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VOL. 59. WHOLE No. 2283.
Second National Bank TOWSON, Md. let us collect your notes. When anyone gives you a note have it made payable at our Bank. Then deposit it with us for safe keeping and collection. t We make it our business to look after it, and see that the maker is duly °otified when it comes due, so he will not have any excuse for not paying it. When it is paid we place it to your credit and you can get the money whenever you want it. If you keep an account with the Second National Bank of Towson we °°Hect your notes without charge. Come and do your banking business with us now. You will find it to your advantage to let us serve you. -sOPPICBRS: — Thomas W. Offutt, Elmer J. Cook, l vice-presidents Thos. J. Meads, President. Harrison RIDER,' ' Cashier. Thomas w. offutt. w. Bernard Duke, Henry C. Longneoker, Elmer j. cook, Wm. a. Lee, Z. Howard Isaac, Harrißon Rider, Chas. H. Knox, Noah E. Offutt, j °hn i. yellott, W. Gill Smith, John V. Slade. _ Jan. 25—ly. JOHN MATS I.ITTI.K, ATTORNEY, PIPER BUILDING, TOWSON, Md. RECEIVERS’ SALE —OB’— Large Stock of Lumber —OUT THE— WILSON Sc IKEUSTN-ZE-Z- OOIMUP-A-llSnsr, At its Lumber Tards in Towson, Md. „ Br virtue of an order of the Circuit Court for Baltimore county, the undersigned. Receivers, IU CONTINUE THE BUSINESS OF THE WILSON & KENNEY COMPANY for the purpose of CLOSING OUT THE LARGE STOCK OP LUMBER ON HAND. An appraisement of this stock has been made by Mr. H. E. BARTLESON, of Cockeysville, and LOST PRICES have been placed by him on said lumber on an inventory, which inventory is in the Possession of Mr. KENNEY, at the Lumber Yards; and the Receivers WILL SELL DURING THE MONTHS OF SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER Any Quantity Desired of Said Stock of Lumber for Cash, AT IO PER CENT. LESS THAN THE INVENTORY PRICE, Which Is 10 Per Cent. Less Than Cost. m A*“Any person desiring to purchase Lumber can see the inventory and the prices at the office of the Company in Towson. The purchaser to take away the Lumber at his own expense as soon * purchased. lyThis is a rare opportunity to obtain FIRBT-CLASS LUMBER AT GREATLY REDUCED PRICBB. Cali promptly and examine the stock and make your purchase while you have the large nock from which to select. „ ERNEST C. HATCH, Bept.lo-tf ELMER J. COOK. ’^Receivers. I IKUscellaujerms. I Muller & Yearley, I UIRSS, TRUNKS and BAGS, 343 N. Gay Street, BALTIMORE, Md. The only store where you can buy Any Style Harness, from a FINE LIGHT RACING RIG to a SIX-HORSE TEAM SET. Horse Collars, Plow Gears, Fly Nets, Lap Covers. Whips, &c., ALL AT OUR USUA.iI LOW PRIORS. May 30—ly Geo/W. Kirwan & Co. 13 N. CHARLES STREET, Between Baltimore and Fayette Streets, BALTIMORE, Md., I haberdashers SHIRT MAKERS. | SHIRTS TO MEASURE-Th'^t-nt -a .nnclal care. All shirts are made on our own JS.sisee and our FIT AND FINISH have made sweU known as a SHIRT HOUSE. If you JJJve not tried us, do so by ordering a Sample " Cartwright & Warners’ English Unshrinkable Underwear has been the best for over a hundred „ n H will be for a hundred years to come. 7 eSrBOTH PHONES. [July 4-ly B. BURNS. FRANK BURNS. JOHN BURNS’ SONS, Funeral s Directors, TOWSON, Md, CAP. Phone-TOWSON. 77-F. Mch 7-ly J. BIDDISON, fire insurance agent. Eire Tornado and Windstorm Poll* p ’ cles Issued. NO ASSESSMENT. —REPRESENTING— xrnMB FIRE INSURANCE CO. OF N. Y., BU “ Assets *20,000.000.00: 1B .on piRE & MARINE INSURANCE CO. GIHA OF PHILA., Assets *2,141,263.79. Office— Belair Road and Maple Avenue. Raaaeburg P. 0., Baltimore County, Md. ***" C. *P- and Maryland Phones. share of patronage will be appreciated. jWST&MI In Any Part of the County. Address. JOSEPH A. NEUMAYER, Raspeburg, R. F. D., Md. n A P. Tel.—Hamilton 4-k. [Bept.26-ly WATKINS A SON; —DEALERS IK— Staple, Fancy & Green Groceries Fruits in season. Fresh and Salt Meats. —ii tine of Tobaocos, Foreign and Domestic Fun ““ Cigars, Ao. Sept I*-1Y TOWSON. Md. ptißcellaruerntß. LUMBER FORSALE CHEAP I At My Mill at Shawan, BALTIMORE COUNTY, Md. r 2" LUMBER, $lO to sls per 1,000 feet. EP-CAN CUT TO YOUR OREER-E* Framing Lumber for Barns & Houses. Also Bridge Lumber. -SHIPPING POINT— ASHLAND, BALTIMORE COUNTY, Md. Apply to H. L. CRUBE, 1000 American Building, Baltimore, Md. C. & P. Phone-724 St. Paul, or T. A. HANNA, Superintendent, Shawan, Baltimore county, Md. C. & P. Phone—Cockey 29-11. M HTC • lam in market for a TIMBER IMVy IC. . TRACT of white oak, CHEBTNUT, Ac., Ac., 100 TO 600 ACRES. Sept. 12—3 m J.T. KAUFFMAN & SON, Saddles, Harness, AND STABLE SUPPLIES, Including Brambles' Horse Foot Remedy, 408 ENSOR STREET, Oppo. No. 6 Engine House, BALTIMORE, Md. C. A P. Telephone. Dec.2By ESTABLISHED 1876. BOTH PHONES. DANI£L~ RIDER, 1001 GREENMOUNT AVENUE, BALTIMORE, Md., COMMISSION * MERCHANT For the Sale of Hay, Grain and Straw. Orders for Mill Feed, Gluten Feed, Cotton Seed Meal, Oil Cake Meat, Salt, &c., will receive prompt attention. [Apl. 4—ly Jgtoch Taurus. iptiliTi Oakleigh Station, Md. & ■Pa. R. R., H Milks from Towson. Constantly on hand A LARGE STOCK OF MULES, TO SUIT ALL PURPOSEB. Coach, Driving; : TTHTinTin Saddle and :: K\H\ General Purpose uUllulJU FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE. rhorsesToarded-b C. A P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H.'rIOE, Prop’r, TOWSON, Md. Oct.l9—ly GROVE FARM FALLS ROAD, North of Brooklandvllle, Md. PRIZE WINNING— Guernsey Cattle, Berkshire Hogs, Shropshire Sheep. FOB SALE— A Few Registered Heifers, Between 4 months and 2 years old. Apply to JAS. McK. MERRYMAN, R. F. D. Lutherville, Md. 0. * P. Telephone—Towson 42. Bept.2BtOct.l9 Fob “The Union.” WAY DOWN nr ALABAMA. BY MILTON HEATHCOTE. Have you heard of the trouble they had t’other day? Where the cotton grows white either side of the way. Far down toward the gulf where old Farragut swore. And cursed the torpedoes that lined up the shore; To be more explicit, It was near the Bay of Mobile, Where some of the people are burned up with zeal. Way down in Alabama. There was old Aunty Whitelook, a culled pusson I of note. Who got on the train with her satchel in tote. She was on a long journey, about fifty mile. And she wanted to travel in the finest of style. She paid for her ticket, a dollar or so. And boarded the train intending to go, Way down in Alabama. But scarce bad sheileaned her black back ’gainst the plush Of the seat, when the conductor approached with a rush. And said it was plainly a violation of law To ride with the white folks, and that she must withdraw. “Just ahead, lady mine, in the train is a car, That is better than this, I assure you by far,” Way down in Alabama. 8o Aunty got up with some misgivings, I trow, “Fer ye caint beleeb dem white folks, I always did know,” She was growling and grumbling while making the trip. But followed the conductor who carried her grip. When she got in she found it quite patent and plain, That the seats were upholstered with the com monest cane. Way down in Alabama. There were no accommodations, no carpet on floor. No comb to touch up her huge pompadour, No glass to look into, no towel or bowl. She saw it, she knew it, she could swear on her soul That there was discrimination, most foul and unjust. She’d have satisfaction, she’d have it or bust. Way down in Alabama. She brought up the question to the Commission Interstate, They were men of erudition, as well as great weight, They sat on the case, a committee of the whole. Decided that Aunty should have towel and bowl, And all the etceteras that white folks enjoy. And the various concomitants white ladies em- P Way down In Alabama. The railroads are puzzled and sad in their plaint, The caw are getting rusty and badly need paint, They must be identical, no better, no worse. What to do with the old ones, as a matter of course, Is a burning question, and when to get new, Worries them immensely and turns them blue, Way down in Alabama. IN THE FEW BY THE DOOR. BY EDITH COPEMAN HALSEY. ‘‘l’ve only a minute to stay,” Mrs. Morris announced, settling herself in a comfortable chair in the. farmhouse kitchen. ‘‘l stopped for your mail, but they said it was too late.” Mrs. Headley nodded toward a let ter beside her. She never talked much when Mrs. Morris dropped in. She never needed to. ‘‘About David?” questioned her guest. ‘‘From David,” was the answer. "Well,” responded Mrs. Morris, “Dr. Wilson was sayin’ last night that it was just wonderful, his bein’ called to that big church. . I hear he went there to preach for ’em when their minister was goin’ to leave, an’ some of the big bugs made up their minds they’d have him and nobody else. Lands ! When I think of the an’ brought him up, an’ you a widow an’ no kin at all, an’ how you’ve sold ’most half of this little farm to edu cate him 1 My ! I hope you’ll get a little gratitude for it, an’ some re ward !” “David is my reward,” quietly an swered her hostess. “Oh, yes, of course.” Then after a pause, “the salary’s awful big.” “It seems to me,” was the reply. “Well,” with a little look of dis appointment, “I must get along. I suppose you’ll go up with Dr. Wilson to hear him preach his first sermon as pastor?” Then the old face opposite flushed a little. “Oh, no! It’s so far and there will be so many people there, I sup pose ; oh, no, I couldn’t go.” Mrs. Morris considered a moment. ‘ ‘Well, I don’t know. I should think you’d want to see how he looks among all the high flyers. Of course, it costs a lot to go so far, and (with a quick glance at the little figure before her) you mightn’t feel real easy among ’em. Well, good-bye. Anyway, ’tain’t as if he was your own.” Then she was gone and the sensi tive soul was left with the sting, and the wound, and the pain. He wasn’t her own I He wasn’t her own ! Oh, the sharp, keen pain it brought her. She “mightn’t feel easy among ’em.” She knew that, but why did well meaning Mrs. Mor ris say it ? She did not belong to the great world out there —David did ! She, if she went to be present at that wonderful service, would hardly know how to act, unless—and she almost held her breath —unless she might slip in a rear seat where no one would notice her at all. She picked up David’s letter again ; she had read every word of it four times that day. It said: “You must come. Dr. Wilson will take care of you on the train, and then I will take care of you !” Much more there was in the long letter. “It doesn’t sound as if he” —and the thought sprang out at last —“feels ashamed of the country mother. David would do his duty, anyway, and maybe I want too much.” The tears rained over her face, but presently she lifted her head and asked herself what they had been for. Hadn’t David always loved her? Hadn’t he always been kind and good and attentive to her ? But down in her heart she knew that only David himself in some way could remove that haunting fear. “He’s no call to be so very grateful,” she said in loving excuse. “I’m a selfish, exacting old woman, that’s what I am, shedding tears when I’d much better be thanking the Lord that my boy’s able to preach !” So she rose above the worry, stilled the voice in her heart that whispered, “He isn’t your own, he isn’t like you,” wrapped about her the mantle of unselfishness that she had always worn, and wrote David that she guess ed she’d better not come. But because of the great love in her heart, and because Dr. Wilson insist ed, it came about that the mistress of the little farmhouse took the long journey, and found herself one of many who were entering a church that seemed to her stately and beau tiful beyond the telling. TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10. 1908. “You mnst just let me slip in by the door,” she whispered tremulously to the reverend gentleman beside her, , and knowing how very tired she was, ’ and seeing the frightened look on the 1 gentle old face, he answered sooth ; ingly, “Just as you say—just as you i say.” ■ He seated her carefully “back by the door,” and then went to join the ministers already seated on the plat form. The tired little woman in the back of the church sat trembling with ner vous excitement and fatigue. At first only a dreamy, dazed feeling pos sessed her. Then she was conscious that the great church was filled with people, people who seemed to belong to another world than her own. “That’s Mr. Ferris,” she heard some one say in a low tone behind her, as a tall, distinguished looking man passed the pew where she sat. “He’s one of the most prominent men in the church and worth millions !” Wonderful music was 'flooding the building, such music as she had dreamed-she might hear in heaven. Then with timid, eager glance she was searching the palm-decked plat form for “her boy.” Her eyes were dim, but she found him. He was grasping Dr. Wilson’s outstretched hand and speaking softly to him. In that moment how her heart swelled with thanksgiving and cried out to God in praise. How big how distinguished how handsome —how, oh, how good to look at was he even among all those splendid men up there ! Then that little tormenting spirit that had no right in the farmhouse or in the city church whispered, “But he isn’t yours, he isn’t your own, these are his people, you are not like them— why did you come?” Then as the tired head bowed to hide the great tears that shut out the face on the platform, David Holland’s eyes, directed by Dr. Wilson, found her. Just a low spoken sentence to one of his brethren on the platform, a quick, courteous reply, and he quietly stepped down, walked around by a side aisle, across the back of the church, and then paused beside the pew “back by the door.” Those sitting very near saw a hand rest on the shoulder of the little wo man, who looked up startled as his voice said softly, “Mother !” Like a flash the heartache and the fear left her. The music trembled, and then burst forth in joyous might and pow er, and like one in a happy dream she was moving up the aisle leaning a little heavily upon the arm of her stalwart “boy.” Very near the platform he paused ; a man rose quickly, stepped out into the aisle and motioned to a seat be side him. “Have you room for my mother, Mr. Ferris?” the young min- IStCI WM J ouCA;, . .I r JlaUuu ly. * ‘lt will give us great pleasure, ’ ’ the other responded quickly. Then she sat down and David was back in his place. But, oh, the heaven-sent bliss of it all! She never knew that hundreds of eyes had filled with tears as they saw the minister they had chosen, leading so tenderly the white-haired old lady to “her place” among them. She did not know that the grave, dig nified men on the platform looked on with a new feeling of love for, and pride in, their brilliant young brother. She did not know that, as he walked up that broad aisle there was in David Holland’s heart a strong desire to cry out to all these, “his people”—“Look at her —look at her—at the bravest, purest, most unselfish soul that ever lived —look at her and be like her !” She only knew as she sat there, her sweet old face aglow with a wonder ful light, that she was happy, happy, happy ! A divine melody sang itself in her heart. The great congregation rose to its feet. They sang the joy song, too —“Joy to the world, the Lord is come.” Oh, yes, that was the word. Joy, joy! “He wasn’t ashamed of me. He’s mine, my own. ‘Have you room for my mother?’ ” That was what he had said—for “my mother !” Down in the depths of her heart she knew he was glad to call her that. —Epwottli Herald. SHE WAS AN EPISCOPALIAN. One of the Southern bishops enjoys telling the following story on his own daughter. Strongly imbued with her father’s doctrine, she had grown up a strict Episcopalian, and had never at tended a revival or camp-meeting in her life, although, as her younger brother remarked, “The woods were full of them.” When she was about sixteen she went to visit an old friend of her mother’s, in New York, and her hos tess, after much persuasion, prevailed on her to go to hear Tom Harrison, the famous boy evangelist. “But, Mrs. Burnett,” she had finally objected, “suppose he should speak to me I’d be so frightened I shouldn’t know what to say.” “Why, Virginia,” her hostess had replied, “the church will be so crowd ed that nothing is more unlikely than he should single out either one of us.” But the girl’s fears were realized. As the great preacher left the pul pit and passed down the aisle, ex horting first this one, then that one, he paused at the pew where the bishop’s daughter was seated. “My dear child,” he said earn estly, “are you a Christian ?” "N —no, sir,” she replied, “I’m an Episcopalian.” With a twinkle in his eye the evan gelist passed on without another word. A weary guest at a small and not very clean country inn was repeated ly called the morning after his arri val by the colored man of all work. “See here,” he finally burst forth, “how many times have I told you I don’t want to be called? I want to sleep !” “I know, suh, but dey’ve got to hab de sheeis, anyhow. It’s almos’ 8 o’clock, an’ dey’s waitin’ fo’ de tableclof.” HIS OVERTHROW. Dean always half-laughed, half growled “Nothing doing!” whenever the question of matrimony, as applied to him personally, came up. He declined to censure his friends when one by one they bowed their heads to the yoke, for he said that if a man with a sane mind wanted to make an idiot of himself it was his own business and he had a perfect right to do so. He was always getting himself dis liked for thoughtless promulgation of hi s theory when among friends. Fluffy young creatures with trusting eyes and marvelous pompadours, who previously had cast speculative and approving glances at his blonde fea tures, 'usually tilted their noses haughtily and abandoned him to his fate after he had launched forth his opiniQP'-qf the galling bonds of mat rimony.'' Possibly this was because each one wanted to inscribe her calling cards with the name of Mrs. Earnest Dean ; still, it rather takes away trom the flavor of the game to smile upon a man who one knows never, by any possibility, will gaze on one, save in an impersonal and disinterested man ner. Older and more experienced young women, who suspected that he might be talking just for the sake of talking, finally concluded also, that he really believed what he said, and so sought other fields to conquer. So accustomed had Dean become to being eyed reproachfully, surprisedlv, indignant, that he experienced a dis tinct shock the evening that he met Serena Hubert the second time. As he lazily watched the cigar smoke curling upward—it was after an informal dinner —he said apropos of some remark, “It served him right for getting married, anyhow !” Serena merely continued to lean back among the cushions of the divan and to smile agreeably. “It does, indeed,” she murmured calmly. “I never can understand this idea that matrimony means happiness I People situated like you and like myself, for instance, are the only wise ones !” Dean let his cigar slip from his par alyzed fingers, as he stared at her , vivid face. “D —do you, really think that?” he half stammered. Serana laughed. “Ofcourseldo,” she said. “It’s all foolishness !” Dean stooped over and recovered his cigar. “Yes, of course, ’’ he mur mured. that’s always been my the ory.” “And you are quite right,” Serena assured him. “I am glad to meet a man with enough sense and brains to recognize the fact and not be afraid to stand by his colors. She smiled at him sweetly and Dean forgot what she said in observ ing the delicate contour of her face and hmp lively hpr rolnr was. Then he rousea mtnseii to say rnai, or course, he agreed with her and he so enjoyed meeting a sensible girl who could be talked to without demanding a sense of the personal in the conver sation. He said it was unusual. “But then,” Serena replied, “you are an unusual man, Mr. Dean.” “Not in the least !” cried Dean, gratified but not protesting. He sat talking with Serena till his hostess came and forcibly dragged him away. He lost his good temper till he got hold of a man who could take him to call on Serena, because he had totally forgotten, in his absorp tion the evening of the dinner, to ask her if he might come. He took her to the theatre and then he was asked to a chafing-dish supper. Through it all Serena insisted on complimenting him on his well known views against wife and home. She elaborated on the subj ect. She agreed with his remarks before he made them, and if he did not make them she cleverly put them into his mouth and he spoke them hopelessly. He began to have a strange reluctance to hear them, for of a sudden he was tired of their iteration. An awful fit of the blues descended on him and held him subject for a week. Each time he called on Sere na in the hope of being cheered up in the society of a person so thoroughly in accord with his own views he came away feeling worse. It was an awful thing to hear a fair young girl sit up and declare that she never should marry but should devote her life to being free and happy. “As if she could not be equally free and lots happier if she married !” Dean found himself muttering one evening as he left her. Serena was eminently fitted to make some home happy, he had to admit. Finally one evening when he was particularly down-hearted he could restrain himself no longer. “Stop it,” he told Serena. “I don’t like to hear you say such things I Of course you’ll marry somebody. I wish —I wish there was a show for me ! Couldn’t you—would you think of marrying me, Serena?” “Well,” murmered Serena, “may be I am foolish to have such views. I —l’ll think about it Ernest, though, of course, I am so surprised and star tled-” Nobody but the mirror across the room saw the finishing little smile she gave herself as Dean sighed in an itn mence relief that .dissipated the cloud of blues that had hovered over him for days. _ Little Marrion, having few real playmates, has supplied herself with several imaginary ones, with whom she has many surprising experiences. Her mother recently overheard her playing with her large family of dolls and entertaining a visonary caller. “Yes, Mrs. Smif,” she said, heav ing a deep sigh, “we are poor, terri bly poor. We are so poor, that I have to spank my babies to keep them warm.” “Gentlemen of the jury,” said a lawyer, “there were thirty-six hogs in thedrove. Please remem her the fact just three times as many as there are in the jury-box, gentlemen.” TWENTY DIFFERENT USES FOB LEMONS. The first prize was paid to Mrs. B. ■ Wilson of Louisville, Ky., by the . publishers of What to Eat for the fol lowing “twenty uses for a lemon.’ * Few people realize the value of lemons, which can not be overestima ted ; in cases of fever, sore throat or torpid liver the medicinal qualities are unexcelled : 1. Two or three slices of lemon in a cup of strong tea will cure a nervous headache. 2. A teaspoonful ofjjuice in a small cup of black coffee will relieve a bil licus headache. 3. The juice of half a lemon in a cup of hot water taken on awakening in the morning is an excellent liver corrective and successful substitute for calomel and other alternative drugs. 4. A dash of lemon juice in plain water makes a cleansing tooth wash, ' not only removing the tartar, but sweetening the breath. 5. A lotion of lemon juice and rose water will remove tan and whiten the skin. 6. Lemon juice and olive oil is far superior to vinegar for a salad dress ing—equal parts used for blending. 7. Lemon juice and loaf sugar is good for hoarseness. 8. Outward application of the juice allays irritation caused by insect bites. 9. A refreshing drink is made by adding a freshly beaten egg to lemon ade; and, 10. The same mixture when frozen makes a delicious ice. 11. If, when boiling sago or rice, a teaspoonful of lemon juice is added, the kernels will be whiter and a dele cate flavor is imparted. 12. An old-fashioned remedy for croup, we remember, is honey, alum and lemon juice. 13. We all know the value of salt and lemon juice for removing stains from white goods. 14. After the juice is extracted, the rind dipped in salt cleanses brass beau tifully and conveniently. 15. It also removes unsightly stains from the hands. 16. For flavoring cookery, lemon juice is unexcelled. 17. After the pulp is removed the skins make dainty receptacles for serving salads, ices, etc. 18. Tough meat can be made ten der by adding a teaspoonful of lemon juice to the water in which it is boiled. 19. Slices or lemon garnish fish of all description. 20. Tea is greatly improved by the addition of a slice of lemon—either iced for summer use, or as Russian tea on a cold winter’s day. In buying lemons, select those hav ing a thin, dry rind —these are cheap er and are much jucier than the fresh, plump ones. „ j o * try-mn Joseph Jefferson was playing a one night engagement in a small town, appearing in the part Rip Van Win kle, which he had so often and ably itnpersonated. At the hotel where he stayed there was an Irishman who acted as general assistant. Judged by the great interest he manifested in the hotel, he might have been taken to be the proprietor. At about a quarter to 6 in the morning Mr. Jef ferson was startled not to say alarmed by a violent thumping on his door. When he recollected that he had left no orders to be called so early, be was naturally indignant. His sleep was banished for that morning, how ever, so he arose and soon made his appearance before the clerk. “Look here, I say,” he demanded of this functionary, “why was I call ed at this unearthly hour?” “I don’t know, sir,” replied the clerk, “but I'll ask Pat.” Pat wag summoned. Said the clerk: “Pat, there was no call for this gentleman. Why did you waken him ?” Pat led the clerk to one side and said in a mysterious whisper: “He wor snorin’ loike a horse, sor, an’ Oi’d heered the bhoys sayin’ some thin’ about how he wor wanst afther sblapin’ for twinty years, so Oi says to rneself.’ ‘lt’s a-comin’ unto ’im ag’in an’ it’s yer juty to git thecray ther out o’ yer house at wanst.’ ” FINDINGS NOT KEEPINGS. When one is on the public thor oughfare or in the street car or train or boat and picks up an object that is valuable, it is his ? True, he may find something which is too small and trifling to warrant searching to find the owner, such as a handkerchief, a pair of gloves, etc. But when he finds something of value it is not his until he has done every thing in his power to find the owner. The street railways and trains are so systematized today that if, when one finds an object of value, he re turns it to the company’s representa tive it is almost sure to catch up with its owner. Every person of intelli gence knows that the first place to in quire for it is at the lost and found department. When, however, one is on the street and finds something which, if he lost it himself, he would very much like to have returned, there are the columns of a newspaper in which to advertise. If he fails to find the owner after this, then he can rightfully call it his own and have a clear concience, but if he avoids looking over the lost and found columns and fails to do his part toward finding the owner he is almost as dishonest as if he took the goods. —Chicago Record-Her aid. “Ma!” “Yes, dearest; what is it?” “Did you get my baby sister at the grocery?” “Of course not. What ever put such an idea in your head?” “It says on the grocer’s wagon ‘Families Supplied.’ ” A lady, joking about her nose, said : “I had nothing to do in shaping it. It was a birthday present.” 1 The only real thing is to study ; how to rid life of lamentation and complaint. A MAN’S MOTHER Man, if you have an old mother, : be good to her! Tell her that you love her. Kiss the faded old lips and hold in yours the wrinkled old hands. Scatter a few of the flowers of tenderness and appreciation in her pathway while she is still alive and can be made happy by them. Don’t wait to put all your affections and gratitude and reverence for her into a costly ton of marble inscribed with the word, “Mother.” Don’t wait to throw all of your bouquets on her grave. It’s mighty doubtful whether an angel in heaven takes any interest in cemeteries or gets any satisfaction from re-visiting earth and contemplating a flattering tomb stone ; but it is utterly,certainly certain that you can make your old mother’s heart sing for joy by showing her, while she is alive, just one tithe of the love and appreciation that you will heap upon her when she is dead. These words are written for some one particular man who reads this page. Ido not know his name, but I know his story. He is a middle aged man, married, prosperous. He is a good man, highly respected, and he hasn’t an idea but what he is doing his full duty by his poor old moth er, who lives in his home and whom he supports. He supplies her wants. She eats at his table, is sheltered by his roof, is warmed by his fire, is de cently clothed by him —but that is all. He neglects her. He never has a word of affection for her. He never pays her any little atten tions. When she ventures'an opinion, he quietly ignores it. When she tells her garrulous old stories, as old people will, he does not even try to conceal how much he is bored. In a thousand unintentional ways the old mother is made to feel that she is a cumberer of the ground, an im pediment in the household, an old fashioned and useless piece of furni ture of which every one will be glad to be rid. Under this coldness and neglect the poor old mother’s heart is breaking, and in a letter, written in a trembling, and feeble handwriting, she asks me if I cannot say something that her son will read and that may make him think. Ah, if I only could ! If I only could say to him : “Man, man, give love as well as duty to your mother. Give her the wine of life as well as the bread. Don’t for get the woman who never forgets you 1” Of course the man will say, and truly, that he is busy, overworked, care-burdened ; that he has the claims of wife and children upon him ; that be im vASAt mAwtlcrta* ♦ lajrAjiaV* phvd cal weariness and overstrain. Granted. But your mother’s life has not been an easy one. Your father was a poor man, and from the day she married him she stood by his side fighting the wolf from the door with her naked hands, as a woman must fight. She worked, not the eight or ten hour day of the union, but the twen ty-four hour day of the poor wife and mother. She cooked and cleaned and scrub bed and patched and nursed from dawn until bedtime, and in the night was op and down getting drinks for lips, covering restless little sleepers, listening for croupy coughs. She had time to listen to your sto ries of boyish fun and frolic and tri umph. She had time to say the thing that spurred your ambition on. She never forgot to cook the little dishes you liked. She did without the dress she need ed that you might not be shamed by your clothes before your fellows. Stop, man, and think what life would have been to you if she had treated you in your childhood as you are treating her in her old age 1 Suppose there had been no warm, caressing mother love ? Suppose there had been no soft breast on which you could weep out your childish sorrows, no clinging arms to enfold you and comfort you when the things of your littte world went wrong ? Would it not take away from you the memory of- all thar is best and sweetest in life? Is there anything else so pitiful on earth as the little child that is motherless —that is an alien in a strange home —that has no one to love it ? Yes, there is just one other figure more forlorn than the little unloved child, and that is the old mother who is unloved by children she has raised and who is doomed to spend the last years of her life in a glacial atmosphere of neglect, her devotion, her labors, her sacrifices forgotten. Remember then, now while there is yet time, while she is living, to pay back to her in love and tenderness something on ac count this very night. Go home and put your arm around the shrunken old figure. Kiss the drooping old mouth with a real, live, ’ warm kiss instead of giving her a per functory peck on the cheek. Tell her that she is the greatest mother a man ever had and that all you are : she made you. It will cause her very soul to leap with joy, and make the world a place ; of circling joy, and life itself swim in a rosy mist of bliss for her —if she doesn’t drop dead with surprise.— Philadelphia Bulletin. “These are the bridal rooms,” an nounced the bell-boy to the blushing young couple. “O, what a sweet 1 suite!” exclaimed the bride. “I don’t know anything about that,” said the bell-boy, “but the head clerk says he hopes the suit suits.” “A man’s sins always find him r out,” says an old proverb. It may l be added that the creditors have about the same luck. ESTABLISHED 1850. FBI END OF PLANT LIFE. An old weather-beaten, one-room building, standing in the court-yard at Kenbridge,Lunenburg county, Va., is the office in which John Randolph of Roanoke practiced law. It was the custom of the times to build these lit tle offices on the court-yard green, and many a famous lawyer has work ed up his case in such an odd little shelter. No building of the kind, however, was ever occupied by a law yer of more interesting and unique character than this little office at Ken bridge. One of Randolph’s peculia rities is dwelt upon by Powhatan Bouldin and illustrated by an incident which proves that the stern and eccen tric man formed a society all by him self, for the prevention of cruelty to plants. The story, according to the Youth's Companion , is told by a friend of Randolph’s nephew. When I was a boy I* visited at Ro anoke. The house was completely environed by trees and underwood, and seemed to be in a dense virgin forest. Mr. Randolph would not per mit even a switch to be cut near the house. Without being aware of this, one day I committed a serious trespass. My friend Tudor and I were roving about, when I, perceiving a straight young hickory about an inch thick, felled it. Tudor said his uncle would be very angry, so I immediately went and in formed him what I had ignorantly done and expressed my regret. Mr. Randolph took the stick and looked pensively at it as if commiser ating its fate. Then, gazing at me, he said: “I would not have had this done for fifty Spanish-milled dollars 1” I had 75 cents and had entertained some idea of offering it; but when I heard about the SSO I was afraid of insulting him by such meager com pensation. “Did you want this fora cane?” asked Mr. Randolph. “No, sir.” “No, you are not old enough to need a cane. Did you want it for any particular purpose?” “No, sir. I only saw that it was a pretty stick and thought I’d cut it.” “We can be justified in taking an imal life only to furnish food or to re move a hurtful object. We cannot be justified in taking even vegetable life without some useful object in view. Now, God Almighty planted this thing and you have killed it without any adequate object. It would have grown into a large nut tree and fur nished food for many squirrels. I hope and believe you will never do so again.” “Never, sir. Never!” I cried. He put the stick into a corner and I escaped to Tudor. It was some time before I could cut a switch or fisbi**® *'® <l foolinfl- T mat Ar\. mg some sort of violence to the vege table kingdom. THE BOAD TO WEALTH. “The thing that counts,” said a man of independently large means ac cumulated by hard work, saving and wise investments, “is the first thou sand dollars. When you’ve got that amount together you are beginning to get somewhere, and with that start you will want to keep on. The red ink interest entries that you see put down in your savings bank book twice a year will strike you very pleasantly indeed. As interest on your thousand dollars you ’ll get $35 or S4O in a year; your money has begun earning money for you. “You’ve got an income now and you’ll want to add to it. You will leave that interest in the bank to be added to your principal, and now your interest will begin to draw interest, and to be sure you will keep right on adding to your principal, too, and every six months you’ll see those Ted figures growing bigger and bigger, pretty figures to contemplate, and you’ll keep right along saving. But the thing that really counts is the first thousand dollars. Get that and you’re all right. And you’ll always be glad you saved it. “For there really is nothing like financial independence, or like having at least some money laid by. Then, if you want money, you’ve got it. You don’t have to go to friends to borrow and take the risk of being re fused, the risk of being compelled to go without what you need. If you’ve got money in the bank you can go there and get it. There might come a time when you would need money , for your family or for yourself very much ; it’s a grand thing to have it where you can get it. “There’s nothing mean about being saving and accumulating money; on the contrary, it is every man’s duty to make himself financially indepen dent. I don’t mean at all that a man wants to set out to accumulate great wealth ; there’s no fun in that. But what he does want to do is to get to gether enough to live on modestly.” — N. Y. Sun. AN HONEST MAN. “Now, look here, Thompson,” re marked Bloom, “it is six months since you borrowed that $lO bill from me.” “Seven,” said Thompson, gravely. “Well, then, seven mouths,” snort ed Bloom; ‘ ‘and you promised to give it back to me in a week —promised faithfully to return it to me in seven days, instead of months.” “I know it,” answered Thompson, sadly, drawing a memorandum book from his pocket. “That bill was marked No. 672,929. I made this memo, and then I spent the money. Since then I’ve been trying to recover it.” “But,” shouted Bloom, “any other would do as well.” “No,” responded Thompson, shak ing his head, “I’m a man of my word. When you gave me the bill I said, ‘I will return this to you,’ and I meant it. Bloom, old man, just as soon as I come across No. 672,929 I’ll see that you get it, for I am not the one to go back on my promise.”