth-j t t loss gums and sunken mouths; their; , T clothes are ragged and dirty. Some- I times they have even tried to forge'. their misery in drink and ribald songs (and blasphemous curses issue fromi their lips. ! lt is hard to realize that-such an old, crone as one of these was ever a wo-1 man, that she was ever young andj I pretty, and soft and dimpled. It is 1 . hard to realize that she ever loved or J was loved; that anybody ever waited, In the dusk to kiss those faded lips, Jfcj thajl any man's hand ever caressed i $ mat irowsy nair; mat a Daoe ever nes-, j tied on that withered breast; that such I a one ever had part in the great lot j to , of 'womanhood. II y-v. Here is old age robbed of its roll ro-ll JPT? v,a,rd. without the warm fireside and m M Hie easy chair which the work of a life-mm life-mm lime should have secured it; without' ' jmW the protection and love of children that! ' i . was her due as the price of hor moth- j f ': I. ; . erhood. It is old age with no safe t.rj, " snug harbor In which to dropanchor! t at the end of the stormy voyage of life, and as I look at it, I thank Ood that . . such an old age never came to my I ' mother, and I pray Him that It mayj a J never come to me. ' Sometimes I go to the opera and l ' l nee' another old woman sitting in her! J velvet lined box. She is fat, arid prosperous, and over- ' ' i ' fc-d to the point of repletion and her . , superabundant flesh is laced into a , straight front corset that is an Instrument Instru-ment of torture that essays in vain to , ' give her portly, middle age the slender . : ' ' figure of isxteen. On her head and pudgy neck and arms Is plastered a 5 jjjy. fortune in jewels Her hair is dyed mif$ a wonderful warm young auburn. Her U cheeks are painted; her eyes bright' - ened with belladonna; her decolette ' " ' dress is a fairy robe made of shim-' ' i merlng silk, and lace and embroidery.' ri From head to foot she is a work of 9" nrt on whom masseurs, manicures, 1 ) complexion specialists, hair dressers, corsetiers and costumeers have expended ex-pended their choicest skill. AH that noney and human ingenuity can do to Ivnrd off age, and conceal its ravages !has been done and as she sits, in her jbox she smirks, and smiles, and fiirts j.'.nri oglos, and apes the manners and graces of girls young enough to be her granddaughters. Parasitic young men who like to ride 'in her automobiles rnd eat her dinners, din-ners, and put up at her country places, loan over her bare shoulders and whisper whis-per insulting love talk to her, and be fool her with lying compliments, and she bridles and beams with delight, and goes on playing at a masquerade. ' or bVifrg young that deceives no one hut herself. i For there is the gray pallor of age that no paint can hide, the sagging muscles and pendulous cheeks thai no masseur can rub away, the tired old , eyes that have seen loo much; the old I weary face that looks all the older un-;clpr un-;clpr its knyly dyed hair. And it is al' so piteous, the rich old woman trying to be oung, clinging to a snadow of beauty after Ihe substance is gone I Here is an old age frivolous, silly, nam and ridiculous. It is an old age . without dignity, without honor, with-'out with-'out sweetness, and as I see it 1 thank jGod that my mother knew no such old ,age as that, and I pray Him that I mav (never know such an old age when my .time comes, . Sometimes I go to a quiet country , town and there 1 see another old wo man, ii or ngure is still straight with , the look of a vjctroious soldier about iir. Her hands strong, firm and capa-Ible, capa-Ible, for she has done much work in her life, lie folded at rost now in her lap. Her face calm and serene is more beautiful than iny girl's because life jhas etched on it the story of a noble, experience. .Her eyes are lovely, full of dreams and memories, and her mouth is something to be renumbered K-cause her smile is like a benediction. Her hair, snow white, is banded ,away under a lace cap, and a lnce i kerchief is folded primly across her I old woman's dress of black silk that she has worn so long, made in that , self-same fashion, that it has become a part of herself, and it would seem a sacrilege to change its form. Little children play about this old ,women's feet and creep instificlively to the arms that have nestled so many babies that they curve of themselves i into a cradle. Young girls whisper to her their love secrets because in her heart the founjain of romance has never nev-er run dry. Her sons and daughters come to her as to an oracle, and all who are weary and heavy laden with sorrows, lay their burdens down at her chair and go away sustained and com-lorted, com-lorted, for she Is' so wise with the wisdom wis-dom of experience; hor heart that has I suffered and rejoiced so much, is so overflowing ov-erflowing -with comprehending sympathy, sympa-thy, her eyes that are so near to the end of this world are so touched with the prophetic vision of the world to be. i j - Here is an old age more beautiful tLan youth, happier, sercner, and I thank God that such an old age my j mother knew, and I pray Him that I, too, may know such an old age-when I J come to the purple twilight of life oo |