hadow
of death"--while with his hand clasped in hers, his soul passed on
through the "valley" and the "shadow" up to "the sandals of God." Yes,
raise aloft her statue in the streaming sunlight. Let some great
sculptor, catching aright the inspiration of his theme, outline that
slender form--that woman's form, with melting heart and nerves of steel,
against the soft blue of the summer sky, with her lint and bandages in
one hand and her Bible in the other, the sign of the cross upon her
sleeve, and the glory of the countenance of the "Son of Man" reflected
on her face, and underneath let these words be traced:

  To the nurses of the Red Cross--those angels of the battlefield--who
  ministered to our soldiers and sailors, the thanks of a grateful
  nation; for "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of
  these, ye have done it unto Me."

                   *       *       *       *       *

                       AS THE SUN WENT DOWN.

              Two soldiers lay on the battlefield
                At night when the sun went down,
              One held a lock of thin, gray hair
                And one held a lock of brown.

              One thought of his sweetheart back at home,
                Happy and young and gay,
              And one of his mother left alone,
                Feeble and old and gray.

              Each in the thought that a woman cared,
                Murmured a prayer to God,
              Lifting his gaze to the blue above
                There on the battle sod.

              Each in the joy of a woman's love,
                Smiled through the pain of death,
              Murmured the sound of a woman's name,
                Tho' with his parting breath.

              Pale grew the dying lips of each,
                Then, as the sun went down,
              One kist a lock of thin, gray hair,
                And one kist a lock of brown.

                                          ANON., in _Town Talk_.




UNWRITTEN THANKS.


Dear readers, I pray you accept this last 