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small boats after nearly a score of hours spent on the crowded Italian emigrant vessel, to which they had been taken from another wreck. Yet not only was there no whimpering, but they actually came aboard with smiling faces. They forgot that all their traveling possessions were doomed, forgot all the ordeal they had encountered, and showed themselves happy and contented because they thought, most of them, that in the face of disaster, all that the hands of willing men could do to help them had been done.

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BREVITY OF LIFE

The May-fly, of which there are several varieties, lives at the longest but three or four days; some varieties but a few hours of one day. Yet they are delicately organized, and possess all the functions of insect lives.

Man's few years of mortal existence may seem as brief compared with eternity.

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The life of a perfect butterfly or moth is short. A few days after emergence from the chrysalis case, the female deposits her eggs on the leaves or stems of the plant that is to sustain the larvæ. Her work is now accomplished, and the few days more allowed her are spent in frolicking among the flowers, and sucking the sweet juices they provide. They soon show symptoms of a fast approaching end. Their colors begin to fade, and the beauty-making scales of the wings gradually disappear through friction against the petals of hundreds of flowers visited and the merry dances with scores and scores of playful companions. At last, one bright afternoon, while the sun is still high in the heavens, a butterfly, more weary than usual, with heavy and laborious flight, seeks a place of rest for the approaching night. Here, on a waving stalk, it is soon lulled to sleep by a gentle breeze.

Next morning, a few hours before noon, the blazing sun calls it out for its usual frolics. But its body now seems too heavy to be supported by the feeble and ragged wings, and, after one or two weak attempts at play, it settles down in its final resting-*place. On the following morning a dead butterfly is seen, still clinging by its claws to a swinging stem.—, "Butterflies and Moths."

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Life is too short for any vain regretting; Let dead delight bury its dead, I say, And let us go upon our way forgetting The joys and sorrows of each yesterday. Between the swift sun's rising and its setting We have no time for useless tears or fretting. Life is too short.

Life is too short for any bitter feeling; Time is the best avenger, if we wait. The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing— We have no room for anything like hate. This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealing That thick and fast about our feet are stealing. Life is too short.

Life is too short for aught but high endeavor— Too short for spite, but long enough for love. And love lives on forever and forever, It links the worlds that circle on above; 'Tis God's first law, the universe's lever, In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never. Life is too short. (Text.)

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Bride-racing—See.

BRIGHT SIDE

There's a bad side, 'tis the sad side— Never mind it! There's a bright side, 'tis the right side— Try to find it! Pessimism's but a screen. Thrust the light and you between— But the sun shines bright, I ween, Just behind it!

—, The Circle.

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Broad-mindedness in Civics—See.

BROTHERHOOD

Two men saw a piece of jewelry on the sidewalk, they reached for it simultaneously, struck their heads violently; each arose to censure the other, when they found they were brothers and had not seen each other for a dozen years. It must not be forgotten that all competitions and rivalries to-day are