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 TUMBLE DOWN HOUSE 
 
 
Prose and Poems 
 
 BY 
 
 NAN TERRELL REED 
 
 SAULSBURY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 BALTIMORE, MD. 
 
^<4 
 
 Copyright, 1919, 
 By Nan Terrell Eeed 
 
 SEP -d lyib 
 
 J. F. TAPLEY CO. 
 NEW YORK 
 
 ©CI.A52974i 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 This little book of PROSE and POEMS by Nan 
 Terrell Reed, is a class of literature that is provok- 
 ingly humorous, a bit fantastic, yet sweet and en- 
 joyable. 
 
 Nan Terrell Reed, born 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 born with a marvelous gift and 
 has wonderful powers of expression. Writes with an 
 enthusiastic ardor, a dash of recklessness and has a 
 mind that is both alert and inquisitive. 
 
 The evidence is overwhelming that Nan Terrell 
 Reed will be one of the foremost writers of prose and 
 poems of her day. We are sure her literary efforts 
 will be happily crowned with success. 
 
 Howard Allen Michener. 
 Rose Hill, Magnolia, Md. 
 July 16th, 1919 
 
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 Dreams 
 
 Full of the beautiful tilings. 
 
 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 Mountains 
 
 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. 
 
THE CASTLE OF DREAMING 
 
 Little 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. 
 
 Little glad hearts 
 
 Like 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. 
 
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 
 
 Torn 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 futile regret, 
 
 Keeping the good that comes from the sorrow, 
 
 All of the rest it is wise 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. 
 
'FRAID 
 
 Johnny Jones was slow as 'lasses ; 
 Jimmy Brown was keen on fight. 
 Didn't need a provocation 
 Just to show the world his might. 
 
 So he picked on Johnny daily, 
 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 Jones boy, even 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 
 
And the big-eyed children wondered 
 At the miracle 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 Jimmy made, 
 And the loyal little Johnny 
 Found a heart that wasn't — 'fraid. 
 
FAME 
 
 I WISHED 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 loaS of hay. 
 
 10 
 
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 hate 
 Upon the spotless page. 
 
 The Fixatif began to sniff. 
 
 And spit his nasty glue, 
 
 And said — "You won't look quite so nice 
 
 When both of us get through." 
 
 But on the piece of Paper, where 
 The hateful tears were slicd, 
 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 
 
THE JOURNEY 
 
 I'm weary and tired from my travels ; 
 And my clothes are all covered with dust; 
 And the heart in my body is heavy, 
 And only beats on — for it must. 
 
 I've hated the stones on the journey; 
 I've 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 dejfinite goal; 
 I only thank God, there's remaining 
 A little, lone song in my soul. 
 
 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. 
 
 12 
 
THE SPIRIT IN BACK 
 
 You're not a beastly slacker, 
 Just because you didn't fight, 
 If the reason that you didn't 
 Was a reason that is right. 
 
 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 the hero. 
 If you fought, but couldn't share 
 The glory 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. 
 
 13 
 
THE POPPY 
 
 Like a Poppy in a field of daisies 
 
 You have always seemed to me, 
 
 As I watched you in the different 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 ! lovely little flower — after all, 
 A breeze can bow your silken head; 
 A day or two, and then the petals fall 
 And leave a crimson Poppy — dead. 
 
 14 
 
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. 
 
 15 
 
A LETTER FROM ME AN' BAMBY-DOG 
 
 Gee ! we're lonely, 
 
 Me an' Baraby. 
 
 Seems just like no little heart 
 
 Was at home to keep us comfy, 
 
 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 you, 
 
 Me an' Bamby. 
 
 We ain't got nowhere to go ; 
 
 Some one's gone who understands us 
 
 "VVTien the "tides of Life ebb low." 
 
 Me an' Bamby 
 
 Ain't so selfish 
 
 That we wouldn't have you stay. 
 
 But we only want to tell you 
 
 How we feel when you're away. 
 
 16 
 
CHRISTMAS TIRED 
 
 I'm so tired 
 
 No poem dances 
 
 Through the cobwebs of my brain 
 
 I'm afraid no thought of Nancy's 
 
 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. 
 
 17 
 
HOME 
 
 It's a wonderful thing to be so sweet, 
 
 That you're livable every day, 
 
 And wherever you go 
 
 They like 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. 
 
 18 
 
SAFETY FIRST 
 
 The busy 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 born 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 burn 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 
 
THE MOVIE 
 
 I BELIEVE that Life is a Movie, 
 And the films that each of us make 
 Are full of humor and drama, 
 And the hearts we gladden or break. 
 
 I believe in the World's Big Picture 
 It's the human things that count, 
 And over the ever-changing screen 
 It is Love that is Paramount. 
 
 20 
 
THE PUZZLE 
 
 Life 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 sometimes I think when I'm lying awake, 
 Alone, in the stillness 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. 
 
 21 
 
THE TICKER 
 
 To mj 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. 
 
 For — 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 
 
 22 
 
LOVE 
 
 I've 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 beneath the stars above 
 
 There is no thing to take its place, 
 
 Or light again its dying face. 
 
 23 
 
YOUR EYES 
 
 Your eyes are not like summer skies. 
 Nor like the ocean blue ; 
 They're not the brown 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 3^our eyes, the little doors 
 Where all your soul looks through, 
 And I shall love them most of all 
 Because they're part of you. 
 
 24 
 
SMOKE 
 
 A MAN 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 only lasts twelve months, 
 So, though I may 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 sufficient to last a month — - 
 Though he fancied he needed more. 
 
 He was sure that the taste of the very first 
 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 through life 
 As you travel along the way 
 
 Toward the thing that dances beyond your reach, 
 And you hope to obtain some day, 
 
 25 
 
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. 
 
 26 
 
MARY ELIZABETH JEFFERSON 
 
 Mary Elizabeth Jefferson 
 
 Went to the school-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 Elizabeth 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. 
 
 27 
 
Mary Elizabeth Jefferson 
 
 Has plenty of fame and riches now, 
 
 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 torn 
 
 Lonely, and treated with bitter scorn — 
 
 A child so sad, with thoughts so old 
 
 Who never answered and never told. 
 
 28 
 
MY AEROPLANE 
 
 As I fly from New York in my aeroplane 
 And gaze on its buildings so high, 
 I look back with feelings I cannot explain, 
 And bid dear old New York — "Good-by." 
 
 Supposing I land in the 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 "right thing," 
 And I'm cremated on the descent. 
 If nothing is left to identify me — 
 Then no one will have to lament. 
 
 29 
 
PARODY 
 
 A FOOL there was, and he lost his wife, 
 
 Even as you and I, 
 
 And then at the end of the trouble and strife 
 
 He found she had formed quite a part of his life. 
 
 As maybe do you and I. 
 
 Oh! the da3^s he spent, and the ways he went 
 Because of his 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 wasn't fashioned so), 
 The every-day pain he had cost her. 
 
 30 
 
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." 
 
 31 
 
RUN DOWN 
 
 If a woman's disposition gets a sort of ragged 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 Pilgrim 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. 
 
 32 
 
BUNK 
 
 Tom says that poetry is bunk, 
 And that a loving wife 
 Would not be wasting paper 
 Writing verses all her 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 I'll bet they won't accept 
 My poems till I'm dead. 
 
 But won't my virtue take a leap 
 When I am laid away, 
 If some poor little book of mine 
 A royalty should pay. 
 
 33 
 
I DUNNO! 
 
 I USED to think that mebbe life 
 Held somethin' for a poor man's wife 
 Besides the work, and pinch and sich 
 That ain't inflicted on the rich — 
 But I dunno! 
 
 I used to see a little gleam 
 Of sunlight from a golden beam 
 A-shinin' through my special cloud, 
 But now it wraps me like a shroud — 
 And I dunno ! 
 
 I used to think that every one 
 Got out of life his share of fun, 
 But Gee! I guess it passed me by, 
 And sometimes I jest want to die — 
 But I dunno ! 
 
 34 
 
THE BUTTERFLY 
 
 You say I'm 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, 
 
 Though 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, too.? 
 
"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 probably 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 ought 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 say. 
 
 36 
 
SAYINGS 
 
 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 bright. 
 
 It's nice to have the whole world like 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 diversion 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- 
 thing. 
 
 37 
 
Some people who throw a fit about a low neck, 
 and a high skirt, 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 the 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 many 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 
 world — it shows. 
 
 If mothers realized what an asset good manners 
 were, they would spend more time instilling 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." 
 
 38 
 
We are none of us absolutely, perfectly honest; 
 we consciously, or unconsciously cheat about some 
 little thing. 
 
 When you feel like saying something nasty, re- 
 member that 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. 
 
 39 
 
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 little 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 lives 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 burn 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. 
 
 40 
 
Try to be big. It's a setting-up 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 live with your dearest re- 
 lations every day without friction. 
 
 More of us would believe in religion 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 them. 
 
 There are so many unlivable 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 enjoying 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 laugh. 
 
 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 much 
 as the one you take it out on. 
 
 41 
 
Immorality is easier to tolerate than vulgarity. 
 
 It's just as disgusting for a person to eat too 
 much as to drink 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 they 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. 
 
 42 
 
Selfish women often train their children into the 
 best channels, because they teach them to serve in- 
 stead of receive. 
 
 If you like a thing, say so. It doesn't cost but a 
 little effort, and it means a lot to the other fellow. 
 
 No matter what good advice we give to the love- 
 lorn, we'll be the same old fool when the disease hits 
 us. 
 
 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 troubles. It helps him, 
 And it may make your own seem insignificant. 
 
 For the sake of posterity you ought to remember 
 that the example you 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 3^ou 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. 
 
 43 
 
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 either good, bad, or in- 
 different to the whole world, exactly 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 thoughts. 
 
 We often say — "I wish I were Mr. So-and-So," 
 and yet if it were possible 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 is 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 something 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 
 
 44 
 
Life" that annoyed him, I suppose he would call 
 them "Cooties" to-day. 
 
 Ordinarily we have no patience with the things 
 we 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 "Right Road," it's a pity 
 there are not as many signs put up along the way 
 as the Automobile Club 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 "Get 
 away with it," it's 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 believe in Heaven. 
 We like to think that somewhere it is all made right. 
 
 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 jail, but thank 
 God they don't usually have time to realize it. 
 
 You 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 
 
 OHe. 
 
 45 
 
LIBRARY. OF, CONGRE^^^^^ 
 
 A