
FOR FASHIONS SAKE. 
FOR FASHION’S SAKE. 
A. L. VERMILYA. 
She devotes her time to “missions” in the town, 
And she thinks she’s good enough to win renown; 
But the birds upon her hat 
Give the lie to all of that, 
As their poor, dead bodies waver up and down. 
In the church she kneels and prays for grace and love, 
While her saintly spirit soars to realms above; 
But alas! her tender heart 
Has been warped at fashion’s mart; 
See! her bonnet bears the pinions of a dove! 
O, she loves all Nature’s works beyond compare, 
Loves the trees, and grass, and drooping flowerets 
fates 
But the birds, the pretty things, 
She must have their heads and wings; 
Even though their songs are hushed, she doesn’t 
care. 
When the birds are gone, and Nature’s balance lost, 
And foul insects throng the earth from spring till 
frost, 
Blighting flowers, and grass, and leaves, 
Sparing not the the farmer’s sheaves, 
Will she wear these loathsome worms at any cost? 
“What's the reason we never take any 
prisoners?” asked the Filipino general. 
“Well,” answered the other, ‘we haven’t 
any too much wealth in the natural con- 
dition of things. We had one American 
prisoner in camp, and the first thing we 
knew he was teaching us to play the great 
American game. To tell the truth, I don’t 
feel as if we could afford any more pris- 
oners even if we could get ’em.”—Wash- 
ington Star, 
401 
