139

A WORD WITH THE WOMEN

(By Elia W. Peattie)

I have just writen the familiar head line for the last time. My fingers have become so used to it that they write it quite mechanically. But they will prophably never have occasion to type it again, because with the writing of these words my long association with the Omaha World-Herald ceases. I have felt so identified with it that there have been moments, when, if anyone had told me I did not own the paper I would have been surprised. I have cerainly owned the friendship of some of its readers, who have shown their cordial feeling, ot confided their difficulties, or paid me the line compliment of asking me for some kind of asisstance during many busy years. Letters have reached me from Melbourne and from Havana, from London and the remotest cities of thei country-and from the City of Mexico=relating to what has appeared here. Some of these words, though from persons I shall never see in the flesh, have been inspiration and a sustainment. Many have appealed to the sumpathy. Many have been heroic and brave and have been the confessions of those who had no friend near at hand, and who were pleased to hink of me as such. All this has been wonderful to me. It has been as the breath of life. It has made the paper seem like a sort of pulpit, and he a given me, what I did not at first have a deep sense of responsibility for the words I wrote. My friends will forgive the personal nature of these remarks. The kindness shown me recently, the letters written me and the words spoken, justify these perosnalites.

When I first came to Omaha newspaper women were not common here. People suspected that women would not make practical newspaper workers. Dear Dean Gardner asked me. I remember, if I was going to carry some notes I had taken about the cathedral chimes to a reporter to have him write it up! But since that time women have become well known on the newspaper in Omaha, and there are several efficient women writers engaged on the various papers of the city. I have had the privilege of watching this toung city pass from its pioneer stage, with all the materialism that implies, into the state of intellectual aspiration. It cares for power now more than for land; it likes music and books, painting and ideas, better than houses and horses. Its evolution goes on, and those who remain will help to kill the silly feuds between religion and religion, learn not to suspect a person of inhericiency because he or she seeks a home in Omaha, gather confidence in their own abilities and amalgamate inot a society. The civic pride could hardly be stonger than it is, but it will take new fornia presently, and when a Dr. Duryea comes here people will not suspect that he did so because he was worn out and unfit for other fields. The pride will soem day be sincere and deep, and the citizen of Omaha will believe that great men some here because this place stands for an opportunity and because it is privilege to live here.

This column has never essayed to be brilliant or remarkable. It has quietly followed the mood of the day and the town-for towns and days have moods. It has commented casually upon what happened to be happening. It has been merely as a mirror, idly heldsup, that the public might see in it its own face. Whatever of good or bad there had been in it, the public is almsot as much responsible for as I.

I am tempted to hope that some people, seeing this familliar column in the paper no more, will miss it for a week or two- it would be folly to expect to be remembered longer that than And I having lost my occupation, will also miss my audience-for a longer time than two weeks.

And so, bon soir, la compagnie: