Prose and Poems

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TUMBLE DOWN HOUSE

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Prose and Poems

NAN TERRELL HEED

I

SAULSBXIKY PUBLISHING COMPANY

BALTIMOK£, Ml>.

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" TilS KfiW VftUK 1
PUBLIC UB3A^? I

10803B

Copyriglit, 1919,

By Nan 1

J. F. TAPLEY CO.

n,gt,7cdT:G00glc

INTRODUCTION

This little book of PROSE and POEMS by Nan
Terrell Keed, is a class of literature that is proTok-
ingly humorous, a bit fantastic, jet sweet and en-
joyable.

Nan Terrell Reed, bom in Connecticut, is a woman
with a strong character, endowed with a clear brain,
a quick sympathy, and a heart that is alive to all
the beauties of nature. She is a charmingly sweet
person, quiet and unassuming.

While not as yet widely known in the literary
world, she is a real genius. As is seen from her lit-
erary efforts, she was bom with a marvelous gift and
has wonderful powers of expression. Writes with an
enthusiastic ardor, a dash of recklessness and has a
V, ' mind that is both alert and inquisitive.
■^ The evidence is overwhelming that Nan Terrell
u_ Reed will be one of the foremost writers of prose and
-IT poems of her day. We are sure her literary efforts
to will be happily crowned with success.
^ How ABB Allen Michenxk.

Rose Hill, Magnolia, Md.
July 16th, 1919

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lyGOOgIC

TO THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES

Oh ! clever Builder, if you are wise —

Wise as your prophets claim,

You will open the road

That leads my feet

On to the City of Fame.

You will build by the way a Castle of Dreuns

Full of the beautiful things.

Where all day long in a golden cage

The Bluebird of Happiness sings.

You will build me a Bridge where I may pass

Back through the Forest of Years,

Over the Movintains

Of Worry and Care,

Over the River of Tears;

Where I may see with the Eyes of Youth,

And hold again in my hand

The Treasure of Life, that lies unspoiled

On the Border of Childhood Land.

n,g -ccT'GoOgIc

THE CASTLE OF DREAMING

IaTitui gold heads

Like chrysanthemums nodding;

Little sweet mouths

Like the red of a rose;

You are so dear

When a soft, childish slumber

Beckons the time for

Your eyelids to close.

IJttle glad hearts

liike the buds of a flower,

Pausing to burst

To the richness of bloom.

What do you care

For a future that's calling.

Full of the blending

Of brightness and gloom.

Little child souls

In the Castle of Dreaming,

While overhead

Are the fairies of birth.

You, unaware

Of the years that shall follow,

Wait for the kiss

Of the Princes of Earth.

n,g -ccT'GoOgIc

ONE DAY AT A TIME

One day at a time-^—

It's all in the knowing

We can accept

what a Future shall give

As pages, where each daily lesson is showing

Tom from the Book of our learning to live.

One day at a time —

Is all that's required.

Just from a sunrise

To falling of night;

Smiling altho we are troubled and tired,

One day at a time, we can try to do right.

One day at a time —

Too busy to borrow

Out of the past

A futDe regret.

Keeping the good that comes from the sorrow,

All of the rest it iswise to forget.

One day at a time —

Some heart may depend

On your little day

To make it seem bright.

Who knows but the service of living may end

With this little day, as it slips into night.

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'FBAID

Johnny Jones was slow as 'lasses ;
Jimmy Brown was keen on fi^t.
Didn't need a provocation
Just to show the world bis mi^i.

So he picked on Johnny dailj,
Taunted him with being 'fraid ;
Johnny always acted wooden
At suggestions that he made.

Jimmy like a rooster flaunted
In the school yard day by day.
While the Jonea boy, evea tempered,
Slowly ambled on his way.

One day Jimmy, like a smarty.
Called the "Stars and Stripes" a "rag".
As above the children's playground
Floated out the country's flag.

Johnny Jones was slow as lasses,
But at home he had been taught
That his father like a hero
In the Civil War had fought;

That a brother, whom his mother
Hardly could afford to spare.
Had been fighting with the soldiers
In a town called — ^"Over There.**
8

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And the big-eyed children wondered
At the mirade they saw,
When an irate Johnny planted
Smashing blows on Jimmy's jaw.

Johnny Jones was pretty valiant
Though he trod the peaceful way —
Slow as 'lasses, never taking
Part in quarrels every day.

But a something was included
In the insult Jinwty made.
And the loyal little Johnny
Found a heart that wasnH — 'fraid.

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FAME

I WISHES to-day

On a load of hay

That the World would bring me Fame ;

That the second leaf of a little book

Would sometime bear my name.

How many desires

From Ambition's fires

Are whispered in just this way —

To the far-off stars of the silent night.

Or a passing load of hay.

t: Go Ogle

ART

The Charcoal Stub and the Fixatif
Leaned over a Paper white,
And the Fixatif gave a sticky smile
At the Charcoal, black as night.

Said he — ^"I'm sick of my yellow tint,
And I cannot tell, I'm sure.
Why you should be so smutty-like
And Paper look so pure."

The Charcoal Stub grew angry then,
And in his jealous rage
He wept some bitter tears of bate
Upon the spotless page.

The Fixatif began to sniff.

And spit his nasty glue,

And said — ^"You won't look quite so nic«

When both of ua get through."

But on the piece of Paper, where
The hateful tears were shed,
Appeared a lovely picture of
A woman's face instead.

You did not know, old Charcoal Stub,
That tear drops from your eyes,
With Fixatif 's eternal glue
Could so immortalize,
11

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THE JOURNEY

I'm weary and tired from my travda ;
And m; clothes are all corered with doit;
And the heart in my body is heavy.
And only beats on — for it most.

I've hated the stones on the journey;
Tve carried the weight of a load,
With only this one consolation —
The joy of selecting the road.

I haven't a sense of direction;
I haven't a definite goal;
I only thank Grod, there's remaining
A little, lone song in my sonl.

A song — when I've dropped by the wayside
Too dusty, and tired, and footsore,
That helps me to pull up my shoulders
And start on the journey once more.

Oh! Life, at the Gateway of Pleasure
You robbed me in taking your toll,
But all unaware you have left me
A little lone song in my soul.

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THE SPIRIT IN BACK

Yon'sE not a beastly slacker,
Just because you didn't fi^t,
If the reason that yoa didn't

Was a reason that is ri^t.

You're not a blooming quitter,
If the Army, or the Boss,
Or a circumstance decided
That you shouldn't "go across."

You're just as much tbe hero,
If you fought, but couldn't share
The ^ory that is shining
From the little Croix-de-Guerre.

You're not a rotten coward,
If you felt a thrill of fear
When the first big sound of battle
Came a-smashing in your ear.

It's whether you were ready,
As the shells went whizzing by.
To meet it like a soldier
Who was not afraid to die.

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THE POPPY

Like r Poppy in a field of daisies

You have always seemed to me,

As I watched you in the differeat phases

Of a life so trouble-free.

And those who do not see the blue of skies.
Or note the green of velvet grass.
Will never fail to turn admiring eyes
To greet a Poppy as they pass.

Oh! lovdy little flower — after all,
A breeze can bov your silken head;
A day or two, and then the petals fall
And leave a crimson Poppy — dead.

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THE TUMBLE-DOWN HOUSE

It's only a little tumble-down house,
That's sadly in need of repair —
With a rickety fence, and a yard unkept —
Yet the Spirit of God dwells there.

It's there you may learn the portion of joy
That lies in an every-day thing
From a woman with hair as white as the frost
And a heart as young as the Spring.

Yes — only a little tumble-down house
That's sadly in need of repair —
The home of a mother with toil-worn hands —
Yet the Spirit of God dwells there.

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A LETTER PROM ME AN* BAMBY-DOG

Gbe ! we're lonely.

Me an' Bambj.

Seems just like no little heart

Was at home to keep us eonitj.

No one here to take our part.

Gee ! we like you.

Me an' Bamby.

No one else can take your place.

We go 'round so sort of stupid

Looking for the absent face.

Gee! we miss jou,

Me an' Bamby.

We ain't got nowhere to go ;

Some one's gone who understands us

When the "tides of Life ebb low."

Me an' Bamby

Ain't 80 selfish

That we wouldn't have you stay,

But we only want to tell you

How we feel when you're away.

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CHRISTMAS TIRED

I'm 80 tired

No poem dances

Through the cohwebs of my brain ;

I'm afraid no thought of Nancy'B

Ever will be fresh again.

I*m so tired

That Christmas only

Means a tinsel on a tree.

Holidays and life are lonely

When you're tired as you can be.

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HOME

It's a wonderful thing to be bo sweet,

That you're livable every day,

And wherever you go

They lite you so

They're anxious to have you stay-

It's a wonderful thing to know at home

There are those who want and miss you.

And wonderful arms

To hold you fast

And wonderful lips to kiss you.

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SAFETY FIRST

The busj stork one July night
Planned out a journey for hurried flight,
And soaring out of the old, cold North
He landed in town on July Fourth-
He stopped as he heard the fireworks' noise,
And gazed at the clamoring girls and boys ;
He shook his head in a doubtful way,
And said — "I've chosen an awful day —

"A child that's bom on the Fourth, I fear.
Would crave this tumult throughout the year;
I'd better not land while the rockets burst
But wait till the morrow brings — 'Safety First.' "

So he hovered over the little town,

And then in the morning fluttered down,

And a little soul was started forth.

While the stork- went back to the old, cold North.

Though sometimes now, as the years go by,
The heart of the man breathes forth a sigh
And longs for the trumpets noisy blare,
For the stars that fall from the rockets glare —

Still — fireworks bum in a cruel way,
And rockets only last for a day.
And he hears the voice of the old stork call
That "Safety First" is the best of all.
19

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THE MOVIE

I RELIEVE that Life is a Morie,
And the fihns that each of us make
Are full of humor and drama,
And Gte hearts ve gladden or break.

I bdjere in the World's Big Picture
It's the human things that count,
And over the ever-chan^g screen
Xt is Love that is Paramount.

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THE PUZZLE

Lite is a puzzle of thoughts and dreams,
Of longing, and heartache and pain; —
The pieces seem always too hopelessly mixed
To put back together again.

But aometimes I think when I'm lying awake.
Alone, in the stiUoess of night,
That Fate, after all, will reach out her hand
To move them — and make it right.

The loves unattained, the hopes unfulfilled,
The things we have dreamed of, or done.
Will change from the thousand scattered bits
And perfectly blend — into one.

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THE TICKER

To my tick-a-tick, tick.

It is BUY or SELL quick

As I run off a yard or a mile ;

Some gaze on my tape with pain and despair.

While others around me can smile.

Por — I am the ruler of millions of men;

Of millions of dollars as well.

I can give a man happiness, future and wealth—

Or make his whole life look like H

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LOVE

VvB seen men love

Where Love dwelt not

In some secluded garden spot.

And neither moon

Nor starry skies

Could lend a radiance to Love's eyes.

I've seen men love

In some dim shop

Where clanging wheels that never stop,

And poverty, and pain, and tears,

Were daily ringing in Love's ears.

I've seen men love

When Love had fled

From other eyes, and left them dead

To all the dreams that once were there,

To everything that Love found fair.

I've seen men love,

And cease to love —

And still heneath the stare above

There is no thing to take its place,

Or light again its dying face.

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YOUR EYES

Youft eyes ore not lik« Bummer skJes,
Nor like the ocean blue ;
They're not the brewn they say
Denotes a heart that's fond and true.

They're not the shade of violets,
Or dangerous siren green,
Or are they eyes of steady gray
With insight cold and keen.

They're just your eyes, the little doors
Where all your soul looks throu^,
And I shall love them most of all
Because they're part of you.

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SMOKE

A MAS swore off the first of the year
From smoking — "vile cigarettes;"
His friends looked at him with doubtful smiles
And placed on him several bets.

He said — "I believe it's a good resolve.
And it onlj lasts twelve months,
So, thou^ I maj find it a little hard,
It will show them my will for once.**

And many a day throughout the year
He longed for the pungent smell
Of the curling smoke that winds itself
Around the brain like a spell.

Until at last with his penance done,
He hurried to purchase a store
That was quite suScient to last a month —
Though he fancied he needed more.

He was sure that the taste of the veri/ firtt
Would everything else surpass.
But he knew, as he smoked, that he'd spent a year
In the worship of dried-up grass.

Have you noticed too, that all tiirough life
As you travel along the way

Toward the thing that donees beyond your reach.
And you hope to obtain some day,
25

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That it seems when you touch the distant goal
The object has changed its form,
And the ardor you felt in swift pursuit
Has suddenly grown — luke-warm.

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MARY ELIZABETH JEFFERSON

Maby Elizabeth Jeffebson

Went to the scliool-house on the hill

In a little town called Talcotville,

And her face was thin, and her shoes were worn,

And her clothes were faded and patched <and torn,

And the children laughed at her with scorn —

And Mary Elizaheth always heard,

But never answered a single word.

Mary Elizabeth Jefferson

Hadn't an extra share of looks,

But she knew a lot when it came to books.

And she used to dream of the things she read

When she lay at night in her wooden bed,

With an arm beneath a tousled head;

And her heart was sad, and her thoughts were old.

But Mary Elizabeth never told.

Mary Elizabeth Jefferson

Plodded on till the dreams came true.

And she did the things that she planned to do

By the very force of her brain and will.

And those from the school-house on the hill

Are talking about the wonder still.

And credit the town with what was done

By Mary Elizabeth Jefferson.

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Hary Elizabeth Jefferson

Has plenty of fame and riches nov,

But the hurt of life is there somehow

For a child too thin, with shoes too worn;

With clothes that were faded and patched and toirzi ^

Lonety, and treated with bitter scorn —

A child so sad, with tiioughts so old

Who never answered and never told.

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MY AEROPLANE

Afi I fly from New York in my aeroplane
And gaze on its buildings so high,
X look back with feelings I cannot explain,
And bid dear old New York — "Good-by."

Supposing I land in Uie cool, briny deep.
Or maybe on some lonely isle;
Supposing I land on the top of a tree
With no one inside of a mile ;

Supposing the engine won't do the "ri^t thing,"
And I'm cremated on the descent.
If nothing is left to identify me —
Then no one will have to lament.

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PARODY

A TOOL there was, and he lost his wife,

Even OS ;ou and I,

And then at the end of the trouble and strife

He found she had fonned quite a part of his life.

As maybe do you and I.

Oh! the days he spent, and the ways he went
Because of hia selfish whim,
But he never could know nor understand
(His sort is quite common in any land),
That the fault lay alone with him.

Because of the ache of her heart, and its break

She had a desire to be free.

For the most of her lived, though the some of her

died,
And she still retained a considerable pride —
Just as with you and me.

The Fool brushed aside the poor little bride,
And left her alone and neglected,
Then he said it was wrong — (I say it was not)
When a lover of old, who chanced on the spot.
Just offered a love that protected.

It isn't the fact that the Fool hadn't tact
To act like a man when he lost her.
It's the coming to know that he never could know^
(For the depth of his brain weisn't fashioned so)^
The everj-day pain he bad cost her.
30

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SPRING

At the time of the year

When there's sure to appear

Many poems of depth and duration,

On the wonderful Spring,

And the joys it will bring

To the whole of the raptured creation,

I cannot expound

On the sight and the sound;

On the skies and the grass underneath,

But I always can say

In a forcible way —

"Warm weather will be a relief."

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RUNDOWN

Iv a woman's disposition gets a sort of r&gg^ edge ,

Or a man keeps on with smoking,

And forgets to sign the pledge,

Then they go to see a doctor —

He's the wise man of the town —

He says, "Your nerves are shattered,

And I think you're all run down."

Our good old FUgrim Fathers would rise if they

could see
The present sickly sample
Of our young humanity.
We have our Christian Science,
And a lot of clever men.
But there isn't any mortal
Who can wind us up again.

I might make a few suggestions, or propose a better

scheme.
Or write a few more verses
Upon this little theme,
But I'm growing awful jumpy.
And my forehead wears a frown ;
I think my nerves are shattered,
And I guess I'm all run down.

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BUNK

Tou says that poetry is bunk.
And that a loving vife
Would not be wasting paper
Writing verses all ber life.

And yet, if I should ever win
A little share of Fame,
Why! Tom would be so happy that
He wouldn't look the same.

The worst of luck has always rained
Upon my poor old head,
And so 1*11 bet they won't accept
My poems till I'm dead.

Bat won't my virtue take a leap
When I am laid away,
If some poor httle book of mine
A royalty should pay.

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IDUNNO!

I USED to think that mefabe life
Held somethm' for a poor man's wife
Besides the work, and pinch and sich
That aint inflicted on the rich —
Bat I dnnno !

I used to see a little gleam
Of snnligfat from a golden beam
A-sbiniii' throogh mj special cloud.
Bat now it wraps me like a shroud —
And I diumo!

I ased to think that eroy one
Got out of life his share of font
But Gee! I gaess it passed me by.
And sometiines I jest want to die —
But I dunno!

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THE BUTTERFLY

Yon aay Fm a Butterfly, Mary Jayne,
Was I once a cat'piller, too ;
Did I go to sleep in an old cocoon
And change into something new?
Well, you were a little, teeny, brown seed
_ And you went to bed in the ground.
Why ! they put you so deep in the dark, cold earth
I was sure you could never be found.

But when I came out of my little gray house

I found you a pretty pink Rose,

Thou^ how little seeds get out of their beds

Is a secret that nobody knows.

You say I'm a Butterfly, Mary Jayne,

A pink Rose I'm going to call you,

And a Butterfly finds a Rose so sweet;

Does a Rose like a Butterfly, tooP

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"SOME FOLKS"

When your spirits are low,
And Life's pretty slow.

Then get a good book out, and read it;
If you're too cross to talk
You can go for a walk

In the woods — and you prohatdy need it.

If you grouch all the while.
And don't learn to smile,

Your face will look ugly to men.
And the things you regret
You ou^t to forget.

Or try not to do them again.

It's all very nice,
And splendid advice

For the World to live up to each day,
But I reckon you know,
For we've all found it so —

It's harder to do than to tay.

n,gt,7cdT:G00glc

They say — "He that is down need fear no fall,"
but he still has to worry about the kicks.

Love grows dim as Obligation grows bri^t.

It's nice to have the whole world Hke you some,
and some like you a whole lot.

One of the troubles between mother-in-law and
wife is that they try too hard to "get along."

Competition is great before marriage, and dan-
gerous afterward.

If you can't change your environment, don't be
ashamed of it; if you can, get busy and do some-
thing.

Some people say the rich aren't the happiest peo-
ple in the world. Maybe not, but it's fine to have
something to buy a diversioii with, when you are un-
happy.

There are people who are so stingy that they
wouldn't fall in love, for fear it would cost some-

n,gt,7cdT:G00glc

Some people irho throw a fit about a low neck,
and a high akirt, have minds that wouldn't bear the
same amount of exposure.

Quite often those who can't get to business on
time, can't get business.

Don't be a quitter ; wait until &e end of the show
anyway— often the last act is the best.

Don't let your thoughts get into a rut. The way
to keep the body young, is to keep the spirit young.

If the Lord made you homely, put so man; pleas-
ant lines into your face that no one will remember
it's plain.

Some people's goodness is like pins that stick out
from them to make you uncomfortable. The best
goodness unconsciously throws out a wonderful in-
fluence.

If you are well-bred, you don't have to tell the
worli — it shows.

If mothers realized what an asset good manners
were, they would spend more time iastilling them
into their children.

The selfish people take the "right of way,"
while the unselfish crawl up onto the bank to let
them pass.

If we were as tolerant of others, as we expect them
to be of us, this world would indeed be a "free coun-
try."

n,gt,7cdT:G00glc

We are none of us absolutely, perfectly bonest;
we consciously, or unconsciously cbeat about some
little thing.

Wben you feel like saying Bometbing nasty, re-
member tbat your victim may be as sensitive as you
are, and think how long you felt the sting of an
unkind word. If he isn't sensitive, it would have
been wasted anyway.

Don't feel disgusted with people because they are
stupid. You might better envy them their peace
of mind.

If the little boy isn't taught to have respect and
consideration for other people, how can you expect
the grown man wilL

Most mothers are inflicted with a form of con-
ceit in regard to their children, that invariably
places the child in the light of — "The king can do
no wrong."

Those who can't make up their minds are often
those whose minds are in such small pieces that they
can't get them together.

Did you ever notice that the man who is looking
for a perfect woman for a wife, usually has the soul
of a shrimp?

Some people are clouds, and some are sunshine.
Think yourself over, and see in which class you be-
long.

10S03B

The friends who give you a whack, and say "Cheer
up, don't grouch," are usually those with nothing
much in their heads, and nothing at all in their
hearts. When you get real sympathy, it comes from
the fellow who says — ^"I understand, old chap, I've
been through it too."

The conceited people are the happiest in the world,
for no tortures of doubt, or pangs of envy can up-
set their equipoise.

The litUe things that a man does to, and for his
fellow men, are lines that go to make up a picture
of his soul.

Every one who comes into our liTee leaves a thumb
print. We are lucky if they don't leave a hole.

With proper time and treatment, barren ground
may become a garden, or a gutter snipe a lady, but
you can't raise a soul — it has to be inherent.

Enthusiasm is a fire that needs regulating so that
it will keep us warm, and not bum us up.

The most essential thing in life is to have an in-
terest in something.

If you don't do something every day to make
life a little better for some one else, you will never
grow better yourself.

It's all right to weep a little. You know the Lord
believes in rain, but you want to be sure to let the
sun shine often, so the things in your life can grow.

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Try to be big. It's a setting-ap exercise for the
souL

Some people who are sweet in public, are Devils to
live with at home.

Don't let the worship of money loom so large
that it shuts out the other important things in life.

It isn't a bit strange that two married people
quarrel, when it's hard to Uve with your dearest re-
lations every day without friction.

More of us would believe in rdigion if those who
preached it — ^lived it.

It's no credit to a person to be good if they have
never had the opportunity or desire to be otherwise.

Some folks are exposed to the best things of life,
but they don't catch theni.

There are so many unlivaUe people. One reason
is that most of us want to get more out of life than
we give, and lots of us want something for nothing.

You don't want to put off enjo3'ing life, because
you may be picked off the Earth any minute.

You can get a very good insight into a person's
nature by knowing the things that make him lau^.

One woman never knows whether another is really
her friend until they have had a man in common.

Jealousy is a double-header — ^it hurts you as mnch
as the one you take it out on.

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Immoralitj is easier to tolerate than vulgarity.

It*9 juBt as disgusting for a person to eat too
much as to drint too much, and it's just as detri-
mental to the system; the only thing is that the
world doesn't condemn the former.

Public Opinion is sometimes a nasty old cat who
minds your business.

Public Opinion is sometimes a lot of old ideas that
came out of the Archives of Custom. No one wants
to live up to them, but nearly every one is afraid not
to.

Public Opinion is sometimes the Board of Cen-
sors that rules all the exciting plays off the Stage of
Life — after thet/ have seen the show.

When we talk to a good many people, it's like
throwing our thoughts overboard. We never seem
to get anything back. But perhaps some of them
do wash up on a foreign shore, and comfort a lonely
heart.

You may think you've reached your "elastic limit,"
but there's considerable stretch to the human heart.

Don't go around sticking pins into people's joy
balloons — ^they'll burst soon enough without it.

There are two things that help a lot — a sense of
humor, and a love of books.

You can be wicked if you want to, but you had
better be sure you are willing to pay the price.
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Selfish women often train their children into the
best channels, because they teach them to serve in-
stead of receive.

If you lite a thing, say so. It doesn't cost but a
Jittle effort, and it means a lot to the other fellow.

No matter what good advice we give to the love-
lorn, well be the same old fool when the disease hits '

Don't be too severe. Many a beautiful flower
wilts and dies under the cold blast of a frost.

Listen to the other man's trouWes. It helps him,
and it may make your own seem insignificant.

For the sake of posterity you ought to remember
that the example jou set your children will be
handed down to the second generation.

Many a man who calls his stenographer a bone-
head, couldn't write a paragraph without an error,
and a lot of them couldn't spell the letters they dic-
tate.

If JOU want a home, marry a man who hasn't
had one.

If men were as careful about offending their wives
as they are their servants, a lot of women would be
more contented.

Men who spend a dollar a day on cigars, often
can't bear to have their wives go to the "movies"
twice a week.

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Men marry women because they think they are
pure, and feel much upset when they find them only
cold.

A man thinks a woman is eitiier good, bad, or in-
different to the whole world, ezactiy as she has ap-
peared to him, and yet most women are chameleons —
and most men bring out in them the echo of the notes
which sound in their own thouj^ts.

We often say — "I wish I were Mr. So-and-So,"
and yet if it were possiUe to trade places, there
would be at least one thing in our own lives that we
wouldn't care to give up.

Don't drag out the Ghosts of the Past any oftener
than it's necessary to keep from making new ones.

There is a difference between Happiness and Con-
tentment — Happiness ie learning to live — ^with Love;
Contentment is learning to live without Love.

Many a heart is as clumsy at Love, as an organ-
grinder at a violin — you know how it sounds.

I used to know a man who said — "Some women
have to do sometliing they are sorry for, before they
feel better,"

Sometimes it takes only a little effort and kindling
to start a fire, sometimes it takes a lot, but when
it's out, it's out.

My father used to say it was the "Mosquitoes of
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Life" that annoyed him, I suppose he would call
them "Cooties" to-day.

Ordinarily we have no patience with the things
ve cannot understand.

If everything we thought and did showed on our
faces, some of us would be arrested and put in jail.

If we are to choose the "Bi^t Road," it's a pity
there are not as many signs put up along the way
as the Automobile dub of America furnishes. Even
then, you know we might take a wrong turn on a
dark night.

Nine out of every ten of the Big Crooks "Gret
away with it,** it*a the Little Amateur who is caught
and punished.

One of the most cruel hurts of Life, is the injustice
of things. That is why some of us beheve in Heaven.
We like to think that somewhere it is all made ri^t.

Half the world has to go to work somewhere from
dawn to dark, and then go home to bed only to get
up again and do it all over every other day in the
week. They might just as well be in jtul, but thank
God they don't usually have time to realize it,

Vou can get used to almost anything. There is
nothing more monotonous than the tick of a clock,
yet how many people notice it unless it's a very new
one.

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r

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t: Go ogle

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