’Twill be as when the world begun,
And in fig leaves again we’ll roam,
And wonder still why the men leave home.
* * *
The Anti-Cigarette Crusaders
“I can’t understand how men can put those nasty pipes and cigarettes to their lips,” she mourned, and then bent to kiss the little bundle of life in her lap. And the poodle dog, sympathizing, snuggled closer against its mistress’ swan-like neck and wagged its little tail.
Our Rural Mail Box
Smokehouse Friends—Ye editor has received many calls for the following poems, and would appreciate receipt of correct copies of them: “Johnnie and Frankie,” “Arkansaw” and the prose of the Irishman lecturing with lantern slides the story of Cleopatra.