WHEN the office is deserted in the evening, and

your cares

Have trooped off with the devil as he shuffles

down the stairs,

When you pace about your kingdom like a chain-

ed and restless pup,

And walk back to view the galley rack to see how

much is up^___
Before you go to supper, put your tired brain to

soak,

And try to wash the kinks out with a quiet little

smoke.
      For it's smoke, smoke, smoke,
      Makes the world seem like a joke;
            With its whirling,
                  Curling,
                        Swirling,
      Where there's nothing that is sterling,
      After all its strange unfurling
                 Only smoke,
                 Purling smoke.

Sit and laugh at "Old Subscriber" and the pa-

pers marked "refused."

Take a puff at the Alliance that imagines it's

abused.

Smile in triumph at your banker and the man who

holds your note;

O'er your master, that old "plaster," gloat a tran-

quil, haughty gloat.

And as evening shadows thicken pull your weed

until it beams;

Suck sweet sunshine out of sadness in a cloud

of silver dreams.
      Oh, it's dreams, dreams, dreams;
      Life is only what it seems;
            And like mazy,
                  Dim and lazy,
      Shifting cloud-forms weird and crazy,
      Our distinctions are; so hazy,
                  Motes and beams^___
                  Only dreams.

^__William Allen White.