Life — May 3, 1900 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

380 Spring in a Hired Hansom. SHE hyacinth of various hue Our fixed attention pardons, In urns along the Avenue, Blooming in gay club gardens— What though our steed his driver ires With influenza wheezing? Life when it moves on rubber tires Is smooth and pleasing! The Park is ecented with the trees— Tho boughs, first fragrant gree A sparrow frivols with the breezo His russet featbors preening; Our chariot rollicks at a gait Till Dobbin headlong stumbles; But—don't you caro—wo'll laugh till Fate ‘The hansom tumbles | And here—Whoa, Pet !—we'll rest awhile For early twilight dinner, Tho glouming lightened by the smilo Allke of saint and sinner. Hero lurks tho shad in planks, still hung With scaweod—mermaids' tresses, Hero glints tho clam, petite and young, Mid tender cresses! Thon —haston—hostler—call our hack, With oats grown gay and frisky, Ho sprints in style the roadway back, His heels flung wide and risky— 8o closer in the dusk we cling, Mufling our laughs demurely, For we are bere—and it is Spring— ‘That's plonty—surely | Kate Masterson, “ONE OF THEB DO not koow how this story will strike the average reader, but it has always seemed a very funny one to me. There are certain times in the year whenia my country—that is, throughout the Balkan district—the high dignitaries of the Greek Church make a tour of the country, visiting the schools to ascertain the standard of intelligence among the children, Of course there is great excitement among the teachers when this time comes along, and the pupils are coached io all their studies until they are in a on May. TTHE brightest link in the chain of the year Is saucy, piquant, prodigal May ; Sho captures Spring's largess with never a vr, ‘Vo love and to play with it day after day. Around her head the gay sunbeams meet, Tho bluo of heaven is in her clear oye, And tho violets bend to her flying feot, As she and bright morning yo racing Pink and white is she garlanded fair In blossoms aweot that encircle her form, Whilo hawthorn bloom ts pale in the hair ‘That Phavbus kissed till "twas ruddy and warm, ‘The robin is trilling away in ber throat, Ay, May's a creation of music and 1 In the sun of her life there is never 4 mote, For she's born to the beauty of spring- time on earth. Not on the past or the future dwells she, With grieving April or passionate June, Her thought but to dance over upland and lea, Till she falter and droop beneath sum- mer’s first noon. ‘Then kissing her garlands she scatters them wide, Smiles back at the brooklet that mirrored her way; Oh, nature's own darling, whatever betide, Is gay, inconsequent, beautiful May. Anna M, Fowler, ‘ GC EVER HEARD... By Nikola Tesla. state of nervousness which makes them appear to the very worst advantage, On one occasion acertain gray -bearded patriarch, a bishop I think it was, visited one of the echools and made a very sa‘- isfactory examination of the boys. Theo he began an impressive and kindly ad- dress on the subject of religion, in the course of which he made the statement that God was everywhere. “God is everywhere, my dear chil- dren,” he repeated, ‘and you must al- ways remember that He sees you—" Suddenly a boy interrupted the aged Undeveloped Possibilities. N this black box my love I hold, A very happy wizard It Who, like the wise King Solomon, Havy bottled up the great genit. Yet if you raised you sable lid You would not find where sho is hid, She does not know that she is caught, Imprisoned by my cunning art. Did sho but quess, with furious glanco Sho'd pierce me to my gleeful heart! All ignorant I'll let ber bo ‘That she shall dwell so near to ma. Strange essences I'll bring to bear, And fluids to my sclence known, Then shall sho smile, forever sruile; Yoa, smile, and smilo for me alono— 80 tho’ she frowns whenc'er I plead, Of Chioo’s smiles I'll have my moad, Down in the dark, whero red lamps glow, Tho better works my necromancy. ‘Thore shall I watch her features grow, Moro lovely than a poot's fancy. Bhe does not guess—Oh, she'd look black— T snapped her with my old kodak! Oliver Herford, San SCHOOL TEACHER (dur- J ing lesson on the children of Israel): Robert, tell me why it was the children of Israel built a golden calf. Rosert: I don’t know, unless "twas that they didn’t bave gold enough to make a cow. EST STORIES | prelate. usked, The remark created some consterna- tion. The other boys were abashed at the temerity of their comrade, while the teacher looked all sorts of things at the youthful offender. But the bishop, good-hearted man, drew the boy away from his companions and patted bim gently on the head. **Yes, my dear child,” he said ; ‘God is in your cellar, and—" “You lie!” shouted the boy, triumph- antly, ‘ We haven't any cellar.” “Is God in our cellar?” be comicbooks.com