Class. Book ightN . COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. NEW YORK BARSE AND HOPKINS PUBLISHERS Z.s* A347813 n'H^-* 1 "- 1 '" SSBS sec rom5 17b my SPa/ Copyright, 1913, by^ BARSE AND HOPKINS The publishers and compilers take pleasure in acknowl- edging the following courteous permissions to use copy- righted material, as follows: To Messrs. B. W. Burleigh and G. G. Wenzlaff for Mr. Joseph Mills Hanson's " My Pal and I," from the third edition of "A Book of Dakota Rhymes ; " to Mr. Bliss Carman for an excerpt from " The Joys of the Road;" to Messrs. Small, Maynard and Com- pany for two stanzas from the late Richard Hovey's " Bar- ney McGee ; " to Mr. Charles Edward Russell for three stanzas from " Adam's Sons ; " to Mr. Mitchell Kennerley for Mrs. Theodosia Garrison's "A Thanksgiving;" and to Miss Rena Albertyn Smith, Miss Grace Berenice Cooper, and Messrs. H. C. Chatfield-Taylor, Roscoe Scott, Alex- ander Maclean, Christopher Bannister, Ernest L. Valentine, John Jarvis Holden, and George Shattuck, for many favors. ET this be said of comrades. Grounded *~* deep in love and rooted in unselfish- ness and true affection, our regard for them and theirs for us makes doubly fair the beauties of this our earth. The sympa- thy we gain from them urges us to the gentler life. Within their hearts our better memory is sacred, and our deeds appraised with justice, tempered by understanding. Unto them we yield the wearisome perplexi- ties of daily living for encouragement, solu- tion, and the strength to bear our bur- dens with good spirits and without despair. They share our joys as well, and to our happiest hours bring greater happiness. Were all the world alive with loving-kind- ness, as are they, halving our sorrows, doubling every gladness, no longer should we, troubled and forlorn, live out our days, but go rejoicing on, with every day inspired by comradeship. -^-Wallace Rice. ^T^*^"" ■•■- ■■>n» ■-*'J — - ■•■■' ' ■ ■ s rr -ifr»ii i mWJ'iE'HH o my &>a/ W TO MY PAL E'VE ridden together in wind and rain, My pal and I, When the storm-king ruled on the rolling plain And the torn clouds romped in his whirling train, O'er the smitten sky. We've tramped together with gun and dog, My pal and I, And watched in the rain from a fallen log For the wild duck's flight through the river fog, When the dawn flushed high. We've supped together of joy and woe, My pal and I, We've whipped life's stream as the stream would flow And found all trails are less hard to go With each other by. — Joseph Mills Hanson. TJERE'S a health to my pal, my chum, •*• •*• My crony, companion, and mate! May sorrow to you be dumb, And the years all fortunate! Good comrade, whatever come, May your spirit stand elate And smile at the fling of Fate! — Alexander Maclean. i*^ i i i li ; I I A PAL is the chap you spree with in the ***' winter, and camp with in summer — the one you tell your pet schemes and your best girl's perfections, or, if you are married, the faults of your wife, at the hour when in all marital conscience your head ought to be on the pillow beside hers. If he lends you money when you need it, or helps your work when you are worn out, or comes to see you when you are ill, he ceases to be a Pal and becomes — that rarest of mankind! — a Friend. — H. C. Chatfield-Taylor. HAVE a friend, a man of many friends, * himself witty, wise, and eminent. I honor and respect him for these and for many other qualities; and there is no safer and surer basis for enduring affection than such esteem. But most of all, because most characteristic, do I love him for what he once described as "the desire to form the habit of good impulses." Could friendship ask for anything better? — Christopher Bannister. DON'T want no kind of angel with a *- lot of fluffy wings, And a golden harp and halo, and them other signs o' wealth; I jes' want the kind o' woman that jes' smiles and loves and sings: And I've got her — may God bless her! — here's her everlastin' health! — Alexander Maclean. 8 i .■. „iiiuj«um. tl „ u T TOW far two girls may go together! **■ A Loving life as we love each other, through hours of grief and months of glad- ness, my pal and I have tramped a long, bright way. We have followed our hearts past many an old landmark, made new paths far from the open road, paused at Gethsemane, danced into Arcady, tiptoed toward the whisperings of far-off gods, and — oftenest of all — we have plodded blindly forward, led by the chaotic cries of the world. We are frequently foolish, and sometimes wise, my pal and I: playing, working, and telling our dreams, whether they are silly little illusions or glorious visions — which we, at least, always under- stand. It is June to-day : when will winter find us? — Rena Albertyn Smith. T^RIEND SHIPS should be formed with A persons of all ages and conditions, and with both sexes. It is a great happiness to form a single sincere friendship with a woman; compatible with the most perfect innocence, and a source of the highest possi- ble delight to those who are fortunate enough to form it. — Sydney Smith. \li 7"E love our mothers otherwise than we * * love our fathers; a sister is not as a brother to us; and friendship between man and woman, be it never so unalloyed and innocent, is not the same as friendship be- tween man and man. — Stevenson. 9 17o my JPa/ 1 3 -- 1 1 A S, at a railway junction, men -**- Who came together, taking then One train up, one down, again Meet never! Ah, much more as they Who take one street's two sides, and say Hard parting words, but walk one way: Though moving other mates between, While carts and coaches intervene, Each to the other goes unseen; Yet seldom, surely, shall there lack Knowledge they walk not back to back, But with a unity of track, Where common dangers each attend, And common hopes their guidance lend To light them to the self -same end. Whether he then shall cross to thee, Or thou go thither, or it be Some midway point, yet ye shall see Each other, yet again shall meet. Ah, joy! when with the closing street, Forgivingly at last ye greet! — Arthur Hugh Clough. IT is well that there is no one without a *■■ fault; for he would not have a friend in the world. He would seem to belong to a different species. — William Hazlitt. 10 : \ ■■L.UM-..1L.UJ. .ii. tll n...ml wmnn | l »;ftm 77b Mty JPa/ pOME Micky and Molly and dainty ^ Dolly, Come Betty and blithesome Bill ; Ye gossips and neighbors, away with your labors! Come to the top of the hill. For there are Jenny and jovial Joe; Jolly and jolly, jolly they go, Jogging over the hill. By apple and berry, 'tis twelve months merry Since Jenny and Joe were wed! And never a bother or quarrelsome pother To trouble the board or bed. So Joe and Jenny are off to Dunmow; Happy and happy, happy they go, Young and rosy and red. Oh, Jenny's as pretty as doves in a ditty; And Jenny, her eyes are black; And Joey's a fellow as merry and mellow As ever shouldered a sack. So quick, good people, and come to the show! Merry and merry, merry they go, Bumping on Dobbin's back. They've pranked up Dobbin with ribands and bobbin, And tethered his tail in a string! The fat flitch of bacon is not to be taken By many ' Good luc \ 'O merry, merry, merry are we Happy as birds that sing in a tree! All of the neighbors are merry to-day, Merry are we and merry are they. O merry are we ! for love, you see, Fetters a heart and sets it free. 'O happy, happy, happy is life For Joe (that's me) and Jenny my wife! All of the neighbors are happy, and say — "Never were folk so happy as they!" happy are we! for love, you see, Fetters a heart and sets it free. 'O jolly, jolly, jolly we go, 1 and my Jenny, and she and her Joe. All of the neighbors are jolly, and sing — ■ "She is a queen, and he is a king!" O jolly are we! for love, you see, Fetters a heart and sets it free.' — James Carnegie. FF you can imagine a dinner without salt, ** a meal where bread, meat, vegetables are all equally vapid and tasteless, you can also imagine what life is without a pal ! — Ernest L. Valentine. A PAL is the meat in the sandwich of ***• life, and, if you are lucky enough to have a girl for pal, both meat and mustard. — Ernest L. Valentine. 12 H KNOW a thing that's most uncommon * (Envy, be silent and attend!) ; I know a reasonable woman, Handsome and witty, yet a friend. Not warped by passion, awed by rumor ; Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly; An equal mixture of good-humor And sensible soft melancholy. 'Has she no faults then (Envy says), sir?' Yes, she has one, I must aver: When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman's deaf, and does not hear. — Alexander Pope. QONG have I known, and women and ^ wine; Laughter and pleasure, long were they mine ; Days filled with sunshine, nights without end: Give me, for comfort, a good woman friend ! Often I sought and often I found Joy and delight and mirth without bound; These have I known, all these have I passed : Seeking a good woman's friendship at last. Pleasure is fickle, Mirth is a jade, Love is the jest of some jilting maid: Happiness lasts — what use to pretend? — Safe in the heart of a true woman friend. 13 l l 3rt!ftr'i ' > H IJUM ' w "' ""■ '•* inim - -?o my J7>a/ Merriment's fleeting — its cup must spill; Laughter is lovely, smiles fairer still : Sympathy brings a comrade complete, Friendship, like yours, life's last and best sweet. Take all the rest, the laughter, the kiss — These have I loved, yet these I'll not miss; Leave the affection years cannot scathe: Friendship, a woman's, as holy as faith. Fair is the spring and summer twice dear, Yet autumn brings the crown of my year ! Keep for me warmth in winter, and take Comradeship, friendship, for happiness' sake ! — John Jarvis Holden. /^MVE freely to the friend thou hast; ^-* Unto thyself thou givest: On barren soil thou canst not cast, For by his life thou livest. Nay, this alone doth trouble me — That I should still be giving Through him unto myself, when he Is love within me living. I fain would give to him alone, Nor let him guess the giver; Like dews that drop on hills unknown To feed a lordly river. — John Adding ton Symonds. 14 ! i !N the downhill of life, when I find I'm ■"• declining, May my fate no less fortunate be Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for re- clining, And a cot that o'erlooks the wild sea ; With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow, And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn Look forward with hope for To-Morrow. From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighboring hill ; And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill: And while peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sor- row, With my friends may I share what To-Day may afford, And let them spread the table To-Mor- row. — John Collins. lV/fY friend, my chum, my trusty crony! 1" J. ^y e are design^ it seems to me, To be two happy lazzaroni, On sunshine fed, and macaroni, Far off by some Sicilian sea. 15 From dawn to eve in the happy land, No duty on us but to lie Straw-hatted on the shining sand, With bronzing chest and arm and hand, Beneath the blue Italian sky. There, with the mountains idly glassing Their purple splendors in the sea — To watch the white-winged vessels passing (Fortunes for busier fools amassing), This were a heaven for you and me. Our meerschaums coloring cloudy brown, Two young girls coloring with a blush, The blue waves with a silver crown, The mountain shadows dropping down, And all the air in perfect hush. Thus should we lie in the happy land, Nor fame, nor power, nor fortune miss; Straw-hatted on the shining sand, With bronzing chest and arm and hand — Two loafers couched in perfect bliss. — Charles Graham Halpine. sir, both my poor HHO-NIGHT, grave *■• house and I Do equally desire your company : Not that we think us worthy such a guest, But that your worth will dignify our feast, With those that come; whose grace may make that seem Something, which else would hope for no esteem. — Ben Jonson. 16 niia J. ■»,«". JIM IDMI'g omyfPa/ I OVER the pipe the Angel of Conversa- tion Loosens with glee the tassels of his purse, And, in a fine spiritual exaltation, Hastens, a rosy spendthrift, to disburse The coins new minted of imagination. An amiable, a delicate animation Informs our thought, and earnest we re- hearse The sweet old farce of mutual admiration Over a pipe. Heard in this hour's delicious divagation How soft the song! the epigram how terse! With what a genius for administration We rearrange the rumbling universe, And map the course of man's regeneration Over a pipe. — William Ernest Henley. T^rE walked about saying nothing — be- * * cause we were friends, and talking spoils good tobacco. — Rudyard Kipling. VITHEN with an old friend * * I talk of our youth — How 'twas gladsome, but often Foolish, forsooth: But gladsome, gladsome! Then we go smoking, Silent and smug: 17 r'r"- 1 -" 1 '""-"" " "■■■t : ,T--!'-"i.:.,>i-,^,...t,...^i 1l >,..i!w.*-j'.gBEl Naught passes between us, Save a brown jug — Sometimes ! And sometimes a tear Will rise in each eye, Seeing the two old friends So merrily — So merrily! Thus, then, live I Till, 'mid all the gloom, By Heaven ! the bold sun Is with me in the room Shining, shining! — Edward Fitzgerald. \ It 7TTH an honest old friend and a merry * * old song, And a flash of old port, let me sit the night long, And laugh at the malice of those who repine That they must swig porter while I can drink wine. Then dare to be generous, dauntless, and gay, Let's merrily pass life's remainder away; Upheld by our friends, we our foes may despise, For the more we are envied, the higher we rise. — Henry Carey. 18 i i : JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John ** When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. — Robert Burns. \ I 4FX1HEE, Mary, with this ring I wed,' A So, fourteen years ago, I said — Behold another ring! — 'For what?' 'To wed thee o'er again — why not?' With that first ring I married Youth, Grace, Beauty, Innocence, and Truth; Taste long admired, sense long revered, And all my Molly then appeared. If she, by merit since disclosed, Prove twice the women I supposed, I plead that double merit now To justify a double vow. 19 4 Z7o ^353 w""*Hj oMyJ°a/ To thee, sweet girl, my second ring A token and a pledge I bring: With this I wed, till death us part, Thy riper virtues to my heart. For why? — They show me every hour, Honor's high thought, affection's power, Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sen- tence, And teach me all things — but repentance. — Samuel Bishop. T^OR woman is not undeveloped man, A But diverse: could we make her as the man, Sweet love were slain: his dearest bond is this, Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow: The man be more of woman, she of man : He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music set to noble words: And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers. Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-Be. — Alfred Tennyson. 20 s » «^» *. iii i ■ an . »i '*« « r \ » Y -i , ^" ""'""—r^TTHflii it!.. 11 T7b <^r *Pbi I HPHE half-seen memories of childish days, -*■ When pains and pleasures lightly came and went; The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent In fearful wanderings through forbidden ways; The vague, but manly wish to tread the maze Of life to noble ends, — whereon intent, Asking to know for what man here is sent, The bravest heart must often pause, and gaze; The firm resolve to seek the chosen end Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature — Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to friend With strength no selfish purpose can se- cure: My happy lot is this, that all attend That friendship which first came, and which shall last endure. — Aubrey Thomas Devere. \li rHERE the pools are bright and deep, * * Where the grey trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, 21 E2E3SSSB53=Bffl ;*;■■■■. kv.il. ij , mil m. ,., . i f .. rrT ^0 <^r jTfc / Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest; There to trace the homeward bee, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That's the way for Billy and me. But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. — James Hogg. npo live within a cave — it is most good; *■■ But, if God make a day, And some one come, and say, 'Lo, I have gathered fagots in the wood!' E'en let him stay, And light a fire, and fan a temporal mood! So sit till morning! when the light is grown That he the path can read, Then bid the man God-speed! His morning is not thine: yet must thou own They have a cheerful warmth — those ashes on the stone. — Thomas Edward Brown. 99 SAW her upon nearer view, **• A spirit, yet a woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright and good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveler between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warm, to comfort, and command; And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light. — William Wordsworth. TTOW life behind its accidents * A Stands strong and self-sustaining, The human fact transcending all The losing and the gaining. And if the husband or the wife In home's strong light discovers Such slight defaults as failed to meet The blinded eyes of lovers, 23 , „.iL.j.„ij..a,...,i,...u».) W t7o my /Pat -. % \ Why need we care to ask? Who dreams Without their thorns of roses, Or wonders that the truest steel The readiest spark discloses? For still in mutual sufferance lies The secret of true living; Love scarce is love that never knows The sweetness of forgiving. —John Greenleaf Whittier. TV T ARM AGE is like life in this— that it 1VI is a field of battle, and not a bed of roses. — Robert Louis Stevenson. A S through the land at eve we went, ***• And plucked the ripened ears, We fell out, my wife and I, We fell out, I know not why, And kissed again with tears. And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love, And kiss again with tears! For when we came where lies the child We lost in other years, There above the little grave, O there above the little grave, We kissed again with tears. — Alfred Tennyson. 24 i ■ I n".T"--"- Li -*■"■■-■■"-■■'" j , r l . i . i av,i',i^T i ,r i -i" ll ' l ri i l 'f j ; 77b <^/r SPa/ >) i O LAY thy hand in mine, dear! We' old re growing But Time hath brought no sign, dear, That hearts grow cold. 'Tis long, long since our new love Made life divine; But age enricheth true love, Like noble wine. < And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, And take thy rest ; Mine arms around thee twine, dear, And make thy nest. A many cares are pressing On this dear head; But Sorrow's hands in blessing Are surely laid. ■- i O, lean thy life on mine, dear! 'Twill shelter thee. Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, On my young tree: And so, till boughs are leafless, And song-birds flown, We'll twine, then lay us, griefless, Together down. — Gerald Massey. ■"\ARBY dear, we are old and grey, *~^ Fifty years since our wedding day, Shadow and sun for every one 25 ii ! As the years roll on; Darby dear, when the world went wry, Hard and sorrowful then was I — Ah! lad, how you cheered me then, 'Things will be better, sweet wife, again!' Always the same, Darby my own, Always the same to your old wife Joan. i i :, Hand in hand when our life was May, Hand in hand when our hair is grey, Shadow and sun for every one As the years roll on; Hand in hand when the long night-tide Gently covers us side by side — Ah ! lad, though we know not when, Love will be with us for ever then: Always the same, Darby my own, Always the same to your old wife Joan. — Frederic Edward Weatherly. % rilHE faults of married people continually *■* spur up each of them, hour by hour, to do better and to meet and love upon a higher ground. And ever, between the failures, there will come glimpses of kind virtues to encourage and console. — Robert Louis Stevenson. A MIND that thinks no honest friend- •**• ship is possible between man and woman is tainted with dishonor. — Ernest L. Valentine. 26 T7b 4??/r J?fe/ THESE long days measured by my little feet Had chronicles which yield me many a text; Where irony still finds an image meet Of full-grown judgments in this world perplexed. One day my brother left me in high charge, To mind the rod, while he went seeking bait, And bade me, when I saw a nearing barge, Snatch out the line, lest he should come too late. Proud of the task, I watched with all my might For one whole minute, till my eyes grew wide, Till sky and earth took on a strange new light And seemed a dream-world floating on some tide — A fair pavilioned boat for me alone Bearing me onward through the vast un- known. But sudden came the barge's pitch-black prow, Nearer and angrier came my brother's cry, And all my soul was quivering fear, when lo! Upon the imperiled line, suspended high, ■■«— — '- ■ • -■ ■- * ■ vU Gm***^ i . . n .; .i..., i,i M . |r fW b <01y SPa/ A silver perch! My guilt that won the prey, Now turned to merit, had a guerdon rich Of hugs and praises, and made merry play, Until my triumph reached its highest pitch When all at home were told the wondrous feat, And how the little sister had fished well. In secret, though my fortune tasted sweet, I wondered why this happiness befell. 'The little lass had luck,' the gardener said: And so I learned, luck was with glory wed. We had the selfsame world enlarged for each By loving difference of girl and boy: The fruit that hung on high beyond my reach He plucked for me, and oft he must em- ploy A measuring glance to guide my tiny shoe Where lay firm stepping-stones, or call to mind: 'This thing I like my sister may not do, For she is little, and I must be kind.' Thus boyish will the nobler impulse learned Where inward vision over impulse reigns, Widening its life with separate life dis- cerned, A like unlike, a self that self -restrains. His years with others must the sweeter be For those brief days he spent in loving me. 28 'o jMy &>a/ t ! ! \ \ \ School parted us; we never found again That childish world where our two spirits mingled Like scents from varying roses that remain One sweetness, nor can evermore be singled. Yet the twin habit of that early time Lingered for long about the heart and tongue : We had been natives of one happy clime, And its dear accent to our utterance clung. Till the dire years whose awful name is Change Had grasped our souls still yearning in divorce, And pitiless shaped them in two forms that range — Two elements which sever their life's course. But were another childhood-world my share, I would be born a little sister there. — George Eliot. rpHERE is no friend like a sister, A In calm or stormy weather, To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down. To strengthen whilst one stands. — Christina Georgina Rossetti. 29 Tirr r--- 1 --- 1- rmv«" 11 n 1 17o mr JPa/ X^riTH this sweet, slender girl there is * * surcease Of sorrow, and upon her gentle voice Great comfort ever. Would I grieve, new lease Of cheer from her constrains me to re- joice. Serene, she leaves my sorrowing caprice; For, knowing grief, she makes so wise a choice That on her lips and in her glance is peace, Dismissing there life's crosses and annoys. Far younger she than I, yet has she taught Me wisdom; nay, she teaches every day That little things deserve but little thought, Less worry, lest some great thing go astray. So march the quickened hours refreshed and bright : My one small sister — my one great delight! When I am gone, and of my joy and woe Nothing at all remains, except perchance These little verses, may who reads them know That Heaven to me man's final blessing grants : Worn and weary, I love and cherish one To whom the tendrils of my heart go out, Of nights my guiding-star, each morn my Pointing to hope, dispelling clouds of doubt ; And she, inevitably, simply good, Unmurmuring, and quick with gentle glee, Loves me, unworthy; with her youthful blood Dissolves my cares and ever strengthens me. Which is the heavenlier I cannot tell, That she loves me, or I love her so well. — Wallace Rice. A SISTER is a sort of sweetheart who *** doesn't require attention; a kind of housekeeper you can't fall in love with; an agreeable spinster you can't marry. In short, a sister is as nice as — well, as some- body else's wife, without being dangerous. — T. W. Robertson. i i "NEARER than honors won or knowledge *^* gained in college, is the memory of the comrades I had there — little more than a memory now, because I seldom see the pals of my old days. For four years the chaps at college broadened my heart as much as the faculty sought to broaden my intellect; but each June there came partings, all with "Remember!" and then no more of their firm handclasps and jolly voices. Too busy in the workaday world to hunt them up, too 31 BE sas h*- 1 ■■ ■'. '.i-Vr'i'f'i t'lliB b my J°a/ busy for class reunions, too busy to write; yet many a time when I see my college colors on the sky, I remember my old pals. And sometimes I try to sing the brave col- lege songs, but I can't put much zest into the words without my old comrades to sing with me, and my voice trails off into a lonesome silence. — Roscoe Scott. /~\LT) friend of mine, you were dear to ^-^ my heart, Long, long ago, long ago. Little did we think of a time we should part. Long, long ago, long ago. Hand clasped in hand through the world we would go. Down our old untrodden path the wild weeds grow! Great was the love 'twixt us ; bitter was the smart: Old friend of mine long ago. Oft I muse at the shadowy nightfall Over the dear Long Ago, Borne on tears arises the dark, dark pall, Fallen on my heart long ago. Love is not dead, though we wander apart; How I could clasp you, old friend, to my heart ! Barriers lie between us, but God knoweth all, Old friend of mine long ago. — Gerald Massey. I s 'o my tPa/ T5R0THER of mine, and more than *-* brother, friend, Companion, comrade- through long happy days, Only, years after, do I comprehend The love that lighted all my little ways: How patiently you guided my young life Straight to the soul of bird and beast and wood, Taught me their secret loves and sylvan strife, A world in little, till I understood! How warnings 'gainst the larger world you knew, Dictated by aff ection, saved my feet From stumbling, until I, still following you, Sought the high goal beyond the mart and street! The all I am, the more I fain would be Are yours, my brother, dearest friend to me, — Christopher Bannister. IT is a half-blind life a boy leads who has * not the wit to make a pal of his sister. Soon or late it will dawn upon him that she is the only boy's sister he knows that does not live for his bewilderment and mystifica- tion. But, if he have the good sense to have her as his good comrade and sure ally, there is no net spun nor witchery spelled by other boys' sisters that she cannot give him the secret of with one glance of her level eyes. 33 I \ I TK rHAT means my friend to me? * * Kindness and courtesy: Courteous and kind is he. What means my friend to me? High generosity: Generous of self is he. What means my friend to me? All love and amity: Friendship's own self is he. What means my friend to me? Chief of all, loyalty. Constant and true is he. And what mean I to him? Worthiness, to the brim, God willing, till life dim. — Christopher Bannister. "DEADING ends in melancholy! A ^ Wine breeds vices and diseases! Wealth's but a care, and Love but folly! Only Friendship truly pleases! My wealth, my books, my flask, my Molly, Farewell all, if Friendship ceases! —Matthew Prior. rpHERE are a few tilings sweeter in this •■■ world than the guileless, hot-headed, in- temperate, open admiration of a junior. — Rudyard Kipling. 34 I | •. i 3 A PAL is one with whom I may be my- 4 **' self, therefore one with whom I may be true. If speaking the intrinsic truth with him leads to error, it has its rise, not in our comradeship, nor in the truth, but in myself. Our relationship demands that I should find a fault in myself before I seek it in my pal. — Rena Albertyn Smith. npHE millioned city cannot be to me -■■ The busy streets that reach for many a mile, Nor all the toil and trade, the gold and guile, And fond ambitions, baffled or set free; Nor yet the marts and fanes where destiny Is working out salvation, where enisle The visioned beauties that leave earth a-smile : Sweeter and deeper lies the town I see. It lives enhallowed in some blessed friend Whose loving look meets mine before 'tis gone. In some chance meeting when affection shone ; Enshrined in rooms whose merry memories lend Joy to my happier self; and on, and on, Till friendship lights the town from end to end! — Wallace Rice. 35 * - : A N idle noon, a bubbling spring, ** A sea in the pine-tops murmuring; A scrap of gossip at the ferry ; A comrade neither glum or merry, Asking nothing, revealing naught, But minting his words from a fund of thought ; A keeper of silence eloquent, Needy, yet royally well content, Of the mettled breed, yet abhorring strife, And full of the mellow juice of life, A taster of wine, with an eye for a maid, Never too bold, and never afraid, Never heart-whole, never heart-sick (These are the things I worship in Dick), No fidget and no reformer, just A calm observer of ought and must, A lover of books, but a reader of man, No cynic and no charlatan, Who never defers and never demands, But, smiling, takes the world in his hands — Seeing it good as when God first saw And gave the weight of His will for law. — Bliss Carman. 36 pOME, our old mate, come back to us ^^ again ; Too long, too long you linger in the town ! The hazel-nuts are slipping in the lane, And in the holt the chestnut-burrs are brown : Come, our old mate, both old and young complain ! We tapped a cask of cider yesterday; To-morrow we shall thrash the walnut tree. O, we will feast you, if you come this way, On pies and cakes, and cream and frumenty ; And give you all our shares Of luscious Harvest plums and William pears. We never had such apples here before, And plumper, sweeter filberts never grew; And on the grape-vine by the garden door There still is left a goodly bunch or two: Come, our old mate, for you is all our store ! For you the medlars soften, one by one, And frequently on fresh, clean straw are laid; For you the bottled gooseberries are done, And currant wine and damson cheese are made: We will not think it true That country sweets are no more sweet to you! — Charles Dalmon. ? -.. SLfflaU V i' JW: ::f*^.! 9 M^'j >i n. -.." • .. 'i . ' f jwgi g i ...i.'il-..i...uju.. ,. i,. ... ji.-iWW i T-W i T S 77b «^r J°a / If men, when they're here, could make shift to agree, An' ilk said to his neebor, in cottage an' ha', *Come, gi'e me your hand, — we are breth- ren aY I ken na why ane wi* anither should fight, When to 'gree would make a' body cosie an' right, When man meets wi' man, 'tis the best way ava, To say, 'Gi'e me your hand, — we are breth- ren a'.' My coat is a coarse ane, an' yours may be fine, And I maun drink water, while you may drink wine; But we baith ha'e a leal heart, unspotted to shaw: Sae gi'e me your hand, — we are brethren a'. The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu' deride ; Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on your side; Sae would I, an' naught else would I value a straw: ,. Then gi'e me your hand, — we are breth- ren a'. ■ I VTOUR soul, that for years I have counted * An open book, read to the end, Is lettered all strange, since a lover Looks out from the eyes of a friend; The white pages now are turned rosy, The chapters are numbered anew, The old plot is lost, and the hero, Who, up to last night, was just you — Just dear old friend Jack, and no other, To-night is a stranger, I vow; And though I am fain to be gracious, The truth is, I hardly know how: Where now is your celibate gospel? What now of love's follies and faults? Refuted last night when your lips, sir, Chasseed o'er my cheek in the waltz! Life-faith we swore, friendly fraternal To keep it — ah me, half a year ! — And I, Chloris now to your Strephon, Accept my new role with a tear — A tear for the dear old days ended, A tear for the friend lost for ay, For careless old comradeship fleeing For ever before love to-day. Dear, read me aright ! Though words falter And lips prove but dumb, your heart hears ; The Jack of to-day I love truly — Yet oh, for the Jack of old years! — Minnie Gilmore. 39 ! i I /Tfr r ' i • ; ""• > vt *D EAL, substantial, enduring comrade- J * v ship is possible between man and woman: it is only the blunderers — those who try to avoid sex in such a relationship and find themselves enmeshed before they are aware — that doubt its possibility. — Rena Albertyn Smith. TJl 7"HEN you go away, my friend, * * When you say your last good-bye, Then the summer time will end And the winter will be nigh. Though the green grass decks the heather And the birds sing all the day, There will be no summer weather After you have gone away. You will feel a moment's sorrow; I shall feel a lasting grief; You, forgetting on the morrow; I, to mourn with no relief. When we say the last sad word And you are no longer near, And the winds and all the birds Cannot keep the summer here, Life will lose its full completeness — Lose it not for you, but me ; All the beauty and the sweetness Each can hold, I shall not see. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 40 I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am, Some are baffled, but that one is not — that one knows me. — Walt Whitman. r> ARNEY McGEE, there's no end of *~* good luck in you, Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you, Wild as bull-pup, and all of his pluck in you — Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see! Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity, Nose that turns up without any vulgarity, Smile like a cherub, and hair that is car- roty- Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney McGee! Mellow as tarragon, Prouder than Aragon — Hardly a paragon, You will agree — Here's all that's fine to you! Books and old wine to you! Girls be divine to you, Barney McGee! 41 \ You that were ever alert to befriend a man, You who were ever the first to defend a man, You had always the money to lend a man, Down on his luck and hard up for a V ! Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude (And a quare sight you will be in that at- titude) — Some day, where gratitude seems but a plati- tude, You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee. That's no flimflam at all, Frivol or sham at all, Just the plain — damn it all, Have one with me! Here's one and more to you! Friends by the score to you, True to the core to you, Barney McGee! — Richard Hovey. i F)ALS are the mayonnaise on the salad of ■*■ the hours, the dressing of the turkey of the months, and the sauce for the pudding of the years. — Ernest L. Valentine. A FRIEND loveth at all times. — Proverbs of Solomon. i DON'T know much about Bohemia, the land of song and wine; but I know that ;here's wine ir ^ lk 32=8 omySPa/ ;fwyjjw;gji».-i ji-i J .i<.'w«y The throbbing crimson tide of life Will not have left a stain. ( The song we sing together, dear, Will mean no more than means a tear Amid a summer rain. A hundred years from now, dear heart, The grief will all be o'er ; The sea of care will surge in vain Upon a careless shore. These glasses we turn down to-day- Here at the parting of the way : We will be wineless then as they, And will not mind it more. A hundred years from now, dear heart, We'll neither know nor care What came of all life's bitterness Or followed love's despair. Then fill the glasses up again And kiss me through the rose-leaf rain; We'll build one castle more in Spain And dream one more dream there. — John Bennett. f\ WOMAN! in our hours of ease, ^-^ Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou! — Sir Walter Scott A WIFE as tender, and as true withal, ^* As the first woman was before her fall: Made for the man, of whom she was a part; Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart. A second Eve, but by no crime accursed; As beauteous, not as brittle, as the first, Had she been first, still Paradise had been, And death had found no entrance by her sin. — John Dry den. f\NCE I was but a shipping clerk — ^-^ Of firm of Graves & Gartner — Till, after long and weary work, They took me in as partner, And year on year went gayly round While we grew rich and richer, Until, in every spring we found, We dipped a golden pitcher. Then Gartner left, grown old and lame: I bought him out completely; Made wife a partner; changed the name To Wheatly, Graves & Wheatly. A silent partner? Not at all! With genius more than Sapphic, She improvised — that lady small — The poetry of traffic; And, flitting through our offices, With work and smile admonished: 61 \ 77b <&& JPa/ 'We'll work no metamorphoses To make a lie look honest.' Meantime the business grew and grew With not a cloud to daunten; Till wife, who wanted tea like dew, Sent me adrift for Canton. No sooner was I well at sea Than with a whirl insanic Down came that flood of 'seventy-three And shook the world with panic; Then many a house as strong as life Was caught and torn asunder, Till Graves came trembling to my wife And said, 'We're going under!' Wife saw the gulf and kept her poise ; Disposed of plate and raiment, Sold all her jewels (but the boy's), And met the heaviest payment. So Graves and she, with work and wit, With care and self-denial, Upheld the firm — established it The surer for the trial; Through all the strife they paid the hands Full price — none saw them falter; And now the house, rock-founded, stands As steady as Gibraltar; But wife keeps with us, guards us through Like Miriam watching Moses ; She drinks her tea as pure as dew, And sells it — fresh as roses! 62 w u /^IREEN heads, grey heads, join in ^-* chorus, All who can or cannot sing; Put your hearts into your voices Till we make the old house ring! Let us swear by all that's kindly, All the ties of old and young, We will always know each other As we've known each other long! By our schoolboy freaks together, In old days with mischief rife — Fellowship when youth on pleasure Flung away redundant life! By bereavements mourned in common; By the hopes, a flattering throng, We have felt when home returning, Parted from each other long! By the fathers who before us, Silver-haired together grew, Who so long revered each other — Let us swear to be as true! Swear no selfish jealous feeling E'er shall creep our ranks among, E'er make strangers of the kinsmen Who have known each other long! — Alfred Domett M ; .. 9 A LL I ask of my pal is that he shall un- **• derstand me: if he grants me under- standing, he gives me a myriad gifts in one. 63 ■Y..I.I|',U.Ji.i. l iJHUl.|,ri "T/o 4Mv JPa/ TN the closest of all relations — that of a A love well founded and equally shared — speech is half discarded, like a roundabout infantile process or a ceremony of formal etiquettes; and the two communicate di- rectly by their presences, and with few looks and fewer words contrive to share their good and evil and uphold each other's hearts in joy. — Robert Louis Stevenson. T^uTHEN all the world is young, lad, * * And all the trees are green, And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen, Then fly for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away ; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown, And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down, Come home and take your place there The spent and maimed among; God grant you find a face there You loved when you were young! — Charles Kingsley. rilHE great thing about having a pal is be- ** ing one yourself. — George Shattuck. 64. 0+ 7b £^^zi£2SZ J i i U liTTg omySPa/ IN tattered old slippers that toast at the *• bars, And ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, Away from the world and its toils and its cares, I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. r This snug little chamber is crammed in all nooks With worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see; What matter? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest, There's one that I love and I cherish the best; For the finest of couches that's padded with hair I never would change thee, my cane-bot- tomed chair. 'Tis a bandy-legged, high-shouldered, worm- eaten seat, With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet ; But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, I bless thee and love thee, old cane bot- tomed chair. It was but a moment she sat in this place, She's a scarf on her neck and a smile on her face! A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, And she sat there, and bloomed in my cane- bottomed chair. And so I have valued my chair ever since, Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince; Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare, The queen of my heart and my cane-bot- tomed chair. When the candles burn low, and the com- pany's gone, In the silence of night as I sit here alone — I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair — My Fanny I see in my cane-bottomed chair. She comes from the past, and revisits my room ; She looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom ; So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, And yonder she sits in my cane-bottomed chair. ^—William Makepeace Thackeray. 66 I.*..., , '.■ I I II «« I I II Til b Mty J°a/ DOLISH? Not much, but who cares for -*■ that, if the heart be as true as steel, And the kindly eyes look straight into yours, with a look you can almost feel; And the voice rings true in its welcome, though the sound be a trifle gruff? If that's what you call rough manners, I own I prefer them rough. There's many a nobleman, born and bred, with money in heaps to spend, And a mincing voice and a shiny hat, and manners and style no end; But I know that if they went missing I should feel pretty happy still, If I only could have another day and a shake of the hand with Bill. — Rudolph Chambers Lehmann. r\ WHERE would I be when my f roat ^-^ was dry? O, where would I be when the bullets fly? O, where would I be when I come to die? Why, Somewheres anigh my chum. If 'e's in liquor, Vll give me some, If I am dyin', Vll 'old my 'ead, An' 'e'll write 'ome when I'm dead. — Gawd send us a trusty chum! — Rudyard Kipling. "VEATH, who friend from friend can ^^^ part, ! ! s ! ^o My tt/ Brother rend from brother, Shall but link us, heart and heart, Closer to each other: We will call his anger play, Deem his dart a feather, When we meet him on our way Hand in hand together. — Winthrop Mackworth Praed. npHE wind is loud this bleak December A night, And moans like one forlorn at door and pane; But here within my chamber warm and bright, All household blessings reign. And as I sit and smoke, my eager soul Somewhat at times from out the Past will win, Whilst the light cloud wreathes upward from the bowl, That glows so red within. Often in this dim world two boys I see, Of ruddy cheek and open careless brow; And one am I, my fond heart whispers me, And one, dear Tom, art thou. So in this odorous cloud full oft I see Sweet forms of tender beauty ; and a tone Steals through the echoing halls of Memory, That these are all my own. 68 -li iiiiiTmTiriir m * , - ' V ^fci-• • '•' " ' ■' sz n i«fi-ir'-T Vi'i'i'h'h f"TTi i. 'i ri.iii hi in i^^- \ n f \ — I,,., " i i mt?\ """ . , j.y^j 77b my SPa/ ' OWN a dog who is a gentleman. * By birth most surely, since the creature can Boast of a pedigree the like of which Holds not a Howard or a Metternich. By breeding. Since the walks of life he trod, He never wagged an unkind tail abroad, He never snubbed a nameless cur because Without a friend or credit-card he was. By pride. He looks you squarely in the face Unshrinking and without a single trace Of either diffidence or arrogant Assertion such as upstarts often flaunt. By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear With absolute impunity his hair, And pinch his silken, flowing ears the while He smiles upon her — yes, I've seen him smile. By loyalty. No truer friend than he Has come to prove his friendship's worth to me. He does not fear the master — knows no fear — But loves the man who is his master here. By countenance. If there be nobler eyes, More full of honor and of honesties, 75 i . •■; \ % In finer head, on broader shoulders found — Then I have never met the man or hound. Here is the motto on my life-boat's log: 'God grant I may be worthy of my dog!' — Author Unknown. TTALF loving-kindliness, and half-dis- A A dain, Thou comest to my call serenely suave, With humming speech and gracious gestures grave, In salutation courtly and urbane: Yet must I humble me thy grace to gain — For wiles may win thee, but no arts en- slave, And nowhere gladly thou abidest save Where naught disturbs the concord of thy reign. Sphinx of my quiet hearth! who deign'st to dwell Friend of my toil, companion of mine ease, Thine is the lore of Ra and Rameses ; That men forget dost thou remember well, Beholden still in blinking reveries, With somber sea-green gaze inscrutable. — Rosamund Marriott Watson. A WOMAN can earn her pardon for a **' good year of disobedience by a single adroit submission. — Robert Louis Stevenson. 76 A reg'lar out-an'-outer ; She's a dear good old gal, I'll tell you all about her: It's many years since fust we met, 'Er 'air was then as black as jet; It's whiter now, but she don't fret, Not my old gal! We've been together now for forty years, An' it don't seem a day too much ; There ain't a lady livin' in the land As I'd swop for my dear old Dutch ! I calls 'er Sal — 'Er proper name is Sairer, An' yer may find a gal As you'd consider fairer. She ain't an angel — she can start A jawin' till it makes you smart; She's just a Woman, bless 'er 'eart, Is my old gal! Sweet fine old gal, For worlds I wouldn't lose 'er; She's a dear good old gal, An' that's what made me choose 'er; She's stuck to me through thick an' thin, When luck was out, when luck was in — Ah, what a wife to me she's been, An' what a Pal! — Albert Chevalier. 77 i i I * ' 'V/'OUR wedding ring wears thin, dear •"• wife; ah, summers not a few, Since I put it on your finger first, have passed o'er me and you; And, love, what changes we have seen — what cares and pleasures, too, Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring was new! O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief is there For me you w T ould not bravely face, wii.li me you would not share? Oh, what a weary want had every day, if wanting you, Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new! The past is dear; its sweetnesses our memo- ries treasure yet; The griefs we've borne, together borne, we would not now forget; Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto heart still true, We'll share as we have shared all else since this old ring was new. — William Cox Bennett. TTAPPINESS, at least, is not solitary; **•*■■ it joys to communicate; it loves others, for it depends on them for its existence; it sanctions and encourages to all delights. — Robert Louis Stevenson. 78 i .,«-,, i famt ■« i ii ■■■flu ■*«Vfe/! omyttt ONG enough have I lived and sought *~* to know the value of things, v To know the gold from the tinsel, to judge the clowns from the kings; Love have I known and been glad of, joys of the earth have been mine, But to-day I give my thanks for a rarer gift and fine. For the friendship of true women, Lord, that hath been since the world had breath, Since a woman stood at a woman's side to comfort through birth and death. You have made us a bond of mirth and tears to last for ever and ay — For the friendship of true women, Lord, take you my thanks to-day. Now much have I found to be glad of, much have I sorrowed for, But naught is better to hear than foot of a friend at the door; And naught is better to feel than the touch of a sister hand That says, 'What are words between us — I know and may understand.' For the friendship of true women, Lord, that hath lasted since time be- gan, That is deeper far and finer far than the friendship of man to man; For the tie of a kindred wonderful that is as blood-bonds ma friendship of true women, take you my thanks to-day. Many the joys I have welcomed, many the joys that have passed, But this is the good unfailing and this is the peace that shall last; From love that dies and love that lies and love that must cling and sting Back to the arms of our sisters we turn for our comforting. For the friendship of true women, Lord, that hath been and shall ever be Since a woman stood at a woman's side at the Cross of Calvary; For the tears we weep and the trusts we keep and the self -same prayers we pray— For the friendship of true women, Lord, take you my thanks to-day. — Theodosia Garrison. Tp NTREAT me not to leave thee, or to •*-^ return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God : where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried : the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me. ' ",'T"- rl '-'"- ' "' ■'■' '-'■i'frM ' tf g |N summer, when the days were long, *- We walked, two friends, in field and wood, Our heart was light, our step was strong, And life lay round us, fair as good, In summer, when the days are long. In summer, when the days are long, We leapt the hedge-row, crossed the brook ; And still her voice flowed forth in song, Or else she read some graceful book, In summer, when the days were long. We loved, and yet we knew it not, For loving seemed like breathing then; We found a heaven in every spot, Saw angels, too, in all good men, And dreamt of gods in grove and grot. In summer, when the days are long, Alone I wander, muse alone; I see her not, but that old song Under the fragrant wind is blown, In summer, when the days are long. Alone I wander in the wood, But one fair spirit hears my sighs; And half I see the crimson hood, The radiant hair, the calm glad eyes, That charmed me in life's summer mood. In summer, when the days are long, I love her as I loved of old My heart is light, my step is strong, For love brings back those hours of gold, In summer, when the days are long. — W. M. W. Call. QJHE is so winsome and so wise ^ She sways us at her will, And oft the question will arise What mission does she fill? And so I say, with pride untold And love beyond degree, This woman with a heart of gold, She just keeps house for me. A full content dwells in her face, She's quite in love with life, And for a title wears with grace The sweet old-fashioned 'Wife.' What though I toil from morn till night, What though I weary grow, A spring of love and dear delight Doth ever softly flow. Our children climb upon her knee And lie upon her breast, And ah! her mission seems to me The highest and the best. — And so I say, with pride untold And love beyond degree, This woman with the heart of gold, She just keeps house for me. — Jean Blewett. 82 i ! ? i TTIWAS beyond at Macreddin, at Owen **■ Doyle's weddin', The boys got the pair of us out for a reel. Says I, 'Boys, excuse us/ Says they, 'Don't refuse us.' 'I'll play nice and aisy,' says Larry O'Neill. So off we went trippin' it, up an' down step- pm it — Herself and Myself on the back of the doore ; Till Molly— God bless her!— fell into the dresser, And I tumbled over a child on the floore. Says Herself to Myself, 'We're good as the best o' them.' Says Myself to Herself, 'Sure, we're betther than gold.' Says Herself to Myself, 'We're as young as the rest o' them.' Says Myself to Herself, 'Troth, we'll never grow old.' As down the lane goin', I felt my heart growin* As young as it was forty-five years ago. 'Twas here in this boreen I first kissed my stoireen — A sweet little colleen with skin like the snow. I looked at my woman — a song she was hummin' '■'T*--' 1 - 1 " '■'-!-■ -"n^-iy As old as the hills, so I gave her a pogue ; 'Twas like our old courtin', half sarious, half sportin', When Molly was young, an' when hoops were in vogue. When she'd say to Myself, 'You can coort with the best o' them.' When I'd say to Herself, 'Sure, I'm bet- ther than gold.' When she'd say to Myself, 'You're as wild as the rest o' them.' And I'd say to Herself, 'Troth, I'm time enough old.' — Patrick Joseph McCall. rilHE road slopes on that leads us to the 1 last, And we two tread it softly, side by side ; 'Tis a blithe count the milestones we have passed, Step fitting step, and each of us for guide. My love, and I thy love, our road is fair, And fairest most because the other's there: Our road is fair, adown the harvest hill, But fairest that we two are we two still. We two, we two! the children's smiles are dear: Thank God how dear the bonny chil- dren's smiles — But 'tis we two among our own ones here, 84 55S"* I III. l l l...J,JI.,.J....». ■■■»■ '-fl^M l We two along life's way through all the whiles. To think if we had passed each other by; And he not he apart, and I not I! And oh to think if we had never known; And I not I and he not he alone! — Augusta Webster. rilWO lovers by a moss-grown spring: *■ They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing. O budding time! O love's blest prime! Two wedded from the portal stepped: The bells made happy carollings, The air was soft as fanning wings, White petals on the pathway slept. O pure-eyed bride! O tender pride! Two faces o'er a cradle bent i Two hands above the head were locked; These pressed each other while they rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent. O solemn hour! O hidden power! Two parents by the evening fire : The red light fell about their knees 85 S5S3 J i Vi m hi i , 'j'-iii I'mV -i ii'iSSS W-frJ/U 77b <^r SPa/ On heads that rose by slow degrees Like buds upon the lily spire. O patient life! O tender strife! The two still sat together there, The red light shone about their knees; But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and left that lonely pair. O voyage fast! O vanished past! The red light shone upon the floor, And made the space between them wide; They drew their chairs up side by side, Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more !" O memories! O past that is ! — George Eliot. r> ETTER trust all and be deceived, *** And weep that trust, and that de- ceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had blessed one's life with true believing. Oh, in this doubting world, too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth! Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of truth. — Frances Anne Kemble. 86 i 5 8 i i T i '" ■■■■-- ' I i i i i m i iillllH I"!! 1 ~?o my fa/ /CHRISTMAS is here; ^■^ Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we; Little we fear Weather without Sheltered about The mahogany tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang in its bloom; Night-birds are we; Here we carouse, Singing like them, Perched around the stem Of the jolly old tree, Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit, — Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short, — When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree. ! i I- Evenings we knew, Happy as this; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, « i 1 i f Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait; Happy we'll be! Drink, every one; Pile up the coals; Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree! Drain we the cup. — Friend, art afraid? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up; Empty it yet; Let us forget, Round the old tree! Sorrows, begone! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn Blue-devil sprite; Leave us to-night Round the old tree! William Makepeace Thackeray. • i i w* j^- i *VVV M -'"'- J -' •— '-■■'■"■--!■; •'■f--"iiV l n' l -f, l .',-",i, l „'lUV T7b my 3° a / fi WE have no money, little Pal, you say? — » It's true enough. We've none to pay Our pressing bills, and credit's under par; Yet — many joyous things there are. The skies are blue and shining every morn And every day new hope is born, And every night there twinkles out our star ; Yes — many joyous things there are. But these buy less than nothing, you re- peat? — Ah, true enough, yet are they sweet! O little Pal, forget that coin's afar When many joyous things there are. And every day, poor Pal, you scrape and pinch And work an ell to save an inch? — Poor Pal, I know it starts a family jar; Still — many joyous things there are. Take cheer, dear Pal, some day the tide will turn ; Money there'll be some day — to burn! Just being broke can never leave a scar So many joyous things there are. Ah, here's my smile and kiss at last! These shall Light every gloom for us, dear Pal : 89 ! \ 77b fflty SPa/ Such love as ours displaces every bar To all the joyous things there are. — Alexander MacLean. ¥■ QHE gave her life to love. She never ^ knew What other women give their all to gain. Others were fickle. She was passing true. She gave pure love, and faith without a stain. She never married. Suitors came and went: The dark eyes flashed their love on one alone. Her life was passed in quiet and content. The old love reigned. No rival shared the throne. Think you her life was wasted? Vale and hill Blossomed in summer, and white winter came : The blue ice stiffened on the silenced rill: All times and seasons found her still the same. Her heart was full of sweetness to the end. What once she gave, she never took away. Through all her youth she loved one faithful friend : \TOTJ talk about some maiden fair «* With alabaster brow Her face like snowdrifts soft and rare — As poets oft allow; Your parian, pentelic maid — Admire her, ye who can! My choice is for a darker shade, The girl of healthy tan. The neck they liken to the swan, The goose has, quite as true ; The maid with ivory forehead wan •May have a blockhead, too; But nut-brown damsels are the thing For me or any man ; The summer girl's the one I sing, The girl with wholesome tan! The snow-white pallor some desire Cold hands and feet foretell; The marble brows they so admire Mean marble hearts as well; Give me the warm, fresh blood that flows On nature's freest plan, The jolly pal whose friendship glows, The girl with summer tan! — John Jarvis Holden. 'HEN my turn comes, dear shipmates all, Oh, do not weep for me ; n a hammock For it's no good weeping When a shipmate's sleeping, And the long watch keeping At the bottom of the sea. But think of me sometimes and say : 'He did his duty right, And strove the best he knew to please His captain in the fight'; But it's no use weeping When a shipmate's sleeping, And the long watch keeping Through the long, long night. And let my epitaph be these words : 'Cleared for this port, alone, A craft that was staunch, and sound, and true — Destination unknown'; And there's no good weeping When a shipmate's sleeping, And the long watch keeping All alone, all alone. And mark this well, my shipmates dear Alone the long night through, Up there in the darkness behind the stars I'll look out sharp for you; So, there's no good weeping When a shipmate's sleeping, And the long watch keeping All the long night through. — Barrett Eastman, I : ;- T'S we two, it's we two, it's we two for ay, All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride ! All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side. What's the world, my lass, my love! — what can it do ? I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by; For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride ! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. Take a kiss from me, thy man; now the song begins: 'All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins.' When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away, Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wed- ding day. — Jean Ingelow. /^URSED is he who doth disclose ^- / The converse held beneath the rose! When friend meets friend, salute the sign, And toast it well in ale or wine. The world may seek to pry within; May swear you do a secret sin ; But shun them for their taunts and jeers, And hate them for their itching ears! Believe me, it is Heaven to blend In faith with a familiar friend. — Charles Dalmon. \\T1LKN at the last, the earthly end, * * Grey Death his final peace shall send, I shall not part from you, my friend. I shall but pass to such a place As this world is, when for a space Affection shines upon your face. I go where friendship is aglow, Where love is all we need to know ; And you will come where I shall go. — Wallace Rice. i Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Jan. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111