Evening star., 1926-03-21

hilarious unison,
and when the poor thing la shed around
in aimleSS rage there was a spontane'
ouS combustion of the sort that goes
with Slapstick farce.
And when, at last. he whimpered out
that he wanted his wife-well sir. it
was as good as a circus.
1t didn't seem to occur to anybody
around that the MN may have fought
against temptation before it laid him
Iowa weak Da. with no saving
stone in his sling. 1t VAS just funny
downright funny, don't YOU know
However,
All pleasures pass in this world
After bit a policeman came. And
after another bit a patrol wagon
whizzed up to the curb
The law is not humorous. The po-
liceman to quote one looker-on-
didn't even crack smile as he lifted
the cripple to his feet and numbered
him into the wagon.
He actually treated him az if he
were a human being.
VOU know that bronze figure of
History posed at the base of the
Garfield statue?, Well, he has some
sort of magnetism in his toes. You
can tell. Splendid bare toes. they
are, that overrun sandals and stretch
out inVitingly to every tiny child
that comes along. And SO generally
is the lure accepted that in street
playing seasons you are liable at
most any time to catch some toddler
adventuring over the green sea of
grass to where il can reach up and
pipe out:
This little pig went to market.
This little pig
For harbinger of this Spring sport
one must have harbingers, like the
first robin. and that very tirstest lit
tie white wind flower that bobs up un-
der the protection of the piney woods
and in this case, the child herald
combined the two. For her cheeks
were as red as a robins breast Is
claimed to be. but isn't. and no
blossom could be more snow-white
than ermine, with the black tails
left out and trimmed all around with
swanSdoWn.
She was toddling around the Gar
field curve, hand in hand. with a
girlish mother, who had a camera
strapped over her other arm At
sight of the inviting toes she gurgled
joy and dragged mamma over TO the
classic figure of History. intent ON
his tablet. Equally intent, the child
tickled the bronze toes. and then
looked up with eager expectancy to
see what he would do. History made
no response. but mamma bubbled
laughter, and baby went on with her
play:
.''Is 'itty pig wenta marky, is ltty
pig stay home. Is 'itty plg-1S ltty
pig-what did iss 'itty pig do. NOM
MAJ"
Mamma. gloriously young enough
for comradeship. took a hand in the
game and not only piloted the pig who
had roast beef, but also the littlest pig
that cried wee. wee, all the way home.
And it was lovely to watch the two.
Then mamma backed away a bit. un-
strapped the camera and made snap
of the harbinger. 1t will, doubtless,
refuse to develop satisfactorily
ask ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS any
takes chance on curve-and. CT
course, the baby child will forget all
about it-until-
One of these days. way ahead IN
the future, q woman. with her illusions
Of life faded in the wash of tears that
flow into the lives Of most women.
may look back in memory to that fig
ure of History. as a pilgrim remem-
bers shrine-because of the child she
used to be, and of a mother who had
helped her to play a childish game
and who was forever gone.
And the memory will help her. 1t
must. Because. doesn't the basso in
THE Bohemian Girl sing it for us
that memory is the only friend that
grief can call it's own?
And did you ever come across any
one who could contradict him?
X x
CHE had on frivolous black with
- lace fiXings-with big bunch of
silk Niolets pinned on the collar of