their outlandish world of stillness and whiteness. But now the Indian mother swings the Snow Baby back and forth, singing the while a song that has been sung in just this same way, in the North, for hundreds of years. And the mighty hunter-the setter of traps for the big bearlooks on and watches and smokes and you hear him say with the trace of a proud smile: "Le gros uapoosh! Le gros uapoosh!" means, "The big white rabbit!" Which means, Yes, the big white rabbit that some day will go with him along the frozen trail and help him set the traps. And that is why, when the bitter Winter cold settles over the northland and when the animals seek shelter and do not move about—that is why some "big white rabbits" live in the manmade shelters of far North Canada. -FRANK E. SCHOONOVER. THE RIME OF THE YOUNG LADY A A-CAMPING YOUNG lady who camped on a hill Said: "I simply cannot eat my fill! My dearest fond hope Is to eat all the dope." (She did; but it made her quite ill!) She's a natural child, and will learn, And boils tea in a manner all her'n. To eat grub of her noble construction As the "hog-butcher's jest," At its worst as the "sudden destruction." When she offers the dog her fresh bread, He won't even turn back his head, Disappears in the dust, And will not come home 'til he's led. THE RIME OF THE YOUNG LADY A-CAMPING(Continued) To wash dishes she firmly refused, And looked as though she'd been abused. "Although they're not bright I know they're all right; They're not dirty, they've only been used!" -STEWART EDWARD WHITE. A LIMERICK THE THE CHI-MERICAN FARM HERE was a young farm in the West, So much overworked and hard-pressed That it wearily said: "I'll just take to my bed And drop through to China to rest." But, alas, when the roots of its trees And to plant every ounce Of that farm to potatoes and peas. -JAMES J. HILL. A MOTHER'S WORK AND HER HOPES THI HIS is written for men, and for boys; for the millions who fail to appreciate the work that mothers do, for the millions that ignore the self-sacrifice and devotion upon which society is based. On a hot night, in the dusty streets of a dirty city, hundreds of women sit in the doorways, taking care of babies. In lonesome farm houses, far out on monotonous plains, with the late sun setting on a long day of hard work, you find women, cheerful and persevering, taking care of babies. In the middle of the night, in earliest morning, when men sleep all over the world, in ice huts North, in southern tents, in big houses and in dingy basements, you find women awake, cheerfully and gladly taking care of babies. We respect and praise the man selfishly working for himself. If he builds up a great industry, a great fortune, we praise him. If he risks his life for glory, we praise him. If he shows courage even in saving his own carcass from destruction, we praise him. There never was a man whose courage, or devotion, could be compared with that of a woman caring for her baby. The mother's love is unselfish, it has no limit this side of the grave. One man in a thousand will risk his life for a cause. A thousand women in a thousand will risk their lives for their babies. Everything that a man has and is he owes to his mother. From her he gets health, brain, encouragement, moral character, all his chances of success. How poorly the mother's service is repaid by men individually, by society as a whole! The individual feels that he has done much if he gives money for board and a little kindness to her who brought him from nothingness into life, sacrificed her sleep, youth and strength for his sake. Society, the aggregate of human beings, feels that its duty is done when a few hospitals are opened for poor mothers, a little medicine doled out in cold-hearted fashion to the sick child. Fortunately, the great man is almost always appreciative of his greater mother. Napoleon was cold, jealous of other men, monumently egotistical when comparing himself |