laughing about!" The mother, an invalid for years, who could answer an inquiry about her health with a quizzical smile and a quick "Sick abed, and worse up!" was not a burden but a joy to the children who found her room "the jolliest place in the house." A nonsense rime, a droll conundrum, a lively repartee, a story of misadventure, may all serve as sauce for a dull day. The appetite for fun may be coaxed to grow by what it feeds on until the mature woman, laden with responsibilities, can smile at her own small trials and help others to follow her example. She will learn first not to cry over spilt milk, and later will master an even more useful accomplishment, and will laugh over it. Youth's Companion, 1903. LEFT ALONE. It's the lonesomest house you ever saw, Four long weeks ago, an' it seems a year, I stay out of doors till I'm almost froze, I hate them to call me in to my meals, To swallow a mouthful of anything, A pourin the tea an' passin' the things Two big lumps of sugar instead of one "I'm too big to be kissed," I used to say, An' tuckin' the clothes up under my chin Things a boy makes fun of before his chums, There's no one to go to when things go wrong, There are lots of women, it seems to me, I can't make it out for the life of me An' her boy left here in this old gray house, I tell you, the very lonesomest thing 'Cause his mother is gone away. Toronto Globe. WHO THEN IS FREE? Who then is free? The wise man Who can govern himself. IF I WERE A VOICE. If I were a Voice-a persuasive Voice- And tell them to be true. I'd fly, I'd fly o'er land and sea, Telling a tale, or singing a song, In praise of the Right-in blame of the Wrong. If I were a Voice-a consoling Voice I'd fly on the wings of air; The home of Sorrow and Guilt I'd seek I'd fly, I'd fly o'er the crowded town, If I were a Voice-a controlling Voice- And, whenever I saw the nations torn Or hatred of their kind, Horace. I'd fly, I'd fly, on the thunder crash, If I were a Voice-an immortal Voice— I'd make their error clear. I'd fly, I'd fly, on the wings of day, If I were a Voice-a pervading Voice- I'd find them alone on their beds at night, And whisper words that should guide them right, Lessons of priceless worth. I'd fly more swift than the swiftest bird, Charles Mackay. A LOOK AT LIFE. Born of a fine old Pennsylvania family, educated at the State University, he entered business with his father in the coal and coke industry. The Trust desired his business, and after a bitter fight that killed his father he was forced to sell at a disadvantage. His life and conscience seared by the heartless strife of competition, he left his sorrowing mother at home, set out for the West, and stopped on the auriferous deserts of Nevada. Here were men with eyes so trained to see such magnificent distances, that the mental vision unconsciously encompassed a broad outlook on life, the insignificance of self and selfishness, and the joy and value of an unenvying brotherhood. He felt this in the very air, but, being soured and suspicious of mankind, he did not heed. Roulette and faro, run openly, were a fascination. He risked a dollar and won, and the passion was on him. The fevered, nervous strain and sleepless hours required stimulants, hence drink, debauches and the gamut of fast living were a natural consequence. Finally, his earlier training asserted itself, and his true nature revolting at the depths to which he had fallen, he packed a burro and started for the hills. Crossing a hot sand-blown desert, his parched throat burned with desire for its usual strong drink, and later became caked hard and dry for the want of moisture, but he pushed on toward a known spring, and willed that he would not turn back toward the accursed source of his debasement. Maddening thirst robbed him of his reason and he wandered a maniac, tearing his hair and biting his arms to suck moisture from his blood. Instinctively following the burro, he reached the spring, a pool worn in basalt, which held but a gallon, supplied by a tantalizing drip, drip, drip, from a crevice above. The burro, having drained the pool, the man laid on his back to catch each drop as it fell lingering a night and day between death and unconsciousness and waking to curse and bless each life-giving drop, he slowly regained his reason and strength. As night stole over the desert and the stars in their brilliancy seemed to bend down to fraternize with man, he knelt in fervent gratitude to God. Searching the vastness of the universe, |