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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, April 30, 1913, Image 20

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1913-04-30/ed-1/seq-20/

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all or my?ieart will break. It was for
the crime of my brother that you suf
fered so -nobly, so unjustly. It was
not until after. the death of my father
that I learned how well he had kept
the wicked, dr,eadful secret."
"But Ellis!" cried Thorne, his face
illumined "my poor sacrifice gave
him five years of rest, of safety, if not
of happiness? Thank God I am
content! His weakened, irresistible
mind led him to an act he never rea
ized. Oh, it is sweet, sweet to know
that I could prove my friendship and
bear his burden."
She put out her arms towards him.
The nobility of a loyal soul was a
refuge she dared not refuse.
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
THEN ASTORS MIGHTWORK. n
"Men of judgment;", .says Vice
President 'Marshall, "have expressed
to me the opinion that if. a vpte'Svere
taken on a proposition to ma&e all
excess of estates over $100,000 revert
to the state on death of the owner, it
would be carried two to. one."
Too modest an estimate, Th'pmas,
too modest! Five to one would be
much closer. It may 'be a -far cry
to . such reversion but in inheritance
and income taxationwe have some
thing that sounds like a whisper
abqut it.
o o
If a church be on fire, why has an
organ the smallest chance of, escape?
Because an engine cannot play .on it.
Y 3ertom Bra Lev
Of all of the wearisome chinners
With which our great planet is cursed
The ones who perform at our dinners
Stand out as decidedly the worst;
In hamlet and village and city,
In English and Irish and Dutch,
They say things they label as witty,
But who would consider them such? -
They hem and they haw and they ramble,
They mumble and grumble and drone,
For their thoughts are & mess and a scramble
And you sit at the table and groan;
JYet you linger and linger, still hoping
For some one with something to say,
But the speakers keep fumbling and groping
Like a ship in a fog gone astray.
And the speaking flows on like a river,
A river that's sluggish and slow, . .
And we pray to the fates to deliver
Ourselves from our boredom and woe;
If Satan would torture the sinners
In quite the most horrible, style,
He'd send them forever to dinners
a oriistien"-feirfejleh-fay the mile! ' N 1

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