. Book of the Royal blue . een Spring as a new woman and failed to appreciate thefact.—The Elmtor.] BY W. D. NESBIT. GENTLE Spring no longer driftsWhere the sighing zephyr fans—He has made a little change In his transportation relies no more upon Balmy breezes as they blow,But has made arrangements toTravel via B. & 0. Gentle Spring is on the way, In his freshest raiment dandelions he Used to button up his vines he has For suspenders; for you knowSpring is up-to-date when he Travels via B. & 0. Train dispatcher Time has sent Orders that they clear the
. Book of the Royal blue . een Spring as a new woman and failed to appreciate thefact.—The Elmtor.] BY W. D. NESBIT. GENTLE Spring no longer driftsWhere the sighing zephyr fans—He has made a little change In his transportation relies no more upon Balmy breezes as they blow,But has made arrangements toTravel via B. & 0. Gentle Spring is on the way, In his freshest raiment dandelions he Used to button up his vines he has For suspenders; for you knowSpring is up-to-date when he Travels via B. & 0. Train dispatcher Time has sent Orders that they clear the takes a siding now— Uentle Spring is coming back—with flowers to Take the place of drifts of the kind of traffic which Spring brings, via B. & 0. Signals all say: Track is clear. Gentle Spring is coming back,Running on the schedule time Laid down in the for his signal lamps Warn us by their ruddy is up-to-date when he Travels via B. & <STUB ENDSOF THOUGHT By ARTHUR. G. LEW/J M ONEY is the latch-key that hangsoutside the door of ill-bred society. In the light of immortal remem-brance lives the recollection of those wehave loved. Forgetfulness is but tran-sient; memory eternal. Anticipation acts as a magnifyingglass to realization, and long pursuit istoo often followed by short possession. Much of our ambition is but a dream,the disease of a restless sleep, the aircastles of our hope. Protect me from myself and I willask no succor from others. Often we find that while advicesticks in the throat of our pride, yet atthe same time it appeals to our commonreason. When genius places its curse upona man, he, as a rule, must live alone inhis ideas and their conceptions. He hasoverreached his fellows and must sufferfor it. We often weep over lost hopes thatdied from our own neglect, and wereburied by our own hands. The lack of proper respect for therights of others always indicates weak-ness and frequently dish
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