One afternoon she took two of her boys into the
belfry-tower; one seven, the other about three years of age. When they
tired of the confinement, the older boy said: "Mother, can we go out
for a walk?"

"Yes, son, but don't let go little brother's hand."

She was so absorbed by the music of her bells she did not notice the
passing of time until the night shadows began to gather. Then her
older boy came running up in the tower crying, "Mother, I've lost
little brother!"

She quit her bells and running through the grounds set every policeman
looking for her boy; then she hurried back to her bells and began to
play "Home, Sweet Home." It is said the bells never rang so clear and
sweet. Over and over again she played, "Home, Sweet Home;" some
wondered why the tune did not change. At last, while trembling with
dread and eyes filled with tears, she heard a sweet voice say, "Mama,
I hear de bells and I tome to you." The mother, turning from the
bells, clasped the child to her bosom and thanked God for its safety.

It is said everything is undergoing a constant change, but until the
chime bells ring in the eternal morning mother love will live on, the
same unchanging devotion. Several years ago I stood on Portland
Heights, Oregon, in the evening, and saw Mount Hood in its snow-capped
majesty, when the stars seemed to be set as jewels in its crown. If
you ask me by what force that giant was lifted from the level of the
sea till its dome touched the sky, I cannot answer you, but I know it
stands there, a towering sentinel to traveler on land and sailor on
the sea. So mother love, which no one can solve, exists as unchanging
as the love of God; broad enough and strong enough to meet all the
changing conditions of time.

While I did not make this lecture to include the suffrage question, I
cannot turn away from the new woman without a word about the ballot
for women. It is no longer a question of right, but whether or not men
will grant the right. This I believe men will do when the sentiment of
women is strong enough to force the issue. "Taxation without
representation" is no less a tyranny to women than to men. I was the
guest of a wealthy widow, who paid more taxes than any man in the
county, yet a foreigner, who had been in this country less than three
years, who had not a dollar of property nor a patriotic impulse, laid
down the hoe in the garden, and going to the polls, voted additional
tax upon the woman he worked for;