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VOL. 59. WHOLE No. 2292.
Second National Bank TO'WSOM', Md.. BETTER “BANK. IT.” Do yon carry your money with yon? That Is not a safe thing to do. Ton may lose Hor someone may hold yon up- Hotter ”Bunk it.” Do yon keep yonr money In yonr house? That is not very safe either. Tour house may burn or be robbed. Better “Bank it.” Do yon hide your money under a stump? Be careful; someone may find it. Then there will be trouble- Better “Bank It.” Do yon give yonr 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 habit. 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 yonr disposal. -iOPPIOBRS; Thomas W. offutt, Elmer j. Cook, l Vice-Presidents. Thos, j. Meads, President. Harrison Rider,’ Cashier. THOMAB W. OFFUTT. W. BERNARD DUKE, HENRY C. LONQNECKER, Elmer J. Cook, Wm. A. Lee, Z. Howard isaao, Harrison Rider, Chas. H. Knox, Noah E. Offutt, John |. Yellott, W. Gill Smith, John V. Slade. Jam 35—ly. . i^UscciXaneoua. Muller & Yearley, HARNESS, TRUNKS and 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 “ g*lt will pay you to see them. Special induce ments to early buyers. PTIl'D 1 good-whip with each pprr rnJbXi BLANKET. ElUili ' OcUOtMayHO ESTABLISHED 1870. MAIER’S PREPARED PAINTS ARE STRICTLY PURE LEAD AND ZINC PAINTS.. GUARANTEED EQUAL TO THE BEST. -MANUFACTURED BY JOHN G. MAIER’S SONS, 153-155 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, BALTIMORB. Md., | HABERDASHERS | 4 \ SHIRT JIAKERS. | SHIRTS TO MEASURE-^i a B w aerartment ed special care. All shirts are made on our own nremises and our FIT AND FINIBH have made us well known as a SH KT HOUSE. If you have not tried us, do so by ordering a Sample Shirt. Cartwright & Warners’ English Unshrinkable Underwear has been the best for over a hundred years and will be for a hundred years to come. lar-BOTH PHON ES. [July 4-Iy william j. biddison, FIRE INSURANCE AGENT. Fire, Tornado and Windstorm Poll* cies Issued. NO ASSESSMENT. —REPRESENTING— HOMB FIRE INSURANCE CO. OF N. Y„ Assets $20,000,000.00; GIRARD FIRE A MARINE INSURANCE CO. OF PHI LA., Assets $2,141,263.79. Office— Ke I air Road and Maple Avenue. Raapebnrg P. 0., Baltimore County, Md. C. & P. and Maryland Phones. tWA share of patronage will be appreciated. Dec. 23—ly EDWARD E. BURNS. FRANK BURNS. JOHN BURNS’ SONS, Funeral $ Directors, TOWSON, Md. C. & P. Phone- TOWSON. 77-F. Mch 7—ly flows, Plaits, k for weddings and funerals, AT REASONABLE RATES. Special Attention Given to Ornamenta Gardening. JOHN L. WAGNER, Florist, W. JOPPA KOAD, TOWSON, Md. C. & P. Phone—Towson 8-F. [Nov. 21—ly -pvOCHLE IRON BEDSTEAD, ““brass TRIMMINGS. IRON SPRING, DOU BLE COTTON TOP MATTRESS, 57.00. _ W. P. COLLINS. 837 Greenmount avenue, Baltimore. Md. gyOrders by mail tilled. [Nov. 14—6 t vTONEI TO LOAN. Tn any sum from SSOO to $5,000 on first mort al “ ÜBt 1,6 eIH Attorney at Law, Towson, Md Feb.lß—tf fgXtscellanttms. LUMBER FOB SALE CHEAP T 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 " 2" LUMBER, $lO to sls per 1,000 feet. er-CAN CUT TO YOUR ORDER*®* Framing Lumber for Barns & Houses Also Bridge Lumber. -SHIPPING POINT— NSHLAND, BALTIMORE COUNTY, Md. Apply to ~S7 l. grube, 1009 American Building, Baltimore, Md. C. Sc P. Phone—724 St. Paul. or T. A. HANNA, Superintendent, Shawan, Baltimore county, Md. C. Sc P. Phone—Cockey 29-11. or CHARLES FREELAND, Ashland, Baltimore county. Md. C. SC P. Phone—Cockey 35-R. MHTC ■ lam in market fora TIMBER IMVJ I c,. TRACT of white oak, CHESTNUT, Ac., Ac., 100 TO 500 ACRES. Sept. 12—3 m BARGAINS BARGAINS BARGAINS REMOVAL SALE I Pirate Janets, Ac Will vacate my 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 Gall and See Me W. P. COLLINS, 837 Greenmount Ave., Baltimore. teT’Goods Delivered. [Nov. 14—6 t ROBERT CLARK. A. W. CLARK. LUTHERVILLE STEAM LAUNDRY, ROBERT CLARK & SON, Prop’rs. NBWLY FITTED THROUGHOUT AND NOW READY FOR BUSINESS. Ceod Work and Moderate Charges. Public patronage respectfully solicited. GOODS CALLED FOR AND DELIVERED. C. Sc P. Phone. Mch 7—ly JOHN TYRIE, —STEAM— MARBLE & GRANITE WORKS, OOOKEYSVILLE, Md. -ALL KINDS OF MARBLE & GRANITE MONUMENTS A SPECIALTY. No oharge made for showing designs either at the works or elsewhere. JAMES B. DUNPHY, Agent, Towson, Md. Sept. 28—lv s toch 3£a vms. SniliTi Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R., 2X Miles from Towson. Constantly on hand A LARGE STOCK OF MULES, TO SUIT ALL PURPOSES. -Uso- Coach,Driving, : nnnnnn Saddle and : ■ II k \ H \ General Purpose lIUIIUIIU FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE. horses"Foarded- C. & P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H.~MOE, Prop’r, TOWBGN, Md. Oct.24—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 JAB. McK. MERKYMAN, R. F. D. Lutherville. Md. C. Sc P. Telephone—Towson 42. Oot. 24—ly Fob “The Union.” RAYS OF LIGHT. BY GEORGE E. TACK. Out of the world night, bitter, drear, Shineth a star. Flashing its ruddy beams of cheer A near and far. Down through corridors vasty, cold Where each planet sings, A ray of love from the throne of old, Its glad course wings. Before me gleams the starry vast— House of the Lord. The many mansions, that at last Shall peace afford. There where the seraphs lowly bend Before the throne. And sweet their holy anthems blend, Love’s praise to own. There shall my eager eyes behold, The walls that gleam. The glorious highway, paved with gold And crystal stream. Never again to tread alone, Streetaof despair. Never to go in fear, or moan. Or sorrow bear. Never a farewell tear to know, Or parting sigh, But JoyAiutcema. unknown below, But pledged on high. But dearest to my soul shall be The wondrous sight; The martyr-King who died for me. Reigning in light. BILLY’S BOARDERS. Billy Allen sat on the chopping block, whittling dejectedly. He had been listening to a conversation be tween his father and mother, and it was quite evident that things were “going to the dogs.” The crops had failed miserably, the interest on the mortgage would be due in two months, and even with the money that his sister Emma earned in the corn can nery, could not be met by fifty dol lars. But what had hurt Billy worst of all had been his mother’s final re mark ; the pathos had been in her voice perhaps more than in the words themselves. “It’s a pretty place,” she had said, turning away ; and Billy knew that meant they would have to leave the old, rocky, hillside farm, which, after all, they loved. He was summoned to carry the daily can of milk to his Aunt Sue, and having harnessed the horse, he drove off on his errand, still frowning and melancholy with unproductive thought. His aunt lived a mile and a half away, in the middle of Pembridge village. To Billy, whose own home at the foot of a mountain and behind a forest was remote, the village was a highly interesting place; and in summer the most interesting thing in it was his aunt’s house, for she “took in” boarders. At the evening hour, when Billy arrived with the milk, these well-dressed city people would usually be sitting on the piazza or under the trees, or perhaps playing croquet on Mrs. Snyder’s bit of lawn. On this evening Billy looked at them wistfully. They seemed to him so inhumanly free from all the cares and worries of the world. v He carried the milk into the kitchen. His aunt was on the back porch, turn ing the crank of an ice cream freezer. “Billy,” she said, “have you five minutes to spare ? Turn this a while, and I’ll give you some of the ice cream.” Billy took his aunt’s place, remark ing his time was not valuable. “They’re going to have a party tonight,” she explained, pouring the milk into her pans. “It makes lots of extra work, but land ! they pay. I don’t complain.” ‘‘Howdid you get ’em, Aunt Sue?’ ’ Billy asked, languidly. “Advertised. Can’t get anything without advertising, nowadays.” “They have to have croquet and hammocks and ice-cream, don’t they, Aunt Sue?” “My folks do. My sakes, they want the earth ! But there’s always a profit on it if you manage right,” she added, cheerfully. On the way home Billy’s thoughts centered upon summer boarders. If there were only some way of per suading them to come to his mother’s house ! There were two spare rooms, decently furnished and everyone said bis mother was a “natural-born” cook. But what attractions could he offer in place of such impossible luxu ries as his aunt was able to afford ? Nothing except the great, overtower ing mountain, with its trout brooks and its one traditional bear —which many professed to have seen and at which a few had shot. When Billy reached home, he said to his mother: “If you had boarders, mother, how much would you charge them?” “That depends,” she answered, without much interest. “Aunt Sue gets from seven to ten dollars a week. If folks would put up with what we could give them, I’d be glad to get five dollars. With the garden-truck I could save half of that.” “Would you like to take boarders, mother?” The boy tried to make his question seem as casual as possible. “Would I be glad of a fortune?” she answered. “Billy did not wish to rouse his mother’s hopes. He determined to proceed on his own responsibility. By picking blackberries, which he sold to his aunt, he earned enough money to insert one advertisement in a Boston newspaper. Then he cast his bait out into the great, rich world, and waited anxiously for a nibble. On the second day after Billy had taken this step, two clerks in a Bos ton dry-goods store sat down to sup per in their boarding-house and spread out a newspaper between them. “Look here, Dalton, how’s this?” said one of them, pointing with his finger at an advertisement, which ran as follows: Boarders Wanted. —Farmhouse on Little Hawk Mountain. Fine scenery, trout brooks, swimming in the lake, maybe a shot at a bear. No hammocks or croquet, and just plain country living, but mother’s a first rate cook. Five dollars a week. —W. Allen, Pembridge, Maine. Dalton broke out laughing. “Isn’t that delicious? He calls his wife ‘mother !’ I vote we go there.” “It looks like what we want,” said the other man, Cornish, “and with vacation only ten days away, we’d I TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 12. 1908. better make up our minds now. This W. Allen is evidently an honest, straightforward old fellow, who will treat us well and make no fuss about it.” “We must get some buckshot and load up a few shells for that bear,” remarked Dalton. When Billy opened a letter and read that Mr. Thomas Dalton and Mr. Edward Cornish wished to en gage two rooms for two weeks, and would arrive on August 31st, he was tremulous with joy at his success. He gave the letter to his mother without a word; and when he saw how her face lighted up, first with surprise and then with sudden hope, he went out and split wood for an hour, be cause he felt so happy that he had to break something. During the week before the thirty first there seemed to be a new spirit of energy in the Allen family. Billy’s mother freshened up the spare rooms with pictures and chairs from her own room, and gaily stripped her own and Billy’s beds of the best sheets and coverings. “I’m going to see that our guests go back inclined to give us a recom mendation, even if the rest of us have to put up with a few things, ’ ’ she said. Her husband displayed a renewed activity in cultivating the garden, which at least had not suffered much from the bad year. And Billy went about, tinkering and mending, and rooting the grass out of the path ; it did not do much good, but it showed a good spirit. Also he wrote a formal letter to Mr. Dalton, announcing that he had reserved two rooms for him and his friend. On the afternoon of the last day of August he was at the station, with the old horse and wagon, to meet the guests. When the train stopped and two young men alighted, Billy saun tered forward, with a broad, embar rassed smile on his freckled face. “Hello, son 1” said one of the young men to him. “Can you direct us to Mr. W. Allen’s house ?” “I’m W. Allen,” said Billy. “Let me take your things.” Dalton stared down at the small boy, who strove to relieve him ot his valise. “Well,well!” exclaimed the young man. “And you’re the gentleman with whom I’ve corresponded?” “Yes, sir,” said Billy, still tugging at the valise. “Won’t you let me take these?” “I guess we’re better able to lug them than you are,” Cornish remark ed, looking kindly at the small, eager figure. “You lead the way and we’ll follow.” And that was what Billy did inde fatigably for the next two weeks. The young men had taken a fancy to him, and insisted that he should ac company them on all their excursions. He guided them to all the trout brooks, where their success was be yond anything that they had dreamed; they took him swimming with them in the lake. Two days they beat the mountain slopes in search of the bear ; but a traditional bear is always hard to kill, and doubtless that one still roams the forests of Little Hawk. The young men joked Billy a good deal about the bear, but on the last day of their vacation, when they had strolled to the hilltop for a last view of the distant lake Cornish said to Dalton: “The little fellow ought to have a gun. Did you see how he looked at ours? Maybe he could kill the bear.” Dalton laughed. “There’s a vil lage boy who offers a muzzle-loader for five dollars,” he said. That afternoon they sought out the village boy and secured the gun, and in the evening, just before leaving for their train, Cornish gave it to Billy, with an elaborate presentation speech. “But you oughtn’t to give it to me !” cried the boy. “I haven’tdone a thing for you ; it’s all been fun for me.” ‘ ‘Never mind, ” said Dalton. ‘‘All we ask is that when we come back to stay with you next summer, you have a bearskin to show us. ’ ’ The Allens’ “summer season” did not close for three weeks longer. On returning to the city Cornish and Dal ton sent a friend of theirs with his two young sons. The upshot of it all was that with the returns from Billy’s boarders and the money that Emma earned at the canning factory, where she had had more work than usual, the Allens tided over their hard times. And now even Aunt Sue’s boarding-house is no more prosperous and no better supplied with croquet and hammocks, and offers ice-cream to its guests no more frequently than the establish ment which advertises under the name of W. Allen. — Youth's Companion. BOBBY’S LAST MOVE. Bobby is the son of a Methodist minister and has had the experience of “moving” four times in the space of eight years’ life. He disapproves strongly of the itinerant system which is the bane of the Methodist clergy. Some time ago an elderly minister was visiting Bobby’s father, and di rected his attention to the small boy, asking him many questions of a semi theological nature. Finally the course of the conversation turned to heaven, and Bobby was asked concerning the abode of the blest. “Yes,” said the youngster, with a sigh of deep weariness. “I know. It’s the last place we’re going to move to.”— San Framisco Argonaut. Walter Damrosch tells of a ma tron in Chicago who, in company with her young nephew, was attend ing a musical entertainment. The selections were apparently en tirely unfamiliar to the youth, but when the “Wedding March” of Men delssohn was begun he began to evince more interest. “That sounds familiar,” he said. “I’m not strong on classical pieces, but that’s a good one. What is it?” I“That,” gravely explained the ma tron, “is the ‘Maiden’s Prayer.’”— Harper's Weekly. 5 longest two-cent journey in the WORLD. To travel 14,000 miles for two cents 5 —has the world ever seen a cheaper fare? Under the new postal rates J between the United States and Great Britain, a letter can now make that journey under a two-cent stamp. J It can start from Manilla—or any * point in the Philippines—voyage ' across the broad Pacific to San Fran * cisco, speed over the continent to the 3 eastern seaboard and then wing its : way over Atlantic billows to Great [ Britain, where its destination may be the most northerly postoffice in Scot : land. And all for two cents ! Suppose you were in Manila—or any other city of the Philippine islands > —and wanted to send a letter to a friend in the north of Scotland. You could send the letter under a domes tic two-cent stamp if it passes through * the United States. That means that your letter, under [ the simple guarantee of a two-cent American stamp, would travel some l thing like 14,000 miles. If a letter leaves the Philippines for 1 Europe by any other route than through the United States the stamp rate is five cents. But journeying by way of the United States, the rate is now only two cents. This is due to the recent arrange -1 ment between America and England, ; by which the postal charges per letter : between the two countries were re ; dnced to two cents, or the domestic charge in America. L A letter going from Manila to Lon don, or to the most northerly postof fice in Scotland, would have to travel more than halfway around the globe. The distance from Manila to San Francisco, by the usual route of mail steamers, is 6943 miles. From San Francisco to London is 6690 miles. Yet the letter may continue several hundred miles further into the north of Great Britain. Under the new arrangement a let ter can be sent from any point in the Philippines to the north of Scotland as cheaply as one can mail a letter to the mayor of his city. It is the cheap est long journey the world has ever known. There is a great deal of labor about the transportation of a letter from the Philippines to Great Britain byway of the United States. The postal rate on letters between the Philippines and Great Britain by any route than through the Uuited States remaining at five cents, a great part of the mail is expected to pass through this coun try in the future. Out of the letter box in Manila the postraau takes the letter and carries it to the postoffice. There it is separated from the local mail and turned over to the foreign department. Clerks tie the letters together in bundles, put them in heavy mail bags, and they are sent aboard a ship. As steamship lines are run as much for the purpose of carrying mails as conveying passengers and freight, the letter that is journeying across the Pacific under a simple two-cent stamp must have charged up to it its prqportion of the cost of the trip. There are the wages of every per son on board except the passengers. There is the cost of fuel and other things all of which help swell the enormous expense of running a big steamship. Arriving at San Francisco the mail is placed on a fast mail train and be gins promptly its long rush across the continent. It is 3250 miles from San Francisco to New York, and average time of a mail train is 105 hours, or four days and nine hours. From the train in New York the mail is transferred to the postoffice, and later on outgoing steamships for another ocean voyage. The postal authorities give the dis -1 tance between New York and London as 3740 miles, and allow between seven and eight days for a letter to get from one point to the other. On an average, 40,000 letters ad dressed to places in Great Britain and Ireland pass through the New York postoffice daily. This represents the mail from all parts of the country, with the exception of that collected in Philadelphia, Chicago, Boston, St. Louis and Cincinnati, which cities make up their own foreign mail. A letter requires thirty-three days to make the journey from Manila to New York and forty-one days from Manila to London bv way of New 1 York. NOT ON THE PROGRAMME. Two stout old Germans were en joying their pipes and placidly listen ing to the strains of the summer gar , den orchestra. One of them in tip ping his chair back stepped on a par lor match, which exploded with a bang. “Dot vas not on the programme,” he said, turning-to his companion. “Vat vas not?” 1 “Vy, dot match.” 1 “Vat match?” 1 “De match I valked on.” “Veil, I didn’t see no match. Vat aboud it?” “Vy, I walked on a match, and it went bang, and I said it vas not on the programme.” The other picked up his programme and read it through very carefully. “I don’t see it on the programme,” he said. 1 “Veil, I said it vas not on the pro gramme, didn’t I?” “Veil, vat has it got to do mit the programme anyway ? Egsplain your self.” Nellie apologized for the action of ' her new baby sister by saying, “You see, she hasn’t got any sense yet.” Her mother objected to such an idea and Nellie replied, “Oh, of course she’s got sense, but it isn’t working : yet.” “You are a poor young man ?” “I am.” “Then, what you want is a thrifty, ■ economical wife.” “Not at all. What I want is a rich, liberal wife.” WOBTHLESB BOBBY. . “Please, Mr. Harro! Oh, please try me a little longer. A week — just one week. Please, Mr. Harro !” Mr. Harro looked into the pleading little face before him, and once more the kind heart was touched and sof tened. “I can’t depend upon you Bobby, that’s the trouble; you neglect my work. Understand, I appreciate your love for books, I am glad you love them ; but your first duty is to attend to the business that I give you to do, and you don’t do it, Bobby; you know you don’t.” “Oh, Mr. Harro, I will try to be good. Take my books away from me, and try me just once more.” “I will not take your books from you; that would be no test; but I shall put you on yonr merit once more, Bobby, and see what you will do; but if there is no improvement, it is your last chance —you will have to go. You understand now,do you?” said Mr. Harro, as he stepped into the carriage. Bobby turned away to hide the tears, as Marion Harro, a sweet girl of nineteen years, ran merrily down the path and took the seal beside her father. “Well,Marion, that youngster has gotten the best of me again, and I have taken him another week on pro bation.” “Dear father, I am so glad”—her face brightening —“I thought you would give him another trial.” “What a tender heart you have, dear; but I love you to be so; the more of your sainted mother I see in your character the more I feel you are developing into the highest type of womanhood. Foster it, my dar ling ; cultivate it; there are always plenty to say the hard, sharp word, and under a cloak of frankness wound even those whom they really love.” They were driving along the beau tiful country road to the station, and as they drow up to the platform for Mr. Harro to alight, Marion put her hand tenderly over his and said, ‘ ‘Dear father, I am trying to be like her.” “Surely, the mantle of the mother has fallen upon the daughter,” re plied Mr. Harro, with quivering voice, “and you will never know, my darling, what hope and joy you bring into your father’s life.” As Marion drove liesurely home her thoughts turned to Bobby. How could she help him ? He was one of seven, his father was dead, and his struggling mother trying to keep the family together. They were honest and respectable but very poor. Bob by was thirteen. John, the eldest, a boy of fifteen, had a position in the village grocery store, which was a great help to his mother. He was an industrious, hard-working boy, but Bobby did not love work, and would shirk everything that he possibly could to pore over his beloved books. History, geology, anatomy, astrono my—he would read, and think and wonder, though he could not under stand. That, in fact, was thefacina tion. He wanted to know about things, and he knew there were men in the world who did know, or these books would never have been written. Mr. Harro, knowing how the boy yearned for education, offered to take him in his home, allowing him the school privileges and paying him well for doing chores about the place, thereby laying some money aside for his higher education, for it was very plain that Bobby would never earn a living by the sweat of his brow. “Absolutely worthless!” was the opinion nearly everybody had of poor Bobby, and it was through much ap parent tribulation on their part that Mr. Harro and Marion were trying to make something out of the boy. He had been with them six months, and Mr. Harro, thoroughly discour aged, had threatened often to send him back to his mother —only to be won over every time either by the stresss of the boy or the coaxing of his idolized daughter. This was a day early in November, and the light clouds that had hovered around in the morning thickened and gathered, and by noon rain was fall ing. A great storm was upon them, that hourly increased in its fury. Trembling hands were held on either side of the anxious faces that peered into what was already the darkness of night as faithful John who acted as coachman and man-of-all-work about the place, drove down the carriage drive and out into the street on his way to meet his master. Two hours passed and they had not returned. Marion walked rest lessly about the house. “Where is Bobby, Hannah,” she said, stopping at the kitchen door, where the odor of the savory dinner would have been most appetising had it not been for the great anxiety for her father’s safety. “ ’Clar to godness, Miss Marion, I dun know ! Seem’s if dat boy don’t know ’nuff to come in out o’ de rain. He tok de lantern and went out to de barn, an’ I just ’spects he’s scared to come back. In the meantime John had safely reached the siation, and after waiting a long time for the belated train, Mr. Harro finally appeared at the carriage door. The usually sluggish little stream that ran between the home and the station was a river. It had risen until even with the bridge, and v the opposite end had loosened from its foundation and was ready to break away; but they did not know that, and were about to urge the fright ened horse above the bellowing waters when they saw a lantern swung back and forth upon the other side. “Stop, John,” cried Mr. Harro, quickly ; “that’s a danger signal.” “I see sir,” said John, backing the horse and taking to the street; “that means a five-mile drive to the upper bridge. ’ ’ “Yes, but our lives are spared. Nothing could have saved us if we bad gotten into that torrent. I j haven’t seen such a freshet for many i years. Some brave fellow has risked J his life for others in this storm to night.” The upper bridge was found intact, and as they neared home the storm seemed to abate somewhat in its fury. Both looked with eager eyes for the lantern at the lower bridge. Finally they reached the spot. The light was still there —but the bridge was gone! Mr. Harro leaped from the carriage to thank his benefactor just as the bearer of the lantern came rushing forward. “Dear, dear Mr. Harro ! Are you safe?” “Oh,Bobby! Brave little Bobby !” cried Mr. Harro; but Bobby had fainted. Tenderly he was lifted into the carriage, and Mr. Harro support ed the dripping, unconscious little form as John drove home as rapidly as possible. Weeks of fever followed, and with moist eyes Mr. Harro would bend over the little sufferer as in his deli rium he would frantically swing the imaginary lantern or cry out to Mr. Harro not to cross the treacherous bridge. One day, while convalescing, Bobby put his little, thin hand upon Mr. Harro’s and said, “Mr. Harro, I’m most afraid to get well, for fear I will not be good, and you will send me away.” “Why, Bobby, you saved my life, and I am not going to let you go away from me .again; this is your home now. You shall go through college and choose for your life-work whatever you love best. You have a bright mind and I am sure I shall not be disappointed in you.” And be it said for Bobby that Mr. Harro was right.— New Century. BFEEDING THE SPEED MANIAC. If every speed maniac would run into a trolley pole or a water hydrant or something equally resisting, and knock his fool head off, we could view his dementia with patience, but the unfortunate fact is that his destruc tion usually entails sacrifice of inno cent passengers either in his car or in the one with which he collides. The reckless driver of automobiles is both a local nuisance and a menace to public safety, and it is time that he received severe treatment. Either the automobile clubs and associations must put a stop to reckless driving, or the people of the State will make laws which will work a real hardship upon all owners of motor cars. Con sidering the offence and the temper of public opinion it seems to me that for the Automobile Club to warn members —both by printed notice and by men along such stretches of road where the local authorities are endeav oring to abate the reckless-speed nui sance, if indeed not to safe-guard life —is not only questionable in law, but a downright discreditable proceeding. It is encouraging indifference to the letter of the law, and certainly to the spirit ot legitimate recreation. The American Automobile Association gives a better appreciation of its op portunity by issuing to its members a strong appeal to quit lawless and dangerous speeding. Both these organizations have it in their power to exercise a check on this mania. Instead of warning its members of traps the Automobile Club should warn its members against repeated reckless driving under penal ty of forfeiting membership. That would be a little more in keeping with an organization of its character and personnel. Individuals of the club frequently express themselves through the newspapers as averse to the reck less driving, and I do not doubt the honesty of their sentiment, but the public wants to see official action by the club itself, which counts among its members many of our most influ ential citizens, and could, if that in fluence were exerted in the right di rection, save the situation. — Caspar Whitney , in Outing Magazine. BEPOBTOBIAL PERSISTENCE. Once a reporter went to a certain residence in New York to get details about the master of the house, who had just died, in order that an obitu ary notice might appear in the news paper which he represented. Such details, as a rule, are easy to get. The reporter, therefore, was intense ly surpised when the widow of the de ceased, withscarcely a word, slammed the door in his face. She retired into the house. Pres ently the door bell rang furiously. She refused to stir. Agaiu the door bell rang, more furiously than before. Still the lady of the house would not stir. “I have told him that I don’t want to say anything about my husband,” she thought to herself, “and he has no right to be so persistent.” So she sat still while the doorbell rang again and again and again. At last she could stand it no long er, so, opening a window over the front door, she poked her head out and remarked severely: “Young man, I do not desire to say anything to you. Kindly do not disturb me any more. Go away, young man.” “I can’t 1” roared the reporter, be side himself with exasperation. ‘ ‘You have shut my coattails in the door !” From an Eastern city comes a sad story of a pawnbroker. He was en joying a beauty sleep when a furious knocking at the street door brought him to the window with a jerk. “What’s the matter?” he shouted. “Comedown?” demanded the knock er. “But —” “Comedown!” The maa of many nephews hastened down stairs and peeped around the door. “Now, sir?” he demanded. “I wan’sh know the time,” said the rev eler. “Do you mean to say you knocked me up for that ? How dare you?” The midnight visitor looked injured. “Well, you’ve got my watch,” he said. WiFEY —I wonder why the grass (doesn’t come up? Hubby—l’m sure I can’t tell. You don’t suppose you planted the seeds upside down, do you ? ESTABLISHED 1850. SAVED BY SYMPATHY. Like so many of our youths, I start ed to college with but a few dollars in my pocket, determined to work my way through. After a month had gone by, in which I had not succeed ed in getting any work, my money was gone, and my hope was well nigh bankrupt. But before giving up com pletely, I made one more attempt to find something to do. I had been at a dozen back doors where piles of cord wood promised a task, only to find that some early rising Chinaman had secured the contract for sawing, split ting and housing the winter’s fuel. With a sad heart I could see nothing ahead but the necessity of going back to my native hills. There was surely no college education for me, or it must be postponed unreasonably. On the very verge of despair I tried again. It was a home of wealth where I applied, and I was met at the door by a fine looking young lady who seemed very much surprised to see this stranger applying for a China man’s job. She asked my name and inquired why I was doing this. When I explained that I was trying to sup port myself in the university, she said : “Come again, and I will speak to father about it, and I think he will give you the work.” Her plea se cured it for me, with the added priv ilege of doing it piecemeal as I was able without interfering with my studies, only so I kept their fires going. With a satisfaction somewhat alloy ed I went to work, for there was a rankling in my proud heart, a feeling or a suspicion that this way of going through college interfered with my social standing among my fellow stu dents. One Saturday, while other freshmen were enjoying a game of baseball, I was breaking my back over a pile of oak knots. But a knottier problem was running through my mind. I stopped to get breath, and with deep and bitter thoughts con cerning the hardships of my position, I stood resting and thinking. My meditations were broken by the com ing of the bright young woman of the house. She leaned over the fence and talked with me. Her queenly man ner allayed my bashfulness, as she found out all she could about me and my ambitions. Then she told me she was a graduate of the university, that she had the books of her course, and would be glad to lend me any I want ed ; she invited me to make myself at home at their house, and offered to help me in any of my studies if I wish ed it. Such kindly interest in a perfect stranger, such sympathy on the part of a young woman of education and wealth for a raw freshman in garments, was like the opening of iC new world of vision to me. Hope lived again, my courage came back, and my poor pride was rebuked as I saw what was true worth in gentle man or lady, and my self-respect was created anew. As I remember my feeling, I must have grown a foot in that five minutes. No self-deprecia tion, depression or despair could exist in the presence of such kindliness and sympathy. That queenly girl had conferred a knighthood and did not know it. After that, what did I care though my clothes were plain ? What matter though my social standing should be discounted because I “kept bach,” and wore the same threadbare suit weekdays and Sundays ? Suppose I didn’t have time for the athletic field ? In yonder rich man’s house I had welcome, and there lived a friend of mine, who had passed with honor the whole college course. That generous sympathy, that friendly hand reached to a stranger, had fanned the fires of expiring ambitions, and they flamed again. Unconsciously to herself her influence changed the current of a life. — Uncle Tim, in Epworth Herald. AS A LITTLE CHILD. Memory is the sanctuary of the soul. There do we go to worship. In it are stored our treasures. Out of the windows of this temple we see green fields and running brooks. Through the hallowed air that sur rounds it we hear old songs and loved voices. We look out upon the magic land of chilhood, mellow and hazy in the distance, with the sunshine gleam ing over it, and our minds go back to the words of the Christ, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Coco,e with me and we will take the past by the hand and wander back to the old home. There is the broken gate. There is the house where we were born. The cedar trees are larger now. There is the little brook bab bling over its pebbles. We have play ed in it many a day. There is the old barn where we used to hide in the hay and hunt hens’ nests. There is the spring under the hill. How cool and quiet all is after the fever and bustle of the world ! We hear the nuts falling on the leaves, the distant calling of a dove. In fancy we are boys and girls again, and our hearts are filled with an ineffable gladness. Everything is much the same, yet not everything. The old faces are gone. Then with a pang we turn away and the dream vanishes. The fever of life is in our veins and the clamor of the world is in our ears. Who can blame us that our eyes are full of tears ? Who can blame us that in pur hearts is the old inarticulate cry, “0, God, that I were a little child again at my mother’s knee?” Who can blame us that we turn to our work with a sigh ? For we have met the tragedy of human life. We are growing old. Teddy was saying his prayers at bedtime one night not very long ago. Kneeling down at his mother’s knee, the sleepy little fellow began : “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep,”—he paused. “If>—bis mother prompted. “If he holler, let him go; enie, menie, minie, mo.”