The Family Circle

New Zealand Tablet, 12 September 1918, Page 45

The Family Circle

THE WOMEN WAITING. The soldier in the trenches, The valiant engineer, The sailor on the ocean Devoid of dread or fear, — They go in manhood's budding To answer Honor's call, But we, the women waiting, Are bravest of them all! We see the things they left here, By boyish hands thrown down — The bat they used last summer, The hat without a crown, — So intimate, neglected, Each token here we find. Ah ! they are brave, but braver The women left behind ! . We staunchly smile our courage, That's put to bitter test By keeping back the yearning Within our throbbing breast. Our little boys off yonder Will never know the way We anxious women struggle, As back at home we stay ! For when our waiting's over, And Peace, with gentle hand, Shakes down a mist of silver Upon a laughing land, We wide-eyed, watching women, Concealing anguish past, Must stretch our hands, still smiling And valiant to the last! —Maisie F. Birmingham. NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT. A lady from Toronto, according to the Catholic Register of that city, who had been visiting her son interned in Switzerland, gave a lecture when she returned, and roundly denounced his Holiness Pope Benedict XV. for his alleged pro-Germanism. A Catholic lady, meeting her some time afterwards, said — "I suppose you had a happy meeting with your son in Switzerland V "Oh, yes," she answered : "it was such a joy and such an unexpected privilege." "I was surprised, then," said the Catholic woman, "that you attacked so bitterly the one man who was responsible for your getting that interview." "What do you mean?" exclaimed the lecturer. "Didn't you know," asked the Catholic lady, "that it was the Pope who obtained the exchange of prisoners and their entry into Switzerland "Well, do you know, I never thought of that," was the reply. "I must cease talking bad about the Pope after this." THE CALL OF THE VEIL. Whenever I see them—two nuns, in veil and habit walking together, a feeling of peace, of calm, steals over me. Whether it be in a busy bank teeming with people at noon on Saturday that I see them, on the public square, on a street car, or in a merchant's shop, I invariably am better for the sight. Their presence recalls me from the troubled consideration of petty work-a-day problems and earthly cares, and reminds me all is not prosaic, humdrum, ♦harsh, and cold. I remember that far from the merciless din of the city there are places of retirement how restful is the thought!sequestered corners of this old world of ours, where, in convent gardens and

monastic halls, one can live in quiet and peace with God. I fancy I hear the low, perpetual ticking of the clock in the cloister chapel, beating in unison, I like to think, with the throbbing Heart behind the satin curtains of the tabernacle; I hear the measured chanting of the Vesper service the soft, melodious responses of the "Ave Maria," the clear, resonant tolling of the Angelus bell. I see the clean, immaculate corridors, the small, bare rooms, and the low-ceilinged ' diningroom of the religious community houses. And the inmates ! I see them moving alertly about, performing willingly their many duties, and in their recreational moments engaged in the interchange of wholesome and elevating thought. I see them morning, noon, and night, however tired may be their souls or wearied their bodies, always wearing an expression of benign contentment and repose. All these things I hear and see in one fleeting, happy moment when two nuns, in veil and habit, quietly pass me by. Yes, down through the vistas of ages have walked the holy women, serene and beautiful, their eyes cast low in maiden modesty, and on their faces an impress of the divine. Milton McGovern.

"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE." The red glow from the hearth and the merry little shadows dancing in every corner of the cosy room would seem to an observer to be a fitting background for happiness and cheer. But the white-haired old lady who sat there was far from happy. Her only son —her "man," as she had been wont to call himhad departed for "over there" three months before. Since his loving good-bye no word had come from him. How her heart ached and ached and ached ! Pictures formed in the flames which only she could see. Now it was a baby face, the sweet, trusting smile, warming the mother's heart. Again it was the half-grown boy, with his anxious look as he came to her with all his troubles and dilemmas. Then a tall, manly form appeared to her, his khaki uniform seeming to make him a very Titan in his strength. With all her heartache this little woman was proud of her boy. She would have him nowhere but with his regiment, for her love for her country was next to her love for God. However, grim imaginings persisted in coming to her. Could her dear boy be lying on some wasted battlefield, stark and cold, with eyes no longer bright, staring at the sky, unseeing Or could he have neglected himself on the steamer, and be lying at the bottom of the dark sea? Oh, no! rather the first death than the last : for he would then, at least, have died for his country and honor. Shaking off her fears, Mrs'. Kilton arose slowly from her seat, first banking up the fire and then going to her room, breathing a prayer that her boy still lived. Next morning the gentle lady walked to the gate to watch for the postman. She watched thus every day, but he had always hitherto passed her with a friendly nod, little knowing the grief he caused each day. However, on this day of days he did not pass without stopping. He handed her a long, thick letter. Oh ! the joy she felt when she recognised her son's writing. Her heart thumped like that of a young girl. She hugged the letter close as she hastened to the fireplace, her favorite nook of late. An endearing letter it was, begging her not to worry: telling her that the boys were putting up a stout fight, and that the war would be done for before long. "My greatest joy, mother dear, is in the evening, when I retire. Then I think of you, my guiding star, my help, my love, who brought up your wayward lad only to sacrifice him to our glorious country. And I say to myself, 'What a brave little mother she is!' I pray to God to keep us till once more we are united. Till that day, mother-o'-mine, whether it be here or in a better land, I will be with you always; and, oh ! how I long for you. Pray with me, mother, for no sea is wide enough to separate our souls." And you may be sure that

mother's heart was at rest for her boy "Somewhere in "—Margaret E. Kelly,' in the Boston Pilot. A PERFECT EVENING SPOILED. "Isn't it glorious here?" she exclaimed when the waiter had taken their orders. "Do you think so?" he replied. "It's perfectly lovely. Everything is in such beautiful harmonythe fountain, the trees, the swaying lanterns, the music—everything is ideal. It's like fairyland !" "I'm glad you like it." "I'm simply enchanted. Doesn't it make you feel as if you had stepped out of the every-day world into something strange and new?" "Not a bit." "What's the matter You don't seem to be enjoying yourself." "My boss it sitting at the third table over there to your left, and I can tell by his look that he's wondering how I can afford to blow myself at a place like this." . ' ■ — j TAKING ORDERS. The young subaltern, who was a son of a general, and never omitted to rub in that fact, was taking a message from the general to the gunners. "If you please," he said to the major, "father says will you move your guns." The major was in an irate mood. "Oh!" he rejoined, "and what does your mother say?" GOOD ADVICE. Ex-Mayor Dunne, of Chicago, in a recent address to young men, preached the doctrines of sturdy democracy. "People bother too much," he said "about their ancestors. If you believed all you heard you'd think that every other man was descended from William the Conqueror or Charlemagne. My advice to a young man would be this : 'Don't bother about your descent unless you are an aviator.' "

SMILE RAISERS. A local magnate, who rarely makes a set speech, was asked to deliver an oration at a war fund gathering to which he had liberally subscribed. When he returned home the same evening his wife inquired—- " How was your speech received, Richard?" "Why,'' replied her husband, 'they congratulated me very heartily. Indeed, Sir Richard Lucre told me that when I sat down he said to himself it was the best thing I had ever done Little Gwennie felt it her duty to entertain the man who had been called in to do some carpenter work, and began by asking if he had a papa and mamma. He said yes. Then she asked if he had any brothers or any sisters. He replied by saying that he had three half-brothers and three half-sisters. After looking at him for a moment intently, she said: "Are you the only whole one there was?" Several members of a women's war working party had assembled at the house of another member, and were chatting with the little daughter of their hostess. "I hear you are a great help to your mother," said one. "Oh, yes," replied the little girl; "mamma gives me a task to do every day." "Oh!" remarked the lady, "and what is your task for to-day ?" "I have to count the spoons after you have all gone."