isions frail,
On the river Time with its gentle flow,
In a silver boat with a golden sail.

My dreams, in the silence are hurrying by
On the brooklet of Thought where I let them flow,
And the "lilies nod to the sound of the stream"
As I sail through the realms of the long ago.

On the shores of life's deep-flowing stream
Are my countless sorrows and heartaches, too,
And the hills of hope are but dimly seen,
Far in the distance, near heaven's blue.

I find that my childish thoughts and dreams
Lie strewn on the sands by the cruel blast
That scattered my hopes on the restless streams
That flow through the mystic realms of the past.

Pointers for the Lords of Creation

Some wit has said that the worst vice in the world is advice, and it
is also quite true that one ignorant, though well-meaning person can
sometimes accomplish more damage in a short time, than a dozen people
who start out for the purpose of doing mischief.

The newspapers and periodicals of to-day are crowded with advice to
women, and while much of it is found in magazines for women, written
and edited by men, it is also true that a goodly quantity of it comes
from feminine writers; it is all along the same lines, however, the
burden of effort being to teach the weaker sex how to become more
attractive and more lovable to the lords of creation. It is, of
course, all intended for our good, for if we can only please the men,
and obey their slightest wish even before they take the trouble to
mention the matter, we can then be perfectly happy.

A man can sit down any day and give us directions enough to keep us
busy for a lifetime, and we seldom or never return the compliment.
This is manifestly unfair, and so this little preachment is meant for
the neglected and deserving men, and for them only, so that all women
who have read thus far are invited to leave the matter right here and
turn their attention to the column of "Advice to Women" which they can
find in almost any periodical.

In the first place, gentlemen, we must admit that you do keep us
guessing, though we do not sit up nights nor lose much sleep over your
queer notions.

We can't ask you many questions, either, dear brethren, for, as you
know, you rather like to fib to us, and sometimes we are able to find
it out, and then we never believe you any more.

We may venture, however, to ask small favo