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VOL. 59. WHOLE No. 2289.
Second National Bank TOWSON, SAVE YOUR EARNINGS. It is always possible to save a portion of your earnings if you form an earnest desire to do so. Svsteraatize your work of saving by starting an account with the SEC OND NATIONAL BANK of Towson. Deposit your money, and pay your bills by check. Your bank book and returned checks will make a record for you, and tell the story of your earnings and expenses. Eventually you will learn to decrease your expenses and increase your hank account. It will be a real pleasure to have you as one of our depositors, and to help you all we can. Start with us now. -iOPPICBRSi — Thomas W. Offutt, Elmer J. Cook, i Vw *-PB*awo T s. ™ os - J PRESIDENT. HARRIBON Rider, ’ CABHIER. Thomas w. Offutt. W. Bernard Duke, Henry C. Longnecker, Elmer j. cook, Wm. A. Lee, Z. Howard isaao, Harrison Rider, Chas. H. Knox, Noah E. Offutt, John i. yellott, W. Gill Smith, John V. Slade. Jan. 25—ly. JMUscellaueous. Muller & Yearley, HARNESS, TRUNKS anil RAGS, 343 N. Gay Street, BALTIMORE, Md Blankets AND Robes. In addition to Regular Line we offer BIG LINE OF Mill SAMPLES AT BARGAIN PRICES. Blankets From SI.OO up. Lap Bobea ” $2.00 “ Wit will pay you to see them. Special induce ments to early buyers. •IMMIMU WHIP WITH EACH pppu TUBE BLANKET. A lUklfc Qct.lotMay3o ESTABLISHED 1870. MAIER’S PREPARED PAMS AKE STRICTLY PURE LEAD AND ZINC PAINTS. GUARANTEED EQUAL TO THE BEST. -MANUFACTURED BY JOHN G. MAIER’S SONS, 103-155 N GAY STREET, Cor Frederick Street. BALTIMORE, Md, Both Phones. I July ll—ly Geo. W. Kirwan & Co. 13 N. CHARLES STREET, Between Baltimore and Fayette Streets, BALTIMORE, Md„ I HABERDASHERS SHIRT MAKERS. SHIRTS TO MEASURE-^i a B w department oA Rnecial care. All shirts are made on our own nremlses and our FIT AND FINISH have made STweU known as aBH RT HOUSE. If you have not tried us, do so by ordering a Sample 8 Cartwright ft Warners’ English Unshrinkable Underwear has been the best for over a hundred vears and will be for a hundred years to come. 7 gar-both PHONES. [July 4-ly WILLIAM J. BIDDISON, FIRE INSURANCE AGENT. Fire, Tornado and Windstorm Poli cies Issued. NO ASSESSMENT. —REPRESENTING— HOME FIRE INBURANCK CO. OF N. Y., " Assets $20,000,000.00; niRARD FIRE & MARINE INSURANCE CO. OF PHILA., Assets $2,141,283.79. Office—Belalr Road and Maple Avenue. Ra. peburg P. <)•. Baltimore Connty, Md. C. A P. and Maryland Phones. share of patronage will be appreciated. ~DiTAra McOURDY & CO., TOWSON. Md. Orders received for— all kinds of slate. Peach Bottom Roofing Slate, t Slabs for Walks, v |w Chimney Tops, ’wSr Burial Cases, Apt Cemetery "itabs, 1 Imposing Slones, Ac., Ac. SVUall on or address as above. r>*P. Pbone—Towson 23 R. [July 4—ly UMEI LIME 1 LIME,! Having resumed the business of Burning Lime, n we are now prepared to FURNISH in any quantity Whitewashing, Building and Agricul tural Lime. gHANKLIN & JENIFER, KILNS AT LOCH RAVEN. May ao-iyi Baltimore county, md. "XtTkauffman a son, Saddles, Harness, and stable supplies, Including Brambles’ Horse Foot Remedy, 408 RNSOR STREET, Oppo. No. 8 Engine House. BALTIMORE, Mb. C. A P. Telephone. ilec.2By ... .... TO LOAN-IN SUMS TO SUIT. U ROBERT H. BUSSEY. Towson, Md. Feb 10—tf Residence CookeysvUle Wscellauexros. LUIBEB FOR SALE CHEAP I At My Mill at Shawan, BALTIMORE COUNTY, Md. —AND AT My Yard at Ashland Station, N.C.R.R. BALTIMORE COUNTY, Md. 1" V/," 2" LUMBER, $lO to sls per 1,000 feet. pr-CAN CUT TO YOUR ORDER'S* Framing Lumber for Barns & Houses Also Bridge Lumber. -SHIPPING POINT ASHLAND. BALTIMORE COUNTY, Md. Apply to ~h7 L. ORUBE, 1009 American Building, Baltimore, Md. C. A P. Phone—724 St. Paul. or T. A. HANNA, Superintendent, Shawan, Baltimore county, Md. C. A P. Phone—Cockey 29-11. or CHARLES FREELAND, Ashland, Baltimore county, Md. C. A P. Pbone—Cockey 35-R. WnTC ■ lam in market for a TIMBER INV-J IC . tract OF WHITE OAK, CHESTNUT, Ac., Ac., 100 TO 500 ACRES. Sept. 12—3 m FRANK I. WHKKLKR. WILLIAM P. COLB. WHEELER & COLE, Successors to Offutt, Emmart A Wheeler, FIRE INSURANCE AGENTS, OFFUTT BUILDING. TOWSON. Md. Telephone-O. ft P., Towbok 188. German-Amerloan Ins. Co., N. Y.; Continental Ins. Co.: Home Ins. Co. of N. Y,; Hartford Ins. Co. of Hartford, Conn.; Pennsylvania Fire Ins. Co. of Philadelphia; St. Paul Fire and Marine Ins. Co.; London and Lancashire Ins. Co.; Orient of Hartford, Conn.: Dixie, of Greensboro, N. C.; Fire Association, of Philadelphia; Royal, of Liv erpool; North State, of Greensboro, N.C.; West ern, of Pittsburg; Spring Garden, of Philadel -Bhia; Niagara, of N. Y.: AStna, of Hartford, onn.; Norfolk, Norfolk, Va. Representing as we do the above named flrst olass Fire Insurance Companies and anagenoy of twenty-five years’ standing, that has so long enjoyed the confidence of the public, we respect fully solicit of the people of Baltimore county a continuation of their patronage. Oct. 24—1yl WHEELER ft COLE. EDWARD B. BURNS. FRANK BURNS. JOHN BURNS’ SONS, Funeral * Directors, TOWSON, Md, C. A P. Phone-TOWSON, 77-F. Mch 7—ly ROBERT CLARK. A. W. CLARK. LUTHERVILLE STEAM * LAUNDRY, ROBERT CLARK & SON, Prop’rs. NEWLY FITTED THROUGHOUT AND NOW READY FOR BUSINESS. Good Work and Moderate Charges. Public patronage respectfully solicited. GOODS CALLED FOR AND DELIVERED. C. ft P. Phone. Mch 7—ly JOHN TYRIE, STEAM — BABBLE & GRANITE WORKS, OOOKEYSYILLB, Md. -ALL KINDS OF MARBLE A GRANITE MONUMENTS A SPECIALTY. No oharge made for showing designs either at the works or elsewhere. JAMBS B. DUNPHY, AGINT, TOWSON, Md. Sept. 28—It W. o. B. WRIGHT, Baldwin P. 0., Baltimore County, Md., Real Estate and Collection Agency —AND — JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. Director and Agent of the Harford Mutual Fire Insurance Company. BUT AMD 8 ELL BEAL ESTATE. If you want to buy country property, or wiah to sell, see me. I can help you either way. BF“ Prompt attention given to the collection of claims. Rbsidkncs—NEAß FORK. [June 13-ly ESTABLISHED 1878. BOTH PHONES. DANIEL~ RIDER, loot OREENMOUNT 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, fto., will receive prompt attention. [Apl. 4—ly PIANOS tuned In Any Part of the County. Address, JOSEPH A. NEUMAYER, Raspehurg, R. F. D., Md. C. ft P. Tel.—Hamilton 4-x. [Sept. 28-ly HOME. BY GRACE G. BOBTWICK. You may talk about apartments or the finest kind of flat; And tell about your grand botels-tbe swellest ones at that— You may rave about a mansion or a villa in far Rome; . . But I’ll go you one still better yet—and that’s my home. The deareßt wife that ever lived, and still a bride by jing! Her hair is getting gray; but say! you ought to hear horsing! When she puts the kids to bed at night, she mur murs soft and low Those dear old tunes our mother sang years and years ago. And when the babies, tired out, are off to Bylow Land She kisses ’em and tucks ’em in with tender mother hand. And when we sit together there and talk awhile and dream, A-building castles of our own in the firelight’s dancing gleam. The king may have his palaces—no envy stings my heart; Grant him all his soul desires—l have still the better part. Ah 1 give the rich their mansions fine where’er they chance to roam, But for me my little cottage neat—’tis home, sweet home ! —Chicago Record-Herald Sunday Magazine. WOBBY. BY ORISON BWETT HARDEN. One who could rid the world of worry would render greater service to the race than all of the inventors and discoverers that ever lived. We Americans pity ignorant sava ges who live in terror of their cruel gods, their demons which keep them in abject slavery, but we ourselves are the slaves of a demon which blasts our hopes, blights our happiness, casts its hideous shadow across all our pleasures, destroys our sleep, mars our health, and keeps us in misery most of our lives. This monster dogs us from the cradle to the grave. There is no oc casion so sacred but it is there. Un bidden it comes to the wedding and the funeral alike. It is at every re ception, every banquet; it occupies a seat at every table. No human intellect can estimate the unutterable havoc and ruin wrought by worry. It has forced genius to do the work of mediocrity ; it has caused more failures, more broken hearts, more blasted hopes, than any other one cause since the dawn of the world. What have not men done under the pressure of worry ! They have plung ed into all sorts of vice; have become drunkards, drug fiends; have sold their very souls in their efforts to escape this monster. Think of the homes which it has broken up; the ambitions it has ruined; the hopes and prospects it has blighted! Think of the suicide victims of this demon ! If there is any devil in existence, is it not worry, with all its attendant progeny of evils ? Yet, in spite of all the tragic evils that follow in its wake, a visitor from another world would get the impres sion that worry is one of our dearest most helpful friends so closely do we hug it to ourselves and so loath are we to part from it. Is it not unaccountable that people who know perfectly well that success and happiness both depend on keep ing themselves in condition to get the most possible out of their energies should harbor in their minds the enemy of this very success and hap piness ? Is it not strange that they should form this habit of anticipating evils that will probably never come, when they know that anxiety and fretting will not only rob them of peace of mind and strength and abil ity to do their work, but also of pre cious years of life ? Many a strong man is tied down, like Gulliver, by Lilliputians—bound hand and foot by the little worries and vexations he has never learned to conquor. What would be thought of a busi ness man who would keep in his ser vice employees known to have been robbing him for years, stealing a lit tle here and a little there every day ? Yet one may be keeping in his men tal business house, at the very source of his power, a thief infinitely worse than one who merely steals money or material things; a thief who robs him of energy, saps his vitality, and bankrupts him of all that makes life worth while. We borrow trouble; endure all our lives the woe of crossing and recross ing bridges weeks and years before we come to them; do disagreeable tasks mentally over and over again before we reach them ; anticipate our drudgery and constantly suffer from the apprehension of terrible things that never happen. I know women who never open a telegram without trembling, for they feel sure it will announce the death of a friend or some terrible disaster. If their children have gone for a sail or a picnic, they are never easy a mo ment during their absence ; they work themselves into a fever of anxiety for fear that something will happen to them. Many a mother fritters away more energy in useless frets and fears for her children, in nervous strain over this or that, than she uses for her daily routine of domestic work. She wonders why she is so exhausted at the close of the day, and never dreams that she has thrown away the greater part of her force. Is it not strange that people will persist in allowing little worries, petty vexations, and unnecessary fric tions to grind life away at such a fearful rate that old age stares them in the face in middle life ? Look at the women who are shriveled and shrunken and aged at thirty, not be cause of the hard work they have done, or the real troubles they have had, but because of habitual fretting, I which has helped nobody, but has brought discord and unhappiness to their homes. Somewhere I read of a worrying ! woman who made a list of the unfor tunate events and happenings which she felt sure would come to pass and be disastrous to her happiness and ■ welfare. The list was lost, and to her amazement, when she recovered it, a long time afterwards, she found that not a single unfortunate experi ence in the whole catalogue of disas ■ trous predictions had taken place. TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1908. Is not this a good suggestion for worriers? Write down everything which you think is going to turn out badly, and then put the list aside. You will be surprised to see what a small percentage of the doleful things ever come to pass. It is a pitiable thing to see vigor ous men and women, who have in herited godlike qualities and bear the impress of divinity, wearing anxious faces and filled with all sorts of fear and uncertainty, worrying about yes terday, today, tomorrow —everything imaginable. In entering New York by train every morning I notice business men with hard, tense expressions on their faces, leaning forward when the train approaches the station, as if they could hasten its progress and save time, many of them getting up from their seats and rushing toward the door several minutes before the train stops. Anxiety is in every move ment ; a hurried nervousness in their manner; and their hard, drawn coun tenances —all these are indications of an abnormal life. Work kills no one, but worry has killed multitudes. It is net the doing of things of which injures us so much as the dreading of them—not only performing them mentally over and over again, but anticipating some thing disagreeable in that perform ance. Many of us approach an unpleas ant task in much the same condition as a runner who begins his start such a long distance away that by the time he reaches his objective point—the ditch or the stream which is to test his agility —he is too exhausted to jump across. Worry not only saps vitality and wastes energy, but it also seriously affects the quality of one’s work. It cuts down ability. A man cannot get the same quality of efficiency into his work when his mind is troubled. The mental faculties must have per fect freedom before they will give out their best. A troubled brain cannot think clearly, vigorously and logi cally. The attention cannot be con centrated with anything like the same force when the brain cells are poison ed with axiety as when they are fed by pure blood and are clean and un cloudy. The blood of chronic wor riers is vitiated with poisonous chem ical substances and broken-down tis sues, according to Professor Elmer Gates and other noted scientists, who have shown that the passions and the harmful emotions cause actual chem ical changes in the secretions and generate poisonous substances in the body which are fatal to healthy growth and action. The brain-cells are constantly bath ed in the blood, from which they draw their nouishment, and when the blood is loaded with the poison of fear, worry, auger, hatred or jeal ousy, the protoplasm of those delicate cells becomes hardened and very ma terially impaired. The most pathetic effect of worry is its impairment of the thinking powers. It so clogs the brain and paralyzes thought that the results of the worrier’s work merely mock his ambition, and often lead to the drink or drug habit. Its continued friction robs the brain-cells of an opportunity to renew themselves; and so after awhile there is a breakdown of the nervous system and then the worrier suffers from insomnia and other ner vous ailments,and sometimes becomes hopelessly insane. If you never accomplish anything else in life, get rid of worry. There are no greater enemies of harmony than little anxieties and petty cares. Do not flies aggravate a nervous horse more than his regular work ? Do not little naggings, constantly touching him with the whip, or jerking at the reins fret and worry him more than the labor of drawing the carriage ? It is the little pin-pricks, the petty annoyances of our every-day life, that mar our comfort and happiness and rob us of more strength than the great troubles which we nerve ourselves to meet. It is the perpetual scolding and fault-finding of an irritable man or woman which ruins the entire peace and happiness of many a home. An habitual worrier—an aged wo man —said to her physician, “My head feels dull-like, and I’ve kinder lost the power to worry over things.’’ A great many people would be much troubled were they to lose the power to worry over things. They think it their duty to worry. They would not feel that they were conscientious or faithful if they were not always anxious over what they were doing. They would not think they were showing a proper interest. Anticipating a thing tends to bring it to us. Worry about disease is a disease producer. It is well known that many victims of the great plagues of history have been slain simply by fear and dread. The digestive organs are extremely sensitive to worry, and when the di gestion is interfered with the whole physical economy is thrown into dis order. Worry and fear will not only whiten the hair, but will also cause prema ture baldness —a condition known as nervous baldness. Another result is a loss of tone and elasticity in the facial muscles. “The lips, cheeks, and lower jaw,” says Darwin, “all sink downward from their own weight.” Worry not only makes a woman look older, but also actually makes her older. It is a chisel which cuts cruel furrows in the face. I have seen a face so completely changed by a few weeks of anxiety that the whole countenance had a different ex pression and the individual seemed almost like another person. One of the worst forms of worry is that of not getting on in the world. It blights the ambition, deadens the purpose, and defeats the very object the worrier has in view. Some people have the unfortunate habit of brooding over their past lives, castigating themselves for their short comings and mistakes, until their whole vision is turned backward in stead of forward, and they see every thing in a distorted light, because they are looking only on the shadow side. The longer the unfortunate picture which has caused trouble remains in the mind, the more thoroughly it be comes imbedded, and the more diffi cult it is to remove it; but as long as it is there it will continue its mischief. Did you ever hear of any good coming to any human being from worry? Did it ever help anybody to better his condition ! Does it not al ways—everywhere—do just the op posite by impairing the health, ex hausting the vitality, lessening effi ciency ? A great deal can be done to correct the causes of worry by keeping up tbfe health standard. A good diges tion, a clear conscience, and sound sleep kill a lot of trouble. Worry thrives best under abnormal condi tions. It cannot get much of a hold on a man with a superb physique—a man who lives a clean, sane life. It thrives on the weak —those of low vitality. We see women resorting to mes sage, electricity, exercises, chin straps, wrinkle plasters, and all sorts of things to erase the terrible ravages of worry and anxiety, apparently ignorant of the fact that the supreme remedy, the great panacea, is in the mind ; they continue to worry as to how they shall get rid of the effects of worry! Nothing else will so quickly drive away worry as the habit of cheerful ness, of making the best of things, of refusing to see the ugly side of life. When you feel fear or anxiety en tering your thought, just fill your mind instantly with courage, hope, and confidence. Refuse to let any enemies of your happiness and suc cess camp in your mind. Drive out the whole brood of vampires. You can kill worry thoughts easily when you know the antidote; and this you always have in your mind. You do not have to go to a drug store or a physician for it. It is always with you —always ready. All you have to do is to substitute hope, cour age, cheerfulness, serenity, for de spondency, discouragement, pessi mism, worry. Opposite thoughts will not live together. The presence of one excludes the other. “People ask me daily,” said Patti, “when they look at my face, without a wrinkle, what I do to keep so young. I tell them that whenever I have felt a wrinkle coming I have laughed it away. My advice to the woman who wants to remain young is : ‘Be happy —don’t worry, but walk.’ ” — Success Magazine. Fob “Thn Union.” A POOB THOUGH BICH GIBL. BY EDWARD WALDMANN. Her lips are like cherries, Her eyes they are blue; She has a nice little stumped nose, And she’s good hearted, too. No money, no property, No bouse and no home, No knowledge, no learning, By all left alone. Her head is so tricky. Full of life and full of fun; They call her poor Lizzie, Though rich as her there is none. AH UNOEBGBOUHD HIVES. A queer freak of nature that for years has been a curiosity in the country seven miles south of Sana way Lake, near Tacoma, Wash., is an underground river flowing thirty five feet below the surface. Here and there the river has been tapped by ranchers digging wells. The water is clear and almost icy cold, and as good for domestic use as any water in the State. A notable example of the bottom of a well dropping into this river is on the farm of John Rhorer, about six miles from Sana wav Lake. When digging the well a number of years ago, Rhorer had trouble with the workmen he employed. The man down in the well complained of hear ing a persistent roaring that seemed to come from the bowels of the earth and increased as the hole was sunk lower. Finally he refused to dig any longer in the well and Rhorer him self was lowered to wield the pick and shovel. Half an hour passed and Rhorer yelled to be hoisted out. He was scared but went back into the well. He found that the roaring periodically increased and decreased. When at its maximum it was so great that he would hurry to the top. Work stopped one night when the well was at a depth of 35 feet. The next morning Rhorer, in going to the barn heard a roaring in the direc t!6n of the well, and upon going to the spot found the bottom of the well had fallen out and a stream of water rushing through. There was no more well digging, and Rhorer has always had an excellent supply of water. No fish or any other life has ever been caught out of the river, and old set tlers believe the stream has its head from the glaciers of Mount Rainier. It is supposed to empty into the Sound. Mother —‘ ‘Just run upstairs,Tom - my, and fetch baby’s nightgown.” Tommy—“ Don’t want to.” Mother —“Oh, well, if your going to be unkind to your new little sister, she’ll put on her wings and fly back again to heaven.” Tommy—“ Then let her put on her wings and fetch her nightgown !” Inquiring lady—“ How much milk does your cow give a day?” Truthful Boy—“’Bouteight quarts, lady.” Inquiring lady—“ And how much of that do you sell ?’ ’ Truthful Boy— ‘ * ’ Bout twelve quarts, lady.” Judge —“ Have you anything to offer to the court before sentence is passed?” Prisoner —“No, judge. I had ten dollars, but my lawyer took that.” An Irishman once said : ‘‘l think the happiest period of married life is the time just before you are married.” CANDOUR AS A HOKE COMMODITY. Why is it that members of some households consider themselves at lib erty to make the rudest remarks to each other on subjects that ought to be sacred ground. We all know the old saying which tells us that fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and when we find strangers from with out the home circle inter-meddling with the bitter griefs of its members, we are full of condemnation. For instance, when a callous ques tion was asked of a girl in mourning as to whom she was wearing it for, the indignation of those in hearing of it knew no bounds. But there are other griefs than bereavement, and some times they are even harder to bear. If perfect freedom of remark is hab itually indulged in, the habit grows, and grows, and the operator at last becomes so hardened to the sight of the pain she inflicts that it makes no impression on her —no more than a hedgehog’s prickles makes on their proprietor. There is far too much candor in family life ! Like all perversions of good qualities, it is more aggravating than many wholly bad ones. The possessor can always make out such a good case for herself. “I always say what I think,” is one of the fav orite experiences of these candid folk. “I never flatter anyone,” is another of their pet sayings, but I have al ways observed that a painfully frank person is by no means rigidly ‘‘true and just in all her dealings.” Quite the contrary, in fact. Such persons seem to use up all their stock of can dor in dealing round heartaches and planting roots of bitterness wherever they find an opportunity. They have none left for occasions when it is obvi ously against their own interests to be very honest and open. Double-deal ing often lurks behind an exaggerated appearance of frankness. The cultivation of politeness in the home averts much of this element of brusquerie and unnecessary candor with their consequences of ill-will and wounded spirits. Politeness need not mean stiffness, as some folk seem to fancy that it does. It is only when it is but occasionally donned and not habitually worn that it becomes insep arable from a feeling olgene. ‘ ‘Com pany manners” should not be very different from those of everyday life, but those of every day are often la mentably insufficient. The reason that so many wounds can be death to those at home by the wielders of the weapon of candor is that we are known with all our faults to the members of the home circle. Our weaknesses cannot expect to es cape the notice of those who see us every day, and it is only after long practice that we learn to receive the thrusts of the over-candid with a pa tient forbearance. Sometimes we are fain to acknowledge that we have profited by the sound and wholesome home-truths conveyed to us by their means, but it needs a noble nature to accept in this way what was meant as a dagger-thrust. There are cases where some natural defect is made the butt of sneers and rude remarks, as when a sister remarks to a brother, ‘‘Pity you’re so short, Jack !” when she knows very well that poor Jack would willingly give a finger to be the length of it taller. These nasty little jests are not forgotten, and when the day comes that the sister might exert a beneficient influence over Jack, she finds that he is armed against her by the memory of her own words. A very hateful form of candor is that which impels people to reveal family secrets, which have for some very good reason been kept from some of the members. * ‘They think it only right that he should know,” and straightway proceed to inform him, whoever he may be, without even giving the unfortunate relatives the chance of telling him themselves. Such a case occurred once in a family with which I had some acquaintance. A woman, who was not even a rela tive, revealed a carefully-guarded se cret to a boy who was still too young to realize the importance of keeping it to himself. Consequently it soon became public property, and when, after an interval, the truth was dis covered as to how the boy came to know the facts, the person who had told him was heard to express sur prise that she was never invited to the So-and-so’s now! It would have been more surprising if she had been 1 There are officious people of this sort to be found in every circle, and it is always safer to keep them at a dis tance. Two such are enough to set a whole city by the ears. —New Ceu tury. A SEASONABLE DOUBT. Not long ago an Irishman whose hand had been badly mangled in an accident entered the Boston City Hos pital Relief Station in a great hurry. He stepped up to the man in charge and inquired: ‘‘ls this the Relief Station, sor?” ‘‘Yes. What is your name?” ‘‘Patrick O’Connor, sor?” ' ‘Are you married ?’ ’ questioned the officer. ‘‘Yis, sor, but is this the Relief Station?” He was nursing his hand in agony ‘‘Of course it is. How many chil dren have you?” ‘‘Eight, Sor. But sure, this is the Relief Station?” ‘‘Yes, it is,” replied the official, growing a litle angry at the man’s persistence. “Well,” said Patrick, ‘‘sure, an’ I was beginning to think that it might be the pumping-station!” The earth will pass away, thesiars will grow dim, the sun will pale his glory, but the "stovepipe” joke in all its shimmering brilliancy will bob up serenely each spring and fall fore ever and ever —and a few years longer. Mother (solicitously)—l think,my child, that young man of yours is much too forward. You most sit on him. Daughter —Oh, I often do, mamma, and he seems to like it. SAVED BY THE FLAG. At 1654 Taylor street, in the city of San Francisco, there stands to-day a house, which, in the greatest fire of modern times, was saved from the flames by the flag. When over four hundred blocks of buildings lay in smoking ruins, this house was the only one left standing unconsumed along the east side of the full length of Taylor street—a distance of twen ty-eight blocks, nearly two full miles. At the time of the earthquake and fire, April 18, 1906, Mrs. Brindley, a daughter of Mr. Sheppard, was there awaiting the arrival of her husband to take steamer for Japan. She had long resided in that country, and had had "earthquake experience,” so to speak. Accordingly, as soon as the earth had ceased trembling, she pro ceeded to fill the bathtubs and all oth er receptacles in the house with wa ter. She feared that the disturbance of the earth had broken the supply mains; and hardly had she filled the last pitcher when her fear was proved well grounded. The water ceased to flow. But the first step that made it possible for the flag to save the house had been taken. Mr. Sheppard and Mr. Dakin took the second step. In order that the household might have a supply of drinking water, they brought home from a neighboring grocery a dozen or so bottles charged with carbonic acid gas—the kind of bottles where you press a lever at the top, and the water fizzles out in a stream under pressure. They are commonly called "siphons.” At this time no one thought the house in danger. It had sturdily withstood the earthquake; and the fire was many blocks away. But all Wednesday and Wednesday night and all of Thursday the fire raged in fury ; and at last it came creeping up the slope of Russian Hill. The flames reached the block in which the house was situated. The heat grew intense. The sides of the house sent forth smoke. The veranda on the east broke into flames, and the under side of the eaves on the north and east kindled to a blaze. Mr. Sheppard and his family had taken one last look at their home with its treasures, and had sought refuge with friends across the bay. Mr. Dakin had stayed to the last, hoping against hope. But all hope was gone. The house was burning and he was warned away. He de termined to hoist his largest Ameri can flag and let the house meet de struction with the colors flying fair above it. He rushed to his room of flags, selected his largest Stars and Stripes, mounted to the roof, attached the great flag to the halyards, and flung it to the breeze. Then, with a fceliug somewhat akin to respect fpr the conquering power of the great fire king, roaring forward in irresist ible ruin, and with a spirit somewhat akin to the conquerable pluck that stirred the breasts of his comrades in the days of the Civil War he dipped the flag in salute. Three times the glorious banner rose and fell; and then fastening the halyards, Mr. Dak in descended the stairs, locked the door, and with a heavy heart left the house to its fate. High in the air, shining bright in the light of the sun and flames, above the house of pines that had grown by the shores of the Atlantic streaming forth on a breeze that came fresh from the Pa cific, stood "Old Glory.” The white stars upon that flag were there as symbols of the States of the Union. One star was there for Cali • fornia and one was there for Georgia ; but three blocks away, to the east ward, at the corner of Vallejo street and Montgomery avenue, at that mo ment, there chanced to be a company of men who represented all the stars on that flag’s field of blue —a com pany of the Twentieth United States Infantry. Under the command of a young lieutenant, the company had been on its way to San Francisco on the day of the earthquake, and had been de layed on its journey twenty-four hours. It had entered the city Thurs day afternoon by the ferry from Oak land, and was at that moment march ing under orders to go into camp at Washington square. The lieutenant and his men had seen the flag rise and fall in salute ; and saw it now as it streamed forth in its beauty amidst smoke and flame. ‘ ‘Boys,” shouted the young lieuten ant, "a house that flies a flag like that is worth saving !” His men re sponded with a cheer; and as Mr. Dakin was sadly wending hi§ way down the northern slope of Russian Hill, soldiers of the Twentieth United States Infantry were dashing up the eastern slope at a double-quick. No time was lost. They tore away the burning woodwork of the veranda, broke open the doors and discovered the bathtubs filled with water. Some : of them carried earth from the garden, others mixed it in the bathtubs to the consistency of wet plaster, and then certain of their number stationed them selves at the different windows, and as the wet mud was carried to them they bombarded every spot that had kindled into flame. 1 One by one the houses in the block burned up and burned out, until the ’ old house stood alone. Every blaze that had started upon its eaves and : sides had been extinguished save one. There was one spot under the eaves ' at the northeast corner that could not ' be bombarded succesfully. Unless the fire at that point was put out all L that had been done were done in vain. ' The soldiers were equal to the emer gency. A squad mounted to the B roof. One of the men lay flat upon the edge, and while four of his com , rades held him fast by the legs, he leaned far out over the wide old-fash ioned eaves. Others passed to him bottles of the water charged with car ’ bonic acid gas. And there, banging f far over the edge of the roof, so that 1 he might be able to direct the stream . of water on the fire burning fiercely , beneath the eaves, he squirted the ffizzing contents of bottle after bottle, ESTABLISHED 1850. until the last flame and the last em ber were extinguished—and the house was saved.— F. H. Wheelan, in St. Nicholas. THE OPEN* WINDOW. Dr Olsen, a great authority on the subject, writes as follows in Good Health : Every night hundreds of thousands, yes millions of people poison their lungs by breathing over and over again the foul fetid air of shut-in bed rooms. Even in the warm summer months the windows remain closed, and the atmosphere is nothing less than filthy. The worst of it is that peo ple otherwise scrupulously cleanly cannot see that it is the height of un cleanliness to breathe stale, foul air, and compel their friends who call up on them to breathe it too. Sanitary science is still in its infan • cy with us. It began with drains. Men recognized that the grosser wastes of the human body must be got rid of in some systematic way if life was to be sweet and wholesome. In very re cent times it has begun to recognize the need of light, and some of the dark, dismal slum tenements in our over-crowded cities are being declared unfit for human habitation. Strange to say, the most obvious of all our requirements from the health standpoint is still practically ignored, namely, the primary need of fresh air. The lungs are excretory organs. Let this apparently unknown fact be writ large in every text book of health. Let it be blazoned on the buildings. Let the public press carry the message into every home. Not only are the lungs excretory organs. They are such par excellence. The other excretory organs may cease to functionate, and yet a man lives on for hours and in some cases days: but when the lungs cease to operate, death follows in a very few minutes. The air that is expired from the lungs is laden with poisonous waste matter of which there is sufficient in a single breath to contaminate about three cubic feet of good air, rendering it unfit for use. Hence, our living and bedrooms, in order to be in any reasonable degree wholesome, must continually receive new and large supplies of pure air from the outside. The model house of the future will probably be built in large part of por ous materials, thus admitting fresh air from all sides, without draughts. The ordinary dwelling-house of to day is about as nearly air-tight as it can be made, and scientifically less adapted to living purposes than the wigwams of the American Indian or the air dwellings of other savage tribes. In fact it is hardly less than a death trap, and if it were not for the incidental opening of doors in order to go out and in, and the badly-fitting window sashes and a few other crev ices here and there, thanks to careless carpenters, the atmosphere of bed rooms in many houses would soon be come absolutely deadly. The best part of a modern house is its windows. To keep these open day and night, and to make the air inside approach as nearly as possible the air outside, should be the first business of the housekeeper. Every thing else should be held subservient to the need of fresh air. # LEARN TO LET GO. One of the most practical and abso lutely truthful bits of philosophy that has appeared in a long time was re cently published in Medical Talk , on the wisdom of "letting go.” Says the writer: "If you want to be healthy morally, mentally and physically, just let go. "That little hurt which you got from a friend, perhaps it wasn’t in tended, perhaps it was, but never mind —let it go. Refuse to think about it. "Let go of that feeling of hatred you have for another, the jealousy, the envy, the malice —let go of all such thoughts. Sweep them out of your mind, and you will be surprised what a cleaning up and rejuvenating effect it will have upon you, both phy sically and mentally. Let them all go; you house them at a deadly risk. "But the big troubles, the bitter disappointments, the deep wrongs and the heart-breaking sorrows, the tragedies of life —what about them ? Why, just let them go, too. Drop them! Softly, maybe, but surely. Put away all regret and bitterness, and let sorrow be only a softening in fluence. Yes, let them go, too, and make the most of the future. "Then the little pet ailment that you have l>een hanging on to and talking about, let it go. It will be good riddance. You have treated it royally, but abandon it; let it go. Talk about health, instead, and health will come. Quit nursing that ail ment, and let it go. “It is not so hard after once you get used to the habit of it—letting go of these things. You will find it such an easy way to get rid of the things that mar and embitter life that you will enjoy letting them go. You | will find the world such a beautiful place. You will find it beautiful be cause you will be free to enjoy it — [ free in mind and body. ; "Learn to let go. As you value ; health of body and peace of mind — just simply let go.” "My affianced bride is in the hos pital and I am the cause of it 1” la -5 mented the prospective bridegroom. 1 "How isthat?” inquired his friend. • "You see,” he explained, "I went • to her house to ask her to be my wife, s She was upstairs at the time, and 1 when she appeared at the head of the ’ stairs, for fear I’d lose my nerve when - she got closer, I called up, ‘Deary, • will you marry me?’” i “Well?” "She tumbled all the way down ' stairs!’ t -—— i "He has certainly raised his chil / dren in an old-fashioned way.” "So?” e "Why, that man’s children actually !, ask him for advice.”