The Family Circle

New Zealand Tablet, 30 August 1917, Page 45

The Family Circle

THE BOY WHO LOVES HIS MOTHER. She sat in the porch in the sunshine, As I went down the street— . A woman whose ' hair was silver. But whose face was blossom sweet. Making me think of a garden When, in spite of the frost and snow, ■ Of bleak November weather, Late fragrant lilies blow. -’I 1 I heard a footstep behind me, And the sound of a merry laugh. - And I knew the heart it came from Would be like a comforting staff In the time and hour of trouble, Hopeful and brave and strong. One of the hearts to lean on, When we think all things go wrong. I turned at the click of the gate-latch, > ;And met his manly look: A face like his gives me pleasure. f Like the page of a pleasant book. •5 It told of a steadfast, purpose, rs Of a brave and daring will, A face with a promise in it That, God grant, the years fulfil. £ He went up the pathway singing; I saw the woman’s eyes -j Grow bright with a wordless welcome. As sunshine warms the skies. “Back again, sweetheart mother,” He cried, and bent to kiss The loving face uplifted For what some mothers miss. That boy will do to depend on, I know that this is true — From lads in love with their mothers - v Our bravest heroes grew. Earth’s grandest hearts have been loving ones Since time and earth began ; And the boy who kisses his mother Is every inch a man. EDUCATION AGAIN. “I understand,” observed Mr. Homebred, during the evening meal, “that that Mr. Needie we’ve read about has got joined at last to that there Miss Writch, the millionaire’s daughter, in the bonds of hyphen.” “Hymen, dad—the bonds of Hymen,” interrupted young Johnny Homebred, who was home from boardingschool . “I said ‘hyphen,’ and don’t contradict me,” exclaimed Mr. Homebred sternly. “But it is really ‘Hymen,’ you know; not ‘hyphen,’ ” persisted the youngster. “Oh*, it is, is it? It ain’t ‘hyphen,’ ain’t it? Well, all I know is that they calls theirselves ‘Mr and Mrs. Needie-Writch,’ now,” snorted Mr. Homebred, indignantly. And the incident being closed, he switched off the conversation on to his new motor car, and described how “as we was coming down the fust hill we struck a tin-tack and punctuated.” g “You mean ‘punctured,’ not ‘punctuated’,” suggested Johnny, spryly. “I said ‘punctuated,’ ” roared old Homebred. py “Yes, you did; but the proper word is ‘punctured.’ ” “Well, I reckon we made a Dill stop; and Oh, lor’!” groaned the old man, dismally, “to think of all the money as has been wasted— chucked away —on that lad’s eddication, and he ain’t learned enough yet to know that making a full stop is punctuating. No more boarding-school ignorance here, young sir. To-morrow you just take hold of that there plough in the ten-acre field, and you go on till I tell you to punctuate. D’yerhear?” ■r - : ;

' ; WHO IS SHE? I know the dearest little girl, H % C About as big as you. ' ~ Her eyes are black or brown or grey, v Or" maybe they are blue; ? ' But, anyway, her hands are clean ; =. Her teeth are white as snow; ! _ Her little dress is always neat; i ? •' She goes to school, you know. This little'girl—l love her well. f] • y And see her 'often, too—/ If I to-day her narie should tellShe ——beyou GOOD ENOUGH REASON.; - “Your honor,” said the solicitor for the defence, “I wish to prove by this question that the witness is a man of quarrelsome -disposition, hard to get along with, and on bad terms with his neighbors. Now, sir,” he continued, turning again to the witness, “I’dlike to know whose farm is next to yours?” s ; “Well,” answered the witness, “there’s the Billings’ farm, and the—” “Stop there. One at a time. Are you on friendly terms with Mr. Billings?’”- - . “I can’t say I am.” “Are you even on speaking terms with him?” “No, sir.” “Whose fault is it?” “It’s his fault, I reckon;” “Oh, yes, it’s his fault, you reckon. How long has it been since' you have spoken to him ?” “About fourteen years, as near as I can remember.” “Now, sir, I want you to tell this jury why you have not spoken to Mr. Billings for fourteen years.” “Gentlemen,” said the witness, turning to the jury, “the reason why I haven't spoken to Mr. Billings for fourteen years is because that’s the length of time he’s been dead.” * TIME-SAVING. ...... To a native of a certain section of the South-West that is well known for its malarial tendencies a St. Louis travelling man said: “I notice that there is a great deal of ague hereabout.” “Yes,” was the laconic response. “That’s a great drawback. It unfits a - man entirely for work, doesn’t it?” “Generally it does,” said the other. “Still, here on my farm, when my man John has a right hard fit of the shakes we fastens the churn-dasher to him, and, stranger, he brings the butter inside of 15 minutes.” CRUEL LONDON. He was an artist, and the humdrum life in the butcher’s shop vexed his noble spirit. Somehow, selling scrag of mutton and the* best end of the neck was not appreciated by his artistic temperament, and so he went to London, where talent is recognised and paid forsometimes. For a time he wrote glowing letters home. Then there came silence. “Success,” reflected his sorrowing parents, “has been too much for him. He has forgotten us. Alas! alas !” But he hadn’t, for one evening, just as his father was sitting down to supper and preparing to enjoy hishumble chop, a small boy brought a note. “Dear dad,” it read, “please meet me by the old bridge at midnight, and bring a waistcoat and a jacket. I have a hat. —John.” MIXED METAPHORS. Two examples of mixed metaphors alleged by the Sydney Sun to have been heard in the streets of Sydney:— / j Striker (in a kerbstone discussion outside the Trades Hall): “If they think we’re going to be dragged

in the: mire by high falutin’; words of•: Ministers ; if•*' they fancy they • can stem the tide of ; unionism by. chopping off the hand that feeds them, they are mis-; taken.” . V' 1 ' : : ; r . • ; A- ‘ Portly Gentleman, (outside a city club): “What would I do?- . I’d stamp out this anarchy which is engulfing us in a holocaust of unionistic inebriety, with : every breath I draw. I’d kill this serpent of Socialism, which is bellowing .threats of violence and disruption with both hands.” . '' ——— NAMING THE BABY. * They talked of Medora, Aurora, and Flora, Of Mabel and Marcia, and Mildred and May Debated the question of Helen, Honor a, Clarissa, Camilla, and Phyllis and Fay ; They thought of Marcella, Estella, and Bella, Considered Cecilia, Jeanette, and Pauline ; Alicia, Adela, Annette, Arabella, And Ethel and Eunice, Hortense and Irene. One liked Theodora, another Leonora, Some argued for Edith, and some for Elaine, For Madelaine, Adelaine, Lily, and Laura; And then, after all, they decided on Jane. WORRY THAT KILLS. “Eat what you like; drink what you like; smoke if you like it, and don’t worry. It’s worry that kills.” . That was the advice given by Patrick Corbley, Cedar Falls, lowa, 105 years old, when asked his rule for long life. Born in Ireland, March 17, 1812, Patrick Corbley has spent eighty years of his 105 in America, and is still taking a keen interest in the progress of world events. He is able to do this by reason of his remarkable eye-sight. He has never had to use spectacles, and reads the newspapers regularly. His mentality is apparently as keen as his eye-sight.. SMILE-RAISERS. Sunday School Teacher; “Who killed Abel?” Bobby: “I don’t know, ma’am. I just moved here last week.” Teacher (to young people): “Now, Johnny, what is a skeleton Johnny: “Please, ma’am, bones wiv the people rubbed off.” There was a timid knock at the door. “If you please, kind lady,” the beggar said, “I’ve lost my right leg—” “Well, it ain't here,” retorted the lady of the house, and slammed the door. Kindly Gent: “What is your name, boy?” Hotel Page Boy: “They call me “Billiard Cue,’ sir.” - . Kindly Gent: “Whatever for?” Hotel Page Bay; “Because I work so much better with a good tip!” A lady who was riding in an omnibus was much disturbed by the persistent snuffling of a boy sitting next to her. At last she could stand it no longer. “Have you a handkerchief?” she asked in her most appealing tones. “Yes,” said the boy, “but I don’t lend it to strangers.” The prosecuting attorney had encountered a somewhat difficult witness. Finally he asked. the man if he was acquainted with any of the men on the jury. “Yes, sir,” announced the witness, “more than half of them.” “Are you willing to swear that you know more than half of them?” demanded the lawyer. “Why, if it comes to that, I’m willing to swear that I know- more than all them put together.”