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Show t Home Cf rclc The Little Blue Shoes. Tracey Foster Keith. I've a drawer full of tiny white garments gar-ments Of linen and lace laid away Where the tears tremble in through my fingers As I fondle them over each day. And there, carefully placed in their corner. Lest some trace of expression they lose That his wee dimpled feet have worn in them, ; Are my dead darling's little blue shoes. How the dainty, immaculate dresses Seem to breathe of the innocent charms Of the tiny plump shoulders they fitted, fit-ted, And the curve of the dear clasping arms Lives for me in the sleeves and folded. But my pitiful comfort I choose For the semblance of baby warmth in them From the worn, faded little blue i shoes. 1 In the hood, with its fluffy down border. bor-der. And the 60ft, cosy cloak, I can see The bonny face brimming with laughter laugh-ter And the azure eyes dancing with glee, With his ringlets like strands spun of sunlight What a treasure to have and to lose. Just when he was learning to patter At my side in his little blue shoes. The ribbons that laced o'er the instep I retie in their quaint, pretty bows. And the print of his lips I distinguish Where in rapture he tasted his toes; I nestle my face down upon them. And the wealth of the earth I'd refuse re-fuse Ere I'd part with a crease or a winkle Of the two cunning little blue shoes. In the silence outside of my window. The wintry moon shines cold and stern Where in his bleak grave at Mount Bethel. 'Neath the snow drifted over the fern. Lies the form that I so loved to cuddle. cud-dle. Which I find in my drea'ms but to lose When I wake, and alone in the midnight mid-night Go and cuddle the little blue shoes. A Girl's Comment on Men, When men can't crowd anything more upon a page, they turn over a new leaf. ' - . , Many a. woman freezes a man just to thinking he cuts ice. It all depends upon the niau whether - t--,,. a woman's last word is her sweetest or her hatefulest The first man who tries to shirtwaist shirt-waist would better go the whole length and call it a Mother Hubbard. .. The stupider a man is the more irresistible he thinks himself among women. Tou can't blame a woman . for say-, ing "no" to a man who is dead sure she will say "yes." . Some women only say "yes" because they can't bear to hurt anybody's feelings. feel-ings. A man has to keep telling a woman he's fond of her because she never really believes him. Some women know so little about men that they are pleased to be called "one of the boys." Many a woman thinks a man's all right because his diamond ring's true. The Minitor. Recipe For Happiness. A famous statesman, who had just celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday and seemed good for many years more, when asked for his prescription prescrip-tion for longevity, replied: "Don't worry." How true it is that worry is the handmaid of premature death. So if you wish to live a long and happy life don't worry. i We recognize that sorrow and joy i are the common lot of humanity. When ' fortune smiles we laugh and when she frowns we grieve. It is right to enjoy but wrong to brood. You have your troubles, admittedly; but who has none? If your distress is financial think that it might be worse and believe in a brighter prospect. If death is the cause of grief let resignation play an j angel's part. Ill-health is. perhaps, the j sorriest trial Of all, but hope is the good physician, and giving up but makes the malady harder to endure. When, troubles come, as they must to all, comfort them with a smile and count the friends you win. To the brave misfortune is an incentive in-centive to nobler deeds, and for the Aveakling that bends beneath adver sity we have no pity. No matter how trying the circumstances or true the distress let us maintain our equilibrium, equilibri-um, repress our emotions of outward sorrow and refrain from burdening i others with our anxieties and cares. We all know how popular those persons per-sons become who are forever airing their troubles and to what an extent they impair their chances for success. Be Not Afraid. When oppressive care o'ertakes you, And you face a world of wrong, And life's sunshine quite forsakes you Then dispel the gloom with song. When midst duty men t eceive you. And a stern fate holds you fast. And when thoughtless friends begrieve you. Mind you joy will come at. last. Look around you, look above you, Ev'ry where is conq'ring grace! God is mindful; angels love you; See in all His smiling face. Then, be true when cares o'ertakes you. Stand more r'rm amidst the wrong: Love divine will ne'er forsake you Love is wise, and love is strong. Choosing a "Wife. We are told ot a young man in Philadelphia, Phil-adelphia, who, courting one of three sisters, happened to be on a visit to her, when all the three were present, and when one said to the others, '1 wonder where our needle is." Upon which he withdrew, as soon as was consistent with politeness resolve I never to think more-of a girl who possessed pos-sessed a needle only in partnership, and who. it appeared, was not too wil informed as to the place where even that share was deposited. There is, however, one way of roughly rough-ly guessing the qualifications of a girl for the most responsible position of a wife. Find out the character of her mother, And whether the daughter has been a good one and a good sister.2 Ask yourself, if you respect as well as admire ad-mire her, and remember the words of Fichte: "No true and enduring love can exist without esteem; every other draws regret after it, and is unworthy of any noble soul." Thackeray said of women: "What we (men) want for the most p-kt is a humble, flattering, smiling, . child-loving, child-loving, tea-making being, who laughs at our jokes, however old they may be, coaxes and wheedles us in our hum ir , and fondly lies to us through life.' And he says of a wife: "She ought to be able to make your house olea.s-ant olea.s-ant to your friends; she ought to attract at-tract them to it by her grace. Let It be said of her: 'What an uncommonly nice women Mrs. Brown is!' Let her be, if not clever, an appreciator of cleverness. Above all, let her have a sense of humor, for a woman withT.it a laugh in her is the greatest bote in existence." It is, we think, only very weak men who wish their wives to "fondly lie" to them in this way. J-5ev ter to be occasionally wound up line an eight-day clock by one's wife and made to go right. There is no one who gives such wise and brave advice as a good wife. She is another, a calmer and a better self. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her. for he knows that when her criticism criti-cism is ' most severe, it is spoken in love and for his own good. Lord Bea-consfield Bea-consfield described his wife as "the most severe of critics, but a perfect wife." Burns, the poet, in speaking of the qualities of a good wife, divided them into ten parts. Four of these Ire gave to good temper, two to good sense, one to wit, one to beauty such as a sweet face, eloquent eyes, a fine person, a graceful carriage; and .the other two parts he divided amongst the other qualities belonging to or attending on a wife such as fortune, connections, I education (that is. of a higher standard than ordinary), family blood, etc.; but he said: "Divide those two degrees as you please, only remember that all these minor proportions must be expressed ex-pressed only by fractions, for there is not any one of them that is entkledto the dignity of integer." Catholic Citizen. After a Year. Is it a year or yesterday Since we were last together, love. Since from my side you turned away To seek some alien star above, Too far for ken of mortal clay-Is clay-Is it a year or yesterday? Is it a year or yesterday' Since I was called upon to bear ! A grief no balm can e'er allay, ' A woe that none may see or share? Since you have vanished, say, or say, Is it a year or yesterday? Is it a year or yesterday Since laughter died upon my, lips, And I became too sad -to pray. For jail my stars went in eclipse. And hope's aurora paled to gray Is it a year or yesterday? Is it a year or yesterday? "A year!" cries Loneliness, "a year!" But Pain with pallid lips cries "Nay! . Too fierce the pang, too fresh the tear, Too present seems the soul's dismay," Is it a year or yesterday? Susie M. Best in the Century. |
