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PONDEROSA PINE TIOULDINGS
QUAIJTY--Jftple Brog Mouldings cre u!€xcolled lor Unilornity, Smooth Firdsb" cod Soft Texture.
SERVICE-Th€ pctteras you wcnt, when you wcmt them. Pronpt delivery to your ycrd FBEE ia the local trcrde crrec.
"Ask Our Present Customers, Then See For Yoursell"
A Plecrsqnt Ule
It was Keats who wrote: "I had an idea that a man might pasa a very' pleasant life in this manner: Let him on a certain day rcad a ccrtain pagc of full Pocsy or distilled Prose. and let him wander with it, and muae upon it, and refect from it, and dream upon it: until it becomes staleBut will it do so? Never. Whcn a man hag arrived at a ccrtain ripeness in intellect any one grand and spiritual paosage serves him as a starting-post towards all the 'two and thirty' Palaces. How happy ie such a voyage of conception, what delicioue, diligent indolence t
Rembrcrndt '
Rembrandt belongs to the breed of artiets which can have no posterity. His place is with the Michelangelos, the Shakespeares, the Beethovens. An artistic Prometheus, he stole the celestial fire, and with it put life into what was inert, and expressed the immaterial and evasive sides of nature in his breathing forms.-Emile Michel.
Husbcrrd crnd WiIe
Every man expects his wife to be a sweetheart, a valet, a chef, an audience, and a trained nurse. Now we will hear from the female of the species: A woman should have 6ve husbands, an intellectual companion, a muscular toiler, a financial genius, a practical plumber and electrician, and at least one romantic playboy.
Trecrdmill
Automatically he opened the Book and inride the front cover there was a notation that read: "If businers is bad, lead Matthew, 3:16, page 521. If you are tired, read Luke, 4:22, page 682. lf lonely, read the 23rd Psalm."
Sincc bueinese WAS bad, and since he war tired, and aleo lonely, he turned to the pagcs mentioned, and read the three passages. Just below the third patEagc, he found another note. It read: "If you are etill lonely, call Main 7624, and ask for Daisy."
' The speaker paused in his addrees, and remarked: "Gentlemen, any medium of advertising is worth trying."
Wrong Plqce
The customer in the dark looking eating place across the tracks from the depot, asked the waiter with the dirty apron:
"What do you suggest I eat?"
"Spaghetti," said the waiter, "but not here."
Idecls
"Some speak of ideals as being only girls' dreams' On the opposite, high ideals are lifelike portraits, seen in advance. Only the greatest minds, living in an age of tyranny could see in prophecy the portrait of a free people. Instead of being a romantic dream, an ideal is often a long mathematical calculation by an intellect as lucid as that of Euclid. Idealism is not the ravings of a maniac, but it is the calm geometry of life. Ideals try our faith, as though to show us that nothing is too good to be true. In noble ideals there is something aggressive. They are not aggressive like an army with gun and slrcar, but aggressive like the sun which coaxes a June out of a winter. All great truths are persistent. Each form of right is a growing form. All high ideals will be realized. This, one perceives who takes a long view, the triumph of ideality over apathy, indolence, and dust. There is nothing in history, dark as much of it is, to check the belief that man will at last be overcome by his highest ideals."-David Swing.
Trees
All Advertbing is C'ood
An advertising specialist was addressing a business convention, and was attempting to prove that all mediums of advertising should be considered, and that most of them have their merits. He illustrated it by telling how he, himself, having been on the road and away from home continually for weeks, arrived one night tired and weary in a Southern town, and went up to his hotel room. Speaking to himself, he said: "You're lonesome." And just as he said it, he noticed that he was leaning on a Gideon Bible.
I think that I shall never see, A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear, A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain, Who intimately lives with rain; Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
-Joyce Kilmer.
