Scrapbook of poetry and other clippings

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K<rJ? ySU may bring me two filed l^gs, some ham, a pot of coffee and

some rolls/; said the man to the waiter.

His companion said: “You may bring me the same. No, lust eliminate the

“Yes, sir/'

In a moment the waiter returned. Excuse me, sir, but what did you say

about them eggs?" y “I merely told you to eliminate them."

sir." And he hurried away to the kitchen. ^ \

In two minutes he came back once more, leaned confidentially and peni­

tently over the table and said:
&“We had-a bad accident this morning, sir, an' the liminator got busted off, right at the handle. Will you take them

fried, same as this gentleman?"

pills.
£ HEINE-—But think what it would do for the r l; HEINE—That's just the trouble. That’s wh

race is producing such bum stock. If the princip Eugenicism were carried out you'd have to prove you was fit in every way to improve the race t she would marry you. V

' HONIJS—That would be an awful thing. HEINE—Why? fV HONUS—How would a fellow feel when he pro

to a girl to have to go down on his knees and “Darling, my lungs are good, my liver is fine pulse is seventy-two, my circulation is great, my perature (until I look at you) is ninety in the s

and my digestion is perfect. Be mine!" -And would answer, “Sweetheart, I can never be youi love you, but I got the pip." Qi

The Vegas fubch will be pur­ chased by Senator W. A. Clark* aud an agent of the Senator has gone there to tike charge of the property. The ranch wilt probably be cut up into

small farms and peopled by the “ Lord's Chosen Mrs. Stewart will * main In the Vegas yalley and intends

C ./ ' in New Style. , , Prom the Pittsburgh Chronicle-i\ k gvai>h.

X .

S

Greeting herself a fine residence.

Com

8T. PATRICK

•A. B. T.—-In attempting to eoawe:

“How shall we account for the popnli

rlckf It la perhaps sufficient to ren

fact that S t Patrick was a “ gentlema gentleman Includes everything that create and maintain popularity. A gei

of all, gentle, *ind, careful of the feeltoi

he happens to be a “man In authority

us®, h D°wer to oppress and insuit i authority, but treats everyone with tl kindness that belong to them. In the * gentleman Is Invariably frank and slna

shines In his eyes and trembles in his si J? his record, and men are drawn to hh ble force of heart-attraction. Just aa all a lover, so all love the man who la

each, from all accounts, was St Patrick

0Q,J amon$ Cabmen, hi regulated people of every are *rwi ***.***»«

Down The bi

Beneat Ice on

Here 1 Who d

krai illation?* Mr?; Stewart*

‘

POCATELLO, Idaho, Oct. 18.—An ancient Indian grave believed to hold the remains of Chief Nam-puh,

the PiuteJr.dian leader, after whom the city Nampa, Idaho, was named, has been found by R. W. Limbert, whose e vploiratfons in the country now known as the Craters of the Muon national monument,

contributed greatly to national rec­ ognition of that territory.

While hunting in the desert close to the Nevada line recently, Mr. Limbert said he found a flat rock

upon which there was carved an ar­

row. Following the general direc­ tion of the arrow, he found other rocks with similar carvings. The end of the line of arrow rocks was a huge mound of stones, with a flat

one resting horizontally on top.
j The flat rock was engraved crude­ ly with the figure of an Indian with

abnormally large feet and hands; around the figure was a circle, the death sign of the Piutes.

The dead chief is reputed to have had enormously large feet and hands and it is a tradition that one of his feet was six inches wide and eight­ een inches long. The attempt of the carver to show the large hands and feet leads Limbert to believe

that it is the grave of Chief Nam-

.......

ih e
Ithe crown of Spain

tlement of Los Angel* the musty records of ney W. P. Freetnan.

The proclamation b< gust 20, 1788. The 1

designated os the R the official order of by Fillpe de Neve. It for what is now the ]

have four streets rum points, and others at was to be 55x110 an settler wos to receive land 550x550. and ut unirrigated land. Che

made by casting lots. In this plant of the <

there were reservations church purposes.

original

proclai

nai Los Angeles government and

r / Eggs in New Style. \ F n m th * Pittsburgh Chronicle- IVk-graph.

Safety Last.
L4ea slumbering- here one William Lake

Heard the bell, but had no brake.

At ninety miles drove Eddie Shawn. The motor stopped but “Ed kept on.

Here he sleeps, one Johnnie Fonker; He rounded a turn without a honker.

Down in the creek sleeps Jerry Bass, The bridge was narrow, he tried to pass.

Beneath the hill sleeps W illiam Raines, Ice on the hill—he had no chains.

Here lies the body of William Jay, Who died maintaining the right of way.

GRACIOUS! Patient—Doctor, are you going to

order me another one of them mus­ tard plasters today.

Doctor-*^ think you had better

have one more.
Patient—Well, Doc, kin I have a

slice of ham with it? It’s a mighty strong thing to eat alone:

the noises heard daily there 3 a superabundance of people town studying for opry who

better be devoting themselves other line of endeavor.

1 George, you may bring me two fried eggs, some ham, a pot of coffee and some rolls,” said the man to the waiter.

'‘Yes, sir.”

His companion said: “You may bring me the same. No, 'just eliminate the eggs.”

“Yes, sir.”

In a moment the waiter returned.

“Excuse me, sir, but what did you say

about, thorn pevs?”

“Yes, sir.” And he hurried away to the kitchen.

In two minutes he came back once more, leaned confidentially and peni­

tently over the table and said:
*“We had a bad accident this morning, sir, an* the liminator got busted off, Tight at the handle. Will you take them

fried, same as this gentleman?”

Any brighter?” “Brighter? V r, things are ?o

flniu piiis.
HEINE—-But think what it would do for the race. HEINE—That's just the trouble. That’s why the

■race is producing such bum stock. If the principles of ■Eugenicism were carried out you'd have to prove that lyou was fit in every way to improve the race before ■she would marry you.

HONUS—That would be an awful thing.
K HEINE—Why? *Y

[ HONUS—How would a fellow feel when he proposed Ito a girl to have to go down on his knees and say: I “ Darling, my lungs are good, my liver is fine, my Ipulse is seventy-two, my circulation is great, my tern-

fperature (until I look at you) is ninety in the shade, land my digestion is perfect. Be mine!” ~And she fwould answer, “Sweetheart, I can never he your*. I

|love you, but I got tbe pip.” __

Here, rest the remains of Percival Sapp,
He drove his machine with a girl in his lap giving themselves up to the cat.”*

— Collected

by the

Washington

Times.

A COMEBACK Customer—Is. this a

restaurant?
Waiter— Oh, yes, hut

mind serving you this on

“How’s things
bad at home it ; the mice arc

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□□

The TRUE STORY

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IAS CITY JOURNAL, FRIDAY, MARCH 28. 1924.

□□ □□

□□ □□

□□ WOODROW WILSON n□ By DAVID LAWRENCE-

Chapiter XTIL j any card-playing. Frequently the The Home Life of Woodrow W llson. famMy would operate a oulja board

to storm the strop gets heavy and |the razor sticks.”

On March 3, 1018, the day be­ fore Mr. Wilson became president, he

laughingly told his friends that, judg-

ing by Ms razor strop. It would be a clear day for bis inauguration, And it was!

In one sense the Wilson family life was exclusive. Tom, Dick and Harry were not invited into the home, or to the table, or taken into full friend­ ship in the group. The home was considered a sacred place where none but those worthy by culture, char- acter and breeding were urged to

Istay. The family was not the least

Ibit snobbish. It was simply selective

of its companions. Once a person

was taken into the home, the bars

were completely down. There was

Life of Woodr

The personal and impersonal . and jest with each other over what

I it spelled. They often played games Woodrow Wilson s life were as sep-1 writing quotations and guessing

arate and distinct as if they were the authors of certain quotations.

derived from two different beings.
Once as he stood on the platform of and the next person would write an­ a railroad station during the 1912 other without of course reading the campaign and saw a big cloth banner first until a long sentence had been

evolved.
Members of the family wrote lim­

ericks about each other or about any­

to the newspaperman with h im :
“Somehow I cannot bring myself their thoughts. They were always

stretched across the street with the words “For President and Vice Pres­ ident, Wilson and Marshall,” he said

to believe that 1 am the fellow men­ tioned on that banner, 1 never can get used to It.”

And he never did. iYet therein lies the key to an understanding of Wood- row Wilson's life-long friendships on tfro nty hand and his series of breaks

business of regulating the affairs of

Princeton university or administer­

ing the two public offices he held—

the governorship of New Jersey and

on the lookout for new limericks and when members of the family heard a new verse it was promptly brought home. One of the most famous of these limericks was Mr. Wilson's about himself:

I

the presidency of the United States. "A wondroua bird la the pelican.

nighted.
j As a trustee of the public interest, as He didn’t know when he was slighted;

a crusader for large policies of state, But he went to the party And ate just as hearty

Each one would write a quotation

body else who happened to enter

“For beauty Tam not a atar, It la the fellow Id fyMHhJhm

by

far:

neither rf*gArv«» nor limit in the weT

front itHalalJ4F.*1 Another favorite of Mr. Wilson's,

1tfTfr11rrfi 1 -i i,,

of which the authoishlp is unknown, was the following:

Even when he was president, Mr,

Wilson seemed to give his complete

confidence to anyone within the fam­

ily circle. Problems of state, bis

opinions of men and affairs—every­

Hla mouth holds more than hla belltean. Full of Human Qualities. He takes la his beak

As a husband and father, as a Enough food for a week,
chum of his college classmates, as a can." est hint that it was being said in con­

host at family reunions Woodrow Still another favorite was:
Wilson was full of human qualities, “There was a young man who was be­ fidence. Mr. Wilson held in good

faith to the old Southern idea that confidence given in the home or at 'he table was inviolable. Many of

But I am darned If I see how the belli- most abandon and without the slight­

he knew neither friendship nor com­ As If he had been really Invited."
passion—he was as stern as he was One of trie dominant characteristics >ften gasped with amazement—al­ inflexible. the Wilson family was its regular­ most with fear—at the frankness

It is, therefore, in the home that ity and the methodical habits of the manifested by Mr. Wilson.
one glimpses a Woodrow Wilson lit­ man at the head of it. From his The reason, of course, that Wood- tle known to the public. boyhood on one could set bis watch row Wilson was so unreserved in his

The home life of the Wilson fam-| by Woodrow Wilson's comings and conversation was that guests were not

ily was simple, modest, congenial and refined.

The Wilsons were closely knit by family ties, especially during their life at Princeton and the early days

at the White House. Cousins to the ninth degree were welcomed to the

house, made much of and revisited in to predict the character of the covered corridor, were different.)

turit. Special occasions, were always weather.
d e a r t o t h e h e a r t s o f a l l i n t h e f a m ­ 41 1 W i l s o n a W e a t h e r P r o p h e t .
ily group. Christmas, other holidays I can sometimes tell twenty-foijy and birthdays were remembered and or thirty-six hours in advan^T

observed by special gatherings. If a it is going to store member of the family had intended friend

There Woodrow Wilson was the pres- f d e n t o f t h e U n i t e d J i t a t o j * t h e

I

to be away or to have guests, plans would be changed *so that on New Year’s day or a birthday or on other special occasions the whole family

could be together.
When any member of the house­

hold was to go away for any length
of time all the others would make it
a point to be there the last few days
^nd refrain from inviting outsiders.
The spirit of the home life In the
Wilson family was one of uniform, \ m happiness. Mr. Wilson was mainly

r e s p o n s i b l e f o r t h i s , b e c a u s e h i s heart was as tender as a child’s 151 affection for the members of bis fam­

ily and in consideration for them. Abandons Mayflower Trip.

Once, after Mr. Wilson became president, a weekend trip on the yacht Mayflower down Chesapeake bay, had been planned. His eldest daughter. Miss Margaret, remembered at the

last minute that she could not go be­

stantly, the president abandoned the

trip rather than leave one member iof his family in the White TTnri

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igoings. Meals were eaten at precisely invited indiscriminately to the White the same time every day. He always House. Neither Mr. Wilson nor the arose at the same time, and shaved members of his family looked upon

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Mmself with an old-fashioned razor. he executive mansion itself as a pub­ He used the same strop for years— lic institution, but as their temporary

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thing—were discussed with the ut­

those who were guests at his table.

t heavy, well grained and oiled piece home. The executive offices, con­ of leather, upon which he was able nected with the White House by a |

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Eve replied with a sad and & sorrowful air : T can t go. Don’t you see I have nothing

t o w e a r ? ’ ’ Andthat’showthatstarted.

— Wilbur D. Nesbit In Life.

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And that’s how thatstarted.
When Eve, with a beautiful blush on her <

face,
Yielded shyly and sweetly to Adam’s, em­

brace,
And put up her red lips for the true lovers’

pact
(You may set all this down as\n absolute

» fact)
She inquired, while he breathed the fond

names on his list:
“Have you said that to all of the girls you

have kissed?"
And that’s how that started*

When Adam asked Eve if she would be his bride, *

She looked up and looked down, and she siglied and she sighed,

And she let him take hold of her lily-white hand

(This is history now, as you must^under­ stand)

Then she said, in a voice that was dulcetly j low: : :vj ,, " j

*T must take time to think. ’Tis so sudden, you know."

And that’s how that started.
When they had been married a few years

or so, ThenAdamtoldEve:“We’reinvitedtogo
To a dinner and dance with, some friends j

downinNod.” ’'•’.'^■/: L..■j

(This is truly authentic, although it sounds i odd)

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WHEN IT A H STARTED.

When Adam met Eve he.^vas bashful and shy.;; ...''.»i^S:

And he stammered^'aild blushed every time she came nigh,

Till at last he grew bold and began to ^ayL court,

(You may put all your trust In this faithful report) , j

And he murmured to her bn an evening serene:

"You're the prettiest girl that I ever have seen"—

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The IJ chased bs agent of | Kike elm ranch >xiM

I Greetingi krntalatl

A RAILROAD MAR’ S PRAYER.
An old railroai employe was converted at a meeting

A HELPFUL FRIEND By WALT FIL^IN.

(Dedicated' te E. O. Bash.)
Ha has no thought of wealth or fame

Accommodation )• hla name; And courtesy of a loyal friend

On whom hie comrades can depend. A smile he wears for those who call; Politeness, too. for one and all* dependable and firm and true

As any man I ever knew.

Histasksareheavy,somelikelead.

A half a dozen lawyers said.

And yet the light of kindness shinei

From his big heart; these simple Can only in a small degree

Set forth the qualities I see
In him each day; hla plan, his creed

Is helping others when in need.

He never shoots a rasping ,!ao'’ When one. perchance, to him must He practices his friends all say

The “unto others" rule each day. My bow I make, my hat I lift

As on my leisured moments drift. It Is a pleasure, I contend.

To know I have one loyal friend

Ye*, rich I am for loyal friends Stand fast .yypukil this journey ends. ^Vhen Trouble s clouds are gathering

These loyal friends are comforting Kach one a pearl, a royal gem.
* would to keep each one them Until I see yon catting sun

And know my trip on earth is done

Copyright, 1028, by Th® Journal-Post.

# ■ !%

0

TORUARY25. 1905.

If you are sucl control, and rare! family, save to ei may,as well mak< those dependent n them to the enjoy way,

For i f it is on affection shows it imposing your pi do not love.

If you are cross you have not mad why add the mor goodhusbandand

Why not resolve ing in those capa cess so great on e

man in his own 1

makes the ring jwelcome sound of

1hiitu.
Unless" your ho

fi ness for your fa

failure.
If you are a w

i

it is almost obsolete in these days.
That commandment, perhaps you remem­ ber, begins “Do unto others,” and means

do as you would be done by.
If you are a bachelor, living in a hotel,

you can think of this commandment when you wait for a tardy elevator boy to an­ swer your ring; or when the breakfast you

for your sweet ar qualities, , for y< thoughtfulness in

your sympathy anc trouble, then you a no matter what la

the world at large. And if you are

POCA ancient

hold th the Piu

the cit named. Limber!

uU UX1e great dark station of death, may the Superintendent o the Universe say;

country ______ of the

■contribe ognitioti Whil“ to the _ Limber® upon wlp row. F

‘»E9S have ordered in a hurry comes slowly to the world, and if

■

To be loved and ]

tion of m rocks w end of
a h u g e i one rest#-]

The fff ly with

I abnorm^ ■ around’

■ death si The d had endi

fails, yet are you a home you occupy j tilde and respect.

If you have no hi lihood, the feeling hearts of those wii

^^■and it ii ^^^■feet wad ■ een incl

the cari and feel that it puh.

Hal

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prudence and 0-K love; and my

BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX,

pi v>X JL

complish in the world, and however you may be hindered by fate from realiz­ ing the goal of your dreams, there are a

few things you can accomplish which will help humanity and at the same time help you to mould your own character into fair-j er lines of harmony.

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^j^BHATEVER you may be trying to ae-

SgSSSSOKT*^

BanHa| was asked to lead in ] He hesitated a moment then “Lord's (: with trembling. but clear resounding ice he reverently

I isDrill iMj ** main iij

WILLIAM

RANDOLPH

HEARST

"0, Lord, n fee4- fr0m the rough r

ofthetrain0X

hat I have flagged Thee, lift
lie and plant them safely on the

eaT rnA 11QA t.hft qp*Kat*Tr 1nrr U111CUi30uliU oaiwUJyId;,!

Heavenly aatner iding, espe­

The True Meanin; illtof

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the switchos
cially those with a blind end. 0, lord, if it be Thy pleasure

ive every semaphore block along the line show white light of hope that I may make the run of life without stopnping. And Lord

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# cITlU when I have

In the daily life you live, whether it
is in a home or a boarding house, a hotel !ciples of life app or a club, whether you are man or woman,! queen, the neighb< married or single, you are in daily contact! |able failure as a 1 with your human kind, and it lies in your Ijoy and light of t

W “*•W»

Well done, thou good and faithful servant pay r o ll and receive your check for eterna

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f— V« Ml

cone and sign the

power to put into execution a simple little Ilongs.
Unless the husl

commandment, which is old-r—so old that j the children of a 1

happineB H B B |

ClCl Ow •

unkw

IIproofwhetheryou; ure.

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the table; or when you find things at the 1*31 office which are displeasing to you.

Here is a chance to use a little practi­ cal religion—the religion of patience and kindness— and to restrain the sharp word and the quick rebuke until you know where thefaultlies.

Half the unhappiness of the world comes
from blaming the wrong person. A' good
share of the other half comes from with­ associate with you

holding deserved words of praise.
If you are a married man, put the same rule into practice at home. However hard you may be working,' and however desirous

■ you are to make a success for the sake of

/--■?, ••vJGy.yi

remeDLiber that' mon-ey-fpro­ cess can never recompense your wife and children for a life lived with a cross, fault-

eess, ho matter wli gives that word.

IP

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My:-p BB

A HELPFUL

AW nt^OK. *• t O. f*ii|

If you are such a man, devoid of self, control, and rarely conversing with your family, save to criticise or find fault, you may.as well make over what you earn to those dependent upon you now, and leave them to the enjoyment of it, and go your

way.
For if it is only in dollars that your

affection shows itself, there is no use in imposing your presence upon those you

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married or single, you are in daily contact;]
with your bumau kind, and it lies In youi^ftl longs.
power to put into execution a simple littlcH Unless the husband or 'the parents or commandment, which is old-:—so old thatft the children of a household look up to you

So, I listen to the murmur O f the brook’s enchanting

wave.

mi warn

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From memory's crowded closet place, Lil^e faded leaves, sometimes

l gather these old dreams of minet And kiss them o'er with rhymes.

A n d my foolish tears upon them
W ill glisten like the dew f

That used to gem the flowers
That the old, sweet mornings £neu\'

/ know the faded leaf has lost The balm to soothe again

The heart that smartsJrom sorrow A n d the dagger thrusts o f pain»

And I know that every dream of theseJ\

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TheTrueMeaning do not love.
you have not made a success of your life,

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1it is almost obsolete in those days. for your sweet and gracious and lovable N ^rattfigommandment, perhaps you remem- qualities, for your unselfishness and

1fcer. begins “Do unto others,” and means I thoughtfulness in small matters and for Jdo as you would be done by. 1 your sympathy and tenderness in times of If you are a bachelor, living in a hotel, j trouble, then, you are a failure as a woman,

you can think of this commandment when I no matter what laurels you may wear in you wait for a tardy elevator boy to an- £ the world at large.
swer your ring; or when the breakfast you And if you are poor and unknown In

have ordered in a hurry comes slowly to the world, and if all you attempt to do the table; or when you find things at the fails, yet are you a glorious success if the

office which are displeasing to you. home you occupy awards you love, grati­

Here is a chance to use a little practi- j tude and respect.

cal religion—the religion of patience and I If you have no home and toil for a live­

kindness—and to restrain the sharp word j lihood, the feeling you awaken in the

and the quick rebuke until you know where j hearts of those with whom you toil is a the fault lies. proof whether you are a success or a fail­

from blaming the wrong person. A' good I To be loved and respected by those who share of the other half comes from with-1 associate with you daily—that means suc­

Singing mystic songs of glory That the distance never gave;

A n d I Watch the summer rainbow Down the heavens' vista bend, \

A n d that vanished like the treasures That were hidden at the end.

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| BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX#
T Z Y iIATEVER you may be trying to ac-

why add the more disastrous failure as a good husband and father?

Why not resolve to be the best man liv­ ing in those capacities? There is no suc­ cess so great on earth as the success of a man in his own home; the success which makes the ring of his footsteps the most

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eomplish in the world, and however
you mayf be hindered by fate from realiz-1 welcome sound of the day to those near to

____ft rCBRUARY 25, j ® | 1905.

WILLIAM RANDOLPH

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ing the goal of your dreams, there are aj few things you can accomplish which will! help humanity and at the same time belpj

hln>*.
Unless your homecoming means happi­

ness for your family you are indeed, a

failure.
If you are a woman, these same prin­

ciples of life apply to you. The social queen, the neighborhood belle, Is a miser­ able failure as a woman if she is not the joy and light of the home where she he­

■

jyou to mould your own character into faiTM er lines of harmony.

In tlic daily life you live, whether lti is in a home or a boarding house, a hotell or a club, whether you are man or womanJ

Can only bring regret,
But, *tis sweetet to remember Than it could be to forget.

V

Half the unhappiness of the world comes j ure.

holding,deserved words of praise.
If you are a married man, put the same rule into practice at home. However hard you may be working, and however desirous you are to make a success for the sake of

■OUrv'J’Abiiiy, remember that E oary suc­ cess can never recompense your wife and children for a life lived with a cross, fault-

JindingAand unamiable m

cess, no matter what meaning the world gives that word.

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If you are cross and unamiable because

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That made sweet my mother's eyes. And they leave me like she left me

When she^fled to Paradise. JOHN S. M'CROARTY.

The birds that sang at morning. The noon hum of the bee,

The trees, the flowers and waters, They all come back to me; They come like tender glances

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A nd when I saw the change that came tc you.
Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked. And when I missed the love tone from your voice,
I did that foolish thing weak women do.
Complained and cried,* accused you of neglect.
And made myself obnoxious in your sight.
A nd often, after you had left my side.
Alone I stood before my mirror, mad
W ith anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull
Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts,
A nd wept, and w cl * «r»d faded more and more.
Flow could I hope to win hack wandenrg love,
A nd make new flames m dying embers Lap,
B y such ungracious means?

A nd then She came.
Firm bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes,

A nd all the ways of youth. I who hau died A thousand deaths, in waiting the return
O f that old 1ove look to your face once more. Died yet again and went straight into hell

W h e n I beheld it come at her approach.

M y God, my God, how have I borne it all!
Yet sm.e she had the power to make that look
The power to sweep the ashes from your heart
O f burned-out love of me, and light new fires,
0 ne thing remained for mc~ to let you go.
1 had no wish to keep the empty frame
From which the priceless picture had been wrenched. Nor do I blame you; it was not your iiult:
Y o u gave me all that most men can give love
O f youth, of beauty, and of passion; and
I gave you full return; my womanhooo
Matched well your manhood. Yet hau you grown ill. O r old, and unattractive from some cai se,
(Less close than was my service unto y *u)
I should have clung the tighter to you, dear;
And loved you, loved you, loved you more am

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FROM THE PA$T. LjT^' lilt k°x that holds $ie treasures

| § § W girlhood’s long ago, Xhave found, where once Xhid it,

jut the garret quaint and low.
fheh my eyes were brighter, clearer,

' Hot a furrow on my brow,
Oil my hair the sunshine glittered,

Where the snows have fallen now.

Well—I’ll lift the lid, recalling Dreams, how foolish, yet how fair!

Ah! there lies my ring—the token Of love’s glory and dispair.

Like a.tide flows back upon me All the pain of that sad day,

When I hid its golden glimmer, With my love and trust away.

How could jealous pride and anger
. Close my heart agaiust its own P Shut from out my heart the sunshine,

Leaving me to walk alone P
Where is he to-day—my sweetheart P

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Ah ! I have not wept for years ;

To build our castles and see them vanish :

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Thinking of one thmg all day long, at night
I fall asleep, train weary and heart sore;
But only for a little w hlie. A t three. Sometimes at two oclock, I wake and lie. Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts Begin the weary treadmill-toil again.

From that white marriage morning of our youth Down to this dreadful hour:

I see your face
Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon;

I hear your voice, that lingered on my name A s if it loved each letter; and I feel
The clinging of your arms about my form. Your kisses on my cheek and long to break The anguish of such memories with tears. But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry.

^ ^ e were so young, so happy, and so full
O f keen sweet ioy of life. I had no wish Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so That when 1 sometimes felt a woman s need For more serene expression of man s love (The need of rest in calm affection s hay And not sail ever on the stormy main).
Y e t would I rouse myself to your desire; Meet ardent kiss witk kissesjust as warm; So nothing I could give should he denied.

And then our children came. Deep m my soul. From the first hour of conscious motherhood,
I knew I should conserve myself for this
Most holy office; knew God meant it so.

Y e t even then, I field your wishes first; And by my double duties lost the bloom And freshness of my beauty; and beheld A look of disapproval m your eyes.

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more.

I grow so weary thinking of these thu^s; Day m, day out; and half the awful ngkts.

TO Y KB. ■
bid the•wakiiig|world good morning ;

To say aroodnight wietf evening drapit the earth; ?

T o tod ’w ith brain andVhand for gold and honor,

Far sake of those beside the household dearth.

Xfcis to guide the steps of little Children ;

With strong, true.arm to shield the aged head ;

To kneel and pray, to twine the bridle rcses; To fold away the garments of the dead.

p| to walk abroad when leaves are starting ; To hear the birds sing,—tread the garden

To sow the seeds and gather in the harvests ; T® look on fields all rich with aftermath ;

To feed the hungry, give the cup of water;

To break some chain and. help some soul go free

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But with the coming of our precious ckilcT
Tke lovers smile, tinged with the fathers . nde,

Returned again; and helped to make me st'ong; And life was very sweet for both of us.

Another, and anotker kirtk, and twice
Tke little white hearse paused beside our door And took away some portion of my youti
W ith my sweet babies. A t the first yoi* seemed T o suffer Wltk me, standing very near;
But when I wept too long, you turned away.
A n d I was hurt, not realizing then

eison M y grief was selfish. 1 could see the ch* nge W k ick motkerkood and sorrow made in me;

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FROM THE PAST. U This old box that holds the treasures

Of my girlhood’s long ago,
f havefound,whereonceIhidit,

In the garret quaint and low.
Then my eyes were brighter, clearer,

.Mot a furrow on my brow,
On my hair the sunshine glittered,

Where the snows have fallen now.

Well—I’ll lift the lid, recalling Dreams, how foolish, yet how fair!

A h ! there lies my ring—the token Of love’s glory and dispair.

Like a tide flows back upon me All the pain of that sad day,

When I hid its golden glimmer, With my love and trust away.

How could jealous pride and anger Close my heart against its own ?

Shut from out my heart the sunshine, Leaving me to walk alone ?

Where is he to-day—my sweetheart ? Ah ! I have not wept for years ;

Now the ring briugs back the heart-break. With a rush of tender tears.

Yes, the ghosts of dead white roses Rustle iu this paper’s fold ;

Once again blue eyes, and bonny, Smile upon me as of old;

While he gathers creamy roses, In a cluster sweet fur me,

Saying, “ you will not forget me, When I sail the purple sea ?”

Dustandashesaretheroses, Dead sea apples, hope and love,

Naught but death to be believed in— None to trust but God above.

Long ago the sweet light vanished From the blue eyes far from me;

No ! poor lad, i’ll not forget you, Sleeping ’neath the purple sea.

From this folded silver paper Falls a tress of sunny brown ;

I behold myself a maiden,
Blushing, shy, with eyes cast down,

While my boyish, dark-eyed lover Vows to live for me alone,

Brings as tokens of affection—
Apples green—and pears half-grown.

*Twas oul' first romance—we parted— Bitter were the tears we shed,

Long and dreary seemed the waiting, For the time that we migb t wed.

Well, he has a wife and children, Stout he’s grown—and fond of wine,

Bald the head whereon this ringlet With its fellows used to aliine.

Here are letters that I cherished, From the friends of other days;

Some are gone, I know not whither, Down life’s dim and changing ways.

Scattered like the leaves in autumn, Drifting, drifting far apart,

Some are dust beneath the daises, Some grown proud and cold of heart.

Shall I farther look ? No, never ! Peace of years has been in vain ; Memories, like ghosts up-starting,

Walk and wring their hands in pain. Gentle eyes gaze out upon me,

Tearful as l saw them last,
Voices call, and white hands beckon^

From the shadows of tlv~ Past.

Why should wild regrets and passions Of my girlhood’s folded page

Come to thrill me with their whispers In hay lonely, sad old age ?

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Iam groping through life’s twilight, Toward the bright “ land of the leal.**

Bitter earth has not a sorrow

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YfcIsCobid th»wakingjworldgood morningT

Tasayaroodnightvf^uenevening drapes the ' eirtli;

T o toll with brain and hand for gold and honor, For sake of those beside the household

nearth.

It Isto guide the steps of little children ;

With strong, true.arm to shield the aged head ;

T o kneel and pray, to twine the bridle rcs3s; To fold away the garments of the dead.

It ii to walk abroad when leaves are starting ;

To hear the birds sing,—tread the garden path ;

To sow the seeds and gather in the harvests ; To look on fields all rich with aftermath ;

To feed the hungry, give the cup of water;

To break some chain and help some soul go CO

To build our castles and sec them vanish ;
Fo wonder when our ships will cross the ser.

It is to hunger with the heart, and. asking

For wine, got gall ; for bread receive a stone;

It is to know that somewhere ’neath God's heaven

A loving, faithful heart is all one's own,

It is to paint, to sing, to carve, and never; Even when patience its fair-best has wrought

To find the song, the statue or the picture, • So fair, so true, so perfect as the thought.

Tolive! Itis.tolove,tolong,tosuffer;
To search for truth, to spend our souls for

dross;
To lose, to win, and sometimes win in losing, And ofttimes find our winning is but loss.

Advance OF Time.—The age of man, we are told, is three-score years and ten. From twenty- five to forty, if the health be good, no material alteration is observed. ?,,om thence to fifty, the change is greater, hifty-five to sixty, the alteration startles, still we are not bowed down. In the earliest periods of our life the body Strengthens and keeps up the mind ; in the latter stages of it the reverse takes place, and the mind keeps up the body ; a formidable duty

I this, and keenly felt by loth. Suoh is Time’s I progress1

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the most exquisite end artistic to the wor
1ml Dat-slla-lee was the meet wonderful of H

Washoe basket weavers. And now she n<) TM tireless hands are folded. Her feet wander TM

said, which te the p a w d from this

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*hA Indian Bureau would do? we asked.
^ Our Yellow Cat gave no answer. Instead there was a

faraway look in his amber eyes—a look that seemed X sel the forgotten centuries of time passing In ghost- ,y review with all the wrongs and errors of thpaghUess

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We nacl araggecr lire man sacs u.p through me ira-

grant trails of the chaparral and had spilled its contents on the floor of our little high nouae u* as. v«i- .

And our Yellow Cat was there waiting to see what the mail sack had brought us, ana

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that maybe, as it sometimes hap- there would be something

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ketrv of the American Indians Is ranked high In art, den< we shouted, here, .

and the great authorities on the arts ars on record Js something to cause

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low coat of wisdom, ready as he always is, to render

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to bother us and that might be too American Artist deep for us to fathom. And that

were able to give In th e ancient throngh the long

Well, things went rather ft 8pen, and our

. on the hearth in the ®L, n0 doubt, that there

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when< all 0t a eud- here, we shouted.

” 7r" Here t8 a message u f the Faithful, wo sayingthat“thebasketworkof theWashoeIndiansI.fromamember^ottheIJerfcan artisthas

ledge has 8in“ centuries to Yellow c

quietly with the ma

Yellow Cat had gone to . warmth of the wood fire, thinking,

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( So? said our Yellow Cat. ana was

c , was the artist a woman, In the Valley of the Eagles where her eyes first• ® ^ and what was her ’ answered. She was a

the light of day and where '
were pitched since time ong a voices calling to her, woman o

When Dat-so-la-lee heard v o i c e s ^ * ^ ^ the Eagles. and she knew that *er “f£ TM ;£ g Grounds. she asked «g»

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tioiTjs affataKhabit; it is riot 1 itsrill^ but it leads to vice, CLjponit!Victimswithafatal fa- penalty of which many a tine “paid at the scaffold. The idler, dthr'ft, the epicure^ and the l are among the victim^. Per- iirtlie latter its effects appear in the .t hideous form. He knows that/ he

let he is about to drain .is poison, yet walpws*it. He kno\vs—for the ex-/

o f thousands has painted it in lolors—-that it will deaden all his V g k e the strength from his

ITEe happiness from his heart, lim with aisease -and hurry his tq a dishonored^ grave, yet he .. How beautiful, on the con-

the power of resolution, enabling

who posses^pait to pass through # n d dangers,'- trials a n d 5tern pta-'

. Avoid the contraction of the habit resolution.* Strive against it to the

He that buys what he does not want, soon want what he cannot buy^

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oqi oa qBnoua «tttti v. \ raon. iiutieeu, when taking a walk

?e morning—when all nature seems kening from the sleej^of the night, l^the air, so sweet, so fresh, so pleas-

jms to make everything rejoice—

TNjiat^adorns every green leaf, y->lade o f grass, with its beauti­ f y drops, and hangs like a living 6nd Jrom every flower that opens lovely Leaves, as if to invite the danc-

i sunbeams to play upon it. You may we seen and admired these beautiful w-drops; but do you know by what

pnderful manifestation of divine power Aeyare madeto quiver o^ten on nture’s carpet of green ? Ifnot, I will

ry to tell you as simply as I can.
I have no doubt you have often felt the'

pat that a red-hot piece of iron throws [It: afoepjt-J^ taken from the fire. This radiation, or throwing out heat; all bodies do so, more or

-This is one of the causes, as I will intly show.

Second cause is evaporation—that changing water into steam by heat. >w, when the sun shines very hot on 3 earth, a great deal of water from the

ers is changed into vapor or steam. Ms ascencp, andxwhen high enough,

'his great deal of it'Te- uns'v^jp55^fim dsibly in the air.

pWltie sun shines, the heat is veiy yadiated; but as soon as the sun heat is thrown off rapidly, so jk crust of the earth, becoming Vadqaliy cools the air; and this

>as the moisture—that
/t from the air, and causes it to de-

in exceedingly small drops, and is the dew. By a simple, yet won- ul contrivance of the Almighty, not bp of dew is lost; for the grass, trees

^.wers radiate the heat quicker, v^equently get cool sooner, than ^ v ^ n d attract all the moisture.

seo every patch of green . . f ith its pretty, sparkling drops, x there is none "to be seen on the

away'or the road.
~lio could have planned such a simple advance, so in accordance with na-

but He who clothes the lilies of the and causes the grass to* spring up

—Character is the diamond that will -Scratch every other stone.

STARTING IN LIFE,
wymog man that works for his board,

o matter what honest work he has, has h Reason for shame. A young man o eafs tjre bread of idleness, no matter

r,.mueh he has, is disgraced* A ll ig men in starting in life ought to first of all, to find a place where

*an earn their bread and butter, ,ioe-,-aye, spade, wheelbarrow, cur- b, blacking-brush—no matter how.

ideri.ee first. /The bread-and-but- stion settled, let the young man hi& duty so faithfully as to at- d lot him constantly keep his

vn* for a chance' to do better.

V* ° f vfbc poor, proud young 1 twfpAwds of the poor, dis-

rn ! qn are always out of

sepa-

IT’S ALL THE STYLE
TO PLEAD GUILTY

Ray E. Has brook, who was fheld in the county jail on the charge of pandering, decided that discretion is the better part in his case, and Monday morning

asked to be taken into the dis­ trict court so that he might enter

a plea of guilty.
Judge Orr took Hasbrook’s

word for it and sentenced him on Tuesday morning to a term of not less than two years nor more than 20 years in the state prison.

Another opportunity to save the county money presenting it­ self, W. J. Stewart left with the prisoner Thursday morning in the car with Geo. Borden, for Carson City.

Of the last 33 prisoners sent ‘ from Clark county to the state (prison, 32 of them! have pleaded |guilty, saving the county many [thousands of dollars which trials

would have cost. Jess Hensley is the only one out of the 33 sent to prison, who put the county to ihe expense of a trial.

It is likely that the friendly and fatherly advice o f Sheriff Gay may have had its influence in bringing about so many pleas

of guilty.

warn

Will Sal

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Now all are gone, I kneel alone.
A little lass comes running swift

To set her baho by a stone
And beg of heaven some childish gift—

A little lass with flying hair,
Such as might answer all my prayer.

The baho feathers float and flow,
Trembling, outstretched like begging palms;

The sacred meal lies spread below; They ask from heaven a varied alms;

My one prayer mounts to Him on high:

“Lord, give me children or I die.5

Public Ceremonies of Baho (Prayer Stick) Planting

99

673

THE BARREN

I set my baho on the height,
I cast my meal toward the sun;

He rises from the sea of night,
Across high heaven his course to run.

Oh, did he gild the sacred meal,
And has he marked me where I kneel?

The brides are planting bahos, too; Their altar groups are near to mine,

And in the dawn, against the blue, I see their snowy blankets shine.

They pray for sheep; they pray for rain; I wot they will not pray in vain.

A tO raioi, Arizona, in the Month of the Soyaluna o'

Swiss mountaineers; Egypt is so much more attractive than our Desert because you see the Arabs scouring across the golden sands;, the Copt shepherds coming down to the pools with their flocks; the Mussulman ever­ lastingly kow-towing to salute the rising sun.” Color— atmosphere— association; that is it. America hasn’t “got” it; only the culture club people wouldn’t say “ got,” that superfluous little word.

Is it true? Does America “lack the picturesque, the historic, the antique, the heroic?” Why are the Arabs of the Sa- harah with their red trousers and blue coats and white caps more picturesque than the Navajos and Apaches of our own

Southwestern Desert, with their red head bands and plush shirts and velvet trousers and silver trappings? Why is a Mussul­ man saluting the sun more striking than a Pueblo Indian coming up out of his estufa or secret underground temple high in the face of /Some precipice, perhaps 1500 feet

vaboV'd the glimmering purple of the Desert, to pray to the Great Spirit behind the Sun? Do “more interesting hamlets dot the Alps than the Rockies?” Why is a ghost of snow and cloud above some opal peak in Switzerland more interesting then the ghost of the old Spanish padre down in New Mexico, who has lain in a coflin hol­ lowed out of a tree for two hundred years, and every ten years, when the flooding of

the waters sets the voices of the secret un­ derground springs bubbling and whisper­ ing, rises from his coflin and passes through

/the vault door and walks wanly about his old mission? You may scoff and call it “hallucination.” So do I; but that does not do away ’ with the facts, that every priest of the mission for two hundred years swears he has seen the apparition, and that a committee of educated, skeptical people sent to investigate took the body from its hollowed coffin and found it in a

state of perfect preservation. The padre has slept his long sleep of two centuries; but no Mexican lives who does not believe that periodically, when the voice of the waters can be heard underground, he rises

restlessly and glides over his ancient

trails with some secret which he cannot

utter.
We talk of the Sphinx of Egypt. Do

we know that there is an older Sphinx in our own Southwestern Rockies—a Sphinx from whom man can wrest never a word—

the Sphinx of the secret of a vanished peo­ ple, sun-worshipers, serpent charmers, rare workers in pottery and jewels? We find their swathed mummies in the cave cities. They understood the art of weaving when civilization’s ancestors were skipping about

Hyrcanian forests clothed in a birthday suit. W e can see the ruins o f temples, where audiences of seven thousand assem­ bled; castles of four hundred rooms, where chiefs dwelt; cities of four thousand cave dwellings. We can even find corn in the closed parchment hand of the mummied dead and trace the line of the irrigation ditches in the valleys below the precipice, where the cave cities were always located; and on the lines of these ditches modern engineering cannot improve. We can even guess the era of these vanished peoples— that is, within five or ten thousand years. Their implements tell you they belonged to the stone age. Their pottery and weav­ ing tell you they were not the gibbon tailed monkey men of evolution. Geology tells you they were near contemporaries of the last recession of glacial action. There, you have it — within five to ten thousand years; and that is all archaeology and geology and any piher oRgy you like to try can wrest of the secret of the Sphinx

of the Southwest, the secret of a vanished people, of a vanished civilization.

“What do we really know?” said an in­ vestigator from the School of Archaeology in Rome, who had been looking over the ruins of the Southwest. “ It isn’t what we know. We have reached the stage of frankly confessing that we don’t know. We

used to think the East had been the cradle of the race. We’re not so sure now. There are indications pointing to possi­ bilities that the civilization of the South­ west may have been earlier than any civ­ ilization we know in the East.”

Looks as if, after all, America does not lack the picturesque, the historic, the antique—doesn’t it? Was the cynical Pas­

senger Traffic man right? Do more Ameri­ cans see Europe than America simply because of a sordid little matter of com­ missions on rates? “ Perish the thought!” But “ perish the thought” or not, it is fairly clear—isn’t it?—that the reason given is not the true one. America does not lack atmosphere—color—human association, the intangible misty something that connects

Why Go Abroad ?

Agnes C. Laut 67\

picturesqueness with antiquity.
[In a series of vivid articles upon the wonderful Southw 3t of America, Miss Laut will press home her argument.]

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AN

J. Peak, three prospectors who ha been working down in Eldorado C« yon for the last four or five veai

have been visiting Mr. and Mrs. F.i Stewart the past two or three weel One evening during this vacation th.

have been taking they gave a suppt. to few o tl,eir Mend, They didI

‘he work themselves without any rom lady friends or anybody else.

abrTf3 °*Vfn a ®rove °f raesquite ,mile below ‘ he ranch-a most -

beautiful and romantic place. The surroundings befitted fho .

The super was a gem in its way and ou if it was ever equalled in this country. The cooking could not

tL T m116*5' The service excellent. ■ he table was loaded with all the deli-,

cles of the season. The menu con- Isidered of about six courses I

The drinkables consisted of coffee beer, wine and lemonade, and the eat­

ables were too numerous to mention.' The length of the list would be ana

palling. While our cananitv __ palling. While our capacity to enjo?

the good things of the table is large our only regret on this occasion was that we found it limited. Our hosts showed what they can do in this line and they have every reason to be proud of their efforts. Among the

guests present were Mr. and Mrs. F. R. Stewart, W. J. Sfewart "and wife? Dr. and Mrs. Rucker, Miss Minnie Harrison and the editor of this paper. This evening was an oasis in the des­

ert of time. One of the happy events we can point back to in the journey through life. Our hosts are congrat­ ulated on the success of their efforts. W e all extend to them our thanks for the pleasure of the event. They have

now returned to their camp where if it wasn’t so distant we would be a fre­ quent visitor. W e forget to mention that the occasion was enhanced by

music, both vocal and instrumental. We hope to see the boys more fre­ quently now that we have become |

somewhat acquainted. By the way, these boys have a number of claims down in Eldorado canyon that may de­ velop into wonders. They have been working steadily along for a number

of years and have been piling up ore on the dump that goes over $100 to the ton. They are sinking to see what I they have. Their confidences have never deserted them. They invited no newspaper puffs. All they say is] wait until we can show what we have.

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OASIS IN THE DESERT o»

LIFE.
Spanogle, J. S. Sartain and F

|Some time in the not very distant fu­ ture another bonanza may be opened to the world. We hope their greatest!

{expectation will be realized and all pnay blossom out into millg

uforA 222#nv wore

for Sa°nrFraa„8ciscm 33

SteWart

31

Delegates to
Carson and Reno

Mrs. E
ielen J. Stewart, Mrs. c>

McGovern and Mrs. C. I*. SquiresJ8Pen^

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r*nn where they were the ’TecidB ents of many pleasant S0C1 attentions?TM

After the close of the State Federation of Women’s Clubs at Yerington last Saturday the ladies went to Reqo. Mrs. Stewart was there the guest of Miss Weir of the State Historical Society, i

and joined the Nevada Society of Pion­ eers. Mrs. Squires was the guest of Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Squires at Sparks.

Tuesday they went to Carson City where all three were the guests of Mrs. Frank Norcross. In company with I Miss Vanderlieth, Mrs. Yerington and

their hostess, they visited the prison and the Indian school.

Tuesday evening they were the guests of honor at a meeting of the Leisure I Hour Club, at which there was a large attendance. During the evening Mrs. I Stewart, was called upon and gave a

very interesting talk on Indian basket- ry, which was greatly enjoyed. Mr. Abe Cohn, who is considered an author­

ity on baskets and who has long col- 11 lected the best obtainable, both for sale ‘ | and for his own private collection,

stated that one of the baskets there exhibited by Mrs. Stewart was the most beautiful specimen he had ever seen, even excelling the wonderful work *

o f Dah-so-lala, the famous Indian bas- ket weaver.

Mrs. Stewart has proved a delightful and interesting talker, and her display o f baskets with her explanation o f the

signs and symbols of the patterns and her rich store of historical incidents of pioneer life in Southern Nevada, fur-

rushed a very delightful entertainment, M p j f f 0

Wednesday the Vegas_ women were escorted to the Cohn residede

they examined Mr CnWo ^ 1_______

collection of baskets, after which
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Itatfoffi6 r pit,0i and met many of tw state officials. Later in the day thev

were entertained at dinner at the Gov-

Bov?S T ,8i°r' by MrS' ETM D yle, and had a very enjoyable time

ednesday evening Mrs. McGovern

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Just Jealous: Remember the unavail­ ing wiles of Clara Vere de Vere, who “thought to break a country heart for

pastime ere she went to town.”
The loyal spirit of the young man on whom Clara smiled still lives in the hon­

est farmer of today.
He may be afflicted with a passing

infatuation for something showy and superficial, but when* he takes counsel with his better Judgment, he realizes the difference between a summer day dream and the tangible presence of a good, practical girl who makes life worth while all the year round.

You say “city folks possess more re­ finement than country people.”

Not necessarily. Refinement is a mat­ ter of family training and strict ob­ servance of the golden rule.

Ease of manner is seldom a gift of na­ ture. It comes through close attention to mimjte details and an accurate knowl­ edge of approved good form.

By and by it becomes a part of your own being and you are freed from the shackles of self-consciousness.

And don't envy the city girl. Unless she has a home in which financial com­ fort is assured regardless of the ebb and flow of self-supporting opportunities, you are infinitely better off.

| Keep up with the busy outside world tor reading newspapers and magazines

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Whose only relic left him was The baby's tiny shoe.

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When T am dead, forget me, dear, For I shall never know,

Though o’er my cold and lifeless hands Your burning tears should flow;

I’ll cancel with my living voice The debt you’ll owe the dead—

Give me the love you’d show me then, But give it now instead.

And bring no wreaths to deck my grave, For I shall never care,

Though all the flowers I loved the most Should glow and wither there.

I’ll sell my chance of all the flowers You’ll lavish when I’m dead

For one small bunch of violets now— ^t4w that t-o m© instead.

What saints we are when we are gone! But what’s the use to me

Of praises written on my tomb For other eyes to see?

One little simple word of praise By lips we worship said,

Is worth a hundred epitaphs— Dear,—say it now instead.

And faults that now are hard to bear Oblivion then shall win ;

Our sins are soon forgiven us When we no more can sin.

But any bitter thought of me— Keep It, for when I’m dead—

I shall not know, I shall not care, Forgive me now instead.

-Lady Congreve Ot “ The Castle and Other

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H E Y found him by the roadside A ragged tramp unknown;

His face upturned in mute despair, His helpless arms outthrown.

The lark above him sang a song Of greeting to the day,

The breeze blew fresh and sweet, and stirre His hair in wanton play.

They found no clew to home or name. But tied with ribbon blue

They found a package, and it held A baby's tiny shoe.

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And laid it on the peaceful breast That kept the secret well;

And God will know and understand The story it will tell

Of happy times and peaceful home That dead tramp some time knew.

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WISHING FOR RICHES. How vain is all the pampered, bold

And haughty power of surplus wealth.

Not all a Rockefeller’s gold
Can purchase home and peace and health.

Nor all the treasures of the deep,
Tile boundless wealth of India’s shores,

Can stay the hand of death, or keep The soul a moment longer here.

Can priceless gems or countless gold Bring sweet content or peace of mind?

The millionaire with wealth untold, Oft comfortless and sad we find.

He knows no God but that of wealth, rlpwttr'he seldom gives one thought;

Ah ; does he dream that life and health, Like luxuries, with gold are bought.

Ills heart has no responsive chord, To Charity’s own sweet appeals.

With all his wealth—a golden hoard- For poverty he never feels.

’A favorite of a gilded ring,
A pet of luxury, sin and shame,

A base, corrupted, worthless thing,
A blot upon fair manhood’s name.

And when his earthly lot is o’er, And in the grave he shall recline,

Between him and the humble poor There shall be no dividing line.

Then here at least the poor and rich Shall on an equal basis stand.

And God shall justice deal to each, Where gold no favors can command.

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So now. my friend your longings cease**
Let not such thoughts your mind employ; Home, loved ones, sweet content and peace.

These are alone wealth’s dearest joy.

That was your own fault, bo don’t ex­ pect any sympathy from this quarter. McKernan indignantly denies that he

employs either his night stick or revol­

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I lost my heart—my roll as well To pretty, witty Betty Bell.

3 spent my roll like other jays, And then ’ twas plain to see

When I was broke her love grew cold— She had no use for me.

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CHORUS.
Gay Betty Bell, oh. she was swell:

I loved her once, but mow farewell. When I was broke, she gave me—well.

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IS?

NEW YORK HAS SIX FEET OF POLICE­ MAN POET.

Anthony B. 3!clvernon Vlrrlte» Verse and Keeps Hfs Extra Stanzas In the Icebox—It’s Easy, He
Says.

From tlie New York Worltl.
This will introduce Anthony B. Mc4

Kernan, policeman and poet. And, now that you have been warned, stand up; boldly or fly like a coward. Executioner, spring the drop:

An officer of the law and peace' Was Michael Hoolahan;

A member of New York’s police And every inch a man.

From Munster’s rugged hills he came, He bore a truly Centic name;
In every verse you’ll find the same—

Bould Michael Hoolahan.

Now Michael was a cunning rogue, He loved his pipe and grog,

And carried on his tongue a brogue As thick as London fog.

Yet notwithstanding, ne’ertheless,
Of Irish wit and manliness,
He had his share, I must confess—

Bould Michael Houlahan.

When Michael landed from the boat Twas near the Battery Wall,

"Bedad,” said he, “Oi want me vote ; “Plaze show me Tammany Hall.

They naturalized him there, of course, Then Michael cried, in accents coarse, "Bravo! Now put me on the force,”

Said Michael Houlahan.

He socked his “green,” and soon, of course, Bould Michael Houlahan

Became a member of the force— A patrol po-l Ice-man.

He saves his cush and minds his job, He’s just the* cheeze—no lazy slob; Begorra, bejabers,, bedad, begob—

Bould Michael Houlahan.

What is the verdict, men? All right, but a stay of execution must be granted until you learn more about him. He is 40 years old, was born in Ireland, came

to this country in 18^8 and has been in the police department for fifteen years. He is married and has five children, and not one of them looks like a poet or a poetess. McKernan does, however, six full feet of him. He has curly hair and

blue eyes, and that gives it all away. Our hero has been poeting for twenty

years. As is readily apparent, he has|

a batting average of .300 and can line!

them out to deep center. Now and then] hr* rr-?TTs oTfnfbtfYf* ^p.ht liQiuw-nvtix oOJigsf

Whenever he gets going he can’t possibly stop himself. On bis day off be hied himself to his home, mounts Pegasus and

rides all around the flat.
When a visitor went to his home yes­

terday afternoon and asked Mr. MeKer- nan to confess, the latter promptly opened the door of the ice box and

hauled forth two volumes of his favorite hemstitched verses. Some of them are signed withj the name Tyrone Benburb,

which is the policeman’s nom-de-blink. 1 Car coming:

i

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H u i Is i V h

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mmviter"

Woman’s Name

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Sometimes I Think It Is

BUT

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IS T H E R E anything more lovely than & beautiful frail woman! There

not intended to be frail, but a frail woman— with a skin like the petals of a fragrant moon-flower and deep dark eyes that ask only for kind-

111

1II IkI)ff

Robert Browning found his ideal in just such a frail worn tin— one who had been an

invalid a i her life, and whose face from be­ neath long dark curls

imi

V; -

By Velva G. Darling
is something about a frail man that is repulsive, somehow. Men were

ON A BEAT

ver in writing these masterpieces. now avast, belay and hands up:

When first I met gay Betty Bell, ’Twas down at Coney Isle.

And

Mv heart she captured at one glance; She gave me just one smile.

We dined at Feltman’s—drank the best We danced at Luna Park.

I thought I was her Candy Kid, But I was Easy Mark.

CHORUS.

Cay Betty Bell, oh, she was swell;
I loved her more than tongue could tell.

m m

gas

are

I’m through for good with Betty Bell.

Poet McKernan also has on hand a full supply of spring and summer styles . and he can fit you out perfectly. Try this little child of passion on your gas jet:

My American Beauty rose,
Where the Hudson River flow s;

I loved you In life’s morning, fair and golden,

And though wedded fifty years,
W ith die sunshine, smiles and tears,

I love you now eia in the Maytime olden.

Sometimes l Think It Isn’t

“ Young

man,” said she,

“ since you

IMRaaRgg B ill

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them out to deep center. Now and theuj

*Tvt got no use for you/* - - - CHORUS.

Gay Betty Bell, oh. the was a*ell;. „ 1 loved her once, but now farewell.

When I was broke, she gave me—well. I'm through for good with Betty Bell.

Poet McKernan also has on hand a full supply of spring and summer styles and he can fit you out perfectly. Try

this little child of passion on your gas

g average or .HOG and van Unel

■
stop himself. On his day off he hie?

himself to his home, mounts Pegasus and] rides all around the flat.

When a visitor went to his home yes­ terday afternoon and asked Mr. McKer­ ns n to confess, the latter promptly! opened the door of the ice box and]

i.

hauled forth two volumes of his favoriu Jeti

hemstitched verses. Some of them are] signed withi the name Tyrone Benburb, which is the policeman’s nom-de-blink.

Car coming: * " '*-W--l

My American Beauty rose,
Where the Hudson River flows;

I loved you in life's morning, fair and

golden.
And though wedded fifty years.

W ith die sunshine, smiles and tears,

I love you now as in the Maytime olden. I

mtm

Is Woman’s Name ‘Frailty’?

----------i - >—

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C ______________ f

Sometimes 1 Think Jt Is

Sometimes I Think It Isn’t

- By Velva G. Darling
I S THERE anything more lovely than & beautiful frail woman! There

is something about a frail man that is repulsive, somehow. Men were

-M M S M

K

not intended to be frail, but a frail woman— with a skin like the petals of a fragrant moon-flower and deep dark eyes that ask only for kind-

' •

t *M

* ' - » *,. - *1t g ±______ _/____________ :___ ;__ :•Ji_ ness!

R o b e r t Browning , ,lu,„
found his ideal in just f|l|H|i$||P^

such a frail woman— one who' had been an invalid all her life, and

whose face from be­ neath long dark curls was more frail and

delicate than anything Robert Browning had ever seen.

And this man, who looked more like a

champion wrestler than a poet,. and who cer­ tainly did not dally around as the poet at ladies teas, and whose philosophy of life it

1

If

mast

i n a d 5 :f c t S9c

IRSm BS

still the inspiration for numerous “Browning Clubs” in America to­ day, found th a t the

Ml

dainty, white porcelain lady who is beet de­ scribed as “frail,” was the one woman whose

intellect and soul could match hie own.

BUT on the .other hand, I have in mind another woman. * She is one of those “BIG,

SPLENDID, c a p a ­ b l e women’* and she had taken her fam ily, including her husband, to the beach for the day.; No one within a radius of a quarter, of a mile of them.’ could fail to note the militant

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&&&&

manner in which she maneuvered
that picnic! a Did little Johnnie
venture so far into the water as
to risk wetting the bottoms of his
up-turned trousers—this woman would like to have asked the

whose name certainly was NOT “Frailty’- would make use of her

vocal chords in a way that would have done credit to Madame Tetrazzini, and Johnnie would hear her above the roar of the

breakers and make an obedient and speedy retreat.

husband of the capable lady if he thought that Woman’s name is “Frailty.” Biit I was afraid I would be stopped by the marshal of the day at the picnic, should I attempt to come near, so I re­ mained merely an interested on­ looker and forced listener to that

The capable lady's husband— picnic on the beach. BUT I

wonder if there aren’t many ful, if somewhat woeful, expres­ women like Elizabeth Barnett

whose countenance had the grate­

Browning, truly frail women, who had been picked up by some whose voice in spite, of its deli­

wealthy and well-fed philan­ cacy, reaches a thousand times

sion of a lost and hungry dog

thropist, seemed to be under a hypnotic spell which held him to Hhis mighty spouse in spite of his

farther than the commanding voice of the. capable lady’s could dredm of extending.

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If I had had the opportunity I

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learning much, Ideas I started with I*ve had to discard; but of

one thing fra sure end I grow more certain o f that one thing every day— It pays to love.

I’ve never really loved yet with­ out profiting by It. That doesn’t mean that It has always been easy to love— or safe—or com fort-

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OU have read that Alexander,<$>the field because the world Hua having made himself ruler of feared him.

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all any man could ask for, but love, some man’s respect, greater Judge Lindsey, a good safe, steel he hadn’t. The things he couldn’t height, more graceful manners,

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By Winifred Black b r o k e —*hats

OowtlfM. 1988. by King Feature* gyruit 8. Inc

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By Robert Quillen-

\udge’s Idea
■\ > f M a r r i a g e Y

mm.

By Winifred Black

('ll ITARRIAGE is a steel cage,” V 1 s&y& Judge Ben Lindsey

you have thought it a myth.

But human nature changes little w ith the passing of the centuries, and it is altogether probable that Alexander was unhappy for lack of some- thing—if only another tri­ umph.

needs—how little' to ask! How many millions of men achieve it!

Yet the world’s greatest figure sighed in vain for these things and sneered at the pomp and trinkets of his court.

o f Denver, ‘And three-

Colo.

fourths of the
married peo­ P§g|
ple in Amer­
ica are trying1■111 m: to get out of » £ i l l

the cage.”
S t r ik ing

sentence, isn’t it? And how very much it does not mean.

W h i c h would y o u rather be in,
tell me true, 8S8

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m

Consider Napoleon, that little IF YOU are an average man, it

civilization, sighed for other To have a home and children worlds to conquer, and doubtless and a sufficient income for all

is true that more money sica, who occupies more pages of would make you happier. It is

Italian from the island of Cor­ history than any other man.

'HEN he was at the height of

his power, the emperor of

continental Europe, possessed of untold wealth, the most famous and most feared of men, wooed by fair women and courted by great men, his heart was heavy

all rot to say that money doesn’t bring happiness. Millions are un­ happy for want of a few things

But all the money In the world couldn’t make you really happy. You still would sigh for things that money and power cannot provide.

box, or a raging fire? have seemed worth more than better birth, a stronger body, Judge Lindsey believes in trial all he possessed. youth—som ething, a dozen

marriage. He thinks people ought He wanted, first of all, a legiti­ things, beyond your reach. to be married for a while and see mate son, and fate had denied

whether they like it or not, and if him that—though later it re­ IF YOU aren’t wholly happy, not, go on and marry .so mebody lented.

*yj with unhappiness.
m You would think that he had You would want some woman’s

else—all so pleasant and friendly there is consolation in this:. 1 and smiling. E WANTED a victory over You have as company in your

He feels so sorry for people who E n g l a n d and could not plight all- the men of the earth.

have to live together when they achieve it. He wanted peace and

If the rest of us can stand it, and yet contrive at times to laugh, surely you can do as well.

are not affinities.

a quiet home, and was kept in

How queer it is^—all these peo­ ple who want to break up mar­ riage and tear down the home al-* ways act as if they had a brand-

new idea, and were going to give

the woria as a glorious birthday present.

Why, my dear judge, the human race knows all about free-love and trial m arriage. It’s been tried out under every sort of sky,

NIGHT ON THE TRAIL.

rAs

IWhen the moon stole up the cafion And shone on a distant hill.

from A frica to Greenland, and it
has failed—utterly failed. That’s It touched that hill with a splendor—

why somebody had sense enough to invent marriage.

Marriage isn’t a perfect insti­ tution. It’s as full of faults as__ as~“Well, as human nature.

People can’t have temperi and sulks and wills of their own and vanities and follies and be per­

fectly happy, either married or unmarried.

Now, as a matter of fact, in

m ost cases m arriage is all right.

The trouble is with the people who get married.

x and mothers, sons and fathers, mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters, all have their

Trgrits and their disagreements.

I ve seen the time when I wanted to take my favorite

Ah! if in words it might be told
How each frowning peak and rocky crag

brother and shake him till his But that glorious scene by the Master teeth rattled; but I didn’t think

W?s'f,11wrong to have a ( ? roJ}ler at a*l» Just because this brother was stubborn and I had

a temper of my own.

A home is an expense. Chil- dren are a bother. Life itself i* an awful nuisance. Let’s get

(Copyright. 1927, Newspaper Feattir. Service, Inc.)

Had shortened a long, hard track.

in

1

the

I sat on the mountainside The world was dark and still,

Stood out like som<

I gazed with a silent wonder, A wonder tinged with awe,

>f old

For never in all ray life Have I seen such

The moon rose higher still,

Before.

The world was flooded with light. And gradually one by one

My castles they faded from sight.

Now the last was gone; I called my dog, And wearily shouldered my pack;

1111

■

that a very buy.

little

m oney

would

Hand H. C. YOUNG,

I'VE lived quite a number of

the carving hurts, but love a!- weys pays, no matter how great the hurt.

The weary hours one Spends In loving and serving little children •-‘•the lonely hours one spends In loving a man or woman-—ths humdrum hours one spends In loving a friend—the rankling

hours that come if love is do- awlsaA .1 IL

and

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LISTEN, WORLD!

ai

H ill

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Lov6 Is Eirth s Greatest Adventure By ELSIE ROBINSON

stnd It Payi

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i saw one of'them ry the other day.

He thought he

quite an adventure,

could

or n ®c<L he felt like
or De Soto, or somebody.

All alone by the wild SM- i ,

Love has made my life deeper and stronger. Love has quickened my imagination and Warmed my

sympathies. Love has taught me how to laugh and cry and tlream and pray and dare. Love has made me able to carry my chin high and my spi i straight. Love has given me r< l pride in place of petty, personal conceit.

Of course, i'v© had to pay a price for all these things. It’s nonsense to think you can know the height and the depth and the glory of love without paying a price—often a heavy price.

If you’re banking on loV© to provide you with merely pretty, peppy experiences you're out of luck. Love Will provide you with boredom as wen as bliss, with pleasure as well as pain, with

danger as Well as delight* and agony as Well as ecstasy*

ti you expect love to give you possession of other lives and make them serve your bidding, you are again out of luck.

Love isn’t a building and loan scheme. Love is a vast current o f ' inspiration and energy which carves its way through life, often

m homo ii on ixpinit dron are a bother* Lii ii an awful nuisance* L out of them all and h

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7,. c"x woods, a meadow

Winifred Black

thek srJL't"9 r ° m the °Pen field-

thl Whiff °/.ulne need,es and

all thl.1?£-the sea—what did II these things mean to the

man who was “city broke” ?

L 116 Wanted to sit down some- where in a comfortable chair and •5'bou,t Forty-second street

2 t?ro+adiv,?y or Fifth avenue

. r e traffic, and he was honie-

sicK and lonesome and out of place.

He wanted to see a traffic cop, he wanted to check his hat some­ where and give somebody a quar­ ter of a dollar to hold It for him, and lie wanted to stand in line for theater tickets, yes, he even wanted to wait in. the wind and the rain half an hour for a tax-

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Greatest Adventure

successful In

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little children

k despair wain love—they are all one pays for the

price Is* don't be* y it willingly* pay gallantly—for love adventure on earth. !1 be marked with rs. follow it—love

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And waterless -valleys and blinding heat;

Of fairy peaks in a phantom West, With opal flashes upon their crest And taunting ribbons above it all, Like splashes of gold on a mystic wall.

'Forty-nine and a wagon train, Winding its way through a cheerless

plain—
A quick alarm and a circle swung
By the plunging beasts at the wagon

tongue;
Fitful flashes from hot carbine
At feathered heads on the desert screen; A shattered stave in ,a water keg And the fluid drained to a single dreg.

jtfany a brave of a copper hue, Answered the call of his Manitou*
Many a steed of a mongrel strain, Sprawled in the dust with a scream of]

pain.

Suddenly, sharp through the crash of

Up from the wreck on the littered

ground, . . ,, . Comes the rending plea in a mother s

s| nfiig
And the plaintive wall of a baby's cries.

Heart stone cold as his hand caresf1?f , The fevered babe at it s mother s

World gone red as he swapped carbine For the battered shell of a dry canteen.

Scene now shifts to a stretch of sand And the burrowing figure of Buck Du-

Moleing his way to a canyon s brink That shelters a pool m a deseit sink. He chooses the dip of a shallow swal~, ^ d inches his way like a creeping

_igjxeil
Unnoted by all, save a buzzard's eye, In narrowing circles against the sky*

As yet, unseen in the sweeping view From the look-out posts of the lurking

Now, as his* nostrils greet the stench Of the pungent damp in his narrow

trench;
Nnw. as hia fingers grope afar

And dig, deep jjQwn. in the .slgaming His wrist is clutched by a.stral_

Gripping and hot as an iron hand.

L iftin g fils head In a startled graze. He sees a face in the vapored naze, Leering and cruel, a face from Hell,

Disputing his right to the desert well. Ana, on beyond, in the canyon s bed, Is a spotted pony, with drooping head;

A Sioux, adrift from his warring band, Han challenged the courage of Buck

Durand,

The battle Is fought In a voiceless wrath, White man and red, in a mooted path; Red man of sinew, white of brawn, Issue of death, while the son looked on

The red man fights for a scalp of hair, The white man answers a mother a

prayer; _ . .___ One with the lost of a beast Insane,

One for his kind at the wagon train. The buzzard, aloft, with his watchful

'eye,? . .

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YOU have heard the stories, so often told,

Of the '‘boomer” trails, in the days of old;

Of stretches of cactus and dwarf mes- quite j

! Of a mother, dead at the smoking wheel;

True to the urchin his hand caressed, Cooing its glee on the silent breast; And he tells of a grav%e in the desert

sand
And “taps” to the honor of Buck Du­

rand! *•***.***

It is out there yet, in a "pasture” sink, That tepid pool at the canyon’s brink; But white-faced cattle, as fat as moles, Wander afar to the sweeter holes

And the brown mescal and the dwarf mesquite

Have- vanished away in the march of wheat;

And the echoes awake, in the flush of morn,

To the blatant shriek of a motor horn.

Straight as a die—from East to West— In a smooth up-lift to the mountain

crest,
The white trail crosses the blue divide, To the mystic lures of the other side. Scarce out of sight of a village spires, Or the trailing plumes from a “Mogul’s”

fires;
Mapped in the blood of an early day When the whiter man fought for the

Right O’ Way!

4wt

hi* swing In the copper sky; Narrows his s* of the desert

By Chiis, B. Clark, Jr. Wond cr' \vhy I ftt 1 to restlest;

IvfoGm it i)linin' still
c and br

attic aII iS fcarin' easy.
But 1 JUII can't sleep tonigbi Ain't rin caICttjit in rnv blanket*,

Don* kn«)\Y why they feci so Hard

For ther n the ec

spring,
la u*1 igear made from a turkey’,

XOs ||'%Warblin* Jim
"All!It4i l aufIf out 0hi guar

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Sprawled in the dust with a scream u pain.

Suddenly, sharp through the crash ofj Up tronTtfie wreck on the littered C*mesKthenrendlng plea In a mother's

A»d thfplaintive wall of a baby’s cries.g Heart stone cold as ms hand

The fevered babe at It's mothers

Worldbgonel red as he w w etl ^»r*,ne For the battered shell of a dry canux

Scene now shifts to a ^nudi And the burrowing figure of B u c k du

Molelng his way to a canyon s brink That shelters a pool In a E

chooses the dip of a shallow swale. And inches his way like a creeping

RTlfl.il
Unnoted by all, save a buzzard^ eye,

In narrowing circles against the sky.

As yet* unseen in the sweeping view_ From the look-out posts of the lurking

Now, as°his' nostrils greet thestench I Of tbe pungent damp in bis narrow

trench; + Now as his fingers grope aiar

And dig, deep down* in the steaming

His wrist is clutched by a stranger hand,, Gripping and hot as an iron band.

t mine his head in a startled gaze, lienees a face In the vapored haae.

ass “s&w'ai85?&

?T.» a. , dotted pony, with drooping head,

A Sioux, adrift from hls warring band. Has challenged the courage of Buck

Durand. 9
The battle Is fought In a volMlOTa wrath,

**•of'Bln/w’whifeT K -

Issue of death, while the sun loohed^on

The red man fights for ® 8C?^_5>fl»j,Gr>J The white man answers a mothers

One w?th the lust of a beast Insane, One for his kind at the wagon train.

The buzzard, aloft, with his watchful NarrowsehlB swing in the copper sky ;

Tor there. In the edge of the desert

Is a headgear made from a turkey’*'

w« alsosees. from his high domain.
A ribbon of dust on the distantplajg v And the glittering steel as a blue-c5

Rides^like the wind, from an army ‘

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But her folks said I was “shif’less,”

Wild, unsettled”—they was right, For I came out punchin* cattle

An’ I’m at it still tonight—
And she married young Doc Wilson,

Oh, my Lord, but that was hard!__ Wish that fool would quit his singin’

“Annie Laurie” out on guard.

Yes, “her brow was like the snowdrift* ^ And her eyes like quiet streams,

0 0 * * * - *

The sergeant tells of a man, near Skirting the wreck of a wagon True to the urge in a mute apj

Makesthenightseembigandlonesome

And my throat feels sore inside.

How my Annie used
* ----------------to sing it,

And it sounded good and gay, lights I took her home from dances

Back there in old Ioway.

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“And her face,” I still can see it Much too frequent in my dreams;

And her hand was soft and trembly That night underneath the tree

When I couldn’t help but tell her She was “all the world to me.”

Oh, I just can’t stand it, thinkin’ Of the things that happened then,

For them good old days has passed me, And they’ll never come again__

M y turn? Sure, I ’ ll come a-runnin’— Warm me up some coffee, pard__

But I’ll stop that Jim from singin’ Annie Laurie” out on guard.

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A Bad Half Hour

fiy Chas, B, Clark, Jr.

Wonder why I feel so restless;

Moon is shinin’ still and bright, Cattle all is restin’ easy,

But I just can’t sleep tonight: Ain’t no cactus in my blankets,

Don’t know why they feel so hard ’Less it’s Warblin’ Jim a-singin*

“ Annie

Laurie,”

out on

guard.

Annie Laurie ’—wish he*d quit it, Couldn’t sleep now if I tried,

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THE CALL OF KANSAS

This is the poem that has caused all the controversy. Miss Esther Clark is credited with having written It in 1907. Mrs. Emma Ci&rk-Karr

says she wrote it in 1899.

Surfeited here with beauty, and the sensu­ ous sweet perfume

Borne in from a thousand gardens and orchards of orange bloom;

Awed by the silent mountains, stunned by the breakers’ roar—

/The restless ocean pounding and tugging away at the shore—

I lie on the warm sand beach and hear, above the cry of the sea,

The voice of the prairie, calling, Calling me.

Sweeter to me than the salt sea spray, the fragrance of summer rains;

Nearer my heart than these mighty hills are the windswept Kansas plains;

Dearer the sight of a shy, wild rose by the roadside’s dusty way

Than all the splendor of poppy fields, ablaze in the sun of May.

Gay as the bold poinsettia is, and the bur­ den of pepper trees,

The sunflower, tawny and gold and brown, is richer, to me, than these.

And rising ever above the song of the hoarse, insistent sea.

The voice of the prairie, calling, Calling me.

Kansas, beloved Mother, today in an alien land,

Tours is the name I have idly traced with a bit of wood in the sand,

The name that, sprung from a scornful lip, will make the hot blood start;
The name that is graven, hard and deep, on

the core of my loyal heart.
Oh, higher, clearer and stronger yet, than

the boom of the savage sea, The voice of the' prairie, calling,

Calling me.

THE WRANGLER’S FAREWELL

I V / c?asm round your city, drinking deep of all its joys Till I m homesick— want to get back with the boys

On the sunny range out yonder, where all nature is atune, And the cattle are a-callin' from the mesas all a-bloom ■ Seems like city life is jest a loud an’ everlastin’ roar,

An’ I’m longin’ for my prairies, an’ the dear ol’ ranch once more

I’ve had a heap of joy rides, an’ I’ve seen a heap o’ sights
But you oughter see my prairies, all lit up by stars o’ nights You oughter see them mountains, their peaks all topped with snow While the sun s a-shinin’ brightly in the valley, far below.

THE SONG IN THE SAGE

The only thing that he possessed That he could call his own

Was a half a dozen records And a battered graphophone.

He would wind it up at twilight, With his wagon for a stage,

And send the “ folk songs” drifting Through the greasewood and the sage.

[Whenthe desert moon was coasting 1'own the sUir trails to the w est;

Wh- a the sunset’s gold had vanished Or r. distant mountain’s crest,

The he* * r, in the valley,
In the ' Ireiight’s dying glow,

Uved again the scenes of boyhood— In the songs of long ago.

♦Way down upon the Swanee ;** “Silver threads among the gold; —

He would smile a liftle sadly
At the words “I'm growing old. *

But he'd speed his old black briar When, with labored, dragging strain,

**Away down South in Dixie” Floated out across the plain.

It is just another story
Of the broken threads of life,

Of an old home in the Southland, Of a baby and a wife;

STust another sordid ending
Of a manhood, steeped In wine.

And the aftermath—the sheep herd And its keeper, John Devine.

Now he dhooses from his records One he loves above the rest.

Fondles it with clumsy fingers, Holds it briefly to his breast;

Sets the worm and rusted needle, Then he throws the thing in gear,

While a vagrant starbeam glistens In the splashing of a tear.

What beside the tender pleading In “Oh, weep no more today.

Brings the look of hungry longing To the eyes of faded gray?

(It’s the woman of the story, Singing in the sage land gloam,

JShe’s the alto in the chorus

Of “My Old Kentucky Home.**
___ Will Ferrell.

Back on the arid prame
A thousand miles, or more,
I still hear the grand old ocea

Caressing a starlit shore,
And the ripples ride
On the ebbing tide, ,

As the sands turn o er and o 1

The whispering wash of water w>.at pke can that music be

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vi as a half a dozen records And a battered graphophone.

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THE SONG IN THE SAGE.

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ood and the sage.

Ithe desert moon was coasting 'own the si.or trails to the west;

Back on the arid prairie
A thousand miles, or more,
I still hear the grand old ocean Caressing a starlit shore;—
And the ripples ride
On the ebbing tide,

As the sands turn o’er and o’er. The whispering wash of waters.

Perhaps ’tis the moon on the prairie, But tlou me iniuotl suo tcou-nmiugihiLt.

i *1 * 1 *
For the moon rides high in a silver sky,

And the waves are flecks of light. ’Tis the winds that pass

Through the prairie-grass, Transformed in the radiance bright.

Hark to that laughter eerie
’Tis the voice of a lonely loon From far away on the silver bay, In the bright path of the moon. ’Tis a screech-owl’s call,—
Ah,— that is all,—
For day will be breaking soon.

OUh, 1it1 lmLia,y bUet a scrte/VeVcehir-uowHli calling To welcome a brea’ki*ng day,—
And it may be the

r

That sounds like the song of the bay But the voice of the sea
Comes back to me,—
And my heart is away,—away.

i*i the sunset’s gold had vanished Or ~ distant mountain’s crest,

rtoehe*^r, in the valley,
In the ' ire.ight’s dying glow

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||!!|sk she cried to the man, H ^ # «u can. you canM

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of Chance;

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But the lullaby of the wind and sky, And the song of the blessed sea? Nay, ’tis only the breeze
Through the mesquite-trees.
Ah,— ’tis more than that to me.

And what is that salty fragrance That comes on the freshened air?

’Tis the perfume blown from the sea­ weed flats,

Far sweeter than incense rare. Nay,— ’tis only the dust
From the sun-baked crust,— Or those cactus flowers there,

• * TM d o n m S o Mu t hV i nT f i t Floated out across ti

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#w—broken1ireadsoflife, Of 8!1 old home ii the Southland,

Of ci he
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w UoUanotlher sord Of & manhood,

And the aftermau
And its keeper. Iw iill J i f f f l A

J^ow he chooses from his records One he loves above the rest,

Fondles it with clumsy fingers. Holds it briefly to his breast!

Bets the worm and rusted needfe, Then he throws the thing in gear,

[while a vagrant starbeam glistens In the splashing of a tear.

What beside the tender pleading In “Oh ween no more today/*

Brings the look of hungry longing

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Sfaftite hands— W 'lf..

"Wmave made for you tb Serstands!

found him espair,

/‘ground him— H^ms.in. the air*

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rod an uncharted sea, Bht to win and be free—

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THE WOMAN WHO HITDjBE-

^ . • Its austerity we love
ns our eyes from matter’s sway to that blue arch above

Echoing the'grim'coyote’s minor ^ fli ^

When the stars shine in their nip

And we join theater 3 “ r°Un^. our beds uP°n || sand,
But ere we leave ^he earth t o t Wh‘C\ SUrrounds f every hand;

Wepatthedesert’sshiningstrand?itsTo^Jlf f l (i

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We ri,e see ,b, eo„ e
[C, T f mcr tnan tfle gleam of gems from earth’s embosomed mi.

Sdtoe0flyste7°lnighttimeMdthesteTM«spim
ur sou s t eir strength and charm, which cannot pa’ss away.

Ira Hubert Sefton,; August 29, 1917.

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Attvt wait for your coming in vain.

For I know that a day approaches When your heart will tire of me;

•When by door and gate I may watch and wait ■*

For a form I shall not see,
When the love that is now mV heaven,

The kisses that make my life, You will bestow on another,

And that other will be your wife.

You will grow weary of sinning (Though you do not call It so),

You will long for a love that is purer Than the love that we two know.

God knows I have loved you dearly, With a passion strong as true;

But you will grow tired and leave me, Though I gave up all for you.

I was as pure as the morning
When I first looked on your face;

I knew I never could reach you *i in your high, exalted place.

But I looked and loved and worshipped As a flower might worship a star,

And your eyes shone down upon me, And you seemed so far—so far.

And then? Well, then, you loved me, Loved me with all your heart;

But we could not stand at the altar, We were so far apart.

If a star should wed with a flower The star must drop from the sky,

Or the flower In trying to reach it Would droop on its stalk and die.

But you said that you loved me, darling, And swore by the heavens above

..mat —■ "i'll iTiHTTwn~irr~hls angeis Would sanction and, bless our love,

And I? I was weak, not wicked, My love was as pure as true,

And sin itself seemed a virtue If only shared by you.

We have been happy together,
I Though under the cloud of sin,

But I know that the day approaches When my chastening must begin.

You have been faithful and tender, But you will not always be,

'And I think I had better leave you While your thoughts are kind of me

I know my beauty is fading— Sin furrows the fairest brow—

And I know that your heart will weary Of the face you smile on now.

You will take a bride to your bosom After you turn from me!

You will sit with your wife in the moon­ light,

And hold her babe on your knee.

Oh, God, I never could bear it;
It would madden my brain, I know *

And so while you love me dearly I think I had better go.

It is sweeter to feel, my darling— To know as I fall asleep—

That someone will mourn me and miss me That someone is left to weep.

Than to die as I should in the future To drop in the street some day,

Unknown, unwept and forgotten After you cast me away.

Perhaps the blood of the Savior Can wash my garments clean *

IPerchance I may drink of the waters That flow through pastures green.

Perchance we may meet in heaven

Lrr£in<i wallc ln the streets above, * Wjtn nothing to grieve us or part us

LGod says, Love one another” .And down to the depths of hell [TVill he send the soul of a woman

Because she loved— and fell? • t 4 ft i * *

And so in the moonlight he found her. Or found her beautiful clay,

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me clasp your tremulous lingers mine, as U j.r dlous quite,

your silvery bead on my bosom, you dui r»vhca ’twas shining gold;

tnehow I know no difference,
.lit ugh they say we are very old.

seventy-five years to-night, wife, SiEce.wa jLnelt at the altar low,

f And the fair young minister of God (He died long years ago)

Pronounced us one, that Christmas eve—- How short they’ve seemed to me,

The years—and yet I’m ninety-seven. And you are ninety-three.

That night I placed on your finger A band of purest gold;

And tonight I see it shining
On the withered hand I hold.

How it lightens up the memories That o’er my vision come!

First of all is the merry children That once made glad our home.

There was Benny, our darling Benny, Our first born pledge of bliss,

As beautiful a boy as ever Felt a mother’s loving kiss.

’Twas hard—as we watched him fading Like a flowerlet day by day—

To feel that He who had lent him Was calling him away.

My heart it grew very bitter
As I bowed beneath the stroke;

And yours, though you said so little, - I knew was almost broke.

We made him a grave ’neath the daisies (There are five now, instead of one)

And we’ve le.arned, when out Father chastens To say, “ Thy will be done.”

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Then came Lillie and Allie— twin
Just spared from the courts of heaven—

To comfort our hearts for a moment; God took as coon as he’d given.

Then Katie, our gentle Katie I We thought her very fair,

With her blue eyes soft and tender, And her curls of auburn hair.

Like a queen she looked at her bridal (I thought it were you instead):

But her ashen lips kissed her first born, And mother and child were dead.

We said that of all our number
We had two, our pride and stay—

Two noble boys, Fred and Harry— But God thought the other way.

Far away on the plains of Shiloh, Fred sleeps in an unknown grave;

With his ship and noble sailors Harry sank beneath the wave.

So sit closer, darling, closer—
Let me clasp your hand in mine:

Alone we commenced life’s journey. Alone we are left behind.

Your hair, once gold, to silver They say by age has grown;

But I know it has caught its whiteness From the halo round his throne.

They give us a diamond wedding This Christmas eve, dear wife;

But I know your orange blossorfis Will be a crown of life.

’Tis dark; the lamps should be lighted; And your hand has grown so cold. Has the fire gone out? How I shiver!

But, then, we are very old.
Hush! I hear sweet strains of music:

Perhaps the guests have come. No-—’tis the children’s voices—

I know them, every one.

On that Christmas eve they found them, Their hands ''together clasped;

But they never knew their children Had been their wedding guests.

} With her head upon his bosom, That had never ceased its love, They held their diamond wedding

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4410 Wornall Road, Kansas City, Mo. Her IiUHt Letter.

Sitting alone by thbJ***uW,t Watching the moon1,! su eet,

Bending my head to listen
To the well known sound of your feet,*

J }uive been wondering. daiiing, How 1 rein be«r Aie pain,

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Tien T with sighs and tear wet eyes, | When

Lifeless and pallid marble, For the spirit, had flown away.

The farewell words she had written . Hhe held to. her cold, wtflte breu«t.

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AN OLD

‘The rose is red, the violets blue/' Ah! those words, how sweet they

seemed,
IIn those days pf gingham aprons,

Hair in braids. W e sat and dreamed. -■IF

THE WOMAF WHO TJHDEB,

STANDS.

piioWhere sh„e waits.,.; to^m a^e/yoa jWjtt/ youj | soul in her firm white hands—

Somewhere the gods have made for you tb gj| Woman *Who Understands!

H the tide went out she found him jLashed to a spar of Despair,
I l f wreck of hig Ship around him—

The wreck of his Dreams, in the air; mnd him and loved him and gathered

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M sy change the view. But still my heart

■In the little old frante school house, k Where we- slyly hid from v>yiew, Pleading o’er that sweet ol<| love tale,

ir

JAY-

“The rose is red, the violets blu And “will you be my Valentin

pfjftg!®°ui that had sailed an uncharted sea,
nh sou! that had sought to win and be free—

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To speak disparagingly to others of hose whom we call friends and who be­

ll lieve in our friendship is discourteous as Ijwell as disloyal. No true gentleman levt?r permits himself to talk slightingly Jof an absent friend; indeed, he keeps

silence rather than speak ill of an enemy

who is not preserit. And what is true of 'the well-bred man is equally true of the well-bred woman. Both believe in the ancient maxim, “Speak no fivil of the dead or of the absent who are not here

to defend themselves.”
It is almost as bad as dispraise to

speak apologetically of absent friends or to “damn them with faint praise.** If they are more talented and more suc­

cessful than we are, all the more reason why we should not betray the envy of which we may be unconscious. “I must feel pride in my friends' accomplish­

ments as if they were my own,” said Emerson, who had a thorough compre­ hension of the nobler courtesies of life.

The ®°ul of him close to her heart- Hifl rCfe

i-»coaJa a«-» 5 c® 5 <*»3

H
■ - -r-JfcLandburg Wilson in Judgo.

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Sugar is sand. And so are you.

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At the boyish scrawling line,

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To you is true. Whenrosesfade,

And violets too cVUVI YivivvOi |ivV|

“Sugarissweetand0 areyou.ft And I gaze with much emotion

l\xfc ofwhichsheWaspart! MWathereintheduskshecriedtotheman,

Win your battle—you can. you canI’’

HpnbyPate, unrelenting,- ., 4rred by the lashings of Chance;

ifp Lis heart—unrepenting— gardened by Circumstance;

l^dpwed by Failure ever, lursing, he would have died,

SWt the touch of her hand, her warm,'strong hand,

And her love of his soul took full command. Just at the turn of the tide!

Standing beside him, filled With trust, “Win!" she whispered, “ you must/ you

Waddh lf@Bni? Woirdls

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(Copyright, 1922.)

j

As it passes into view, Urging, when that Were best, Through my school day retrospecti Holding her fears in hiding

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Ah! I still that youthful face see (Helping and loving and guiding,

“ Sugar is sweet and so are yo

Years have gone* and that old Swe heart,

Lies beneath the violets blue, But he leaves sweet recollections,

“ Sugar is sweet and so are yo “AUNT KATE.’

Deep in her quiet breast;
This is the woman who kept him

True to his standards lost,

When, tossed in the storm and stress of strife,

He thought himself through with the game; of

life- i ■ ;■ g - ■ • .

And ready to pay the cost.
Watching and guarding, whispering still,

*‘Win! You can—and you will, you, Will!*

This is the story of ages, > This is the woman’s way;

Wiser than seers or sages, ifting ufi, day bW day;

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HIGHLAND MARY.

Loreau,
I The years creep slowly by, Lorens, The snow Is on the grass again,

SENT LINCOLN’S SAD NOTE.

‘Wllion and Daniels Condole Kin of Men Who Fell at Vera Crux.

Washington, April 22.—Letters ex­ pressing the profound sorrow of Presi­ dent Wilson and Secretary Daniels at the death of the four sailors and ma~

Irines at Vera Cruz yesterday were* dis­ patched today by the Secretary of the Navy to the parents of the men.

The letters were addressed to William Poinsett of Philadelphia, Mrs. McKinnon of Brooklyn, mother of Coxswain Schu­ macher; Mayer Marten of Chicago and Michael Haggerty of Cambridge, Mass.

Mr. Daniels wrote to each:

This morning’s dispatches from Vera Cruz conveying the distressing news that your son was in the first line to give his life for his country saddens all America as thetragedy brings glooiri

into your home.
My feeling and the feeling of thd

President to you in. this sad hour wa^ expressed by President Lincoln whenj on November 21, 1864, he wrote tojt

Mrs. Blxby of Boston, whose five son^\\

gave their lives fighting under they

American flag:
“I feel how Weak and fruitless must

be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering tp you the consolation

that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our.Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement and leave

you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a

sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.”

* * ? " * an^. s^ars forever more have set, Jyp banks and braes, and streams around ,Tl*e sun’s low down the sky, Lorena;
m e thing's which our weak Judgment here } The castle o’ Montgomery, | Jhe frost gleams where the flowers have been.

. has spumed, jGreen be your woods, and fair your flow- IBut the heart beats on as warmly now The things o’er which we grieved with I — ers’ , , ... I As when the summer clays were nigh;

IAutumn Frag | The leaves are dying

II veins. The grasses are tv y blood of life make them gr

The decay and death of fragrance the charm of t

la<«hA<a wAt J Your waters never drumlie !
vrm . . - * . . . $There simmer first unfauld her robes.

Will flash before us out of life’s dark night | And there the langest tarry; As stars shine most In deepest tints of jFor there I took the last farweel

blue; I O’ my sweet Highland Mary.

And we shall see how all Gods plans are jiHow sweetly bloom’d the gay green birk, ngnt, I How rich the hawthorn’s blossom,
And how what seemed reproof was love |As, underneath their fragrant shade,

most true. If I clasp’d her to my bosom ! jThe golden hours, on angel wings,

jOhI the sun can never dip so low Adown affection's cloudless sky!

|A hundred months have passed, Lorena, Since last I held that band in mine,

[And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena, Though mine beat faster far than thine;

|A hundred months—’twas flow'ry May When up the hilly slope we climbed

To watch the dying of the day
And hear the distant church bells chime.

We loved each other then, Lorena, More than we ever dared to tell,

And what we might have been. Lorena, Had but our loving prospered well.

£ut then, ’tls past, the years are gone; I’ll not call up their shadow; forms.

11say to them, “Lost years, sleep on! Sleep on! Nor heed life’s pelting storms.*1

‘he story of the past, Lorena, Alas! 1 care not to repeat,

be hopes that could not last, Lorena, They lived, but only lived to cheat,

5

And we shall see how, while we frown and ILFlew °'er me and mv dearie;

. , _
God s plan goes on as best for you and

m e;

tlow, when we called He heeded not our cry

Because His wisdom to the end could see. So, even as wise parents disallow
- Too much of sweets to craving babyhood, So God, perhaps, Is keeping from us now

Life’s sweetest tilings because It seemetli good.

{IFor dear to me as light and life

I Was my sweet Highland Mary! j

,
iiWi’ mony a vow, and lock’d embrace,

Our parting was fu’ tender; And, pledging aft to meet again.

We tore oursels asunder;
But, oh, fell death’s untimely frost, That nipp’d my flower sae early!

Now green’s the sod and cauld’s the clay. That wraps my Highland Mary!

Oh, pale, pale now those rosy lips I aft ha’e kiss’d sae fondly!

lands and the fields this former forest and field

And If sometimes commingled with life's And closed for aye the sparkling glance

The swiftly flying toxicated with the ozone of

, spring she had the cares an 1 eLs-while now with man: how to look out for therose The last of the flower:

golden autumn sun while t all the hooks and crevices ;

| the fragrance of thc,r
1 kin vine and the yell<w-T

morning glories and the

wine

We find the wormwood and rebel and shrink.

That dwalt on me sae kindly! And moldering now in silent dust. That heart that lo’ed me dearly ;

But still within my bosom’s core

would not cause e’en one regret To rankle in your bosom now, For “if we try we may forget,”

PMW

Be sure* a wiser hand than yours or mineJ .Shall live my Highland Mary!

, Were words of thine long years ago.

Pours out tills potion for our lips to j drink.

And if some one you love is lying low

Where human kisses cannot reach his face,

Oh! do not blame the loving Father bo, But wear your sorrow with obedient

grace. |

And you shall shortly see that lengthened j breath |

Is not the sweetest gift God-sends his | friend,

And that sometimes the sable pall of death j

Conceals the fairest boon His love can1 send.

If we could push aside the gates of life

■"Stand, within, and all God’s work­ ings see/

We could interpret all this doubt and strife, And for each mystery could find a key.

But not today; then be content, sad heart, God’s plans, like lilies, pure and white

unfold,

We must not tear the close shut leaves apart,

Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.

And if through patient toil'we reach the land

Where tired feet with sandals loose may rer?t,

When we shall clearly see and understand

I think that we shall say, “God knows the bssc.’iu

^Si Wm-.. 1 WZWmiZm

—Robert Burns

ihese were words of thine, Lorena; They burn within my memory yet;

They touch some tender chords, Lorena, „ Which thrill and tremble with regret!

Tmf8 ; ot **** woman’8 heart that spoke- uhy heart was always true to me.

A duty stern and pressing broke
The tie that linked my soul with thee.

It matters little now, Lorena,
The past is in th’ eternal past.

Our hearts will soon lie low, Lorena; Life g tide is ebbing out so fast.

There Is a Future, O thank God

this is *° 8m*ll a part! » J© t0 dU8t beneath the sod,

But There—up There—’tis heart to heart!

-Henry D. L. Webster':

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washxxerox. April 22.—Letters ex Ipressing the profound sorrow of Presi­ dent Wilson and Secretary Daniels at

the death of the four sailors and ma­

rines at Vera Cruz yesterday wercrdis­ patched today by the Secretary of the Navy to the parents of the men.

The letters were addressed to William Poinsett of Philadelphia, Mrs. McKinnon of Brooklyn, mother of Coxswain Schu­

macher; Mayer Marten of Chicago and Michael Haggerty of Cambridge, Mass.

Mr. Daniels wrote to each This morning’s dispatches

Orus conveying the dfstrec iaat your son was in the fJ give his life for his count] all America as the tragedy hi Into your home.

M y feeling aad the feel] President to you In this sad expressed by President L!n< on November 21, 18(4, he

Mrs. Blxby of Boston, wh081 gave their lives fighting American flag:

*T feel how weak and fru be any words of mine wh attempt to beguile you from

overwhelming. But I cans from tendering tp you the < that may be found in the tha Republic they died to save. J

OUr Heavenlv PiLthpr mav a

Autumn Fragrance

ire dying for want of circulating dioou m tu< ses are turning gray and .brown; no more <3 se them gijeen* glossy and to wave in the sumn

death of the grasses and forest leaves send

Tie condemned himself again and again as an unutter­ able idiot. How long must the shadow of an ill-judged, mistaken action darken his life? His thoughts flew back

over the past five years. Memory gathered up the scat­ tered links til) all the details of that hour of anguish and the days following, rushed vividly before him. He re­ called as distinctly as though it were yesterday his ar­ rival in this rapidly-growing western city. Of the hard­ ships and various disappointments which come to every man who takes up the legal profession, he had had his ehpre, and had faced them all bravely. He smiled bit­ terly, as he recalled Jack's parting words, “the brilliant, gifted Frank Lorimer.” Well, it might be true, but for *11 that the weary months and years had been wasted.

son? managinTdi^ector ft
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blosso^ming*1wild° ffowers^'anef^he mountains are heavily snow?

Many residents of Los Ansrele« quentSU,rrri°osn? in8A t0wna m^ e gfre-

for resl i^at0, Arrowhead Springe

go eolelv for fueature wh»e others flved from *Kthe benefit to bo de- I

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fragrance tne lands and the former forest _ i

harm of which is unspeakably sweet. In tb

‘ields this fragrance brings again to those wl

n«*mniia the iovous barefoot days

long ago.
The swiftly flying crow is noisier

how to lookout for themselves. .. . . The last of the flowers are flinging their bcmmfal bo

golden autumn son while they dare "Jack Frost j o do hi all the nooks and crevices of the floating breezes of the daj the f r a g r a n c e ot their sweet unsullied breathings The rani

km vine and the yellowing cornfield mix their w M P morning glories and the yellow aster. Delightful autumn

toxkatei with the ozone of life in
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