Each of the Four Numbers of

"100 Choice Selections" contained

in this volume is paged separately, and the Index is made to correspond therewith. See EXPLANATION on

first page of Contents.

The entire book contains nearly

1000 pages.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS

No. 27.

LABOR.-GEORGE W. BUNGAY.

Toil swings the axe, and forests bow,
The seeds break out in radiant bloom,
Rich harvests smile behind the plow,
And cities cluster round the loom;
Where towering domes and tapering spires
Adorn the vale and crown the hill,

Stout labor lights its beacon fires

And plumes with smoke the forge and mill.

The monarch oak, the woodland's pride,
Whose trunk is seamed with lightning scars,

Toil launches on the restless tide,

And there unrolls the flag of stars;

The engine with its lungs of flame,

And ribs of brass, and joints of steel,

From labor's plastic fingers came,

With sobbing valve and whirring wheel.

'Tis labor works the magic press,

And turns the crank in hives of toil,
And beacons angels down to bless
Industrious hands on sea and soil.

Here sunbrowned toil, with shining spade,
Links lake to lake with silver ties,
Strung thick with palaces of trade

And temples towering to the skies.

NOTHING FOR USE.*-ELMER RUÁN COATES

The letter ran thus:

"MY DEAR NEPH.,

As hot weather is proving your bane,

You will pack up your wife and your child
And come down in the five o'clock train.
Myself with the little gray mare

Will be found at the depot, in time;

Don't you fail, don't you send an excuse

To your loving aunt,

BARBARA CLIME.

"P. S.-An old kerchief, thrown over your hat,
Will protect from the cinders and dirt;
And a duster, worn over the coat,

Will defend it from similar hurt.
If your duster coat-collar's worn up,
It will save the white collar and tie;
An old blanket, thrown over the trunk,
Is another good point I would try.
There are many preventives I'd name,
Were my labors not driving me wild;
The instruction I offer to you,

You may pass to the wife and the child."

Now the five o'clock train met Aunt Barbara Clime,
Who was drawn by that little, gray mare;

When the hugging and kissing had come to an end,
How her eyes were indulging a stare!

And she said: “My dear boy, you have failed to observe
What I wrote for protecting your dress;"

And she whispered: "My love, these precautions, you

know,

Have prevented financial distress."

Here my wife and myself took a wink on the sly,
And were noting Aunt Barbara's gown;

Were it worn on the stage, in this Thespian age,
I am sure that the "house would come down."
As my aunt loved a joke and would willingly poke
Any fun, to the shape of a sell,

I could say, she presented the Bible display
Of the Rachel we see at the well.

Written expressly for this Collection.

It was all perpendicular, not a relief

From that fearful, monotonous line;

From the figures, I think it was worn in the ark,
Or, perhaps in an earlier time.

That botanical pattern had flowers as large

As a tea plate, I think I'll suppose,

But the chemical vapors around Ararat

Had quite faded the tulip and rose.

And her sun-bonnet, made on the old-fashioned plan, Was a match for her one-dollar shoes;

When you'd look at the charms of her face and her form,
You'd be sad that my aunt would abuse

Such a glorious chance for a winning effect.
You would look at her cheap and odd style,-

As an antediluvian show in neglect,

That would bring a satirical smile.

At the depot, we heard both the titter and laugh
From the old, the mid-aged, and the young;
Even those well aware of her beautiful soul,
Had a joke on the end of the tongue.

It was painful to hear what I burned to resent
From my love that was truly profound,
But I'd quickly reflect on her foolish negleet,
And I'd feel I was lacking the ground.

Had my aunt any means? Just apply at the bank,
Take a look at her champion farm,

She was bright in her test of those mines in the West,
See her home that's a fairy-like charm.

Had my aunt any clothes of the toney-swell kind?
Yes; she had under lock, nothing loose;

All the bureaus were laden, her trunks were all full,
But the lady had nothing for use.

Was Aunt Barbara mean? I will answer, my friend,
By referring to hundreds of poor;

She would weep at distress and would give her “God bless"

With the solace and cash that would cure.

She would dwell on sweet charity,-how it surpassed
Faith and hope with their beauties combined;
So her praises were sung by the eloquent tongue,
And the dogs and the cats were inclined.

A great point is right here,-her progenitors lived
Very near to the old Plymouth Rock,

And continuous toil on that rock-ridden soil
Made a saving and practical stock.

Though continuous toil on that rock-ridden soil
Had made some of the stingier brand,

Yet the line of the Clime, with a glow of divine,
Showed the palm of the liberal hand.

My Aunt Barbara mean? It was not in her dream,
But her ways were decidedly queer,—

She'd so poorly present her sweet nature's intent,
That the stranger would turn with a jeer.

When she'd taken our "things" and had made us at home,

We must have the refreshment of tea;

And the dining-room, whither she hugged us along,
Was a sight that was worthy to see.

The strange carpeting had a mosaical cast,—

No two pieces were found to be kin,

It would seem she was doing some patch-work affair,
And some patches were thick, and some thin.
And I said: "My dear aunt, are you making a quilt
For the land of perpetual snow?"

And she said: "My dear Neph., all the pieces above
Are to save the good Brussels below."

"But, woman, behold, they are four and five thick,"
And my laughter was ready to roar;

She replied: "Why, of course,-one is saving the next, And the last is preserving the floor.”

"Pile them up, my dear auntie," said I with a laugh, "Let the ceiling be reached very soon;

The advantage is this, as you cannot go in,
You will save everything in the room."

And that supper! No meat of the boar and the ram
That left Egypt in King Pharaoh's days;

No old, rotten potatoes, or maggoty ham,

Or those eggs that no chicken would praise. We had no soggy bread with a margarine spread, Or the taste of oak leaves in the tea,

Not a flower of wax to avoid a new tax,

But a genuine meal do we see.

Oh! that gem of cuisine, no cheap boarding-house dream, Was the best that the markets afford;

But a part of the Old Curiosity shop

Was arranged on her bountiful board.