The weekly Alaska citizen., 1919-08-18
THE BUTTERFLY
(By Dr. Frank Crane. )

eff I had created man and woman," said Anatole France, "I should not have framed them on the type that was actually used, that of the higher mammifers. I should not have made men and women to resemble the great apes, as they do, but on the model of insects, which after lifetime of caterpiars change into butterflies, and for the brief, final term of their existence have no other thot but to love and be lovely. I should have set youth at the end of the human span. l should so ar range that, in a final metamorphosis, man and woman, unfuring glittering wings, should live awhile on dew and desire, and die in raptur our kss''
 second the motion
 Nothing is so amazing as the utter vac,l- ity of youth. It is so pigeon-headed. It is wholly self-centred, egotistic, positive in its ignorance, impatient of wisdom and without the slightest conception of how to njoy life
 On the contrary, the aged know how to enjoy themselves. But it does them no good. They cannot. With years and knowledge, with skill and virtuosity in pleasure, comes impotence, and the fates laugh
 Nothing is so pathetic as success
 In saddened rooms today sit lonely mil lionaires; with cindered hearts, masters of opportunities they don't care for Plenty of Porterhouse steaks and no teeth.
 All those hard, bitter years the successful man struggled up He fought we'll, he won the top. And when he arrived, his blood was thin, his legs ached,. desire was gone. Physi- clans and nurses, not houris, surrounded him.
 I recently visited famous author He had that reputation thousands of young writ CTS aspire to obtain He was broken and solitary. His wife was estranged His chil- dren had grown away. He had achieved the prize but it was cell, not palace in Para dise
 Did you ever thn' of the millions of pret- ty girls in the world, with their supple bodies, blooming cheeks, sparkling eyes and hearts full of love? And have you watched them, in your minds eye, slowly fade, dulling life's edge over the kitchen stove, wearing away life's bloom by the incessant friction of chl- dren and petty household cares, the hair streaking with gray, the face furrowing with wrinkles?
 For 7vjlem youth, the dream, departs,
 # takes Someti'ng from our hearts,
 And H neUer C0meS again.
 We behold # every7vheye
 Om the earth amd m the air,
 But zee sigh for it i', vain."
 Bear with me, while accuse "this sorry scheme of things entire" Besides, you com plain of the weather. I see you, and raise you; complain of the universe.
 I want to iOirl some sort of uniOn and strike. I feel the urge of Boshevism I don't rail at the capitalists. I don't want to be John D. I want to be that nine-year-old boy out there playing ball in the street and scream ing with delight. It's all can do to laugh at good joke. He laughs at nothing at all.
 am tired of being an upright ape. Il want to be butterfly. One floated into my room just now thru the open window. He had no business here I have That's the trouble. l want to be like him, with no busi- ness anywhere. No business but to wave my wings in the sunshine, and die beautifully, as the day dies in gorgeous twilight, as the melody dies in sweet echoes, as smiles die in tender memories
 Confound the summer time anyhow. It gets into the blood
 There is as yet some room for doubt as to just what inning of the game we are at with regard to the league of nations. There may be nine long innings to come, and then still others before tie is broken. But there is hint, none the less, that Mir. Wilson has reached "the lucky seventh"