Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1905-04-06
GREELEY.
Jiu-Jitsu, Jappy gets you.

Jiu-Jitsu, Jappy gets you.
Sherm Peppers is improving his
| farm with some woven wire.
Miss Mary Anciaux began teaching
at Rose Valley Monday, April 3.
About forty frolicsome young lambs
are frisking about on the s. S. Berry
farm.
Ira Johnson is road boss for the
| south east corner of our progressive
little town.
Mrs. Vic Anciaux and daughter
were visitors at the Clint Fucker home
Wednesday.
Enthusiasm in regard to incubators
| seems To be abating in comparison to
| what it was last spring. Why?
Oscar Miller hauled his hay from
the Frew Hays farm Thursday, the
wind tOrmSnted him the while.
Things have gone SO opposite to her
expectations that it is difficult to make
Russia believe that she is whipped.
Mr.. South, of Extra, (South of
EXira) was the very agreeable sewing
machine agent in our vicinity this
week
Charley Spencer, and Will May,
popular lmphment men of Extra, were
repairing wind pumps for John Shoe
smiths and Nels Christensen.
After pleasant week with relatives
in Greeley and Melville townships,
MIR. Otis Boehme departed for his
home Friday.
Distemper is raging among the
horses. Exposure To rain while thus
affected terminated the existence of
one of Will Hogueisson's best.
The cOttOnwoods have flung
Their banners to the breeze,
And round them rally now
Great swarms of happy bees.
In spite of the early hour, there was
a sprinkling of attentive Greeleyites
in the crowd that listened to the wis
dom of Prof. Holden's remarks.
THE FARMER
He's seeding now and on his brow
Is writ with sweat and dust
"Oh, divine clod, crude thing of God
The race to you | trust p
Baxter screwed a new phone to the
wall Tuesday. just ring four long on
twenty four and you will hear the
gentle voice of road supervisor Il. r.
Eagen say ''HellO!" through it. 1t is
whispered that at least two more
phones will go in on this lively wire
soon.
At eleven O'Clock, Sunday morning,
April =; Rev. c. Sloan, former pastor
of the Baptist church in Brayton,
mounted the pulpit of the Union Bap-
fist church in Greeley and delivered
his first message to the meek little
flock over which he is to watch in the
future. The burden of his sermon
was the cleansing power of the blood
of Jesus Christ as indicated in the
seventh verse of the first chapter of
First John. The venerable and be-
loved Mr.. Tabor supplemented the
sermon with some beautiful remarks.
Mr.. Sloan will occupy this same pull
pit Sunday, April 8. Devotional meet
ings, Wednesday night.
RETROSPECTION.
Flow on gentle river, my heart is sad
Let me sit on thy banks and dream
OF the happy day gone, when | was
as glad
AS thy laughing waters now seem.
When she who is sleeping meath
yonder white stone
Did with me, hand locked in hand
rove.
Then our souls knit together, our
hearts beat as one
In the sweet, throbbing breath of
true love.
There at our feet in the furrow lay
three little baby rabbits crying pit
eously, and striking frantically with
their tiny feet. We had just returned,
baftled from StOning an old one all
around the orchard with murder in
our eye because it had been nibbling
at the blackberry bushes, but never
| theless, we could not Kill these little
creatures. When we thought of doing
| So, some unseen power stayed our
hands, and we tenderly replaced them
| in their snug little nest of fur and put
them out of the way of the horses feet.
| But when next winter comes and they
| leave their coy retreat in the reeds
| for u merry rOmp on the first snow
they will meet the ruthless huntsman,
then the little babies whose lives we
saved last summer when the plowshear
wrecked their home will be shot down
in the summit Of their delight, and be
carried away from their happy haunts,
! limp and dead.
| see upon the snow spot of red,
My pets, my pet, my little pets are
| dead.
They have been killed and, too, with
in the law
| TO glut some cruel monsters hungry
| NAV.
No more upon the sparkling moon
lit snow
In hazel dell, or by the grassy
slough
! Will they, in glee, go chasing to
and fro.
THE INEFFA BILE.
| | stood upon the hill this eve
And watched the sun go down
| Behind the woods, and far away
The spires of a town
Were penciled out against the glow
Upon the western sky
How beautiful. Oh, how I yearned
| For wings that | might fly.
| My tongue and pen were useless
things
From which my shy thots fed,
| And seemed to disappear among
The sun-kissed clouds DER head.