Part 4

* * * * * Sister Mary.

Mary, I know not who Has a truer heart than you. Your's a life that does excell For doing every duty well.

In this world of woman kind A purer life I couldn't find, If I looked my life time thru, I would bring the crown to you.

I am proud to tell you, dear, Your's has been a life of cheer, Where every hardship, trial and sorrow, Was sweetly met before tomorrow.

May God's blessing sweetly rest, In a life so richly blessed With kind words and cheerfulness, For every heart that knew distress.

* * * * * Yes.

'Twas underneath the columbine, Where dearie said she would be mine, My heart rejoiced at that glad word, The sweetest one I ever heard.

I've wondered many times since then How one word changes lives of men, Some it makes and others breaks, And others know they've made mistakes.

It gladdens some and saddens some, It opens up the way to rum, It fills the pen, the cells of jails, It wags the tongue with many tales.

It fills the lawyer's purse with fees, It crowds the courts with quick decrees, It to the drug store many guide, It fills the graves with suicide.

It pulls the trigger of the gun, It breaks the heart of many a one, It causes pain where joy should be, It fills the home with misery.

It joins the short unto the tall, It never heeds old wisdom's call, It clasps the hands of slim and stout, And makes a mess beyond a doubt.

It breaks the dishes on your head, It makes you wish that you were dead, It mixes father with the son, It has no end when once begun.

It's no respecter of your right, It gets you out at dead of night, It makes its scars and many a whelt, It makes you cuss T. Roosevelt.

It makes the Irish like the Dutch, The black the brown the squaw and such. It causes if the truth would tell, A thing on earth you all know well.

So with all wisdom I'll confess, Before you tackle this word yes, Have these professions up in G, Lawyer, preacher and M. D.

* * * * * The Lay of the Last Hen.

'Twas yesterday the deed was done, That made my heart feel like a ton, When cruel fate held its sway, And robbed my hen of her last lay.

The sympathy swelled in my breast, For my old hen so long caressed, Who stood by me for many years, Thru joy and sorrow, mirth and tears.

When times were hard and crops were light, There was to me no sweeter sight, To get that egg and let it melt, Underneath my gnawing pelt.

The tariff never worried her She did her duty at one per, Wilson, Taft or Roosevelt, Never had a cause she felt.

She built the muscle in my arm, She paid the taxes on the farm, She kept the wolf from strolling in, She clothed the kids from Kate to Win.

She always let the whole world know, With joyful song in rain or snow, That she'd performed a duty neat, That man himself has never beat.

I couldn't help it, I'll confess, The tears flowed freely, more or less, When that dear form was tenderly laid, Beneath the elm tree's pleasant shade.

Here's to the hen upon the nest, That keeps the table, fills the guest, Builds up the system, ne'er regrets And brings results whene'er she sets.

* * * * * The Dear Old Hod.

When I've labored hard all day, And the supper's cleared away, There's a joy before I nod, When I load my dear old hod.

As the smoke curls in the air, Chasing from me life's dull care, I can lean far back and think, And put the worry on the blink.

Here's to thee, Missouri cob, Many years upon the job, Your's a mission not all bad, If you ease the load on dad.

* * * * * Dear Old Kate.

I know I stayed a little late, The last time that I courted Kate, I had a speech I wished to try, And how the hours hurried by.

The question that I wished to pop, Would never let me have the flop, My cheeks would burn, my throat get dry, I was nearly hot enough to fry.

I guess I tried a dozen times, I drilled myself in all the lines, But when I reached the vital point, The whole blame works got out of joint.

It made me mad and also sad, I felt like going to the bad, I'd practised long, out in the trees, Just how to face her on my knees.

I'd hold the bough as Katie's hand, And with the best at my command, I'd bare my soul with pleading tears, For her to join me all the years.

I guess I never would have won, If Katie hadn't just for fun Heard my appeal with silent feet, And said, "Why, sure, you dear old sweet."

* * * * * Tim.

Once I knew a man named Tim, Thought a mighty lot of him, For his goodness, heart and mind, Were of such a loving kind.

Never heard him boast or tell, Of the things he'd done so well: Lips would kinda set with tension, If his past you'd slightly mention.

Kinda made his face look sad, Maybe some great grief he'd had, But he'd pass it off and say, Kinda looks like rain today.

Wasn't much past fifty-nine, Led a life serene and fine, Lived just on the edge of town, Liked to have the folks look round.

Greatest chum of little tads, Liked to humor all their fads, Fixed their wagons, made them trains, Soothed their many cares and pains.

Made no difference to Tim, If you'd never heard of him, He would always say, "Hello," Said his mother taught him so.

Worldly goods he hadn't much, Never seemed to care for such, Said he liked the Master's way, Of doing things for just today.

Dear old Tim took sick one night, Thought his spirit would take flight, But we all just hurried in, And it helped revive old Tim.

Said it made him awful glad, Wished a larger house he had, But we all said, get well, Tim, Couldn't lose a man like him.

* * * * * The Business Man.

Here is to the business man, Who does the very best he can, And pays to each their honest debt, And don't forget it makes him sweat.

He labors from the morn till night, With brain and muscle in the fight, To keep his head above the stream, When finances are not serene.

He's to the one you always go, When life has pained you with a woe, You know his purse is always free, To lessen grief or misery.

You toss on him most carelessly, The gratis job of town trustee, And then you pass around the word, He's just the man for the school board.

He helps to school your girls and boys, He shares with you your pains and joys, He helps to pay the preacher's bill, And aids the churches with good will.

He has to pay his bills when due, But if he asks the same of you, You think your credit's met his fears, And let it run along for years.

You let him long and look and look, At your account upon the book, And you'll admit if you are frank, He pays your interest at the bank.

If he would say and tell you true, When your account has long been due, That ten per cent was charged to you, You'd swear until the air was blue.

If he helps you, then why not him, And don't keep sending off your tin, But give it to your home merchants, And keep the gloss from off their pants.

* * * * * Falling Snow.

There's something in the falling snow, That brings back years of long ago, That makes you think of younger days, Behind a span of gallant bays.

The frosty air, the rosy dames, The secrets and the loving names, Of days gone by long years ago, Comes back today with falling snow.

The laughter pealed o'er rocks and trees, The songs re-echoed with the breeze, Of merry rides so bright and gay, Are chasing thru my mind today.

The biting air with keen delight, Puts crispness in the appetite, And mother's pies of golden hue, Soon faded like the morning dew.

And how I wish I could today, Turn back the years the youthful way, And drive the bays and see them go, And blush with youth midst falling snow.

SALLIE'S LOYALTY.

That's Sallie over there in that potato patch. She has been endeavoring to tease from mother earth enough tubers to supply the family through a long winter. Nature in this and many other instances has been unkind. The rain waited too long and the one supply of food that fills so large a place are small as marbles, nevertheless this dear soul laboriously gathered them and is carrying them, pail at a time, and storing them away for a long, cold winter. Though the tubers are small and puny, she has a way of cooking them with such marked success that they would tickle the palate of a king and he'd be passing his plate the second time.

Sal does the housework, the buying of supplies, cares for the chickens, plants the garden, does the sewing, picks up the paint brush when necessary, and does about everything that anyone can do. She is past fifty years of age, most of them hard and bitter years. They have not been the kind of years where the goal has been worth the trials and bitterness. The streaks of silver are beginning to show in her dark hair, she is small in physique, clean limbed, lithe, resourceful, determined, and intelligent. Her schooling in the practical side of life is an attainment any one should be proud of. She is one of the most wiry and courageous women that has ever lived such a grand and noble life and kept the sad, dreary and lonely part locked up in her unselfish heart.

Behold her as she is, one of God's purest gifts! Her life is clean, wholesome and grand and of such a sweetness and beauty that mocks to scorn any imitation of the artist. For eight long years she has cared uncomplainingly for the aged, widowed mother as her almost sole benefactor of aid and cheer in the home. She has sacrificed, schemed, planned, worked, and struggled in a way that is worthy of our greatest financiers, diplomats, or statesmen. She has fought within her own heart far greater battles and carried away the victory to a more deserving reward than many a soldier on the battlefield. She has denied herself in order that she might give the fullest measure of devotion to a dear old mother who is slipping slowly, slowly to that great home of rest and comfort.

God bless you, Sallie, in your old age, when the silver streaks no longer glisten in your hair and it is all turned to the whiteness and purity of snow; when your poor, tired aching limbs from their long years of toil no longer yield to quick response, when time chisels its deep furrows in your brow and your keen eye loses its lustre and grows dim. I hope God will reward you with the choicest gifts of his kingdom, and when the final summons is made and you stand in the open doorway of his love, bathed in the purity of the sparkling dew in the evening time of life, may the sweetness of your character come wafting gently in the fulness of its beauty and dwell amidst all that is holy, sweet and sacred.

Dearest Sal, you're growing old, But there never can be told, The great jewels you possess, In your life of righteousness.

I would love you just the same, Had you reached the highest fame, For you have a heart so true, There would be no change in you.

You have done all duties well, Better than my tongue can tell, I would love to ease your way, And turn your winters back to May.

I have but one life to live, But for you I'd freely give, I'd go down that lonesome valley, If 'twould help you, dear old Sallie.

SUNSHINE.

In endeavoring to entertain you in this chapter I wish I might have the wit of a Nasby or come Nye the Mark; but not having the brilliant talents of either of these illustrious wits who cracked the ribs of so many people I hope you will bear with me patiently as I proceed to give to you some rays of sunshine I have been picking up for the last twenty years from all classes of people.

A fellow said to me one time I'll tell you a panacea for every ailment. I have taken it for years and you don't need a skilled Pharmacist to compound it. This was the simple remedy: Trust in providence and keep your bowels open. I thought it was a pretty good prescription and if applied carefully you would never have appendicitis or a good many other complaints. Of course, he said, some people ask too much of providence. I hardly think it fair to ask the Lord to furnish you the land, the patch of potatoes, a pail to put them in, a spade to dig them with, and then get down on your knees and in funeral tones tell him you are out of spuds and would like a mess for dinner with the jackets off. Don't ask too much.

It is better to whistle than to groan. It will make some heart lighter to hear you whistle than to groan. If you can't whistle a tune sizzle something through your teeth, there's cheer in it for some one. No matter how worrisome, difficult or perplexing the problem is, don't worry or brood over it. Whistle if you can, sizzle if you can't. It will keep you from getting meloncolic; colic that comes from something besides eating too many Colorado watermelons with the accent strong on the water.

I've known people whom you'd think from all appearances they hadn't a care in the world, the sunny side was always exposed and unconsciously they would be dropping encouraging words, doing kind deeds, lending acts of assistance, and doing everything to lessen the other fellow's burden. They didn't tell any one that they didn't know where their breakfast was coming from, but somehow or other they would get hold of some patent breakfast food and eat it in its native state if no cow was at hand and then they were all right until the next meal, luncheon, I believe is the proper society word.

It never pays to be stingy with eulogies or encomiums. A little praise has caused many a breast to heave with gladness and chase away gloom. The cost is small, thank God it's outside of the trusts. So don't be backward in using it at every opportunity you meet. If the sermon is good, go up and tell the semi-paid man behind the pulpit, it won't kill him. He may be surprised, but keep at it until he gets used to it. If brother or sister so and so has made a misstep and you are an unbeliever or not, don't break your neck in rushing to your neighbor and ah, ahing it all over town. Let two thoughts get into your head at once and let the better thought prevail, and instead of helping stain the character of a poor unfortunate, make it your business to use your good advice, if you haven't any then keep still.

When a church member steps from the narrow path, why has everybody such a sudden interest? Why does it cause such a loosening of tongues? The Bible says, "he that is without sin among you let him cast the first stone." If any one but Jesus was without sin why not advertise it. Give it to the Post and use the red letters on the front page. The way I look at the parable quoted by Jesus is that if a stone is thrown some one has to throw it, it may be thrown with intent or carelessness, but in either event the stone has been thrown and some one will be struck, so the best way is not to throw the stone, if you have to throw something, go into one of the leagues and then don't throw a stone. Throw a baseball, but don't hit the umpire.

Wherever you can place a rose where a thorn has been, do it. There is both fragrance and class to a rose, something sweet, cheerful and pretty; but the fellow that can find any redeeming qualities in a thorn is not the person that can stand inspection. Where could you put him where he would be an improvement? You can't progress unless you make use of the things progress is found in. Pluck the rose every time, leave the other alone.

Don't wait 'till it's time to erect the tombstone before you pay tribute to your dear friend. One small flower is worth more to the living than tons piled on their caskets. Some poor fellows never get tomb stones, head stones or anything to mark their graves. How much better you feel if you have never put a pebble in any one's path as an obstruction to their progress than if you had been rolling boulders and now see your mistake. You can't afford to do it. Pay your little tributes all along the journey of life. Be as careful dropping pains or sorrows as you would dropping pearls.

Don't wait 'till your father, mother or wife dies, then lie about them on their tombstones. You only have one father and one mother; be careful and think some before you pour out any derogatory statements or cheap invectives concerning them. Your wife is entitled to a great many compliments you never gave her. The reverential words on the slab in the cemetery isn't going to fool any one, and have them to believe, as you would wish, that you did the fine thing, when really you are to blame for stealing from her about twenty years of her life time. You've caused hollow cheeks where roses should have been and you stole many pleasures from her and enjoyed them all by yourself. Too much swine in your nature to make people think you were sincere in your profuse epigram on the tombstone.

So many people think they are endowed with a peculiar and special sort of wisdom and are able to fool their fellow men so successfully that they try it on the Lord. Here is where they make a fatal mistake, for the Lord certainly knew what he was doing when he made countenances. The newspaper's most clever ads are no comparison to the clean, open ads the Lord puts on faces and the clear unfrosted windows where you can look far into the soul.

You can't break man's laws without being detected. If you are a sneak criminal, inebriate, crook, lascivious, immoral or any other of the degrading types in the category of a false man, the warning is openly and clearly displayed on your countenance. You can't fly false colors and succeed, for sooner or later you pay the penalty to the last farthing. When you hear the remark "I don't like his looks," there is something shown in the countenance to verify the statement or no accusation would have been made. Be a man and your face will do the advertising.

Don't be afraid of censure or criticism or let it keep you from helping the fellow that is down. God gave us religion for that purpose. It's something to use every day in the week and not a specialty for the Sabbath; the more you use it the brighter it gets. Anything you don't use and keep polished loses its usefulness and becomes rusty. Use it whenever you can and you'll be surprised the confidence you gain in people's hearts. It's the greatest purifier in the world, that's why God gave it to us. He knew what he was doing. It's the only thing in the world that will lift up the fallen woman, the drunken man, the horse thief, the blasphemer and all others when every hand is turned against them. It's a panacea for every evil. It's the only thing that will take humanity with all their sins after they are entirely forsaken and down at the threshhold of hell and make them better. It will take them in the eleventh hour when they come sneaking in at the back door with characters stained as black as night and every law has been transgressed, but as they plead piteously for forgiveness, their petition is heard and all their sins are blotted out and the Lord gives them another chance. He stoops down in his great mercy and love and gives them that peace beyond all understanding. He raises them up and helps them reach for the cross when no hand is extended to help them.

At every opportune chance laugh long and heartily, nothing is better to cheer and comfort, and while it is doing the other fellow good you are getting the cheapest medicine on the market for your digestive organs. Try it after you eat some boarding house pancakes an inch think. You have lots of things to smile for. There is always some one else worse off than yourself. You see them everywhere. If you have a large family your neighbor has a larger one. If you have none at all pity your neighbor who can't figure out some way to get rid of his mother-in-law without losing his wife. If you are able to hobble around, have a heart for the fellow in the wheel chair and the fellow that has to stay flat on his back and never sees the sun rise.

There are two kinds of sunshine; one is entirely dependent upon the individual and the other was inaugurated shortly after creation. Each is necessary to fill the divine plan. While one kind is periodical in some people, the other is always at hand unless clouds intervene. God's sunshine is unexcelled and is a marvel in itself for warmth, beauty, cheerfulness and grandeur. The rising and falling of this wonderful orbit body is said to start and finish the work of man, as he was supposed to labor and scheme from sun to sun.