Watch Yourself Go By

Just stand aside and watch yourself go by; Think of yourself as "he" instead of "I." Note closely, as in other men you note, The bag-kneed trousers and the seedy coat. Pick the flaws; find fault; forget the man is you, And strive to make your estimate ring true; Confront yourself and look you in the eye-- Just stand aside and watch yourself go by.

Interpret all your motives just as though You looked on one whose aims you did not know. Let undisguised contempt surge through you when You see you shirk, O commonest of men! Despise your cowardice; condemn whate'er You note of falseness in you anywhere. Defend not one defect that shames your eye-- Just stand aside and watch yourself go by.

And then, with eyes unveiled to what you loathe-- To sins that with sweet charity you'd clothe-- Back to your self-walled tenements you'll go With tolerance for all who dwell below. The faults of others then will dwarf and shrink, Love's chain grow stronger by one mighty link-- When you, with "he" as substitute for "I," Have stood aside and watched yourself go by.

S. W. GILLILAND, in Penberthy Engineer.

"To whom will you dedicate your book?" inquired George Spahr.

Well, I hinted to my wife and Pearl that I desired to bestow that honor upon them. They did not exactly demur, but both intimated that I had best dedicate it to some friend in the far distance who would probably never read it, or to some dear friend who had passed away and had no relatives living.

Several others approached did not seem to crave the honor, therefore I herewith dedicate this book to Court; not that he is the best and truest friend I ever possessed, but for the reason that should the book not be received with favor he will respect me just the same. He will hunt for me, he will watch for me, he will love me all the more devotedly, serve me all the more faithfully, though the book were discredited. The more I see of dogs, the better I like dogs.

It is claimed there is a kind of physiognomy in the title of a book by which a skilful observer will know as well what to expect from its contents as one does reading the lines. I flatter myself this claim will be disproved in this book.

I am proud of the book, not that it contains much of literary merit, not that I ever hope it will be a "best seller," but for the reason it has afforded me days of enjoyment. In the writing of it I have communed with those whom I love.

If those who peruse this book extract half the pleasure from reading its pages that has come to me while writing them, I will be satisfied.

AL. G. FIELD.

Maple Villa Farm, July 4, 1912.

WATCH YOURSELF GO BY

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER ONE

Trust no prayer or promise, Words are grains of sand; To keep your heart unbroken Hold your child in hand.

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!!" "Al-f-u-r-d!!!"

The last syllable, drawn out the length of an expiring breath, was the first sound recorded on the memory of the First Born. Indeed, constant repetition of the word, day to day, so filled his brain cells with "Al-f-u-r-d" that it was years after he realized his given patronymic was Alfred.

[Illustration: The Old Well]

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!"--A woman's voice, strong and penetrating, strengthened by years of voice culture in calling cows, sheep, pigs, chickens and other farm-yard companions. The voice came in swelling waves, growing in menace, from around the corner of as quaint an old farm-house as ever sheltered a happy family. In the wake of the voice followed a round, rosy woman of blood and brawn, with muscular arms and sturdy limbs that carried her over grass and gravel at a pace that soon brought her within reach of the prey pursued--a boy of four years, in flapping pantalets and gingham frock.