1934 
■THE OTWELL 
CARLINVILLE, 
£ 'Kr . 
r 
5 - 
UH 
1934 
“Near shady wall a r&se-once grew. 
Budded and blossomed in God’s free 
light, 
Watered and fed by morning dew, 
Shedding its sweetness day and night. 
As it grew and blossomed fair and tall, 
Slowly rising to loftier height, 
It came to a crevice in the wall, 
Thru which there shone a beam of light. 
Onward it crept with added strength, 
With never a thought of fear or pride 
It followed the light thru the crevice’s 
length 
And unfolded itself on the other side. 
Scattering fragrance far and wide, 
Just as it did in days of yore. 
Just as it did on the other side; 
Just as it will for evermore.” 
Sweetheart of My Boyhood 
A SURE RECIPE TO MAKE WOMEN BEAUTIFUL 
Go into the sunniest part of your front yard and lay out a generous flower bed. With 
bare hands—plant it with seeds and plants and bulbs. Ground not too rich. Take the sod 
clear away. Very soon the sun and soil will join to produce mystery in that spot. No one 
has ever yet quite been able to fathom the secret. Visit and watch it and talk and dream 
and pray about it; for it is to make you beautiful. When the blossoms come—love them, 
study them, tell the neighbors about them, and when John comes home take him by the 
hand ar.d l^ad him t^ them. Then hold your hands underneath the blossoms and talk to 
them. Call them all the sweet names you can think of. Open your soul to their inspira¬ 
tions and thank God for this beautiful world. “Beauty begets beauty.” “Love begets 
love”—“And as a man (or woman) thinketh in his heart so is he.” Let your bare hands 
come in contact with the soil. Let your bare face bask in the sunshine, and let your soul 
be open to God’s love and care, and you will grow more and more beautiful with each 
succeeding year. 
I knew a woman who would rise very early in the morning, just when the world was 
waking up, to work among her flowers. She would take a trowel, or case knife, or a fork 
and dig among her flowers, and would drop some seeds here and some there, then she 
would go over to a clump of Irises and take out a rhizome and put it in a soft spot and 
step her foot on it. Many times I said to her, “Do you think they will grow?” “Oh, yes, 
I’m sure they will.”—She had done it so many times before. I have seen her go up to a 
climbing rose bush and take a mature bud between her hands and with her warm breath 
and warm fingers, iron out the petals until it was fully blown. Then she would call it 
all the sweet names that she knew. She would say, “Aren’t you pretty? Oh, aren’t you 
pretty though?” She worked among her flowers so long and she loved them so much that 
to me, she became the most beautiful woman in the world. 
And in all our married life I never knew her to be afraid—afraid of rain, or storm, or 
poverty, or sickness. And when her Pilot came she told her loved ones all good-bye and 
went out to meet Him face to face—unafraid. WILL B. OTWELL. 
