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m ?*1 T'etft £>m Qtn /pn*tr era*^ aq+ _^ x9 0A«q 'P^u--\ n p^gi^ou 0Jis n o ^ rfi)iMiH m$m i I ; , J |k$ By.¥ia It > y ? ' ?B i'JBmKaWmM iMK|JsnI mm ?mfwrmea KMll T cswawE tJ tr tr a t /a y s h o e While we are all enthused—or should be—with an ardent desire to comfort our own and make ourselves more lovable while the opportunity remains, let me commend the families who ‘Vex their own with word and tone” (while <. i , , i i i they love their own the best), these H E Y found him by the roadside aeaa,verses. A ragged tramp unknown; When T am dead, forget me, dear, H is face upturned in mute despair, H is helpless arms outthrown. The lark above him sang a song O f greeting to the day, T he breeze blew fresh and sweet, and stirre H is hair in wanton play. They found no clew to home or name. But tied with ribbon blue T hey found a package, and it held A baby's tiny shoe. H a lf worn and old, a button off, It seemed a sacred thing; W ith reverence they wrapped it close And tied the faded string. And laid it on the peaceful breast That kept the secret w ell; And God will know and understand The story it will tell O f happy times and peaceful home That dead tramp some time knew. W hose only relic left him was The baby's tiny shoe. ?nLCwMaffiSraSUK ? rw *-* o 0» o a PT f§X> »r*-£ ** 0 ~ © 2.C3 t=r so er <rt- CD CD o CO 5 ® CO X 1 • 09 o S5 o3, far* 0C3D gj. MmSt EmT 5 2 ® 0o H 99 o W m m 0£9 CD Bmi a5 vo *0 (9 ZV CD P w, n 6 M Ml 09*5 99 m CD *f O CD ?9© TC to For I shall never know, Though o’er my cold and lifeless hands Your burning tears should flo w ; 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 C ongreve Ot “ The C astle and O ther mmmm . ? ? V erses.i; Can someone tell me how ink stains from books? may remove Margaret. Just Jealous: Remember the unavail­ing 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 hon­est 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 re­finement than country people.” Not necessarily. Refinement is a mat­ter of family training and strict ob­servance of the golden rule. Ease of manner is seldom a gift of na­ture. It comes through close attention to mimjte details and an accurate knowl­edge 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 com­fort 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 m CD tr+r P®* ® OGO JSftgSI IS i n ? hM§bpU|ve I imm mm Mu- H'mlpmli n liiill Hmtmwi mmm m 03 oa 3 I CD OO Q<!Df lllllllJ cn a D> CD ta CW B 1 MBs— K1 VS 99 CD O ?