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VOL. 59. WHOLE No. 2291.
Second National Bank TOWSON, JS/L<3- better “bank it.” Io yon carry your money with you? That Is not a safe thing to do. Ton may lose It or someone may hold you up. Better “Bank It.** o you keep your money In your house? That is not very safe either. Tour house •nay burn or be robbed. Better “Bank it.** Do you hide your money under a stump? Be careful; someone may find it. Then there will be trouble. Better “Bank it.” Do you give your money to a friend to keep It for you? That may not be wise. He will doubtless keep It all right. Better “Bank It.” Do you spend all your money as fast as you get it? If so you are contracting a bad labit. Don’t do It. Better “Bank It.” The proper thing to do with your money is to “Bank it” with the Becond National Bank of Towson. There It will be safe, and whenever you need it simply draw your check and it Is at your disposal. -iOPPICERS: — Thomas w. offutt, Elmer J. Cook, l Vice-Presidents. Thos. J. Meads, President. Harrison Rider, 1 Cashier. -2tJIBECTORS: — THOMAB 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 l. yellott, W. Gill Smith, John V. Slade. Jan. 25—ly. J&iscellanerms. Muller & Yearley, HARNESS, TRUNKS anil BARS, 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 Robes “ $2.00 “ *r-I t will pay you to see them. Special induce ments to early buyers. "IPirPP'QOOD WHIP WITH EACH POVV tllJjlj BLANKET. I AXiEi Oct.lOtMayOO __ ESTABLISHED 1870. MAIER’S PREPARED PAINTS ARK STRICTLY PURE LEAD AND ZINC PAINTS. GUARANTEED EQUAL TO THE BEST. -MANUFACTURED BY JOHN G. MAIER’S SONS, 158-105 N GAY STREET, Oor Frederick Street, BALTIMORB, Md. Both Phones. I July 11—ly Geo. W. Kirwan & Co. 13 N. CHARLES STREET, Between Baltimore and Fayette Streets, BALTIMORE, Md„ 1 HABERDASHERS | 4 \ SHIRT JKAKERS. | SHIRTS TO MEASURE-Thi aw department ed special care. All shirts are made on our own premises and our FIT AND FINIBH have made us well known as a SH-RT HOUSE. If you have not tried us, do so by ordering a Sample Shirt. Cartwright & Warners’ English Unshrinkable Underwear has been the best for overa hundred vears and will be for a hundred years to come. IST BOTH PHONES. [July 4-ly WILLIAM J. BIDDISON, FIRE INSURANCE AGENT. Fire, Tornado and Windstorm Poli cies Issued. NO ASSESSMENT. —REPRESENTING— HOME FIRK INSURANCE CO. OF N. Y., Assets $20,000.000.00; GIRARD FIRE & MARINE INSURANCE CO. OF PHILA., Assets $2,141,263.79. Office—Belalr Road and Maple Avenue. Raapeburg P. 0., Baltimore County, Md. C. St P. and Maryland Phones. share of patronage will be appreciated. EDWARD E. BURNS. FRANK BURNS. JOHN BURNS’ SONS, Funeral s Directors, TOWSON, Md, C. & P- Phone—TOWSON. 77-F. Mch 7—ly Plovers, Plaits, k FOR WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS, AT REASONABLE RATES. Special Attention Given to Ornamenta Gardening. JOHN L. WAGNER, Florist, YV. JOPPA ROAD, TOWSON, Md. C. & P. Phone—Towson 8-F. [Nov. 21—ly Rouble ikon bedstead, IJRABB TRIMMINGS. IRON SPRING, DOU BLE COTTON TOP MATTRESS, 57.00. ~ W. P. COLLINS. 837 Greenmount avenue, Baltimore, Md. ay-Orders by mail tilled. [Nov. 14—6 t ■arONEV TO LOAN. In any sum from SSOO to $5,000 on first mort awae must be gilt edge, at 5X per cent, gage, m B JAMES P. OFFUTT, Attorney at Law, Towson, Md Feb. 18—tf ftfUscellaneows. LUMBER FOB 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" \yP 2" LUMBER, $lO to sls per 1,000 feet. Br*CAN CUT TO YOUR ORDER-#* Framing Lumber for Barns & Houses Also Bridge Lumber. -SHIPPING POINT— ASHLAND, BALTIMORE COUNTY, Md. Apply to ~H~ L. CRUBE, 1009 American Building, Baltimore, Md. C. & P. Phone-724 St. Paul, or T. A. HANNA, Superintendent, Shawan, Baltimore county, Md. C. & P. Phone—Coekey 29-11. or CHARLES FREELAND, Ashland, Baltimore county, Md. C. & P. Phone—Coekey 35-R. kIATC . I am In market for a TIMBER I’Ll IC . tract of white oak, CHESTNUT, Ac., Ac., 100 TO 500 ACRES. Sept. 12—3 m BARGAINS BARGAINS BARGAINS REMOVAL SALE I FnriiitiirelCarpeis, &c Will vacate iny present store January Ist, 1908. Before removing I will Sell My Entire Stock Below Cost. Furniture, Carpets, Stoves, Oilcloth, Mattings and General House Furnishings. If You Want Bargains Cali and See Me W. P. COLLINS, 837 Greenmount Ave., Baltimore. ISVGoods Delivered.. [Nov. 14—6 t 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. & P. Phone. Mch 7—ly JOHNTYRIE, —STEAM— MARBLE & GRANITE WORKS, COCKEYSVILLE, Md. -ALL KINDS OF MARBLE & GRANITE MONUMENTS A SPECIALTY. No charge made for showing designs either at the works or elsewhere. JAMES E. DUNPHY. Agent, Towson, Md. Sept. 26—ly jgtucfe. 2?aums. flu View sit in. Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R., 2X Miles from Towson. Constantly on hand A LARGE STOCK OF MULES, TO SUIT ALL PURPOSES. —ALSO— mMmßm Coach, Driving, : TTOTI HTl(1 Saddle and :: ’ K\f\ General Purpose ilUilUll U FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE. whorsesToarded-w C. & P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H.~RIOE, Prop’r, TOWSON, Md. Oct.24—ly GROVE FARM FALLS ROAD, North of Brooklandville, Md. PRIZE WINNING— Guernsey Cattle, Berkshire Hogs, Shropshire Sheep. FOR SALE— A Few Registered Heifers, Between 4 months and 2 years old Apply to JAS. McK. MERRYMAN, R. F. D. Lutherville. Md. C. & P. Telephone—Towson 42. Oct. 24—ly TOWSON. MD., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1908. For “The Union.” THE POET’S DEE AM—TO MIBB J. 0. H. BY GEORGE E. TACK. Beside a lake. Whose wavelets break. In endless songs of joy and glee, I live in dreams. And hopes whose beams. Shed glamor o’er the days to be. A cottage sweet, Whose windows greet. The morn’s bright beams with blushes deep. Stands by the shore, Where evermore My love and I our trysts shall keep. Where winds soft sigh. And evening's sky, 1 Glows sweetly as the daylight dies, My sweetheart fair. Will greet me there, With tender love looks in her eyes. Our little boat. Will gently float. O’er waters gleamed with mystic light. And drifting slow. We’ll onward go. With joy Into the starry night. Where music sweet. With rythmic feet, Trips o’er the ripples, laughing low, We’ll linger while The bright stars smile. And night winds sigh or softly blow. The winds may blow. And colder grow, Until the lake is crystaled o’er, And snows may fall And cover all. Our cottage, we will joy the more. The seasons drear Will bring glad cheer. And waft us on to season’s bland. And some day, we, 'Neath life’s fair tree. Shall sing for joy, still hand in hand. THE BTONE FIREPLACE. As far as the eye could see, stretch ed the limitless expanse of snow. Miss Frazier, pacing from window to window of her little cottage, felt im prisoned. “Oh, pussy cat, pussy cat,” she said to the cat curled up on the win dow seat, “I shall die of loneliness.” The cat gave sleepy attention, and Miss Frazier shook her gently. “Of course you don’t care,” she said, “but who could have believed that snow and cold weather would have come so early. And all the other cottagers have gone back to town. But I can’t. My rent is paid for six months and I can’t afford to lose it.” Once more she began her excited walk across the floor, while the eat went to sleep, and deadly quiet reign ed. At last Miss Frazier could stand it no longer. She put on her hat and coat and a pair of rubbers. Pausing on the threshold as she went out, she addressed the cat theatrically : “Sleep on,” she said, “Igotoseek my fortune,” and she floundered through the snow to the gate. The road, deep with drifts, offered new discouragements. Miss Frazier’s long skirts dragged and grew heavy, and at last she stopped and sobbed aloud, “I can’t go on.” Help came in the person of a little man in high boots, who appeared from the other side of the drift. “Got stuck, did ye?” he asked, cheerily. “ Well, you ought ter stay ed at home. ’Taint weather for wim men to be out.” Miss Frazier looked at him haugh tily. In her code there was no place for bad grammar, and, besides as a spinster of spirit, his reproof grated on her. “Women can’t stay in and die of loneliness,” she told him stiffly. The little man looked at her with sympathetic grey eyes. “Lonesome, was ye?” he said. “Well, now, that’s too bad.” His sympathy warmed the cockles of Miss Frazier’s heart. It was so long since anyone had cared. The last of her family, she had taught school in a big city until ill health had forced her to resign. Then she rented the little cottage at the un fashionable resort, and had prepared to live there for six months, hoping for the benefits of the fresh air and a free life. There had been other cot tagers near, but they had their own interests, so that even in the warmer months Miss Frazier had been lonely, and now that snow had come, her situation seemed unbearable. There were tears in her eyes as she stood there, forlorn and cold in the drift, and the little man said again, “Well, now, that’s too bad. You’d better get into the house. You will ketch cold.” “I hate the house,” said Miss Fra zier fiercely. “There isn’t a soul there but the pussy cat.” “I live up at the farm,” he inform ed her. “I’m the new manager, and there ain’t anybody there but a lot of men and a colored woman to cook for us. There’s a great deal of work, you know.” Miss Frazier didn’t know, but she found herself listening eagerly to his talk of Guernsey cattle, and of blue ribbon horses, with all the rest of the homely farm details. The little man helped her up the path and landed her on her own door step safely. In spite of the biting air he jerked off his cap as he bade her “good-bye.” “Come in,” she urged. “Oh, please come in. I don’t think I can stand it to face the pussy cat all alone. ’ ’ His kindly blue eyes smiled at her. “I’d like to come in,” he said. ’Taint very sociable up at the farm.” The little room was cheerless enough. Miss Frazier’s ginger jars and Mexi can hats had been artistic summer accessories, but in the gray light of the snowy day they merely served to emphasize the bleakness. In the stone fireplace was a bunch of gold en-rod gone to seed. The only warmth came feebly from a rickety old stove in the summer kitchen. “Why ain’t you got a fire in the fireplace?” the little man demanded as he surveyed the cavernous struc ture. “I haven’t any wood,” shivered Miss Frazier. “I —I couldn’t get any.” Perhaps he read in her hesitation a confession of poverty, but he did not ask any more questions. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said presently, and he went out, and when he returned he was bending Atlas like under the weight of a great log that had lain for days by the road side, “There,” he said, as he deposited it in the fireplace, “if you will take out them wild flowers, we’ll have a fire.” Miss Frazier obeyed meekly. “How strong you are,” she breathed. “Oh, law, yes,” said the little man. “I kin lift most anything.” He made several trips after that finding enough dry wood in the shed to start the fire, and soon it was roar ing furiously. The black cat came and curled up on the hearth looking at the flames with fathomless eyes. “Oh, it’s lovely, lovely, said Miss Frazier. “It’s something alive.” “I alius liked a puss,” said the lit tle man. “I came from down South, an’ we don’t think much of stoves there. Not fer bein’ sociable. You’ve got to see the flames to be real friendly.” “lam going to make you a cup of tea,” Miss Frazier said flutteringly, and when it was ready she brought it in on a dainty tray, flanked by a half dozen stale crackers. “I wish I had something nicer to offer,” she said, “but it is so hard to get things.” The little man smiled, and as he took in the details of the poor room, some knowledge of her plight seemed to come to him, and he found away to help her. “I bet you don’t know what good things you kin cook over a fireplace,” he said eagerly. "I never hear of such a thing,” she said. “What could I cook ?” “Well, Brunswick stew is fine — it’s got squirrels and corn and onions and tomatoes—you jus’ let me show you—” “But I can’t get those things—” her face flamed. “Of course you can’t —’taint to be expected that a woman kin kill a squirrel. But I’m goin’ hunting to morrow —and I’ll bring the thing—” He left her later, and when he had gone Miss Frazier stood for a long time looking into the glowing coals. “Oh, pussy cat, pussycat,” she said, when at last the two of them were curled up for the night, “he uses dreadful grammar, but he is the kind est man I have ever known.” The little man came the next day and made the stew, and all that after noon the savory food simmered and bubbled, and the black cat watched it with eager eyes. Miss Frazier in her best blue gown set the table for two, flitting from one room to the other with all the gayety of a young girl. The little man’s table manners proved to be much better than his grammar, and it was at the end of the feast that he told Miss Frazier the story of his life, and as he talked his hostess weighed his dignity, his man liness, against his defects, and found grammar losing its relative impor tance. He came often after that, and the black cat learned to know his foot steps, and to meet him at the door, and to curl up on his knee as he sat in front of the fireplace, while the two good friends basked and chatted in the golden glow. And then came the beginning of the new quarter and with it Miss Fra zier’s remittance, “And next week I must go,” she told the little man when he came that evening. He looked at her calmly. “You ain’t goin’,” he said. Miss Frazier, thrilling at his mas terfulness, asked faintly, “whynot?” “Because I can’t get along with out you,” said he; “I can’t Anna bel.” “How did you know my first name?” Miss Frazier demanded. “I seen it in one of your books,” he said, “an it’s a pretty name.” Then he reached out and took her hands in his. “You’resuch a lonely little thing,” he said, “an’ I jes’ can’t live without you. I think it's settin’ around this hearthstone that gave me the feeling that I wanted to marry you. And you’ll never want for nothin’, honey, not so long as I kin give it.” With a little impulsive movement, she slipped on her knees beside his chair and hid her face against the roughness of his coat. “I’ve been so lonely all my life,” she sobbed. “There, there, honey,” he whis pered, with his kindly hand against her cheek, “you ain’t goin’ to be lonesome any more,” and with that vista of rest and peace and happiness, poor, tired Miss Frazier was content. —Philadelphia Bulletin. HIS ONLY CONUNDRUM. The old pilot of the little steamer Maid of the Mist, which used to carry passengers quite up to the foot of the falls of Niagara until the mist from the falling waters drenched the cloth ing of everyone on board, used to per petuate one solitary conundrum each trip. It always commenced and end ed the same. Moving his hand along the sides of the pilothouse and examining the woodwork minutely, he would look up mysteriously and remark : “Isay, stranger, do you know what this boat is made of?” “Made of? Why, pine and oak, isn’t she?” “No, sir.” “Hemlock ?” “No.” “’Tisn’t cedar, is it ?” “Oh, no!” And then the old pilot's eyes twin kled and his mouth whistled a crazy tune. “Well, iron perhaps?” “No.” “What in thunder is she made of, then ?” “She’s Maid of the Mist, stranger ; Maid of the Mist.” Then the pilot accepted his morn ing cigar. Grouchly —Times are hard, my dear, and we will have to economize. Mrs. Grouchly—Very well, I’ll be gin by discharging the cook. Grouchly—Do you think that ad visable ? Mrs. Grouchly—Sure. You won’t eat half as much if I do the cooking myself. THE MEANNESS OF IT. Thousands and thousands of homes have been ruined by the credit sys tem. The only means of averting such disaster is the exercise of strength of mind in resisting the temptation. This involves a splendid, but extreme ly costly, education in moral fortitude, to those who possess but little of such strength and have to acquire it by long and sad experience. It might help some to resist run ning long accounts if they were to realize that doing so is really borrow ing money from their trades-people. Yes, madam! That $lO you owe your laundress is just so much bor rowed of the poor woman, and with out interest, too. And can you bear to think of the anxiety of mind it costs her, poor, hard-working crea ture ; for how can she tell that you ev£r will pay her? There is your dressmaker, too. How much have you compulsorily borrowed of her? You owe her SSOO, perhaps. And for how long has it been o wing ? You pay SSO or so off it, and order another gown; and so it has been going on for years and years. You don’t see why you should have to pay your dressmaker money down when your husband never thinks of paying his tailor under three or four years. It has often been said that trades men like customers to run long ac counts. Let any one who believes this read but a few of the trade papers, and see what they have to say on the subject. Let them visit a few of the fashionable milliners and ask them what their opinion of the matter is. Let them interview the managers of large drapery houses. They will soon find that the tradesman has a distinct grievance in the credit system. Here is what one dressmaker says, and she is only one of a very numerous class, every member of which is in exactly similar circumstances. She is a clever and enterprising wo man who had opened an establishment for the sale of all kinds of articles for ladies’ wear, and complains bitterly that, though she is doing a good trade, all her money has become “buried in her books.” She is making money with her extending business, “but,” she says, “I really have less command of cash than at any time in my life. The fact is my savings are all lent to rich people. ’ ’ Asked for an example, she said: “The last bill I receipted this morning will do. Ten months ago a lady came into the shop, talked pleasantly on church matters, in which I am interested, bought nearly SIOO worth of goods, after very sharp bargaining, that reduced my profits to the narrowest margin, and went away. To have suggested payment during these ten months would have been re garded as an insult, and I should have lost her custom forever. I have of ten been in need of the money. She is the wife of a very high ecclesiasti cal dignitary, is regarded as philan thropic, talks about self-help among women, and very likely visited my shop in that spirit ; yet though she is undoubtedly rich she borrowed SIOO of my capital for ten months without paying any interest. “If I could only get a little money in from my customers,” said a hard worked milliner to me one day during a very hot and exhausting May, “I could run off to the seaside for a week, and take my poor old mother, who needs a change even more than I do. But I can’t get any of my ladies to pay.” “Write and tell them how it is,” I suggested. “Oh, no! That would never do,” was the reply. “I should offend them terribly, and they would not only never come back them selves, but wouid pass the word round among their friends that 1 am given to dunning.” —New Century. LIES ABOUT THE FEET. “I don’t see why people always lie about their feet,” said the shoe clerk as his customer departed after giving him a bad half hour. “I don’t mean on the size of their foot, for it’s only natural to wish to have, or, rather, to make other people think you have, small feet. But why a great, burly man with his feet nubby with bunions should insist that his shoes never trou ble him and that he never has any trouble in getting a fit is beyond me. Why, if I put an ordinary shoe on such a man he would cuss with pain, and he knows it. He knows also that I have to hunt around until I find some freak shoe that will fit his mis shapen old foot but all the time he declares that he never has bunions or corns like most people. Women who seem to be sensible enough in all other waj's come in here ana declare that they do not know what a corn is, when they wince with pain every time I touch their little toe. When they are forced to declare that the shoe hurts in one spot or another they insist it is because their feet have a shape peculiarly their own. Some times they will admit they have a ‘lit tle calloused place,’ but a corn, oh, dear, no ! Sometimes in a thin, light weight shoe I can fairly see the corns bunching out under the leather, but I have to say diplomatically that the fit is ‘not good,’ or that the customer has a ‘peculiarly sensitive foot,' or some other nonsense, if I want to keep their trade.*’— N. Y. Press. The preacher was eloquent, the congregation patient,and thediscourse very long. A stranger entered and took a seat in a back pew. Present ly he whispered to the man at his side, evidently one of the old mem bers : “How long has he been preaching?” “Thirty or forty years, I think,” answered the elderly man. “I don’t know exactly.” “I’ll stay then,” said the stranger ; “he must be nearly done.” “Well, dearest, I’m going to ask your father for your hand tomorrow.” “Oh, I’m so glad, George ! I was afraid you didn’t have the courage.” “I’ve got to do it. It’s one of the election bets I lost.” The man who gets his price seldom wins the public’s applause. UP THE HUDBOIT. There is something about a broad expanse of water that bewitches the soul. The scene reaches its greatest charm at sunset and takes on a mys tic character of moonlight. It has been my fortune recently to come up the Hudson several evenings by boat. This is one of the experiences the gods on Olympus missed. If they were to return to the earth I am sure they would change their abode to the top of Mount Taurus in order that they might be in easy distance of a trip up the Hudson. No description can convey an idea of the majesty of the great river, skirt ed as it is by lovely shores, on which nestle pleasant villages, fine country seats, Palisades, mountains and his toric scenes. The river itself is real ly an arm of the sea, the tides flowing nearly to Albany and salt water ex tending above Peekskill, a distance of more than forty miles from the mouth. The Atlantic shore has been sinking for centuries, and the sea has thus in vaded the land. Arthur Brisbane once called the Hudson “a drowned river.” At its widest points, in Tappan and Haverstraw bays, the Hudson is four miles from bank to bank. For twen ty miles along the west shore extend the abrupt Palisades. For more than ten miles up the east side lies the city of New York, which is continued in an almost unbroken line of suburbs by Yonkers, Irvington, Tarrytown, Ossining, Croton, Peekskill and other beautiful villages almost to the High lands, or forty miles of city, villages, hamlets and beautiful homes. The start of the trip has the Pali sades upon the left, and one imagines that nothing could be more beautiful. Then as the boat swings out into the Tappan Zee he is willing to admit that this is still better, but is now cer tain that nothing more charming can be found. He labors under this illu sion until he threads his way into the Highlands, and there he reaches the acme. I remember one sunset as it shone across Haverstraw bay. It is called a bay, but is only a very broad sec tion of river. For miles the golden glory lay across the water. There is a spiritual suggestion in such a scene. I have never been able to determine just what it is. There is a hint of in finite pathways, a gleam of faroff goals. If all our dreams are not false and we have racial or individual mem ories antedating birth, perhaps this shining expanse brings reminiscences of other golden days. Why try to analyze the spell ? It is one of those immortal things that elude definition. At such a time it is enough to be and to absorb. The sun is setting over Stony Point, the Stony Point made illustrious by “Mad An thony” Wayne during the Revolu tion. The serrated peaks above wear a tint that will never be reproduced by a painter’s brush. Back a little way we passed Sunnyside and Sleepy Hollow, that the pen of Irving made even more famous than the sword of Wayne did Stony Point. John D. Rockefeller now flourishes in the same neighborhood, bringing a very gross form of wealth into a scene once made really rich by genius. After passing Stony Point and Ver plank’s, we are abreast of Peekskill. This old village gave rise to Chaun cey M. Depew, but not his humor. That is still more ancient. Above Peekskill the river narrows into the Highlands. Bear mountain and Anthony’s Nose overlook the gateway. Here the Hudson is like a succession of lakes in the mountains of Switzerland. On the night lam describing the moon had risen and was shining with a misty light over peaks and rivers. The dim radiance made the buildings on West Point look like temples of peace rather than of war. Old Cro’nest reared dark shoulders against the sky. This fine double mountain that the cadets at West Point practice shooting at and some times hit, is said to be the scene of Joseph Rodman Drake’s “Culprit Fay.” It is probably true, as the fairies are still there. My little girl told me so. George P. Morris, of “Woodman, spare that tree” fame, also sang of Cro’nest, which greeted him every morning as he looked across the river. Here, however, end both the High lands and my journey, and I am at home once more on my little tucked in farm. HOW TO TEACH TRUTHFULNESS. Teach the truth by being absolutely truthful. You have sharp little eyes in your home, seeing more than you imagine, and ears that drink in every word ; minds that think over all that is done and pass judgment on all; so be very careful. If you make a prom ise, however small, to your child, keep it faithfully. In this way does your child learn to be a man of his word in after years. Do not give too many orders, but when an order is given be sure that it is obeyed. Never permit a child to tease you into anything. If it can have what it requests give it at once, but if it is “No,” then stick to it. But consider it well, and do not say “no” when it might just as well be “yes.” FOWEB OF HABIT. “The habit of looking under the bed for burglars,” the young woman said, “is something that folks laugh at, but I have never been able to get myself out of it. I never feel per fectly comfortable unless I look, no matter where I happen to be. To my mind, there isn’t any place except a safe deposit vault burglars are unlike ly to be. “In fact, the habit is so strongly in grained in me that one night, when I was staying in a small country hotel, where there was nothing but a folding bed in the room, I took it down and then looked under it before I got into bed. That’s a fact. I laughed at myself the minute after.” Drive prejudices out by the door, they will re-enter by the window. I FARMER BADCLIFF’S “COME-UP-TION.” It was a hot summer morning. The harvest had been gathered into a half-dozen or more stacks. The threshing machine and men were pulling into the farm yard of Farmer Radcliff. The boss said to the men : “Well, boys, it’s a hurry-up job here, rations are mighty poor.” John Radcliff was in sore distress of mind this morning, for his wife, Sa rah, was sick in bed right in the har vest time and he didn’t know what to do, for now Sarah couldn’t get up and get “somethin’ to eat” for the men. Finally he concluded to go over and ask neighbor Discomb’s wife to come over and help ’em out. Mary Discomb had heard how close he always was about getting groceries for his family, how he wouldn’t allow his wife but ten pounds of brown su gar a year, so she made up her mind that for once he would get enough to do with. She went over and after a pleasant “good morning” to Sarah, went into the kitchen to look for things to bake with. True to the re port she found almost nothing to do with. She sat down with pencil and paper and made out a list of the things she must have: Brown sugar, 10 lbs.; white sugar, 10 lbs.; molasses, 2 gal.; tea,2lbs.;cof fee, 3 lbs.; pepper, 1 lb.; baking pow der, 2 lbs.; rice, 3 lbs.; raisins, 2 lbs.; cinnamon, lb.; cloves, lb.; flour, 100 lbs.; lemon extract, 4 oz. bottle ; vanilla, 40Z. bottle; nutmeg,2 ounces. As Farmer Radcliff came into the kitchen with the pail of water she had asked him to get, she handed him the list and said smilingly : “There, now you hurry up to town and get these right away so I can get things baked for dinner.” He read the list, turned white, then grew red in the face and said : Why, Sarah never gets so much. Can’t you get on with half of that. It’ud cost —” “Now, see here, John Radcliff, never you mind what it would cost; here you’ve got these three big farms all free and clear, and now if you want me to help you you just go and get those things, every one, as I say, or I’ll go home. You never hear Charley Discomb say a word about such things ; he always gets just what I want.” “Well, the men are here and I sup pose I’ll bav#to get them, but it’s awful; poor folks must get along with less.” So he went out grumb ling to himself all the way to the barn, hitched up old Nell to the light wagon and rode away to the village, a half mile distant, for the supplies. Meanwhile Mary bathed Sarah’s face and hands and combed her hair, making her as comfortable as possi ble, and told her what she had sent for. “Why, for mercy’s sake !” ex claimed Sarah ; “he never would get a quarter of that for me.” “Well, but you see I got enough so there will be some left, so when you get up*and around you will have something to start with.” When he came back Mary hurried about what she had to get for dinner to the satisfaction of Farmer Radcliff who remarked : “Maybe I'd better let Sarah get things after this. ” And she did. Her oldest son went off down the lane after the cows, merrily whistling, and as the cheerful sounds reached her ears, Sarah smiled and said : “This is the best harvest time I’ve seen since I left home. I’m awful glad John got his ‘come up tion’ in time.” SIGNS OF AFFBOACHING AGE. They were arguing about the signs of approaching old age. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” said one. “When a girl ceases to take a lively interest in you and doesn’t mind your seeing her hair slightly untidy and listens to your conversa tion indulgently, where formerly she manifested interest and sympathy— then you may know you are growing old.” “No,” said another. “That isn’t an infallible sign, becausesome young women show interest and sympathy to everybody. It’s when your bones creak slightly on arising from a chair and you no longer swing on a moving car with full confidence and you walk up a flight of stairs a step at a time, where formerly you ran up two at a time —then you are growing old.” “Not so,” chimed in a third, “for young people with rheumatic diseases sometimes exhibit these signs. When the early eye-opener and the night cap become a necessity instead of a luxury, when the workings of your liver come to be of more importance than the affairs of your heart—then you are growing old.” “You are all wrong,” announced a fourth. “When in pulling on your trousers in the early morning you are compelled to gain the support of the bedstead when you slip in the other leg—then—then—you are growing old.” A young lady who had been ill wrote to her fiance in a distant city: “ Dear One— Your birdie has been very, very sick. It was some sort of nervous trouble, and the doctor said I must think of nothing, absolutely nothing. Dear One, how much I I missed you. I thought only of you, and now lam well again.” After reading it the young man sat for a long time silent. Six-year-old Ray’s teacher was endeavoring to give some very sim ple instructions in fractions. She added, “If Jane has six eggs and uses half of them to bake a cake what part will she have left?” Quickly came the answer, “The shells.” As two little girls were eating their lunch one said, “I wonder what part or an animal a chop is. Is it the leg ?” “Of course not,” said the other; “it’s , the jaw-bone. Haven’t you ever I, beard of animals licking their chops ?’ ’ ESTABLISHED 1850. CHUBCH RELATIONS OF THE FBESIDENTB. The Christian Advocate contained an interesting editorial on ‘ ‘The Presi dents of the United States,” in which were grouped many valuable facts, concerning the age of each incumbent on assuming office, his nationality, his vocation and occupation after leaving office, and his church relation ships. It may be of interest to pub lish the statement of the church rela tionship of the men who have occu pied the Presidential office. George Washington was a member of the Church of England, which after the Revolution in this country was modified into the Protestant Episco pal Church. John Adams was a Unitarian. Thomas Jefferson was a “Free Thinker.” James Madison was a Protestant Episcopalian. • James Monroe was also an Episco palian. John Quincy Adams was a Unita rian. Andrew Jackson was a Presbyte rian. Martin Van Buren was a communi cant of the Reformed Dutch church. William Henry Harrison was an Episcopalian. John Tyler was an Episcopalian. James K. Polk, though he affiliated with Presbyterian congregations at an earlier period, was a Methodist in sentiment, and at a later time was re ceived on profession of faith into the Methodist Church, South. Zachary Taylor was an Episcopa lian. Millard Fillmore was a Unitarian. Franklin Pierce was an Episcopa lian. James Buchanan was a Presbyte rian. Abraham Lincoln had great sym pathy with the Methodists and often attended their churches, but he affili ated with the Presbyterian body as to congregation, though not a com municant. Andrew Johnson was not a church member, but his affiliations, as far as he had any, were Presbyterian. Ulysses Simpson Grant always at tended the Methodist church. He was never a member of the Methodist Episcopal church, but in his last days was baptized by Dr. Newman. Rutherford Birchard Hayes bore a relation to the Methodist church simi lar to that of President Grant. James Abram Garfield was a mem ber of the Disciples Church. Chester Alan Arthur was an Epis copalian. Grover Cleveland was the son of a Presbyterian minister and always an attendant of the Presbyterian church. Benjamin Harrison was a member and lay officer of the Presbyterian church. William McKinley was a member of the Methodist Episcopal church. Theodore Roosevelt is a communi cant and member of the Reformed Dutch church. President-elect William H. Taft is a Unitarian. HIS MISTAKE. Bunsen was always a great kidder. He isn’t any more. Bunsen is a lawyer, although, of course, he is known by a different name. Don’t ever get the idea, though, that this didn’t really happen just because Bunsen’s real nomination isn’t mentioned. As we were saying, Bunsen used to be pretty much of a kidder. He would even kid his own patient little wife. Those who care to read on down a little farther will learn why he ceased to be a kidder. One evening last week when Bun sen got home his wife had a new hat to show him. It was some hat. Anybody could have seen that it was the final phrase in female headgear. But Bunsen started in to make fun of it. He said it looked as if it had been trimmed by a cross-eyed milliner on an empty stomach. And he made a lot of other disparaging remarks that were extremely harassing to poor Mrs. Bunsen. “D’ye buy it sight unseen?” he inquired. “Say, how much do they pay the girl sold you that? She ought to have a raise. Any girl who could put that one over a customer must be something of a smooth sales lady, I’m here to remark.” Mrs. Bunsen was almost in tears. Bunsen had to go into the other room to have a quiet laugh at her expense. Oh, he was the great kidder, all right. The next day, though, he had for gotten all about the hat. The day after that be was reminded of his little jokefest. Mrs. Bunsen handed him a slip of paper when he came home to get his victuals that evening. It was a bill for retrim ming that hat; 818.34 it came to. Bunsen paid it without a murmur and said the revised edition of the hat was just exactly right. He isn’t making fun of hats any more. — Cleve land Plain Dealer. — • . “Wasn’t that young Mr. Tiff who left the house as I came in?” asked the judge of his eldest daughter. • “Yes, papa.” “Did I not issue an injunction against his coming here any more?” “Yes, papa, but he appealed to a higher court, and mamma reversed your decision.” “Did you have any adventure while you were abroad, Mrs. Cotneup?” “Oh, yes. In Italy we were in a hairbreadth’s of being held up by the bandolines, and in Switzerland we came mighty near falling down a cra vat.” “A young man has telegraphed me that he has just wedded my daugh : ter.” ‘‘ I hope he’s a good, practical man. ’ ’ “I guess he is. He wired me col lect.” When you find a good husband, : the women nearly always say: “His wife does not care much for him.”