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VOL. 58. WHOLE No. 2237.
jpUacellaneouß. Muller & Yearley, 343 N. GAT STREET, & ur Tow"£nk w Baltimore, Md. Blankets <fc Robes Our line this reason surpasses all previous ef forts. It comprises all the Newest and Best Features In HORSE CLOTHING. We have everything In BLANKETS, from a CHEAP BURLAP to the FINEST ALL WOOL. Chase Lap Robes Are here In Great Variety of Color and Pleasing Patterns. —OUR PRICES — Just the same pleasing low tone that always prevails at The y of Baltimore. ESTABLISHED 1870. MAIER’S PREPARED PAINTS ABB STRICTLY PUBB LEAD AND ZINC PAINTS. Guaranteed Equal to the Best. —MANUFACTURED BY JOHN 6. MAIER’S SONS, IS3-ISS N. GAY STREET, Cor Frederick Street. BALTIMOBB, Ms. Both Phones. I July ft—ly CHILDREN & WAGE EARNERS SAVE TOUR * * # DIMES and NICKELS. THE TOWSON NATIONAL BANK IS CONDUCTING A REGULAR SAVINGS DEPARTMENT AT ITS BANKING HOUSE. Where email sums are received on deposit and Interest el lowed at the rate of 3 per cent, per annum. ftWPaas books containing full instructions furnished depositors free of cost. W. CLARENCE CRAUMER, Aug. 84—8 m I Cashier. EDWARD E. BURNS. FRANK BURNS. JOHN BURNS’ SONS, Funeral * Directors, TOWSON, Md, C. a P. Phone-TOWSON, 77-F. Feb. 83—ly Dr. A. 0. McOURDY & CO., TOWSON, Md. Orders received for— ALL KINDS_OF SLATE. Peach Bottom Roofing Slate, W L Slabs for Walks, W L -53* sssrasr -53- * Cemetery 81abs, ' Imposing Stones, Ac., Ac. av-Call on or address as above. C. k P. Phone—Towson 23 R. [June 29—ly jgtuch. 35-auras. Nig Hw M Fom. Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R., 8X Miles from Towson. Constantly on hand A LABGE STOCK OF MULES, TO SUIT ALL PURPOSES. —ALSO — mM-Om Csacli, Driving, : TT fl TlO T l O SSLHORSES FOR BALB OR EXCHANGE. whorsesToardedw C. A P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H.~MOE, Prop’r, TOWSON, Md. Oot.l9—ly GROVE FARM FALLS ROAD, North of Brooklandvllle, Md PRIZX WINNING- Guernsey Cattle, Berkshire Hogs, Shropshire Sheep, Colored Muscovy Ducks, FOB SALE BULL CALF, out of Imp. Lady Simon by Milford Lassie 2d Anohor, Dropped April 80th, 1907. Also. 3 GRADE GUERNSEY SPRINGERS, in calf to Milford Lassie 2d Anohor, THE BULL THAT WINS. Apply to JAS. McK. MEBBYMAN, R. F. D. CockeysvHle. Md. C. k P. Telephone—Towson 42. Oct. 19—y A LITTLE GIRL I KNEW. " There was once a little girl I knew. With dark hair braided down her back; She lived next door, as some girls do. And I couldn’t help seeing she had a knack For waahing the steps and tending the flowers (For the bouse was a little away from ourt.) I couldn’t help hearing the pleasant sound That dishes make when they touch the pan: * I;wasn’t the kind to hang around. But I saw and heard as a fellow can. (And she was a girl about as spry As a trout that leaps to snap the fly). And when the windows were opened wide. She made the beds and swept the floor, Dusted the things on every side. And then through the open kitchen door I saw her stir the pudding and cake. And make the coffee and broil the steak. You know I surely could hear and see (Tbelr house of course not far awav,) And I wasn’t as dumb as some might be, But managed once some words to say. And so, concluding a fresh combine, Bhe moved from their house Into mine. GBIIDI A’B BOH MET. BY VENI M’DONALD FORGES. It was a few years ago, one March, when a few days of spring-like air swelled the buds on the maples, sent small green shoots from the daffo dils, and set us girls planniug about spring hats. Cousin Kate and I were going into the city tomorrow on a shopping ex pedition, so my sisters and I ran across lots to Aunt Fannie’s to consult with our cousins, the “other girls.” Somehow, we always drifted into Grandma's room. It was on the ground .floor, for* one thing, and Grandma was always so bright and cheerful that we loved to be with her. She sat there that morning, occasion ally putting in her quiet word, while we dived deeply into the subject of millinery— and Leghorns, high crowns, wide brims, tips, plumes, flowers, ribbons, etc. At last, it was all settled that Kate, being fair, should get a white hat trimmed with baby blue ribbon and either blue hyacinths or white roses ; and Cousin Clara, a white lace one with pink roses. Sister Ruth’s hat was to be like herself, quiet and sweet —a fine straw with a bit of deli cate lace and heliotropes ; while mine, all agreed, should have a rolling brim, faced with black lace, and trimmed with scarlet poppies. There was no need of so much con sultation and chatter, however, for each, after receiving advice, resolved to provide herself with the identical headgear she had had in mind for the last month or more. After we had somewhat subsided, Grandma got quietly up and went over to her bureau drawer. “I reckon I’ll have my bounet ’tended to while you’re about it,” she said, as she carefully lifted it out. “I’ve worn it just as it is going on five years now. Isn’t it getting to look a little sort o’ rusty ?” “Grandma ought to have a new bonnet, mother,” said Kate. “One of those fine black Neapolitans, trim med with black lace and a bunch of pansies, would be lovely for her.” Aunt Fannie took her mother’s black straw bonnet and turned it about on her hand, inspecting it critically, thinking meanwhile that the girls’ hats were all to be rather expensive this season, and that it was time to economize somewhere. What great difference did it make about an old lady’s bonnet anyway, so that it was comfortable —she went out so little. “Oh, I don’t think I need a new one,” Grandma said, meekly. “That would be extravagant; but I thought a new tab might be put in, and maybe, a new pair of strings.” “I don’t see anything the matter with the tab,” said Aunt Fannie in a decided tone. “The strings can be sponged and pressed, and they will look as well as ever.” As she said this she handed it back to Grandma, and turned to give Kate some further commission for the next day in the city. Ruth told me afterwards that she felt like saying, ‘ Give it to me, Grandma. I will have it all fresh ened up for you, and I’ll pay for it myself.” But none of us ever thought of going contrary to Aunt Fannie’s de crees. She was the commander-in chief of both households. Grandma took her bonnet in silence, and put it.back in her drawer. She was not a bit childish, but I was sure a tear trembled on her eyelid as she bent her white head an unnecessarily long time over the drawer. She felt hurt —I know she did. She was not a vain old lady by any means, but her tastes .were nice, and she knew as well as any of us younger ones that her bonnet had lost its freshness. Grandma took up her knitting pres ently, and seated herself by the win dow in her armchair. As I watched her I fell to wondering if her thoughts were going back just now over the years to the time when Aunt Fannie was a baby. They were poor then, and I had heard Grandma tell how she did all her own work, and took in sewing for several families to help make the ends meet. Was Grandma recalling how she had sat up night and sewed to earn money enough to buy a cunning little hood made of satin and swan’s down for her baby girl? Or did she remember how many weary stitches it took to earn that fine, broad brimmed straw hat trimmed with white ribbon, that her thirteen-year-old daughter might “look like other girls?” Perhaps her mind dwelt upon a story I had often heard her tell with such evident pleasure; how, when Aunt Fannie was eighteen, there came an invita tion for her to go to Boston and spend a month. “Fannie fell badly,” Grandma’s story ran, “because she thought her hat wasn’t nice enough to wear. I had a bonnet made of a splendid piece of velvet that my brother had brought me from Paris. I didn’t say a word to anybody. I just slipped upstairs and ripped that bonnet up; then I got your Grandpa to take me to town. I had some money I had been saving up a good while to buy myself a new bombazine dress, bat I thought a cheaper one would do just as well; so I just took some of that money and went to the best milliner in town. I bought a long, black feather—l knew Fannie liked ’em —and I told TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 23. 1907. her to make me a hat fit to be seen in Boston. I never let on to anybody wbat I had done. But you ought to ’a’ seen Fannie when that hat came home. If she wasn’t happy ! It was a beauty! The long black feather curled around her golden hair, and just touched her shoulder. “In front there was a little tnft of white with some tall birds o’ Paradise feathers waving in it. The milliner said it needed that, so I got it besides. You’ve no idea how handsome she looked in it, and I enjoyed that hat forty times better than when I had it for mine.” Was Grandma thinking : “And yet Fannie begrudges me a little new ribbon for my bonnet, as well off as she is, too!” If any such thought disturbed her, they did not appear on her placid face as she patiently knit ted on. It was only a fortnight from that day that we gathered again in Grand ma’s room. There was no merry talk. There was that strange hush which but one’s presence brings, broken only by low, sad strains of music, and words of consolation spo ken in subdued tones. Grandma slept peacefully. There lingered on her dear face the light of the tender smile she had given us at parting. Beautiful flowers were all about her, and I noticed, as I bent above her for the last time, how pure and fresh the white ribbon at her throat was, and then, with a pang, I remembered her old bonnet-strings. Dear Grandma! She had gone where garments are without spot or wrinkle. How she would enjoy the white raiment, the purity, the un changing freshness of the heavenly land ! We all loved Grandma dearly 1 For a time, it seemed as if we could not go on without her. But hearts do not break if they know where to go for help,and we tried to forget our loss in remembering her everlasting gain. One day, towards evening, a long ing seized me to look once more into Grandma’s room; so I went across lots, and stole around to the side door, which opened directly into her room. It was ajar, and I stepped softly in. Grandma's armchair —empty —stood by the window. I leaned over it, trying to picture her, as I had seen her so often, sitting in the twilight humming her favorite hymn : Jesus, lover of my soul. Let me to Thy bosom fly. Bnt the sound of sobbing reached my ear, and, looking up, I saw in the shadows at the other end of the room —Aunt Fannie, standing by the bureau. Grandma’s bonnet was in her band. She turned it about and looked at it as if she would torture herself with the certainty that it was, indeed, shabby ; then she kissed it again and again, and bowed her head low over it in an agony of bitter weep ing. And I had thought Aunt Fan nie self-constrained and cold ! She had not heard me come in, so I went noiselessly away. Aunt Fannie meant to be a good daughter. She had always supplied her mother abundantly with necessi ties and even comforts; but she would have given all she possessed that night, standing there in that desolate room, to have been able to recall the thoughtless words which, for the sake of a few paltry dollars, had denied the dear old mother almost the last re quest she ever made. Let love antedate the work of death, and now bring the sweet spices of a fresh ribbon, a flower, a tender word, a loving thankfulness; they will cheer and gladden hearts that need them. — Christian Observer. AH OLD -AD.” “Nothing succeeds like persever ance,” said Mark Twain at a dinner. “When the luck seems most against us, then we should work and hope hardest of all. In moments of dis couragement let us remember my old friend, Henry Plumley, of Virginia City. “Henry Plumley ran a collar fac tory. Times were reputed to be hard with him. When his factory, which was very heavily insured, burned down there was every indication that he had set the place on fire himself in order to get the insurance money. Virginia City was the soul of honor in those days. Shocked beyond words, it rose enmasse, seized Henry Plumley, put a baiter round his neck and lynched him. “But he did not die. The sheriff arrived and cut him down in time. He was tried and found guilty and served a term in jail. “On his release you wouldn’t have thought that he’d return to Virginia City again, eh? He did, though. He came back, reopened his collar factory and prospered. “What gave him his start was the odd advertisement with which he an nounced his return to business among us. Preceded by a brass band, Henry, in a great gilt chariot, burst upon our streets. He sat on a kind of golden throne, and he held on a crimson cushion in his lap an old, old collar. Above the collar, on a crimson ban ner, waved this inscription in huge letters of gold : “ ‘This is the collar we wore when we were lynched. It saved our life. Be wise in time and use no other. At all retailers, ten cents apiece, three for a quarter.’ ” — Washington Star. Hr Had Waited a Long Time. —Bill Nj’e, when a young man, once made an engagement with a lady to take her driving. The appointed day came, but at the livery stable all the horses were taken save one old, shaky, exceedingly gaunt beast. Mr. Nye hired it and drove to the friend’s resi dence. The lady kept him waiting nearly an hour before she was ready, and then, on viewing the shabby outfit, flatly refused to accompany Mr. Nye. “Why,” she exclaimed, “that horse may die of old age any mo ment !” “Madam,” Mr. Nye replied, “when I arrived that horse was a prancing young colt.” 1 KEEP AT OHE THING BVEBLABTIHGLY. ' A man may starve on a dozen half * learned trades or occupations, he may " grow rich and famous upon one trade * mastered, even though it be the hum* I blest. To succeed today a man must con . centrate all the faculties of bis mind upon one unswerving aim, and have a ; tenacity of purpose which means death or victory. Every other inclination which tempts him from his aim must : be suppressed. Know one thing thoroughly. Do something useful better than anyone else —have a specality. In these days of competition, con centration and specialists, the way to success is the straight road of a single purpose. Even Gladstone, with his ponder- OUS vet active Kroin, Huolnrorl could not do two things at once; he threw his entire strength upon what ever he did. The most intense ener gy characterized everything he under took, even his recreation. If such concentration of energy was necessary for the success of a Gladstone, what can we common mortals hope to ac complish by “scatteration ?” Abraham Lincoln possessed such power of concentration that he could repeat quite correctly a sermon to which he bad listened in his boyhood. Dr. O. W. Holmes, when an Andover student, rivited his eyes on the book he was studying as though he were reading a will that made him heir to a million. It is the men who do one thing in this world who come to the front. It is the man who never steps outside of his specialty or dissipates his individ uality. It is an Edison, a Morse, a Bell, a Howe, a Stephenson, a Watt. It is Adam} Smith, spending ten years on the “Wealth of Nations.” It is Gibbon,-giving twenty years to his “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. ” It is a Hume writing thir teen hours a day on his “History of England. ” It is a Webster, spending thirty-six years on his dictionary. It is a Bancroft, working twenty-six years on his “History of the Uuited States.” It is a Field, crossing the ocean fifty times to lay a cable, while the world ridicules. It is a Newton, writing his “Chronology of Ancient Nations’ ’ sixteen times. It is a Grant who proposes to “fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.” It isa St. Ignatius Loyola, training his relig ious like soldiers and concentrating his powers to do only what would be “for the greater glory of God.” These are the men who have written their names prominently in the history of the world. A one talent man who decides upon a definite object accomplishes more than the ten talent man who scatters his talent and bis energies and never knows exactly what he will do. The weakest living creature, by concen trating his powers upon one thing, can accomplish something—the strongest by dispersing his over many may fail to accomplish anything. It is the one-sided man, the sharp-edged man, the man of single and intense purpose, who turns neither to the right nor the left, though a paradise tempt him, who cuts his way through obstacles and forges to the front. What a beautiful spectacle it is to see a youth goiugstraight to the goal, cutting his way through difficulties, and surmounting obstacles, which dis hearten others, as though they were but stepping stones. No matter what comes to him, sick ness, poverty, disaster, he never turns his eye from his goal, and sooner or later, he is certain to reach it. VERY OBLIGING. A small, quiet looking man, smok ing a large cigar, sat by the side of a medium sized automobile that was drawn out of the road as a large tour ing car came along, driven by a man, with an interrogatory aspect. The man in the touring car slowed up’and leaned over. ‘‘How long you been here ?” “About two hours.” “Can’t you find out what the mat ter is?” “No.” “Trouble with spark plug?” “Think not.” “How are your batteries?” “O. K.” “Haven’t got a short circuit, have you ?” “Oh, no.” “Got any gasoline in your tank?” “Plenty.” “Would you mind telling me, sir, just what’s the matter with that ma chine of yours?” Iu answer the man pointed to a large red farmhouse in the distance. “See that house out there?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “Well, sir, there isn’t anything the matter with this machine, but since noon my wife has been in that house kissing her sister’s first babygoodby. When she gets through, if you are not over i,ooo miles away and will leave your address, I will telegraph or cable you the glad news at my own expense.”— Cottier's Weekly. SHE TOOK HIM AS HE WUZ. A Linn county minister uot long ago was asked to perform a marriage ceremony by a negro couple. As he had employed the groom for a year or two he consented, knowing what prestage would come to the couple by reason of having been married by a white minister. At the proper time the happy couple arrived and the ceremony proceeded. “Do you take this man for better or worse?” the minister asked. For all her shyness, the bride spoke up bravely. “No sab, I don’t,” shesaid, “I’ll take him jest as he is. If he wuz to get any bet ter i’s ’fraid he’d die ; an’ if he wuz to get any wuss, ah’d kill him my seifl” A lump of sugar dipped in vinegar and allowed to dissolve iu the mouth will prove effectual in cases of hic cough. THE BEIUBB VISIT. “There seems to me to be one thing wrong about your siummering, Edith,” said Mr. Canfield, as his wife finished the story of her after noon spent in the tenements. “None of the people you visit return your calls.” ‘‘Of course not,” said Mrs. Can field, who did not quite like her hus band’s jokesabout her philanthropies. “Why ‘of course’ ?” asked Mr. C*ifield. “Isn’t that the custom in polite society ? Why should not the catds of Mrs. Michael O’Tool and Madame Macaroni and Mrs. Owskey wowskey rest with the bunch you chtrish and sigh over when you count up your social duties? I am sure those women 'are less absurd and vejy much more interesting than shine people now on your calling list. Ttfltt besides, it there is any religion in thisthing, I think that would be what rtligiously might be called the square teal. This thing of going down to see Mrs. Owskeywowskey and asking her if her husband drinks, and what she puts into the soup, and not lettingher come here and ask you the same, ioes not strike me as reci procity.” Mrs. Canield thought a little, and then said, ‘George, I can’t tell half the time when you get to joking about my clarities whether you are just a little lit serious or not. Are you, now, just a little bit in earnest?” “Certainly 1* replied her husband. “Very much uore than a little bit. If the thing is worth doing, it is worth doing ou the square. How does that verse \n the Bible read, ‘And ye visited tie? Isn’t there a verse that says tlat? Well, how about paying the tails? Isn’t that sort of implied ? Ycu might ask the minister about that.” “No,” said she, “1 don't want to ask any but you. Vould you be willing I should ask Mrs. Grenovskis —you did not get thejname quite cor rect —to come and spend the day here 1” “Why, yes, and the old man and the kids, too. I probaUy shall be busy, but —” “No, you shall not be busy. I will see to that. They shall be in vited on Decoration Day. He will have a holiday and so will you. And we will bestow our flowers on them.” “All right, Edith. I’m noquitter. I’ll see it through.” They came, the whole family, the dresses starched stiff and the faces scrubbed till they shone. The nar row-chested tailor and his thin, pale wife were shy, but not uncouth. The children were painfully polite. The dinner occupied them, with little for conversation, till five-year-old Alexis sank back with a sigh, and said, “Gee but I’m full!” which greatly distressed his mother, but pleased Mr. Canfield. And after the meal the whole juvenile portion of the family formed a procession, and marching round the table in away that showed industrious drilling, solemnly saluted first Mrs. Canfield, and then, at the other end of the table, her husband, shaking hands with each, and saying, “T’ank you for the dinner, an’ all J” It was the funniest, sincerest little comedy ever invented, and the mem ory of it delighted Mr. Canfield for many a day. But it did more than that. Mr. Canfield secured for the tailor a posi tion that paid a little better wages, and, what was more, gave him light and air. And he made a suggestion concerning his wife which proved fruitful. “You know,” said he to Mrs. Can field, “I believe half the matter with that woman is her teeth. I noticed when she ate, and I don’t see how she can live and nourish a baby with so little opportunity to chew her food. And didn’t you say she suffered from neuralgia besides ? Now if that club of yours wants to do something worth while, buy her a set of teeth. Don’t you have an artificial teeth fund, with all the rest? Well, you can create one. I’ll give five toward it, and I’ll see Doctor Deming, and he will make the teeth at cost.” The thing was done, and it proved a success. The next visit of the Grenovskis showed more of color in the cheeks of both father and mother. And the procession, which formed at the gate in the regular and rehearsed order, passed Mr. Canfield, who hap pened to stand nearer, and saluted first Mrs. Canfield, and then in regu lar order her husband, saying, “T’ank you for de teet’, an’ all!” — Youth's Companion. CULTIVATE A PLEASANT VOICE. Kind hearts are more plentiful than persistently kind and gentle voices, and yet love loses much of its power when the voice is sharp and harsh. Try, therefore, most earnestly to ac quire a pleasant tone in speaking, and guard yourself carefully from falling into careless and bad habits of voice. Often a shary voice shows far more ill-will than the heart feels; but peo ple do not know that the speaker’s “bark is worse than her bite,” and so they believe her to be ill-tempered and disagreeable. It is very easy to pick up a sharp and snappish manuer of speaking. Very often it is acquired in mirth, and in the playful battles of words, in which boys and girls delight. There is no malice in their sallies and a great deal of fun ; but meanwhile, the voice is often acquiring a shary and shrewish tone, that clings through life, making it stir up strife and ill will among its listeners. So be careful of the tone in which you speak, and be certain that it is gentle and sweet. A kind voice is like music in the home, and it is to the heart what light and beauty are to the eye. His daughter: “Papa, did you know mamma long before you married her ?” Her father: “Just between you and me, my dear, I don’t know her yet.” ONLY A LITTLE “XALAXOOT" DOG. She was only a little black “mala moot” dog, not much bigger than a tox, as affectionate as a kitten, and she liked nothing half so much as to roll herself up in a ball in one’s lap to be petted while she slept. But in the mining-camps up and down the river there was wonder that such a little ball of wool could hide such a big, courageous and unselfish heart. The little thing seemed far too small to work, but when she was leading the team on a journey she was a veritable martinet, and ruled the other dogs with relentless disci pline—far better than any driver could do, even though he held in his hand the knout of the Alaska trails —a dog chain with a heavy snap on its end. me on a hundred stampedes. Once when we were sledding across a lake of new ice, and the ice began to break under our weight, she had literally forced the other dogs to pull for dear life over the waving surface. When it finally broke so that all I could do was to lie at full length on the long sled to distribute my weight and the dogs were jumping from cake to cake, her courage and persistence, and her cheering, coaxing cry had made the larger and stronger dogs pull me and the sled to safety. And another time, when she and I, out hunting in the mountains, lost our way, she ran off to the highest peaks, one after another, until she had loca ted the camp. Then her bark, which I so well understood, asssured me, and she led me back safely. And this was the little Nellie that my three comrades had just decided must be killed and fed to the other dogs. I had had no part in the dis cussion ; there was nothing to say, and there seemed no alternative. It was a January night in the Alas ka Rockies; the thermometer was not less than forty degrees below zero; the snow was everywhere shoul der-deep. For six days and nights we had not tasted food, nor had the dogs. My three comrades and I had set out from one of the cross-river camps with a young woman who had broken her thigh, and were taking her to the nearest hospital, two hundred and fifty miles away. For the first hun dred miles all had gone well; but an air-hole in a lake had swallowed our provision sled, and without an instant’s warning we were left with not more than a couple of pounds of food to last us for one hundred and fifty miles of an unbroken winter trail, over moun tain and valley, in snows of every im aginable depth. For three days we had come along with what courage we could, and had hoped against hope that we might come upon some camp in the wilderness, where we might be aided on our way. The little food we had we had kept for the sick girl, and she did not even know we had lost our supply. The last three days had taxed our strength and our courage to the ut most. The fourth day after our mis fortune we had made ten miles, the fifth less than five, and to-day we had traveled hardly more than two or three. On the night of the sixth day we boiled a little beef extract for our charge, and that mixed with crackers, made her supper. The girl had now gone to sleep in the rude tent we had thrown up for her comfort, and we were seated about a big spruce fire to discuss our desperate situation. The dogs were “all in,” in the lan guage of the miners. They were so weak from hunger that the weight of that slight girl had made them reel and stagger. The four of us, big, strong men of a week ago, had got well past the stage of hunger, and were weak and tired, so awfully tired and sick ! But every one of us had been in desperate places before. The consensus of opinion was that little Nellie, the leader of the team, could be spared better than one of the big dogs ; she could not pull much at best, and where it was a vital case, we could really get along without a leader. So it was decided that little Nellie should be killed for the other dogs to eat; and my crown of woe was that it was I who was selected to do the work—for the alleged reason that I being a surgeon, “was used to blood.” The other men had gone to bed, and I was alone with my little dog. The rest of the team had gone a little way out from the fire and were lying in the snow asleep. Nellie was at my feet, and when I spoke her name she wagged her tail and came over to rub her soft wool on my knee ; she was far too weak to climb up on my lap now. When she looked up in my face, as if to ask why we were suffer ing so, the horror of my silence, while she was being condemned, came upon me, and to escape the rush of blood to my head, I walked from the fire, and out into the night and snow. When I returned she was gone, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she had already lain down somewhere and died, and so I might besaved the sickening alternative. But my knees were giving way, and I slid down to the log again, and soon was lost in a half sleep and half-coma from my weakened condition. How long I was stretched out there I do not know, but I was awakened by a sharp bark that I knew well. It was my little dog. She had re turned, and my first thought was that now I should have to choose between my pet and my comrades —perhaps the lives of all of us, even of the sick girl. When I finally looked up, at the continued whine and the affectionate rubbing against my knee, there stood the little dog, and in her mouth she held a big fish. I could not believe my eyes, and feared that I had got to the point of seeing in my mind things that had no existence. But there it was, —a big white fish,—and when I caught hold of it, it was still unfrozen, ESTABLISHED 1850. as if it had just come from the water; and Nellie’s fur was wet, and already freezing in little icicles abou ther body. So she had got the fish out of the water. I thought, of course, that was all there was to it ; but I had grasped at the chance I had to offer in the morn ing for not carrying out the agree ment —she had brought the fish, which we could give to the dogs. I had laid the fish down on the log, and began to break off the icicles from her coat, when she started away, and, when she was out of firelight, began to whine. So I followed her into the night, tak ing with me our one candle and some matches. Finally we reached a spot which she seemed to be looking for. She stopped, and I heard a plunge into the water. I lighted the candle, and as soon as my eyes were accustomed to feet with another fish in her mouth. So there were more where the first oue came from. I went closer, and could see distinctly a hole apparently cut out of the solid ice. It was not more than ten feet across in any di rection; it was shallow, and its clear, cold waters were literally filled to overflowing with fish. They seemed to be all of a size, white fish weighing not less than three or four pounds each. I could see many of them. I almost ran back to the camp, calling the boys as I stumbled along. Soon we were all back at the hole. It was one of the so-called “lungs” of the lake —air-holes in the ice that open up in every body of Alaskan water, small or large, whenever the temperature goes thirty or more de grees below zero. In the next two days we had taken out of that hole two hundred and nineteen fish. Dogs and men feasted to the full, the dogs taking theirs raw, we men taking turns cooking and eating. We took along plenty of fish when we finally moved on, and got into the hospital camp of the Northwest mounted police all right, and with our little patient in good shape. Nellie has been stolen many times since that night by newcomers in the Alaska country who had heard about her, and one time the thieves got nearly two hundred miles down the river before they met anybody; but that was as far as they got. A com mittee was formed in half an hour, half a dozen dog-teams were “hooked up,” and within an hour the thieves under escort were on their way back up the river. Nellie still belongs to me, and is the special ward of the Yukon mining camps. — Youth's Companion. DO YOIJE LEVEL BEST. Put the right spirit into your work. Treat your calling as divine, as a call from principle. If the thing itself be not important, the spirit in which you take hold of it makes all the difference in the world to you. It can make or mar the man. You cannot afford grumbling service or botched work in your life’s record. You cannot afford to form a habit of half doing things or of doing them in the spirit of a drudge, for this will drag its slimy trail through all your subsequent ca reer, always humiliating you at the most unexpected times. Let other people do the poor jobs, the botched work, if they will. Keep your stan dards ud, your ideals high. The attitude with which a man ap proaches his task has everything to do with the quality and efficiency of his work and with its influence upon his character. What a man does is apart of himself. It is the self expression of what he stands for. Our life is an outpicturing of our ambition, our ideals, our real selves. If you see a man’s work, you see the man. No one can respect himself or have that sublime faith in himself which is essential to high achievments when he puts mean, half-hearted, slipshod service into what he does. He can not get his highest self approval un til he does his level best.— Success. HO DIBPUTE ABOUT IT. Timothy Woodruff, according to Lippincott's Magazine , tells of the ef forts on the part of a kindly-disposed man in Albany to arbitrate between a man and his wife, who were airing their troubles on thesidewalk one Sat urday evening. “Look here, my man,” exclaimed the Albany man, at once intervening in the altercation, which was growing more and more violent, “this won’t do, you know!” “What business is it of yours,” de manded the male combatant angrily. “It’s my business only so far as I may be of service in settling this dis pute,” answered the other mildly, “and I should like very much to do that.” “This ain’t no dispute,” sulkily re turned the man. “No dispute !” came in astonished tones from the would-be peacemaker. “Why, you—” “I tell you that it ain’t no dispute,” insisted the man. “She thinks she ain’t goin’ to get my week’s wages, and I know she ain’t? That ain’t no dispute!” ■ ■ -• ; HOW THE JUDGE VIEWED IT. Even a judge on the bench likes his joke. A man whose name is Waters was arraigned in a Billville court on a charge of assault and battery. “What did you do to him,” asked the judge, “to make him assault you?’ ’ “We wuz at dinner,” was the re ply, “an’ we got into a dispute, an’ all I did wuz to hit him ’side the head with a corndodger, an’ a week after ward he come back an’ beat me up shameful!” “Well,” said the judge, “you know what the Scripture says : ‘Bread cast upon the waters will return to you after many days !’ ” — Atlanta Constitution. “Man wants but little here below,” remarked the landlady. “And here is the place to get it,” continued the facetious boarder. THE GABFIELD SONS Two sons of President Garfield, seem to have inherited much of the executive ability of their father. One of these, Harry Augustus, is now president of Williams College, and the other, James Rudolph, is Secre tary of the Interior. In the October number of Munsey's Magazine ap pears a short sketch of the lives of these two brothers. We read : It has almost passed into a com mon place that the sons of distin guished men do not make a name for themselves, that they are obscured by their father’s greatness. Accept ing this as generally true, there are still many notable exceptions. The most famous instance in America litical life is found in the Adams family of Massachusetts, two mem uduch.,werfi..£resi(lents nf the have had distinguished careers. Another exception seems to exist in the family of President Garfield, two of whose four sons have rapidly attained to prominence. The first of these is James Garfield, now Secre tary of the Interior. The political progress of the young official has been achieved within less than a dozen years. On leaving college he took up the practice of the law in Cleve land, and his first appearance in pub lic life was in 1896, when he was elected to the Ohio Senate from his father’s old district. As a Senator he fought the old politiciaus vigor ously, and secured the passage of the Garfield Corrupt Practises Act. In 1902 President Roosevelt made him a member of the Civil Service Com mission, and in the following year Commissioner of Corporations, in the Department of Commerce and Labor. His first official report in that capa city startled the country by its frank ness, and by his statement that the present diversity of corporation law in the United States amounts to an archy. At the beginning of the pres ent year he was promoted to a full cabinet position in succession to Sec retary Hitchcock,whose vigorous cam paign against the violators of the Federal land laws Mr. Garfield is fol lowing up with no less energy. Harry Augustus Garfield, who is two years older than his strenuous brother, has also made his mark, hav ing lately been called to the presi dency of Williams College—an insti tution of which he and all his broth ers are graduates, as was their father, President Garfield. Harry Augus tus Garfield is the first head of Wil liams College who did not come from the pulpit. He has been for years a lawyer, and a lawyer who was not content with what law students call a “bread and-butter education.” He is grounded not only in the practice but in the theory and the history law, having studied not only aT'tiOi lumbia in this country, but at Oxford and in the London Inns of Court. He has interested himself in municipal reforms, has helped to reorganize the United States consular service, and in 1903 was made professor of politics in Princeton University. The activity and energy of the younger Garfields were shown when they were mere children living in the White House, where they were filled with the spirit of mischief and played many pranks. One of their favorite amusements, it is said, was to empty an ink-bottle over the presidential desk. Their boyishness was, in fact, a direct inheritance from their father, who was full of humor, genial in man ner, and always courteous; so that even his political enemies were fond of him. HE WAS A BLACKSMITH. Charles H. Wilson, the superinten dent of Alfred G. Vanderbilt’s re markable stables, said at Newport of a groom he had discharged : “The man was a bluff. He pre tended to know all about horses, when in truth he could hardly tell a hackney from a cow. We soon got on to him. His case was like the fake blacksmith’s. “There was a chap who thought blacksmithing looked simple and easy, and so, being out of work, he decided to have a try at it. He went to a smith and asked for a job. “ ‘Well,’ said the smith, ‘you are a strong, likely-looking young fellow. What experience have you had ?’ " ‘Eleven years,’ was the prompt answer. “‘All right. I’ll try you,’ said the blacksmith. ‘Shoe that mare while I go home to dinner.’ “The smith on his return from din ner frowned and said to the new hand : “'What I Haven’t you got that mare shod yet ?’ “The bluffer bit his lip, flushed and replied: N “ ‘I can’t get her confounded foot in the vise.’” TAKE YOUB CHOICE. Who shall say which is the proper way for a woman to ride a horse, cross-saddle or side-saddle? There are advocates of both methods, but ihe Eastern eye twinkles with humor at some of the incongruities of the Western methods. A young man of Boston took up life in a Colorado town next door to a dear old lady of seventy. She was of the patient, do mestic type, with smoothed, parted hair, knitting or darning always In her hands as she peacefully rocked the hours away on her front porch. The young Bostonian watched her thus and made sentimental conjec tures about the sad inertia of her de clining days and the helplessness of old age. But when the morning work was done, knitting laid aside and dinner eaten, this gay girl put on divided skirt and sombrero, called a pony, lightly threw a leg over the Mexican saddle and loped off to see her friends. Little pet (before retiring)— “Mamma, may I pray for rain?” Mamma —“Y-e-s, if you want to; but why?” Little Pet —“Susie Stuckupp didn’t invite me to her picnic to morrow.