“The best friend a man can have in this world may turn against him,” said the senator. “His son or daughter, whom he has raised with kind and loving care, may prove ungrateful, those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to our faith. The money a man has, he may lose; it flies away from him when he perhaps needs it most. A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. Those who are prone to fall on their knees and do us honor when success is with us, may be the first to cast the stone of malice when failure settles its clouds upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend a man can have in this selfish world, is his dog.
“A man’s dog stands by him, in health and in sickness, in poverty and in wealth; he will sleep on the cold ground, when the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer him; he will lick the wounds and the sores that come from an encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince.
“If fortune drives the master forth, an outcast into the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than to accompany him, to guard against dangers, to fight against his enemies. And when the last scene of all takes place, and death takes the master in its embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold ground; no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will be found the faithful dog, his head between his paws, his eyes open yet sad, in alert watchfulness. Ever faithful unto death.”
Visitor—“That’s a funny name for your grandchild. Why do you call her that?”
“You see, I sent my daughter to one of those nawthern seminaries and that’s all she brought back.”
Electrical appliances have superseded steam, Old time sailing vessels are an antiquated dream; We have our horseless carriages driven by the rich, Our ladies wear silk stockings but never take a stitch; We have wireless telegraphy which flies o’er land and sea, We play upon the piano but never touch a key; The belly-ache of former days is appendicitis now, And we are eating creamery butter that never saw a cow. Though progression is our motto and modern times have come to stay, Thank God! We raise our babies— In the good old fashioned way.