Puslapio vaizdai
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larger ones. "By jimminy! I was afraid all along that women would act like this if we ever let 'em into things. They're too all-fired particular. Think you're cleaning house, don't you?"

"No," I said. "I'm just keeping house. Good housekeepers go along keeping things right every day. That's what I'm trying to do."

But with all our strict enforcement policy, we have not been quick to prosecute. In my five years of service we have gone to court on only a very few cases. It might have been easier in some ways if we had done it oftener, for this peaceful process has meant real work. It has meant countless conferences with or with

out legal talent other than my own interpretation of departmental law. But we have felt each and every time that it paid for the labor of it in the better understanding it invariably has brought about between the employer and the employee. The fact that the department has been frequently cited over the State as "a concrete example of law enforcement" has encouraged us to believe that our peaceful-process plan has worked in the right direction.

And I have had so much keen enjoyment being so busy that I couldn't "splurge around," that I haven't lost any sleep as to whether people are going to care.

In a Forest'

BY ARCHIBALD RUTLEDGE

AN orchestra with harps of gold,
Makes music in this forest old:
I hear, from dewy hill-hung firs,
Dim melodies of dulcimers;
The regal cardinalis tall
Carols a scarlet madrigal;

The trumpets of the hidden stream
Are silver horns heard in a dream;
The wind's soft wand of lyric fire
Touches the copse into a choir;
The vireo 'mid the bloomy sprays
Fingers the flute Titania plays:-
Such melody, surpassing art,
Brings deepest silence to my heart.

Then comes a quiet to the wood,
As if it uttered solitude.
Demurely down the silent glade
Shimmers the reticence of shade;
Bright hauteurs virginally gleam

From cloistered oaks, from soundless stream;

A wild forsaken beauty shines

About the hushed momentous pines;

I did not dream that there could be

Such stillness of felicity.

The forest glimmers, mystic, mute,

A veiled enchantress. . . . There's no lute,
No harp, no cymbal, and no singing,—
But in my heart wild bells are ringing.

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