Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-01-27

before it IS too late. Too late for what?
TOO late for what? He struggles under
| q monStrouS necessity, q sad urge which
Tells deep-hidden intelligence that
something must be done to silence that
| noise.
Maybe miracle will take place and
kindly hand, unknown, unthanked,
yer nevertheless real, in world where
all Things as yet are startlingly unreal.
win reach out of a vast chaos and do
something to the clock before it is too
late.
Too late for what? There is a me-
LANCE Of getting up, of washing a face,
OF eating breakfast, of getting to work
a conglomeration of faces-faces sad,
glad, grave; even unnecessary faces,
glowing with evil smiles, with one smil-
ing one placed squarely in the middle
OF them, as white rose in a bowl of
red ones.
Ali The clatter of the merciless
clock, which now has been ringing for
decades, is getting less and less. Even
the longest spring must unwind at last.
Even the WearieSt river runs some
where to the sea-to the sea, to the
sea-
An ocean Of gratitude wells in the
iethargic heart for the memorable
workings of time and chance which
nave resulted in the ending of that
horrible clamor. Peace reignS once
more. The early morning milkman
clatters up back porch, but his harsh
footsteps are music compared with the
clangor which has ended.
Vast waves of peacefulness surge on
and on, sending out blissful rings, ever
wider and wider, into the pool of for
getfulness. This is the sweetest sleep
OF all, worth sleeping all night to at
tain. Tread lightly, snilkman, wake
me notl
What absurd things one thinks of in
those last-minute doZes! Whv are men
ashamed of their first names? Why
does John Russell Tompkins invariably
become j, Russell Tompkins? Why does
George Gould Littlebrown become upon
attaining his majority G. Gould Little
brown?
This universal longing of male crea-
lures to escape from their simple.
standard given names strikes one as
lneXpressibly queer. Women never
mind theirs. Who ever heard of a
woman named Mary Jane Smith sign
ing herself m. Jane Smith? Mary
Jane she was christened, and Mary
Jane she Is.
The theory Of names, intriguing
Jnougn IL Is, gives way to bliSSful con-
sideration of the abstract utility of sun
beams in the daily diet. One hazily
wonders If the phrase ain the daily
diet" is exactly correct, but somehow
1t makes not the slightest bit of diff
ference.
Perhaps it should be "in the daily
diet of elephants" but that makes no
difference, either. Elephants or men.
1t. makes no difference. Sunbeams are
what count, and they count tremen-
douSly.
A system crammed with sunbeans
will judge as the sun judges, as Walt
Whitman said. There can be no doubt
of that--a huge scroll rolls to the fore
with the words printed in letters Of
gold.
And Portia comes, in her cap and gown.
declaiming about the gentle dew of
Heaven, which falls alike upon the iust
and the unjust. Surely the dew has
been in fault all these years. Really
it should not fall alike upon the UNI
just. The unjust have no right to dew.
Dew is for the just. Let no unjust man
have a share of our dew.
Creakl Those unwilling shutters of
the eyes open protestingly, but with a
foreboding intelligence in every one of
their little springs that the thing must
be done at last The time has come
for many things, but particularly to get
up. One must come back to earth now
or never. One makes a supreme eff
fort-and is surprised to find himself
actually awake