Scte.no I fold my hands and wait, Nor care I for wind, nor tide, nor sea; I rave no more 'galnst time or fate, For lo! my oira shall come to me. I stay my liaste, I mako delays; For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, Aud what is mine shall know my face. Aslecp, a wake, by night or day, The f riends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive ray bark astray. Nor change tbe tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone? 1 wait witb joy the coming years; My lieart shaü rcap wberc it has sown. And garner up its fruit of tears. Tlie waters know tbuir ovn and draw The brook tbat springs iu yonderheigbts; So flows the good wlth CQual law Unto the soul of pure dclights. -John Burronghs. A. Womiui'i Answer to a IMan's Question. Do yon know you have askcd for the costliest Ever made Ijy the Hand above- A woman's heart, and a woman's Ufe, And a woman's wonderful love? Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing A a child might ask for a toy? Demanding what others have died to win Wl Lh the recklüíis dash of a boy. You have written my lesson of duty out, Manlike you have questioned me; Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul Until I shall question thee. Yon require your mutton shall always be hot, Your socks and your shirts shall be whole; I require your heart shall be true as God's stars; And pure as heaven your soul. You require a cook for your mutton and beef; I require far grander a thing; A seainstress you're wanting for stockings and shirts- I look for a man and a king. A king for a beautiful realm called home. And a man that the maker, God, Shall look upon as he did the flrst, And say, "It is very good." I un fair and young, but the rose will fade From my soft young cheek one day; Will you love me then, 'mid the falling lea ves. As you did 'mid the bloom of May? Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep I may launch my all on ita tide? A loving woman finds heaven or hell On the day she is made a bride. I require all things that are grand and true. All things that a man shonld be; If you give this all I would stake my liíe To be all you detnand of me. If yon cannot do this, a laundress and cook You can hire with littlo to pay; Bnt a woman's heart and a woman's Ufe Are not to be won that way. - Mary T. Lathrop. Worthiuess. Whatever lacka purpose is evil- a pool without pebbles breeds Blimc; Not any one step hath chanco f ashioned on the infinite stairway of Time; Nor ever carne good without labor, in Toil, or in Science or Art; tt must be wrought out thro' the muscles- bom out of the soul and the heart. Why plow in the stubble with plowshares? why winnow the chaff from the grain? Ah, since all of HÍ3 gif te must be toiled for, sinco Truth is not born without Pain! He giveth not to the unworthy, the weak or the foolish in deeds; Who soweth but chaff at the seed time ehall reap but a harvest of weeda. As the pyramid builded of vapor is blown by hia whlrlwlnda to naught, So the Song without Truth is forgotten: Hi poem to Man is man's thought. Whatever is strong with a purpose, in humbleness vrrought and soul-pure, J3 known to the Master of Singers- He toucheth it saying, "Endure!" -Charles J. O'Malley. The Sin of Oinission. It isn't the thing you do, dcar, It's the thiug you've left undone, Whieh gives you a bit of heartache At the setting of the un. The tender word forgotten, The letter you did not write, The flower you might have sent, dcar. Are your haunting ghosts tonight. The stone you might have lifted Out of a brother'a way, The bit of heartsome counsel You wcre hurried too much to say; Tlie loving touch of the hand, dear, The geutle and winsome tone, That you had no time nor thought for, With troubles euough of your own. Tlie little acts of kindness. So Ciuüly out of mind; These chances to be anjjels "VMeh every mortal iinds - They corae in night and silence- Each chili, reproacliful wraith - When hope is faint and flagging. And a blight has dropped on faith. For life is all too short, dear, And sorrow is all too great, To suffer our slow compassion, That tarries until too late. And it's not the thin? you do, dear, It's tho thing you leave undone, Which gives you the bit of heartache At the setting of the sun. - Margaret E. Sangster. Life. 'A letter," he gayly said. And ho hamled it to his wife. It told her that lyingdead Was a friend of her early life. A ring at the entry door Calla for au explanation; lic returns to his wife once more With a weddiug iuvitatiou. A cali at the telephone, And a voice says, "(iive rae joy,M And continúes in blissful tone, "My Mary has got a boy." EPILOGUE. And so life scampers past, I wonder for which 't is worst, Tho one that marries - or breathes its last, Or the one# that breathea its flrst. - Aibert liigelow Paine. From Darkness to Light. AVhat's this Froni the du!l dark sky an hour ago? The perfect snowl What's this From the dull dark stem and bud that grows? The sweet red rose! What's this From a dull dark paiu that comea to bless? A pleaaurc? Ves! - AVide A wake, The Faniily Line. Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, Yoiir family t bread you can't ascend Without good reason to apprehend, You'll find it waxed at the farther end By somo plebeian voeationl Or, worse tiiaii lliat, your boasted line May end in a loop of stronger twine That plagued somo worthy relatlonl - J. G. Saxe. Art ICndurfs. All passes. Art alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust outlasts the throne - The Coin, Tiberius. - Austin Dobson.