The Family Circle

New Zealand Tablet, 1 February 1917, Page 61

The Family Circle

I’M SORRY; I WAS WRONG. 1 There may be . virtue in the man < ' ||. Who’s always sure he’s right, ; : Who’ll | never hear another’s plan And seeks no further light; But I like more the chap who sings A somewhat different song; Who says, when he has messed up things, * I’m sorry; I was wrong.’ It’s hard for any one to say That failure’s due to him— That he has lost the fight or way Because his lights burned dim. It takes a man aside to throw The vanity that’s strong, Confessing, ‘ ’Twas my fault, I know ; I’m sorry; I was wronp.’ And so, I figure, those who use This honest, manly phrase, Hate it too much their way to lose On many future days. They’ll keep the path and make the fight, Because they do not long To have to saywhen they’re not right—- ‘ I’m sorry; I was wrong.’ WHY BUDDY CAME BACK? * ‘Where are you going, Buddy?’ Cynthia Lee inquired hoarsely as Jack, securely cloaked and protected against the cold weather, passed along the hall, whistling a cheery air. 3 ‘ Over to Dick Dodd’s to make a snowman and throw . snowballs at folks that pass his house,’ the brother answered carelessly, as he stopped for a moment at the half-open door of the bedroom where his little sister was confined on account of a very bad cold. ‘ Oh, I’m so sorry you’re going out this afternoon ! I’m dreadfully lonesome, and I wanted you to read me all the stories in my new book,’ Cynthia observed regretfully. ‘Pshaw! That’s a silly book. I don’t like girl stories. Anyhow, I don’t want to waste a fine afternoon like this indoors when Dick’s out there having a fine time in the snow.’ So saying, Jack banged the hall door and ran whistling down " the street. As he neared his chum’s home he uttered a shrill sort of yell, which was the comrade’s call, but there was no response’ and the snow-man in the yard boasted no arms or head. He had been left in a state of incompleteness. Jack rang the doorbell loudly. ‘ Where’s Dick he asked of the servant who let him in. • ( Upstairs, said the maid. ■ ‘ Run right up.’ All right, Jack replied. And he started to enter the room at the head of the stairs. N°, -Dick is not in his room, he’s in the nursery, at the end of the hall,’ the servant directed .. . ‘I wonder what he’s doing in here,’ Jack was thinking as he knocked at the nursery door. , ‘Come in ’ two voices , called. And the guest entered, but he could hardly believe what he saw For there was Dick Dodd, the leader of all the boyish games, playing dolls with his little sister May. 11 j Hell( ?’ Come > j° in U P in our game,’ Dick called unabashed. ‘ Sir’ May is sick of a cold to-day and couldn t get out, and mother had to go to town and there was nobody to keep her company. So I’m pretending I’m her doll’s chauffeur as she goes out .. tor a ride in her new motor.’ ■ V Jack gazed silently at the toy automobile occupied < by a large flaxen-haired bisque lady with staring marble ' eyes, and then at the frank little girl propped up with pillows on the couch, and then at his chum, who was doing all he could to entertain his little sister playing her illness. 1 J &

‘ No, thanks. I reckon I can t stop ; to-day -3 I’ll come again,’ he said,, as he turned and left the room. ; ■ Jack . hurried home through - the deep snow. ■-■' A wistful face looked out the window of the small-« bedroom as he neared the house. ‘ I guess I’d better; run in and read to Cynthy a while,’ he answered ; as he entered the hall. - ' v v* WHAT THE ‘ TOMMY ’ THOUGHT. Fresh from the trenches, an English ‘ Tommy ’ had just arrived in London for a few days’ home leave. As is usually the case, almost the : first place visited was a barber’s shop. ' The barber, after scraping away industriously for a few moments, made the usual inquiry: Razor all right, sir?’ ‘ My good man, if you hadn’t mentioned it I should never have known there was a razor on my face.’ The barber beamed. ‘ Thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘ No,’ added the soldier, reflectively, ‘ I should have thought you were bayoneting the whiskers off.’ WORST ON RECORD. The shopman had been using a vast amount of persuasion in trying to induce the visitor to purchase the gramophone. ‘ Latest and most wonderful instrument, sir,’ he remarked. ‘ I’ve a blank disc here, if you care to hear yourself.’ The visitor’s eyes brightened. I play the flute a little,’ he replied, producing an instrument. ‘lf yon don’t mind ’ The shopman did not ; and the disc was soon indented with something that only a sleuth from Scotland Yard could have recognised as ‘Alice, Where Art Thou?’ ' • ‘ Is that really me ?’ asked the flautist, when his performance was repeated by the instrument. ‘ That’s you exactly, sir. Will you buy the gramophone, sir?’ 1 No,’ was the reply ; ‘ I’ll sell the flute, though.’ TASSO’S DEVOTION TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN. The great Italian poet, Tasso, was, like Dante, profoundly devoted to the Blessed Virgin, and sang her praises in some of the most beautiful verses ever written. It happened that he was once journeying from Mantua to , Rome; and although weary and without money, he having made a vow to our Lady of Loretto, turned out of his way to her shrine. He might have fared badly if it had not been for a friendone of the princes of the Gonzaga—who happened to be. visiting Loretto at the same time, and who ministered to the poet’s simple wants, and enabled him to fulfil all the duties of his pilgrimage. That done, and body and soul refreshed, Tasso wrote an immortal canticle in honor of our Lady, and then proceeded on his way to Rome. When the poet was about to he called young Rubens, son of the great painter, to his bedside. ‘I once gave your father a little silver statue of the Blessed Virgin,’ he said with much difficulty. ‘ And I have it with me now,’ exclaimed Rubens. A look of happiness came into the face of the dying man, and he held out his hand into which the young man reverently placed the precious little statue. ‘ Take it back when I am dead,’ whispered Tasso. And then,, clasping the sacred image tightly in the hands which were fast growing cold, he prayed fervently until the end came. Young Rubens was profoundly affected by the scene, and while the body of his father’s friend was being borne to its last resting place, he, instead of occupying an honorable position in the procession of mourners, which followed it, was prostrate before an altar of the Blessed Virgin in a quiet corner of St. Peter’s in Rome holding the little silver statue and praying for the soul of Tasso. _ -

'- THE REASON WHY. • : The train was late, even later than is usual on this particular, line, and as they crawled through one station a weary traveller was heard to exclaim; ; - ‘ What a villainous station this 'is ! They try to irritate one on purpose. Look at those girls in the refreshment-room ! Why do they dress them all in black ?’ ‘Don’t you know?’ said a fellow-passenger, in a most solemn tone of voice, and with a look of awe on his face. ‘ No,’ replied the curious and fretful traveller. - ‘ Why,’ said the other, ‘ because they are in mourning for the late trains.’ A SMART VERGER. Three tons of coal were delivered to a church in Kent, and on the bill was written: ‘ One ton of coal at 355., ditto, ditto.’ The verger, not understanding what ‘ ditto ’ meant, asked the vicar, who explained that, instead of putting ‘one ton of coal ’ three times, they wrote ‘ditto,’ which was briefer, but meant the same. The following Sunday the verger gave out ‘ Hymn No. 157,’ and proceeded, as usual, to read aloud the first verse. These are the words which fell on the ears of the astonished congregation : ‘ Art thou weary, ditto languid, ditto sore distressed V ALL THROUGH A PHOTOGRAPH. The young matron stood sternly facing the man who had sworn to love and cherish her ; anger, scorn, and indignation blazing in her eyes, her trembling fingers clutching a photograph the photograph of a woman. ‘ So this, sir,’ she cried at length, mastering with a supreme effort the womanly inclination to fall into a chair and scream herself into hysterics— ‘ so this, sir, is the termination of our brief period of married existence ; this is what I left a happy home, where I was the joy of dear mamma, for ;• this is all you mean by your hypocritical protestations of affection, which, if I hadn’t happened to- —to —er —to feel in your pocket to find, a box of matches, I might have gone on blindly believing ? This, I say, is all ’ ‘ My darling,’ he interrupted. ‘ Don’t darling me, sir !’ she cried, fiercely ; ‘ don’t dare to use a term of endearment to me again. I—l—oh, to think that you could be such a brute, such a monster, such a ’ ‘ My pet,’ he expostulated, ‘ pray hear me for a moment.’ ! Not a word,’ she broke in, furiously; ‘ not a syllable! Don’t drive me to madness, I tell you! Don’t add to your over-burdened conscience a string of miserable falsehoods, which can only make you, if possible, even more contemptible ! ’ ‘ But really, Clara, if you will only allow me to explain ’ ‘ Explain ! What explanation can you give of the evidence of this photograph ? Do I not find it secreted carefully in your own pocket? What construction would any sensible woman, any judge or jury, put upon such a discovery ?’ But, Clara, you are talking nonsense the photo, is only ’ , ‘ Stop, sir !’ she exclaimed. ‘ Have I not said that your excuses are futile ? Oh, to think,’ she added, passionately, her womanly spite for the moment getting the better of her dignity— ‘ to think that you could desert me for a thing like this ! Look at her!’ she cried, holding the photograph at arm’s length and glancing at it in magnificent scorn, ‘ look at the brazen jade ! Did ever you see such an object before? Why, the woman squints— actually squints and then, what a nose, what a mouthhalf across her face, I declare! And oh, her figure, and the dowdy

frumpiness of her altogether !’ She dashed . down the photograph and sank breathlessly into ;a : chair. : : Then Henry : got his chance. I’ve being trying to tell you, Clara, only you wouldn’t allow me, that the . photograph is only the one I took of you with my new „ camera last week. I did not think, myself, that it quite did you justice, but——’ .. But with a wild shriek she collapsed into uncon- - sciousness. : # BIG BATTLE * BLUFFS. ' "* ' . The secret evacuation of Suvla and Anzac by the English army of occupation under the very noses of the Turks— ‘the biggest bluff in war’s history,’ as it has not inaptly been termed—-bears a close resemblance to the similar abandonment of the Redan by the Russians during the Crimean War (says Tit Bits). . *- For months the heavy guns of the French and British had been pounding unavailingly at this exceedingly strong fortress. Twice they had tried to storm it, only to be repulsed with great slaughter. A third attack had been ordered to take place on September 18, but on the early morning of that date, before daybreak, Corporal Ross, of the Royal British Engineers, ■ who was in charge of one of the advanced saps, noticing that the place was strangely still, crept forward to investigate. He found the works untenanted, save by dead men and a few badly wounded, and hastened back to report to the British commander, who at first was frankly incredulous. But investigation soon the truth of the plucky corporal’s statements. The . entire garrison had been quietly withdrawn under cover of darkness to the north forts, leaving the road to Sebastopol open. Ross was awarded the Victoria Cross, and was known thenceforward throughout the British Army as ‘ Redan Ross.’ When the armies of Napoleon were overrunning Europe General Massena, with 18,000 men, appeared suddenly before the Austrian town of Feldkirch and demanded its surrender. Instead of complying, the burgomaster issued orders that the. church-bells were to be set ringing, and that the burghers, their wives and daughters, clad in holiday attire, were to assemble in the market square and there make- merry. The result was exactly what he had hoped for. Messena heard the sounds of rejoicing, watched from the heights overlooking the town the gathering' throngs in the streets, and came to the conclusion that the townsfolk must have received intelligence that the x Austrian army, which was believed to be somewhere in the vicinity, was advancing to their relief. As to vivo battle there and then formed no part of Napoleon’s general plan of action, Massena ordered a retreat. Feldkirch was saved,'- and by a bluff, for as a matter of fact no relieving force was anywhere near at the time. 1 . A bluff that was eminently successful resulted in the Earl of Peterborough securing possession of Barce- - lona in the early part of the eighteenth'century. The defences of the city were at that time exceedingly strong, Peterborough had with him barely 3000 indifferently-armed troops and two small cannon. Halting his force some miles away in £he hills, he rode forward, attended only by a small escort bearing a flag of truce, and demanded an audience with the governor. To him the Earl explained that he had been ordered to take the city by assault, but being wishful to avoid useless bloodshed he preferred to allow him to surrender it of his own free will. . Incredible though it may seem, this most colossal of bluffs ‘came off.’ The governor, after some parleying, agreed to accept the British general’s alternative.