Nursing Diary no1 - 5 September 1922-3 June 1923

[Newspaper clipping]

THE HOME-COMING There's an old home down by the river's brim That is full of memories, Of happy days spent in childhood there, In bygone days, how wondrous fair Are those memories, still to me.

'Twas a winding road that led you there, Midst fields that were green and gold, Like a beautiful Garden of Eden, planted there In those beautiful days of old.

Throw open wide the gates of home To those who return once more, Back to each old familiar place, To the scenes they loved, to each kindly face That they knew in days of yore.

Throw open wide to them your hearts, Bid them a welcome true, That each may feel, as you grasp his hand. That nowhere else, in this broad, fair land Can compare with the home he knew.

In the olden days, youths' golden days, That to them can never fade, Let every welcome to them recall A pleasant memory, that one and all May remember the new friends made,

For the home call comes from the far away, With its recollections dear, So let your welcome ever be To them a golden memory Of love, good-will and cheer.

CHARLES E. PEGLEY Windsor, August 7, 1923.

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The Third Column

AROUND THE WORLD. [] a dusty traveler along the road [] day, [Mainly?] he was homeward bound [from?] half the world away. [] had been to foreign ports on [] I'd never seen, [] the talk of men afar where [] never been. [] and dusty traveler," said I, [] tell to me [] you find in London town, so far across the sea? What did you learn in Portugal, what did you see in Spain, [] do they sing and dance and laugh across the bounding main? And do they have their little cares who live in ancient Rome? [] do the children romp and play the way they do at home? [] tell me, dusty traveler, what have you found afar? [] like to know what pleases them and what their sorrows are." Oh, yes" he said, "they dance and sing wherever you may go, And everywhere they think and talk just like the folks you know. And whether skins be brown or white, the hearts of men are fair; And though you tramp the world around, there's friendship everywhere. "They weep when sorrow comes to them, they smile when skies are blue, In times of care good neighbors come to learn what they can do; Though strange their speech and strange their ways, one common bond we know-- A kindly deed is understood no matter where you go."

(Copyright, 1923, by Edgar A. Guest.)

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When everyone You can raise a town from the dead. And if while you make your personal stake, Your neighbors can make one, too, Your town will be what you want to see. It isn't the town--it's YOU.

(Newspaper clipping - partial) MUSSOLINI HAS QUIETED ITA[LY] - Father West Flanney H From Rome, Tell of Chang[es] - HOME AFTER TWO YEARS - May Be Appointed to St. Peter Seminary Professorship - After two years of successful study in colleges connected with the Catholic church in Rome, Rev. Father Thoma[s] West Flannery, D. D., son of Mr. and Mrs. P. J. Flannery, 319 Piccadilly street, returned to London early last evening and will, it is expected, fill a professorship in St. Peter's Seminary here. Father Flannery's study has bee[n] along a special line which it is th[e] privilege of comparatively few priest[s] to enjoy, and the success achieve[d] while in the ancient city, both by himself and Farther Bryant Ffaulkes, P. C. L., another graduate of St. Peter's Seminary, reflects distinction of themselve[s] and on London generally. Fathe[r] Ffaulkes, who has also been studyin[g] in Rome for the past two years, wil[l] return to the city about the end of th[e] week.

Father Flannery's stay in Rome wa[s] particularly eventful. In an interview with the The Free Press, following his arrival here last night, he outlined some of his outstanding experiences during his sojourn in foreign lands. Besides being in Rome when the former Government was overthrown and replaced by the regime of Premier Mussolini, following a practically bloodless revolution, it was his privilege to [have?]...

[Newspaper clipping]

It Isn't Your Town -- It's You!

If you want to live in the kind of a town Like the kind of a town you like, You needn't slip your clothes in a grip And start on a long, long hike. You'll only find what you left behind, For there's nothing that's really new. It's a knock at yourself when you knock your town. It isn't the town -- it's YOU.

Real towns are not made by men afraid Lest somebody gets ahead, When everyone works and nobody shirks, You can raise a town from the dead. And if while you make your personal stake, Your neighbors can make one, too, Your town will be what you want to see. It isn't the town -- it's YOU.

[Magazine Clipping] Up and Down Old Brandywine: By James Whitcomb Riley

UP AND down old Brandywine, In the days 'at's past and gone-- With a dad-burn hook-and-line And a saplin' pole--I swawn! I've had more fun, to the square Inch, than ever anywhere! Heaven to come can't discount mine Up and down old Brandywine!

Up and down old Brandywine! . . . Stripe me with pokeberry juice! -- Flick me with a pizenvine And yell "Yip!" and lem me loose! --Old now as I then wuz [] 'F I could sing as I have [sung?] Song 'ud surely ring dee-[] Up and down old Bra[ndywine]

From Armazindy - Copyright, 1894. Used by special permission of the Publishers" The Bobbs-Merrill Company