A
IO
THE BA TTALION.
long auburn hair, which falls loosely over her shoulders, while
the golden ringlets play about her snow-white temples. I’m
ready to pronounce her “queen”—but wait, she has reached the
fatal sign-board, and as she places a tiny foot clad in a number
two slipper upon the board, I’m shocked and blinded for a
while, and on recovering I see something in masculine attire
approaching. It is not a man; it may belong to the feminine
gender, but can’t be a lady. As it passed, I tried to doff my
cap, but it had grown to my head, never, never to be doffed to
an equal. But presently I was happy again: the barking of a
dog had awakened me from a restless slumber and the latter
part of m3’ revery was a dream. But feeling confident that the
new girl will never appear, and being deficient in a fair know
ledge of the modern girl, I am unable to write on that subject.
Let me see; perhaps I could write something upon mv
future vocation. Suppose I consider a farmer’s life. But then,
I couldn’t be a farmer; there’s too much ph\’sical exertion and
lost preparation and too many soiled clothes. Then the 7nedical
profession, for instance. But it’s full to overflowing.
“There is room at the top” in the legal profession, but its
a life-time study; so that’s too much work. But now my time’s
up, my lamp has burned out, and I just now realize that the
lamp of life is slowly burning and will soon be consumed.
How many are undecided as to what they are going to do?
The answer is, “ Millions.” We should remember that eveiw
24 hours makes us a day older, and if we wash our gloves after
the drill bugle has sounded, we will be a washing behind when
inspection takes place. And if 3^011 spend a life time in deciding
whether 3 r ou will become a statesman or a post-hole digger,
your creditors will draw on your bank for the last talent, and
3 7 ou will enter the road home bankrupt from inaction and de
spair. If we can’t decide, it is better to draw straws and go to
work, than to go down to our eternal home with the talent