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diff --git a/75154-0.txt b/75154-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e6486b --- /dev/null +++ b/75154-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1257 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75154 *** + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Cover art] + + + + + SILKEN THREADS + + + BY + + WILHELMINA STITCH + + AUTHOR OF + "THE FRAGRANT MINUTE FOR EVERY DAY" + "SILVER LININGS," "THE GOLDEN WEB" + "WHERE SUNLIGHT FALLS", ETC. + + + + EIGHTH EDITION + + + + METHUEN & CO., LTD. + 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. + LONDON + + + + + _First Published ... October 20th 1927 + Second Edition ... November 1927 + Third Edition ... December 1927 + Fourth Edition ... January 1928 + Fifth Edition ... April 1928 + Sixth Edition ... December 1928 + Seventh Edition ... March 1929 + Eighth Edition ... 1929_ + + + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN + + + + + CONTENTS + + + THE OLD SAMPLER + EVERYDAY RELIGION + THE THOROUGHBRED MONGREL + THE WEEK ROUND + HER TROUBLESOME HUSBAND + THE STRING BAG + LIFE GROWS FAIRER + TO THE FIRST-BORN + A LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYER + THE BEDROOM'S WELCOME + THE TEACHER + PATRICIA ANN'S GARDEN + "BLESSED ARE THEY" + A MOTHER SPEAKS + THE BOY SAMUEL + THE PERFECT FRIEND + MAKING THE BEST OF IT + A TOAST + THE GARDENER'S PRAYER + LEGS AND ARMS + THE BEAUTY SPECIALIST + THE FIRST BIRTHDAY + FOR THAT WHICH IS COMMON + SPRING CLEANING + A SPRINGTIME LULLABY + UNTO THE DAY-- + AT THE DAY'S END + THE FAMILY DOCTOR + MEMORY'S GARDEN + MY TRUANT SHADOW + TO CAT PETER + IN THE BEGINNING + HAMMER AWAY + WHITHER BOUND? + LOOKING BACKWARD + THE KITCHEN + THE HARBOUR HEART + TO A PATCHWORK QUILT + MY OLD DOLL + LITTLE ROADS TO HAPPINESS + FRIENDSHIP AND SUSPICION + THE WORTHY CREW + THE POSTMAN + "ANGELS IN THE SNOW" + TO MONDAY MORNING + SECURITIES + WHEN DECEMBER COMES + THE LITTLE SHOPS + SUMMER IN YOUR HEART + APRIL, THE JESTER + THE SONG OF THE SOUL + A BED-TIME SONG + AN ANNIVERSARY + TO A FLORIST'S WINDOW + TWO COINS + THE STREET SINGER + MERELY PARENTS + SONG OF THE GIVER + THE 'BUS CONDUCTOR + A LITTLE SONG OF FRIENDSHIP + + + + +_THE OLD SAMPLER_ + +Dear little girl of Long Ago, so sweetly docile, quiet and prim, +making, laboriously and slow, your silken prayer to Him--did your +child-heart beat eager wings beneath the bones of your stiff dress, +like some caged bird that sweetly sings, longing for freedom's +happiness? It must have been a day in June when with a gleaming, +scarlet thread, you worked the livelong afternoon, "Give us this day +our daily bread." For look! Just where a line begins your needle +strayed a square too high; quite crooked are the words "our sins." +Oh! were you gazing at the sky? Or did the daisies on your lawn +begin to wink and blink at you? Perhaps you spied a leprechaun just +where your mother's roses grew? I think God smiled at that mistake, +dear little girl so fair and prim, and blessed those hands that +failed to make--a perfect gift for Him. + + + + +_EVERYDAY RELIGION_ + +How far you seek, poor soul, to find your God, through such a maze of +noisy, foolish words, and yet they speak of Him--each silent sod, +each crooning breeze, and all the singing birds. He dwells not in a +tenet or a creed, no roof can compass Him, nor walls enclose, but you +will find Him in the humblest weed and in the beauty of a budding +rose. Think you He cares for some high-sounding phrase, the gift +from lips that serve a subtle mind? Some homely household sounds +best sing His praise, and deeds that spring from hearts sincere and +kind. Why travel such a devious path and long, when sun and moon and +stars proclaim Him near? Hark to His voice, a throbbing, pleading +song, bidding us slay Intolerance and Fear. Return, oh soul, from +journeying afar; there is a quiet road, straight to your breast. +Travel this path, at rise of evening star, you'll find that He has +come to be your guest. + + + + +_THE THOROUGHBRED MONGREL_ + +Your tail's absurdly long for a doggie of your size. Your ears, well +they look wrong, but the love-light in your eyes, ah! makes one quite +forget you've won no prize as yet. You're a mongrel, little chap, +just a mongrel, nothing more. Take your paws off from my lap. Oh! +you silly little bore, must you make this awful fuss just to show +your love for us? Your hair is such a length! You're clumsy with +your feet; you've tenacity and strength, you're a ruffian on the +street, and you wriggle like an eel just to show the love you feel. +Mongrel, with no hope of fame, who's your father? You don't know? +Ought to slink away in shame, but the children love you so, and +despite your tail and head--you're at heart, a thoroughbred! + + + + +_THE WEEK ROUND_ + +Idleness we now must shun, another week of work begun, another hill +that must be won, for 'tis Monday morning. Clear in brain and strong +in limb, now we're in good fighting trim, Sunday's joys are growing +dim, for 'tis Tuesday morning. Energies have reached the crest, +we've ambition, hope and zest, work, of all life's gifts the best, on +this Wednesday morning. Duties pile up thick and fast, the middle of +the week is past, now our goal's in sight at last, for 'tis Thursday +morning. Smiling, singing, lift the load, do not let the burden +goad, look ahead--there ends the road, for 'tis Friday morning. Soon +we'll fold our tasks away. A few more hours and then to play, +to-morrow is a precious day--blithe Saturday, good morning! + + + + +_HER TROUBLESOME HUSBAND_ + +"If only," she said (and wistful her eyes), "my husband would take a +pride in his ties; but somehow he makes them look like a string. +I've pleaded, I've bullied, I can't do a thing. He'll never look +smart or stylish, I fear--and yet, all the same, he's really a dear!" +"Now why should he wear, year in and year out, his hat of grey felt +the wrong way about? And why, when he fastens his cardigan vest, he +should miss the first buttonhole, I've never guessed. And then he's +surprised there's one button to spare! I plead or I lecture, but he +doesn't care. He'll never look smart or stylish, I fear--and yet, +all the same, he's really a dear!" "If all his pockets were merely +for looks, and not for his scissors and pencils and books; for +matches, for pouch, for pipe and for knife--he'd not look a lumpy +disgrace to his wife. If he'd brush his clothes sometimes, use +hangers at night, he'd look like our neighbour, so smart--a delight! +He'll never improve, not the slightest, I fear; but yet, I assure +you, he's really a dear." + + + + +_THE STRING BAG_ + +A task to irritate a saint--unravelling string of every length! +Before all's done, perhaps I'll faint; it's such a tax upon one's +strength. This piece seems boastful of its knot, as if it knows it +hurt my nails. Dear me! This bag does hold a lot; my courage flags +and fails. But, after all--it's rather fun. Suppose this string is +but a street. Ah! now my journey's well begun; each knot a mountain +at my feet. Till these be scaled, I can't progress. I clench my +teeth and work away, beyond this knot lies happiness, and I must pass +while yet 'tis day. Another piece leads to a hill where fairy folk +in tree trunks dwell. I'll blaze this trail with right good will, +and live among them for a spell. So swift my fingers work, and fast +(imagination's on the wing!) and all my troubles fade at last--for +life is like a knotted string! + + + + +_LIFE GROWS FAIRER_ + +As life goes by it fairer grows. Oh, yes, it fairer grows to me. +And may it be so at the close when Death advances lovingly. It is +not greater pomp nor state, nor high ambitions well attained, nor any +stroke of lucky fate, nor wealth that Midas-like I've gained. +Material gains I have not known (my bank account's about the same!) +and yet the world has fairer grown; with certainty I make this claim. +In love and tenderness and grace, the world grows fairer day by day. +What joy to see a friendly face as we go bravely on our way. Not +cleverness, nor knowledge, wit, do much enhance this life of ours (of +course I know they help a bit), but God be thanked for sun and +flow'rs; for peace beneath the star-strewn skies; for friends who sit +around one's fire; for books, amusing, helpful, wise; for Love that +crowns the heart's desire. + + + + +_TO THE FIRST-BORN_ + +Lovely was life, and seemingly complete! Such happiness was ours and +deep content. The days flew by like buoyant birds and fleet: Joy was +the urge to every fresh intent. No hours to waste, we had so much to +do; Life was our teacher and we loved her well; loved every sound and +every shade and hue; always she wove some new and potent spell. And +then the blinding miracle--you came. A crumpled rose leaf, funny +little thing, no teeth, no hair, no words, not e'en a name, and yet +our hearts with ecstasy did sing. A tiny bundle. Eight pounds in a +shawl! And yet you caused so swift and great a change, became the +pulse of life, our joy, our all. We lived without you once, how very +strange! Then was all beauty symbolised by you. Then did we find +all joys on earth, above, wrapped in a shawl; and then at last we +knew the meaning of that phrase, "Lo! God is Love." + + + + +_A LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYER_ + +My prayer is such a little thing, it might get lost and go astray. +Are you, dear God, now listening to what I say? I wish to thank You +for the sun that kissed, this morn, my sleeping eyes; for all the +happy things I've done since I did rise. For gift of sound and gift +of sight; for feet that skip so merrily; for food and warmth, and +each delight You gave to me. I thank You for my mother dear; I thank +You for my father kind; and for the star that watches near--behind +the blind. So many Grown-ups show me love, though I'm a child and +still quite small. Look down upon them from above and, please God, +bless them all. And now, dear God, I'll say "Good-night," and may +Your angels guard my bed until You send Your morning light to wake +this Sleepy Head. + + + + +_THE BEDROOM'S WELCOME_ + +I bid you welcome, Friend! This thought is joy to me: that you +should seek my sympathy, at the day's end. My walls--they will +enfold you with tenderness and grace. Maternal arms are they to hold +you in warm and safe embrace. Here you may cast aside the cares you +had; discard them like old garments, drab and worn. In robes of +peace, until to-morrow morn, now be you clad! See what sweet dreams +I have called forth for you. They are the lovely shadows in the +room; and on the walls, like fairy flowers they'll bloom, the whole +night through. And some will hover gently o'er your head; and some +press softly 'gainst your sleeping heart; and you will travel to a +magic mart--a Dreamship is your bed. I bid you welcome, Guest! Hold +out your hands to me, a loving friend. For now, Tired Soul, the day +is at an end--and I will give you rest. + + + + +_THE TEACHER_ + +There's Amy, Daphne, Pam, and Rose; Elizabeth and Lucille fair; and +Jellis with tip-tilted nose; Amanda with rich auburn hair. And other +blossoms, row on row, standing so primly in their places. It sets +the teacher's heart aglow to see their morning-glory faces. Now like +a mother she must be--a loving mother wise and kind--clothing each +tender memory in prettiest garments she can find. As mothers joy in +dainty frills, so will she trim each baby heart with melodies and +lilting trills, borrowed for them, from Beauty's mart. For +ribbons--phrases gleaming bright, most beautiful to hear and say; +each one a streamer of delight with which a little soul can play! +For food--she proffers Truth's white bread. For drink--the Spirit's +sparkling stream. With fairy-lore is Fancy fed, that they, her +bairns, may sweetly dream. + + + + +_PATRICIA ANN'S GARDEN_ + +Lupins from Patricia Ann! She, though barely seven, has a garden of +her own, a little bit of heaven. Blossoms that she grew for me--so +her little letter ran--what gift could more lovely be. Lupins from +Patricia Ann! Purple, pink and ivory white, here is one with tint of +rose; did they, Pat, o'er-top your height, though you stood on +tippy-toes? Thoughts are wandering for a span round about a vase of +blue. Lupins from Patricia Ann--can I help but think of you. +Patricia Ann! Throughout your days you a gardener must be. +Gardeners have gentle ways, all their thoughts make melody. As your +destined path you take, and places you must scan; there, sow seeds +for love's own sake, blossoms from Patricia Ann! + + + + +"_BLESSED ARE THEY_" + +"Blessed are they who are pleasant to live with." Blessed are they +who sing in the morning, whose faces have smiles for their early +adorning, who come down to breakfast companioned by Cheer, who won't +dwell on trouble, nor entertain fear, whose eyes smile forth bravely, +whose lips curve to say, "Life! I salute you. Good-morrow, New +Day!" "Blessed are they who are pleasant to live with." Blessed are +they who treat one another, though merely a sister, a father, a +brother, with the very same courtesy they would extend to a casual +acquaintance, or dearly-loved friend; who choose for the telling +encouraging things, and choke back the bitter, the sharp word that +stings. "Blessed are they who are pleasant to live with." Blessed +are they who give of their best, who bring to the home bright +laughter, gay jest, who make themselves charming for no other reason +than charm is a blossom for homes, every season! Who bestow love on +others throughout the long day--pleasant to live with and blessed are +they! + + + + +_A MOTHER SPEAKS_ + +A lovely photograph? Ah, yes! But still it does not show the sun +turning to copper each brown tress--but I have seen this done. You +cannot see how in each cheek a laughing dimple comes and goes and +plays a game of hide-and-seek in petals of a rose. You cannot see +the bright star-shine within her beaming hazel eyes; nor see the +colour, like red wine, denote a glad surprise. You have not watched +her body's grace, its perfect, joyous symmetry; nor have you glimpsed +her sleeping face, turned happily to me. My baby's photograph. Ah, +yes! But you should hear her lilting voice with tones that break +with happiness and make the birds rejoice. You have not felt her +tiny hand caress your cheek; nor known her kiss. But if you had, +you'd understand--she's lovelier, far, than this! + + + + +_THE BOY SAMUEL_ + +He must have been a lonely little boy. The cold stone Temple for a +nursery floor, and the Sanctuary Lamp for a glittering toy, and a +Tamarix tree by the Temple door. (A Tamarix tree with scarcely a +leaf to comfort a homesick child in his grief.) No woman's lips on +his baby face; no woman's arms to hug him tight. Who put his +sandals, each night, in place, and hung up his ephod, small and +white? (Sometimes, I fear, when the old priest slept, the little +child Samuel wept and wept.) What did he think, when once a year, +Hannah, the mother, with love-lit eyes, held him close and whispered, +"Dear! See, I have brought my babe a prize," and gave him a coat +that she had made (I hope it was cut of rich brocade!) I hope it had +friendly birds and flow'rs, embroidered in threads of blue and gold, +playmates for his long, lonely hours in the silent Temple dim and +cold. With such a coat to wear and touch--he might not miss his +mother much. + + + + +_THE PERFECT FRIEND_ + +Shabby and down at heel? What does he care, so long as he can steal +next to my chair? Sombre and dull of wit; feeling morose? He +doesn't mind a bit, snuggles up close. Silence I may require. He's +quite content. Silence is his desire, till my mood's spent. Ready +to run a race, swim, fetch a stone. Yet will, with perfect grace, +leave me alone. Some folks oft misconstrue words we let fall. Alter +the shade and hue, turn sweet to gall. Not so this friend of mine; +he understands. Gives me his secret sign, licks both my hands! +Never misjudges, trusts to the end, pattern of loyalty--Doggie, the +Friend. + + + + +_MAKING THE BEST OF IT_ + +The day was like a garment that I perforce must wear. I didn't like +its colour much, it didn't suit my hair. I didn't like its line or +cut, it didn't please my eye. "You look so very drab and mean," said +I with heavy sigh. But since I had to wear it, this garment made for +me, I said: I will embellish it and trim it prettily. Around its +neck I stitched some smiles, a frill of them, all gold. And at the +wrists, bright fancy's braid, quite lovely to behold. I girdled it +with rosy dreams ('tis wrong to look a dowd!) and for a little +'kerchief, I chose a snow-white cloud. I gathered shining, gleaming +thoughts and looped them here and there. The day it was a garment +that I just loved to wear. + + + + +_A TOAST_ + +Here's to the days that are yet to be, to the life we're going to +lead, to the aim achieved successfully, to the prisoned hope that's +freed. Here's to the strength we're going to find, here's to the +work we'll soon begin, strength of body and strength of mind and the +hill we're going to win. Here's to the El Dorado, friends, the land +of dreams we're soon to sight. Here's to the hour the striving ends +and we stake our claim to the heart's delight. Here's to the road +that winds afar, here's to the courage we'll never lack, to the +dauntless will, the beckoning star, to the eyes that look not back. +Here's to the days that are yet to be, here's to the work that lies +ahead, to the joy in striving constantly--till the last mile's paced, +and the last word's said. + + + + +_THE GARDENER'S PRAYER_ + +I pray You, let this garden be a gentle advocate for me before Your +throne. Lord, it is fair and orderly and through its sweet serenity, +my faults I own. My life at times has gone awry, but here beneath +Your arch of sky, the pattern's true. The wind that softly passes +by; tall trees, bright blossoms, grass, all try to pleasure You. +With zest I've weeded day by day. Judge that my sins I cast away and +am now shriven. And here Your sunbeams come to play, and moonbeams +on this path do stray. Your stars look down from heaven. Will You +not take this pattern bright as handiwork for Your delight and bless +this little garden? See how the lilies tall and white stand unafraid +within Your sight, and ask, for me, Your pardon. + + + + +_LEGS AND ARMS_ + +A curious thing, but a fact all the same, some friends of mine (never +mind what name) thought of nothing and talked of naught but a William +and Mary chair they'd bought. And also a table, a tallboy, a chest, +with which they had furnished the room for a guest. Whenever I +visited just for a span, 'twas "William and Mary" or good "Queen +Anne." 'Twas "Heppelwhite" this and "Chippendale" that. I soon had +the periods learnt off pat. They looked at a leg, "Cup-turned," they +said, and bade me observe their Sheraton bed. But now all's changed, +and the reason's this. There's a little curved leg they love to +kiss; there's a dimpled arm so smooth and white, its graceful contour +gives delight. And as for the chest, it gives much joy. Says Daddy, +"Just look at this fine tall boy!" Of Seventeenth Century they don't +speak. Everything dates from just last week. For period furniture +lost its hold--since they have acquired a One-Week-Old. + + + + +_THE BEAUTY SPECIALIST_ + +A lotion, madam, for your eyes? Oh, certainly, come this way, +please. You'll use this one if you are wise. Its chief ingredients +are these: Ten drops of rain, ten drops of dew, a most refreshing, +cooling brew, mixed by a scented breeze. And next? A face cream? +Come this way. Now, here is one I recommend. It can work wonders in +a day, yet quite an inexpensive blend. One ounce of laughter, smiles +and twinkles. 'Tis guaranteed to smooth out wrinkles. I thank you, +madam. Take or send? For jaded nerves? A recipe? I've this that +all my clients heed. A draught of wholesome sympathy for someone +else's urgent need; forgetfulness of your own cares by thinking of +world brotherhood--though you may find a few grey hairs you'll also +find that life is good. Good morning, madam. This way, please. No, +naught to pay for things like these. + + + + +_THE FIRST BIRTHDAY_ + +It's all as strange as it can be, and Baby wonders, silently. Mother +hugs him even more than she ever did before. Father has such +boisterous ways, bellows words of petting praise, flings him high +into the air. "Oh!" shrieks mother, "do take care." 'Tis four +o'clock, he's been to sleep and yet he's not allowed to creep; not +allowed the happiness of sucking bits of his clean dress. He has to +sit in his high chair and let a lot of people stare. They bring him +things to touch and squeeze, and sister plagues him to say "please." +Then someone cries, "Now, Baby, look! Here is a lovely picture +book." And someone else says, "Here's a bunny, a soft, white woolly +one, for Sonny." He's feeling bored. He thinks he'll cry. Just +then he catches mother's eye. She lifts him up, oh! pretty sight, a +little candle burning bright! And Mummie whispers in his ear, "It's +your first birthday, precious dear." + + + + +_FOR THAT WHICH IS COMMON_ + +"For that which is common, be praised, O Lord!" For sun and the tang +in the morning air. For mist and the grey of a soothing sky. For +night and the stars within her hair. For work and the joy in the +will to try. For love and its binding silken cord--for that which is +common, be praised, O Lord! For hands and their clasp of friend with +friend. For clever fingers that mould and make; for home and its +rest at the day's long end, for Peace that the thirsty soul doth +slake, for china and flowers and homely board--for that which is +common, be praised, O Lord. For laughter of children absorbed in +play, for laughter of adults whose hearts are young, for the hillocks +and valleys of life's short day, for gift of speech and the gentle +tongue, for love of service, its own reward--for that which is +common, be praised, O Lord. + + + + +_SPRING CLEANING_ + +Sing a song of Spring-cleaning! Polish up the mind, open all the +windows, pull up every blind; let in shafts of sunshine, cleansing +breezes, too; sweep away all cobwebs--that's the thing to do. Bathe +the eyes in gladness, look at sky and earth. Fill the lungs with +laughter, magic's worked by mirth. Sweep out every corner, free the +heart from dust; intolerance and prejudice are nasty types of rust! +Key the slackened heart-strings, ready for a tune. Love will be in +need of them, lilac time is soon. When the mind is polished, when +the heart is clean, what a charming person will step upon the scene! + + + + +_A SPRINGTIME LULLABY_ + +Pink and white blossom, hushaby, lullaby! Pink and white blossom, go +you to sleep. Bluebells are silent, hushaby, lullaby, only the stars +may twinkle and peep. Blue eyes of baby, hushaby, lullaby, now must +they close 'neath their curtains so white. The thrush has ceased +singing, hushaby, lullaby, pink and white blossom, I kiss you +good-night. The white woolly lambkins are peacefully sleeping, +hushaby, lullaby, gold-haloed head. O'er the gold of the meadows a +grey mist is creeping, the wings of the angels now curtain your bed. +Pink and white blossom, hushaby, lullaby. Your cot is a garden, the +fairest I know. Rose petals your cheeks are, hushaby, lullaby, and +the curls on the pillow like buttercups glow! Pink and white +blossom, hushaby, lullaby, fall you to sleep while the nightingales +sing. Bluebells your eyes are, hushaby, lullaby, pink and white +blossom, the glory of spring. + + + + +_UNTO THE DAY--_ + +Many things in this world are bad, no good looking the other way, +lots of things to make us sad--but it's very fine to-day. Loads of +troubles come to us, you've had yours and I've had mine. We won't +brood and fret and fuss--for to-day is very fine. Chilly when the +winter's here, and no leaf is on the bough. Let us sing a song of +cheer--for it's very pleasant now. Life is often cruel, unkind. +Vainly seek we for the light. Gusts of passion fog the mind--but, +just now, the sun shines bright. Let's not brood on grief that's +past, shadows fall but shadows lift. Only Love and Goodness +last--let's enjoy to-day's good gift. + + + + +_AT THE DAY'S END_ + +Your pardon, Life, if we have treated ill one hour of this good day; +if we have shown a stubborn, sulky will, choosing an ugly way, though +you have offered for our errant feet a well-built, clean, a straight +and smiling street! Your pardon, Life, if we have failed to see the +beauty of each hour; if we have walked with eyes turned inwardly, +blind to a bird or flow'r; to all the loveliness you offered us. +Your pardon, Life, if we have acted thus. And if we have, one +moment, turned deaf ears to voices that inspire; if we have +entertained pale, cowardly fears and fanned a low desire; if we have +brought to naught one gift you gave, your pardon, Life, we crave. +Oh, hear us, Life, if we have acted ill, in deed or thought along the +way; to-morrow we will rise with strengthened will--and tarnish not +your day. + + + + +THE FAMILY DOCTOR + +He has no time to "specialise," is quite unknown to fame; he's +understanding, kindly, wise, and "doctor" is his name. Always at +patients' beck and call, all hours of day and night, for both +momentous ills and small--and oft with death to fight. Not always is +it draughts to drink, his trusting patients need. He tries to make +the thoughtless think--'tis sometimes hearts that bleed. The +honoured confidant and friend of families is he, and often when for +him they send, they crave but sympathy. "Doctor," one says, "will +make the lad see reason quickly, dear." Doctor is asked to soften +Dad, or cast out mother's fear. Their joys and sorrows he doth +share, for doctor always must be told; he lightens many a heavy care, +and this for love, not gold. And he mends broken spirits, too, +dispenses cheer and mirth. The every-ready friend and true--the very +salt of earth. + + + + +_MEMORY'S GARDEN_ + +How fortunate are we, blessed with a memory! It is God's gift to all +in high estate and small. A storehouse for the keeping of beauty +we've been reaping from life's fields, along the way, hour by hour +and day by day. Oh Eyes! let nothing pass. The dew-kissed morning +grass is a very lovely sight. Then there are stars at night; and a +little child at play is a twinkling star for day! Oh Ears! drink in +the sounds with which this world abounds. Not music only, no, not +this alone. For what more lovely than the throbbing tone of human +voice that blends tenderly with voice of friends? Oh Soul! garner +most zealously each quiet joy, each ecstasy, each sound, each touch, +each sight, whate'er has given delight. Then when the summer days of +life draw to a close, from Memory's fair garden--we can pluck a rose. + + + + +_MY TRUANT SHADOW_ + +I envied little girls to-day: I envied little boys. For part of me +just longed to play with Springtime's jolly toys. I longed to have a +hoop to bowl, a spinning top and whip, a bright red ball to bounce +and roll--a rope so I might skip. A rope with handles very gay, on +each a painted rose. Then little girls who passed my way would say, +"Oh! look at those!" But I, alas! this morning walked with silly, +grown-up tread; so wisely my companion talked, such solemn things he +said. But suddenly my shadow tripped a little way ahead. And with a +brand new rope it skipped--I feared it would drop dead. So fast it +skipped, such slender feet, it really made me wince. And then it +skipped across the street; I have not seen it since. But what it's +doing I can guess, that naughty, truant, Shadow-me! It's spinning +tops (oh! happiness) and bowling hoops with ecstasy! + + + + +_TO CAT PETER_ + +My Peter! It is time I told you flat, just what I think of species +known as cat. Throughout the centuries, from earliest days, mere +human-beings have sung loud your praise. Beloved of popes the cat +has often been; sacred in Egypt; petted by king or queen. And you, +you orphan, common little stray, accept the homage that we weakly pay +as if it were your just and proper due. I am disgusted, quite +annoyed with you. What do you do for us, I'd like to know? You care +not when or where we come or go. You show no joy when we return at +night, but blink your eyes, and are indifferent, quite. You stalk +into the kitchen, drink your milk, then lick your paws until they +shine like silk; sit in a sunny window, catch a fly; then, feeling +bored, leap to a shelf on high, and from this prominence you view +with scorn--those who have served with love since you were born! + + + + +_IN THE BEGINNING_ + +In the beginning was the seed. And silently the work went on. The +roots struck deep; new life was freed; the warm rain fell; the bright +sun shone. A tiny shoot; two leaves of green; growth hour by +hour--and then the day when all the glory of a flower was seen. The +deed perfected in true beauty's way, for not a single word had yet +been heard! Grant us the power to act this way. Let each good +impulse strike upon rich soil, and there take root and blossom +through the day not by the breath of words but silent toil. For +gracious words should follow what we do, the lovely blossoms of a +fruitful deed; or like the sun's exquisite farewell hue, beauty that +is of service, the just meed. "First, we will act." This is the +best of creeds. For words draw life after the good is done; and +flash within the sunlight of our deeds like rays reflected from the +spirit's sun. + + + + +_HAMMER AWAY_ + +Watching the blacksmith, were you, son? Watching the way his work is +done. Muscle is needed and also brain. Hammer, and hammer, and +hammer again, striking the blow, tirelessly, true. Fashioned at last +the perfect shoe. Wasn't done quickly, lad, admit; persistence +needed and strength and grit. That is the way we all must work (no +use tiring nor trying to shirk). Not for an hour, not for a day; nor +for a week, nor month, nor year; just how long no one can say (keep +on, laddie, success is near), hammer away, boy, hammer away. Look +how ambition's sparks are flying (Splendid! laddie, just keep on +trying), fashion your dream on the anvil, duty; mould and hammer it +into beauty. You are a smith; your anvil, life. Keep swinging the +hammer, despite all strife. Honest your purpose, stroke that is +true; joy in the thing you are trying to do; ambition's flame for the +smithy's fire, lit by the strength of a great desire. Then noble the +work, at the end of the day--hammer away, lad, hammer away. + + + + +_WHITHER BOUND?_ + +A window filled with naught but shoes of every shape and every size; +of black and brown and flaunting hues--they claimed my fascinated +eyes. I simply had to stand and stare (would you believe me, in the +rain!), I had no wish to buy a pair, indeed, I have a foolish brain. +But this is why I could not go: I could not tear myself away, I felt +a great desire to know where all these shoes would wend one day. And +while the raindrops, laughing, fell, I stood and mused a little +while. This pair, oh, anyone could tell, would walk for many a +business mile, and those would mince along the street as proud as +proud as they could be; and these, they were for dancing feet. +Perhaps (hoped I) they'll dance with me! Just then a cosy pair I +spied. Ah, they would meet my heart's desire, for when it rained and +stormed outside, they'd stay, with books, beside the fire. + + + + +_LOOKING BACKWARD_ + +I can remember many childhood joys, a cashmere frock my mother made +for me; a woolly lamb, best loved of many toys; mauve frock, white +lamb, and little girl of three. I can remember (Oh! I'm full of +shame) picking big holes in mother's gingerbread. And when she asked +me for the culprit's name, "It must have been the flies," I calmly +said. I can remember a laburnam tree spanning a river with its arch +of gold. And stored for ever in my memory are all the Fairy Tales my +father told. I'll ne'er forget a little magic door, a little shiny +gate of yellow wood. Through it I passed whene'er the clock struck +four (provided that I really had been good). Then down a hill, quite +steep and very wide, a perilous descent to Paradise! The +drawing-room door--and I was safe inside, and reached the haven of my +mother's eyes. + + + + +_THE KITCHEN_ + +Of course, I'm proud! (the kitchen said). 'Tis I who harbour water, +bread. The staff of Life these two things be, and both of them come +forth from me. The Salt and Spice of Life I share with all dependent +on my fare. And oh! I've always something sweet for Nursery Folk, +on truant feet! There's great work done in my domain. 'Tis I who +nourish brawn and brain. Where would this family now be except for +cook, and fire, and me! And who but I sends forth a tray, with +fragrant brew each new-born day? And where would be sweet +Friendship's hour, the dainty china, lovely flow'r, the rush of +children in the room dispelling any hint of gloom, did I, at five +o'clock, not send hot toast and tea of perfect blend? May nought but +cheerful cooks come here; for I, at any time of year, in my great +purpose take delight: to serve the Healthy Appetite. + + + + +_THE HARBOUR HEART_ + +The heart is like a quiet port expecting ships each day. The spirit +is the armoured fort that guards the ocean way. For, sometimes, on +the sea of life there rides an evil ship. The crew belongs to +Captain Strife, who shows a bitter lip. Dead Hopes and Fears and +shattered Dreams, his cargo in the hold; above his ship a vulture +screams, the wind blows keen and cold. Then Coastguard Spirit calls +with zest, "Oh, heart of mine, beware, let not this vessel come to +rest, 'twill bring you black despair." One day, when lovely is the +sky, a ship sails into view. Its banner, Courage, floats on high, +and joyous is the crew. 'Tis Captain Youth with dreams of yore, how +gently he doth speak. Oh, gallant ship, pull into shore, my heart's +the port you seek. + + + + +_TO A PATCHWORK QUILT_ + +Who made you? Was she old or young? Were her fingers white and soft +and slim? And the song that was sung (as she worked) a love song or +a hymn? You think, old quilt, in vain I probe and ask? But like a +mirror you reflect it all. For I can see her at her homely task, +sweet-faced and comely, fair and queenly tall. And there were +toddlers pressed against her knee, their rosy fingers petting each +bright hue. One trilled, "That pretty scarlet piece is meant for +me." Another, "May I have this lovely blue?" How clear it is she +loved all outdoor things. So many shades of sky she's brought +together; touches of crimson seen on blackbirds' wings; the greens of +trees; soft greys of rainy weather. And here is mauve, a wistful, +gentle shade, when she felt weary and a little sad. Ah, me! This +brown is serious and staid, but yellow smiles and proves that she +grew glad. But when she reached the borders then, I think, she chose +the blue to match a midnight sky, and silver snippets for the stars +that wink; and, as she stitched, she sang a lullaby. + + + + +_MY OLD DOLL_ + +"Too old," they cried, "with dolls to play." And so I gently laid +away the doll my father bought for me when I was only half past +three. One day, I mused, my own wee girl may hug that doll and kiss +each curl. How could I tell a roguish boy would treat with scorn my +childhood's joy? One spring, when tidying things anew, my dolly came +again to view. I hugged her and I smoothed her head. "You'll go to +Barbara," I said. "My niece, my golden Babs, is four, she'll love +you as I did of yore." But when it came to paper, string, I felt my +eyes with salt tears sting. I put that dolly back again! Absurd? I +know. But oh! the pain. Then later, when a year had passed, I took +that doll, and held her fast. Said I, "To little Ruth you'll go, +that niece of mine will love you so." I smoothed her dress and +ironed her lace--then put her back in her old place. It's very, very +clear to me, the little girl I used to be refuses to relinquish Moll, +the first, and last, and best-loved Doll! + + + + +_LITTLE ROADS TO HAPPINESS_ + +The little roads to happiness, they are not hard to find; they do not +lead to great success--but to a quiet mind. They do not lead to +mighty power nor to substantial wealth. They bring one to a book, a +flower, a song of cheer and health. The little roads to happiness +are free to everyone; they lead one to the wind's caress, to kiss of +friendly sun. These little roads are shining white, for all the +world to see; their sign-boards, pointing left and right, are love +and sympathy. The little roads of happiness have this most charming +way; no matter how they may digress throughout the busy day; no +matter where they twist and wind through fields of rich delight, +they're always of the self-same mind to lead us home at night. + + + + +_FRIENDSHIP AND SUSPICION_ + +Friendship and Suspicion cannot dwell together. Friendship loves the +sun; Suspicion, cloudy weather. Friendship needs must trust; +Suspicion has to doubt, and, seeking hidden faults, turn all things +inside out. Friendship clings to Truth, which is Suspicion's foe. +'Tis Truth that feeds the wick for Friendship's steady glow. No +matter what the problem, ah! Friendship understands. And proffers +ready helpfulness with eager, outstretched hands. And never +questions coldly, nor probes with bitter sneer, but eases every +burden, dispels each chilly fear. Friendship seeks companions, +Suspicion walks alone, eyelids drooping meanly, in his heart, a +stone. Friendship's joy is service, fair or foul the weather. +Suspicion turns from giving--so they cannot dwell together. + + + + +_THE WORTHY CREW_ + +Discontented? Job no good? Chief is never praising you? Going +elsewhere? Wish you could? Feeling bitter, tired and blue? Sure +you're meant for bigger things. Never get a chance, that's all. +Long to use ambition's wings; feel you're up against a wall? Only +just occurred to you--well, you scarcely like to ask--but, after all, +what _does_ he do, what is the Chief's important task? Quite +convinced you do the most? Confident you should earn more? Of +course, you do not like to boast--you've other chances, by the score! +When this mood has you in grip (as some day it's bound to do), +remember--a successful ship must carry, too, a worthy crew. When +this mood nags at your heart, reflect--we can't all captains be; each +must play his special part; ships need crews when off to sea. + + + + +_THE POSTMAN_ + +He is the aide-de-camp of merchandise. While thousands calmly lie +a-bed and dream, he bears the seeds of some great enterprise from +which springs forth a money-making scheme! Ambassador from +Friendship's court is he, bearing those greetings that enrich the day +with happy thoughts, and with sweet melody which, on the +heart-strings, only friends can play. Life's messenger! And so he +needs must bring echoes from Sorrow's Hall as well as Joy. We hold +no grudge against him for the sting, knowing all happiness has its +alloy. Greater than Mercury who served the gods, the sturdy Postman, +of our busy days. Wingless, on patient feet, he daily plods, evoking +from all hearts a word of praise. He is the very pulse of life for +all; without his letters we would be as dumb. No interchange of +thoughts, how life would pall. Oh, joyous sound, the Postman has +just come! + + + + +"_ANGELS IN THE SNOW_" + +I would go back to Canada, at this time of the year, for three +things, just three things, my memory holds most dear. And this, I +say, is one of them: a blanket of white snow, a-glistening with +diamonds, and the breakfast sun aglow! A smooth, white blanket +undisturbed except where Bunny's feet have pricked a pattern from a +bush, right to a human street! And this, I say is two of them: to +see bare branches dressed in fluffy, frozen, flakes of snow when pink +clouds blush the west. And this, I say, is three of them, and this I +long to see: the woolly-armoured toddlers, playing so merrily. With +arms outstretched they fall down flat, and lie there, laughing so. +And when they rise, each leaves behind "an angel in the snow"! + + + + +_TO MONDAY MORNING_ + +Good morning, Monday! Welcome, Sir! Indeed, I'm glad to see you +here. They utter treason who aver you are devoid of joy and cheer. +That Monday feeling--well, it's this: Hurrah! the week has now begun +and who can say what luck and bliss will come our way e'er set of +sun. A brand new week with work to do, and past mistakes all swept +away; our energies strung up anew to meet and greet the unknown day. +This morn when sleep dropped from my eyes, I felt a most delightful +thrill. I saw, to my intense surprise--a guest upon my window-sill. +He'd one leg out and one leg in (he'd opened up the window wide), I +liked his merry, carefree grin, and so I begged him step inside. +'Twas you, oh, Monday. Welcome, Sir! Your presence fills me with +great glee; my pulses with excitement stir--I wonder what you've +brought for me. + + + + +_SECURITIES_ + +One thing there is more Greek than Greek to my bemused and puzzled +brain. I read it daily, week by week, but never is its meaning +plain. It is the column that one sees naming securities galore. +There's oil and rubber--several teas--and gold in far-off Labrador. +Those fractions! How they puzzle me. I must confess they make me +laugh. How can there be security in what is listed minus half? You +scorn my denseness, clever Sir? There's just this thing I have to +say. The stocks I own, I much prefer--such splendid dividends they +pay. I've many shares in mines of mirth, in sunshine, air and +flowers and sky, in all the things of sterling worth, yes, very rich +indeed am I. I've neither copper, tin, nor gold; nor platinum +without alloy. I own what can't be bought or sold--for I have many +shares in Joy. + + + + +_WHEN DECEMBER COMES_ + +December with her skirts a-blowing, frozen dew-drops in each ear; +berries at her breast a-glowing, rosy-cheeked December's here. +Hoar-frost to her garments clinging, prettier gems she could not +find; merrily, December's singing songs best suited to her mind. +Songs of mistletoe and holly; songs of labels, paper, string; loving +thoughts and Gayhearts folly--and just a tiny hint of Spring! +December bears herself right proudly, Amazonian Queen is she. Hear +her laughing, long and loudly--boisterous winds her minstrelsy. +December's crown is bright and gleaming, Jack Frost made it for a +gift. Just like stars her eyes are beaming, mouth has such a happy +lift! December knows that we adore her. Joyfully she goes her way; +eleven sisters march before her--in her train comes Christmas Day. + + + + +_THE LITTLE SHOPS_ + +Oh, smiling god of Good Luck, now night has slipped away, look down +upon the little shops, and help them through the day. The shutters +have been taken down and polished are the window-panes; the brasses +glow, the front is swept--smile, god of Luck, till daylight wanes. +The little shops pull at one's heart, so simple is their merchandise. +A little window beckons us through which we peer with misted eyes. +For narrow shops are often kind to tiny folk scarce counter-high. +Above a shop, behind a blind, I've heard a little baby cry. Above a +shop, I've often seen a mother's anxious face appear. How many +customers have been? The closing hour is drawing near. Great shops, +like temples dedicate to merchandise from every mart, are over-lords +of their own fate--but little shops tug at the heart! + + + + +_SUMMER IN YOUR HEART_ + +What's the sense of fretting because the sun's forgetting almost +every day to play his part? What care you for the weather, let it +rain and hail together, if there's summer time a-shining in your +heart. No wonder you feel weary if you think that life is dreary +just because a bitter wind decides to blow. What care you for the +weather, come snow and fog together, if the heart of you with +sunshine is aglow. What's the sense of sighing because Old Time is +trying to turn your darksome hair to solemn grey? He can't rob you +of your youth when your spirit is, forsooth, a shining, flaunting +banner bright and gay. Let Father Time grow fleeter, the years will +prove but sweeter, though youth--it is thus ordered--must depart. +Life has no winter season, for this very sound good reason--one can +always have the summer in one's heart! + + + + +_APRIL, THE JESTER_ + +Hark to April's merry laughter! Glad is she to reach this earth. +Perhaps she'll weep a minute after--sorrow often follows mirth. Not +to-day, though, will she sorrow; she's our Jester, queen of fun. +Time enough to weep to-morrow, when her roguishness is done. Cap and +bells is April wearing, Punchinello in her hand; jokes with Brother +Wind she's sharing, mortals cannot understand. Oh! beware of April's +laughter; trust her not, she is not true. First she laughs--a minute +after, she will make a fool of you. Now I've warned you, you'll be +clever, quite prepared for April's wit. Let her whisper "Perfect +weather," you'll not be deceived by it! April her attire is +flaunting, cap and bells and motley gay; and her smile is mocking, +taunting--April's fools are we to-day. Play the Jester, little +April, just for four and twenty hours. Then to duty, naughty +April--earth awaits your smiles and show'rs. + + + + +_THE SONG OF THE SOUL_ + +"I have put on mine armour," sings the soul. "The flashing armour of +will to do the Right. Thus I go forth, not blindly t'wards the goal, +but guided safely, by the Light." "Righteousness for armour," cries +the soul. "Beauty and Truth--the longed-for goal." "Beneath mine +armour," chants the soul, "I've donned a scarlet tunic for my +spirit's sake. In scarlet tunic, to the great Beyond, with courage +flaming, to the road I take. Righteousness for armour, flashing +bright; a scarlet tunic--for courage in the night." "I will go forth +and in this armour clad to meet Temptation, that most subtle foe. +Like David of Bethlehem, the shepherd lad, sure of my strength and +power, I go. And in the stream of Truth I'll find missiles to fling +against Goliath's mind. I have put on my armour: Truth my sword; +Slave unto none, but Captained by the Lord." + + + + +_A BED-TIME SONG_ + +Sleepy shadows fear to fall, so they lean against the wall, while the +tall dock in the hall sings: "'Tis time for bed." Wooden hills we +now must climb. Up we go, two at a time, singing such a sleepy +rhyme, little Curly Head. Wooden hills, clip-clop, clip-clop. First +a jump, and then a hop. Now we've reached the very top, nursery fire +glows red. Sleepy town we've reached at last, dreamland's ship is +anchored fast, rosy fancies fly the mast, prayers must now be said. +Weigh the anchor, off you go. Dreamland's miles away, you know. +Little dreams as white as snow wait for Curly Head. Sleepy shadows +fear to fall, lean against the nursery wall, and to one another call: +"Sleepy Head's in bed!" + + + + +_AN ANNIVERSARY_ + +My House! I give you thanks tonight for one year's comfort and +delight. I thank the sturdy walls and beams that have enclosed my +quiet dreams. I thank the windows through which came pale shafts of +light and sunset's flame. The dining-room I thank as well, where I +my hunger did dispel! I thank my bedroom, papered blue, for when +sore wearied through and through, it spoke to me: "O Sleepy Head, I +bid you welcome to your bed." I give the floors a grateful glance +for every joyous whirling dance. The fireplace owns my thankful +heart--what comfort from its depths can dart! What dreams I've +dreamt when near its blaze; what pictures seen as I would gaze within +the birch-log's flames of gold that leapt like dragons fierce and +bold. But most of all I thank the door--the thick front door, oak at +its core, because for twelve months now on end it has let in some +dear-loved friend! + + + + +_TO A FLORIST'S WINDOW_ + +How often have I paused to bless your vivid, glowing loveliness! +Have paused to say a "Thank you, window-pane," because despite a +sullen fog or driving rain, I still have had my glimpse of Paradise +through your untroubled, bright, reflecting eyes. My heart was sad +when vanished summer days. I came to you and stood a silent while, +and felt uplifted on the wings of praise. Rich autumn tints, God +bless your golden smile! Once when a blackish mood enveloped me, +sprays of white lilac arched your shining pane; the beauty of their +curves spoke tenderly; and I passed on, happy, revived again. And +now 'tis glorious tulip time with you! Yesterday their happy colours +beckoned me. Rose pink and mauve and sunlight's golden hue. Did +you, quiet window-pane, not feel the ecstasy that flooded all my +being while I stood to bless a florist's window--as all city pilgrims +should? + + + + +_TWO COINS_ + +I had two coins offered me, they shone like gold, they shone like +gold. I clutched at them so greedily, I clutched at them with +fevered hold. I hid them quickly out of sight. They were for me +alone to see. They gave delight, such keen delight; I hoarded them +most miserly. One day, alack! and oh! alas! I took them from their +secret place; a sorry thing had come to pass; my bright gold coins +were dull of face. I tended them with loving hand. Oh! shine again, +be bright again! This fact I could not understand: their gleam and +sheen were on the wane. "I will not hoard you any more," to them I +sighed, to them I cried. I shared with one, with two, with four; +with all the friends whom I espied. Now this is strange but this is +true. My wealth is more instead of less; I spent and spent--and +still it grew. Those coins were Love and Happiness! + + + + +_THE STREET SINGER_ + +Truth went singing down the street; on his head a golden crown, +broken sandals on his feet, shabby, too, his flowing gown. "Truth," +I shouted, "wait for me. I desire to learn your song." Nought cared +he for my poor plea; just went hurrying along. "Truth," I gasped, +quite out of breath, "I can't hear the words you sing." "You will +learn them ere your death," was the jibe he stopped to fling. +"Truth," I prayed him, "wait awhile. I have followed you for years. +Sometimes you have made me smile, sometimes caused me bitter tears. +Do, I pray you, let me learn what it is you sing to-day." Then at +last he deigned to turn, sang for me this roundelay: "Rich you are? +And strong you are? Good indeed these things to be. Beloved by +friends is better far. Take this living truth from me." Singing, +down the street Truth went. Others now will follow fast. As for me, +I am content--having learnt his song at last. + + + + +_MERELY PARENTS_ + +Lads and lassies, hear our plea--give us of your courtesy; we, not +you, need sympathy, being parents. 'Tis a most exacting age, +children are so very sage, the "complex" now is all the rage, we're +but parents. Give us, do, a helping hand. We would like to +understand, we are such a purblind band, merely parents. You are +witty, clever, wise, source of all high enterprise, soon you'll be +(for Old Time flies) like us, just parents. Then you'll know the +self-same fears (aching heart and unshed tears), having travelled +down the years, as we, your parents. Then you'll say, as now we do, +"We but long to shelter you, make you love the good and true, as did +our parents." Lads and lassies! Patience show! Perhaps we're +difficult and slow, but it is harder than you know--being parents. + + + + +_SONG OF THE GIVER_ + +First there's the joy of choosing. Now then, what shall it +be?--Useful? Pretty? Amusing? Love chooses thoughtfully. Then +there's the joy of paper, green leaves with berries red; a card with +a Christmas taper, tied with a golden thread. Then there's the joy +of tying (not string of the common kind!) ribbons that we've been +buying that glitter as they unwind. Then there's the joy of +weighing, addressing the label, too; and, of course, there's the joy +of saying, "With love from me, to you!" But nought like the joy of +dreaming how happy that someone will be; how eyes will be brightly +gleaming and mouth smile happily. Joy past the power of rhyming to +follow that parcel in thought; to hear, with gay laughter chiming, +"Look what the postman has brought!" + + + + +_THE 'BUS CONDUCTOR_ + +A steadying hand, a cheerful grin, "Hold tight," he cries, and helps +us in. We pay the fare, whate'er it be, and dream of home and fire +and tea. But not the conductor, no, not he. Cold or heat, wind or +rain, up he goes and down again; ringing bells, cracking jokes, +helping parcel-burdened folks, lifting babies with great care, "Where +to, Mum? Hold tight there." Answering questions by the score: +"Other way to Arthur's Store!" "Full inside, one on top." +Conductor's duties never stop. "Hi! Miss, your purse is on the +seat." Someone tramps on both his feet. Jerks a rope to let him +out, then again his cheery shout, "Hold tight, there! Fares please, +fares." Mounts again the winding stairs, whistling blithely, he runs +down--cheeriest man in all the town! + + + + +_A LITTLE SONG OF FRIENDSHIP_ + +When the sun is shining bright, when the sky is calm and blue, when +the Port of Luck's in sight, then I turn to you. For I know you'll +laugh with me, share in full my jollity, and the world will fairer +be--'cause of you. When the sun is veiled from sight, when the +clouds of grief hang low, when the day seems turned to night--then to +you I go. For I know you'll comfort me with a tender sympathy, and +the load will lighter be--'cause of you. Not alone for days serene, +not for moments of success, but a friend you've ever been--in joy and +in distress. When the road was rough and long, you have borne the +journey, too. So I've made this little song--'cause of you. + + + + _Printed in Great Britain by_ + UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED, LONDON AND WOKING + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75154 *** |