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VOL. 63 WHOLE N0.J295.
Second National Bank * £-2 TOWSON, 3UL<$. LEX US SERVE YOU. Tinancial sfinceßii In life U greatly aided by good business associations. the first requisites is a deposit account srlth a strong, live, up-to-date bank. Yhl* gives yon standing in your community and will be found a great convenience, day yon may need just such assistance as your bank can render. §g§fon are a depositor wilh the Mecond National Bank of Towson you can rest as luAof friendly consideration at all times. JP|r our Directors and Officials are progressive, influential business men of our com raunity, closely to touch with all our business interests, and able and willing to afford tkatfr patrons every accommodation possible with safe banking. We solicit voor hanking baulness. Let as serve yoa. —iOPPICERS: Thomas w. offutt, Elmer J. Cook, i vice-presidents. Thos. J. Meads, President. Harrison Rider, ’ Cashier. gj| : DIRECTORS: Thomas W. Offutt. w. Bernard Duke, Henry C. Longnecker, Elmer J. Cook. Wm. a. lee, Z. Howard Isaao, HARRISON RIDER, CHAB. H. KNOX, NOAH E. OFFUTT. John I. Yellott, W. Gill Smith, John v. Slade. Jan. 25—ly. • NOW IS THE TIME TO BUY A 'lScream separator. /-fill i ■ We will Offer for a Short Time a Limited Number of OMEGA CREAM SEPARATORS '' FOR SPOT CASH A8 FOI.LOW8: No. 1 CAPACITY 325 LBS $50.00 % NO. 2 400 “ 56.00 No. 3 . “ 500 “ 60.00 ji 1 No. 4 700 “ 70.00 'nJCsWM I Headquarters for Root’s Bee Keepers’ Supplies, Star Feed Mills, Hocking Valley Cutters and Corn Shelters, Best * B ■■ 1 Ever Sulky and Gang Plows, Black Hawk ■ H % Corn Planters, Sprayers, Etc. ' J I * RAWLINGS IMPLEMENT COMPANY, H 9 and I I W. PRATT STREET, BALTIMORE, Md. Deo. 12—3 m SOOTHCOMB’S HATS Wise Heads Wear Them. 109 E. Baltimore St., BALTIMORE, Md. | - Nov. 14—ly HaiißceUaneouß. Muller & Yearley, TRUNKS and BAGS, %;V 343 N. Gay Street, BALTIMORE, Md. jw jWwOERtYtABIE!^ Ikets AND Robes. Addition to Regular Line we offer * n LINE OF Mill SAMPLES f V J AT BARGAIN PRICES. From SI.OO up. §o% r. ’* $2.00 “ ■lt will pay you to see them. Special induce * ■ - , meats to early buyers. | WHIPWITH EACH "h ’ 1870. MAIER'S / fipared nfflTs * ARB STRICTLY PDRB LEAD AND ZINC PAINTS. ; GUARANTEED EQUAL TO THE BEST. -MANUFACTURED BY JOHN G. MAIER'S SONS, 158-155 N GAY STREET, Cor Frederick Street. BALTIMORE, Mb. Both Phones. TJulyll-ly Geo. W. Kirwan & Co. 13 N. CHARLES STREET, Between Baltimore and Fayette Streets, BALTIMORE. Md., j haberdashers | | SHIRT MAKERS. | SHIRTS TO MEASURi-Tbi a S w de^rtment ed snecial care. All shirts are made on our own premises and our FIT AND FINISH have made ns well known as a SH KT HOUSE. If you have not tried us, do so by ordering a Sample Underwear has been the best for over a hundred years and will be for a hundred years to come. eT’BuTH PHONES. [July4-ly EDWARD E. BURNS. FRANK BURNS. JOHN BURNS’ SONS, Funeral $ Directors, TOWSON, Md. C. A P. Phone-TOWSON. 77-F. 4 Mch 7—ly , 7 fTTRESPASS NOTICES FOR SALE. NOTICE TO TRBSPASBERB printed on mus lin at SI.OO per dozen and.6o ots. per half dosen at tha office of “THE UNION/’ Nov. 28—tf Towson. Md. SUscellanetros. Ralph W. Rider, Livery, Sales and Exchange STABLES, WEST CHEBAPEAKE AVENUE, Near the York Road, TOWSON. Md. rirst-utttSE and Automobiles -FOR HIRE.— GOOD SERVICE and REASONABLE PRICES. Dec. 12—3 m ROBEBT CLARK. A. W. CLABK. LUTHERVILLE STEAM LAUNDRY, ROBERT CLARK & SON, Prop’rs. NEWLY FITTED THBOUGHOUT AND NOW BEADY FOB BUSINBBB. Cood Work and Moderate Charges. Public patronage respectfully solicited. GOODS CALLED FOP *.ND DELIVBBED. C. & P. Phone. Mch 7—ly JOHN TYRIE, —STEAM— BABBLE & GRANITE WORKS, OOCKEYSVTLLE, 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. Bept. 26—ly TTTILLIAM M. RISTEAU, AUCTIONEER AND REAL ESTATE AGENT. No. 13 Piper Building, Towson, Md. PhnnA. J Residence—C. A P., Towson 6k. rnones} O ffloe—C. A P., Towson 117 r. July 11-tf jStjorjck. f?aums. iiwini Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R., M Miles from Towson. Constantly on hand A LARGE STOCK OF MULES, TO SUIT ALL PURPOSES. Coach, Driving, : nOTlflTin Saddle and : II n \r \ General Purpose 11U11U11U FOR SALE OB EXCHANGE. HORSEsToARDED9 C. A P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H.~RIOE, Prop’r, TOWSON, Md. Oct.24—ly GROVE FARM FALLS ROAD, North of Broeklandvllle, Md. PRIZE WINNING— Guernsey Cattle, Berkshire Hogs, Shropshire Sheep. FOB SALE— A Few Registered Heifers, Between 4 months and 2 years old Apply to JAS. McK. MERRYMAN, B. F. D. Lutherville. Md. C. A P. Telephone—Towson 42. Oct. 24—ly For “The Union.” CALVARY. BT GEORGE E. TACK. Calvary, speak to my heart Down o’er the waste of years; Comfort when tears upstart. And grant surcease from fears. Let me but hear again “Father, forgive, I pray,” They who my foes have been Lead In the blessed way. Just as a little obild Seeking for love and home, Lost In the by-ways wild On through the dark doth roam. So all the earth night drear, I On through its lanes of sin. Groping with dread and fear, Seeking love’s wayside inn. Ever my soul ran far, Lost in the gathering gloom, Or led by a flaming star -That lured me far from home. Calvary, sing me a song Sweet with the love of God, The triumph of right o’er wrong. Of peace ’neath the chast'nlng rod. Calvary, love divine. Hung there is guerdon bright, CaliiDg this heart of mine Up to its lofty height. Sing of the mighty One, Gentle because so great. Who from His Father’s throne Came to our lowestate. Weary and footsore He Ever the earth did roam. Calming the heart and sea, Leading the exiles home. Calvary, whisper low. Of pain and aching heart; Of deep spearthrust and blow, And death with cruel dart. Sing of the patient One. Who bowed His bead and died ; Of the immortal conflict won And the saved one by His side. Tell in triumphant tones Of life beyond the < omb; Of a temple whose sparkling stones Are brought from the grave’s deep gloom. Point me to Heaven above and then to earth afar, That I may seek In love Souls for life’s morning star. Out of impenetrable gloom, Filled with Ineffable light, Flash o’er the sullen tomb Thy beams of glory bright. Flash to the waiting race A message for aching hearts, To lead from earth’s dark ways And clangor and glare of marts. HOW THE OLD HAH WAS CONVERTED. The young man looked unusually determined. That is the way it struck the old man, who said : “Eh ! Well, it’s flying in the face of your uncle. It’s —it’s—why, confound it, young man, do you realize what I’ve done for you ?” “I think I do, uncle. But when it comes to choosing a wife it seems to me that I ought to do a little some thing for myself.” “That’s what you think, is it? Well you have no right to think any thing of the kind. I don’t want you to marry until I can approve of your choice. There’s no hurry. Who is the girl?” “Her name is Spencer. She has been a school teacher. She lives on Lander street.” “Any family.” “One mother, sir.” Again the old man glared at him. “Poor?” “From your point of view, yes, sir.” The old man drew his bushy gray eyebrows down. “Does she know you are entirely dependent upon me ?” “I have told her of all your kind ness, sir.” “And you have told her that I ob ject to her.” “I can't tell her that, uncle —at least not until you have seen her.” The old man thumped his desk. “By gravy,” he cried, “I’ll go and see her! I’ll give her to understand just what the situation is.” “Very well, uncle. I’ve prepared her for your coming.” The old man scowled. “Give me her address,” he snapped. The young man picked up a half sheet of paper and wrote the desired information. As soon as his nephew left the room he started for the street. It was a ten-minute walk to the proper car line. With arm upraised be sig naled the motorman to stop. A heavy truck was approaching, and to avoid it the old man ran out into the street. As he did so a light motor vehicle whirled round the corner, struck him, and he fell heavily and lay quite still. He was carried into a drug store. The druggist saw a folded slip of pa per projecting from the injured man’s pocket. “Looks as if it might be his ad dress,” he said. The sufferer stirred a little and opened his eyes. “Don’t take me to the hospital,” he feebly murmured. “Take me home.” “Home it is,” the ambulance man replied as he glanced at the slip of paper. A moment later he was speed ing toward Landor street. There was only the maid of all work at the cottage when they reached there. She was a new arrival and she stood helplessly by when the ambulance crew carried the old man up stairs and placed him on the bed in the front room. Half an hour later Mabel Spencer returned with her mother. The girl met her at the door. “Da man is upstairs,” she excited ly murmured. “What man ?” ‘ ‘Da man who is seek. He iss with doctor. Two men bring him in black wagon. They look at paper. They say this iss the place. I get brandy. I get the doctor. See, he is com ing.” The astonished woman looked to ward the medical man, who was de scending the stairs. “Glad you’ve come,” he said. “Your friend is resting easily just at present, but he needs constant atten tion. He’s had a hard fall and a se vere shock and at his age the things are always serious.” “But we don’t understand, doctor,” said Mabel. “Who is the man and why is he here?” “Eh!” He stared at her. “Come up stairs,” he said. “I never saw him before,” she whispered. The doctor frowned. “Must have been brought here through some stu pid mistake,” he said. “Anyway, he can’t be removed before tomorrow. I wouldn’t answer for the conse quences.” The girl removed her hat and jacket. “Of course, he stays,” she said. “Tell me what to do.” John Denton called 4 i TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, JANUARY 2. 1909. at the usual time, and was a little sur prised at the long white apron it which Mabel appeared. “Why,” he said, “you look like a nurse—and a vefy charming nurse at that.” “I am a nurse, John. Something very strange has happened. An old man was brought here in au ambu lance this afternoon while mother and I were away. He had been hurt and was in a serious condition.” John Denton anxiously interrupted her. “Can I see him, Mabel?” “Of course. He hasn’t fully re covered consciousness, but the doctor thinks he will before long.” John Denton advanced to the bed. The heavy eyelids opened. “Hello, uncle.” “Hello, John,” said the feeble voice. “Am I much hurt?” “I think not, uncle. Rest and quiet will bring you round all right.” The gray eyes rolled about. “I told them not to take me to a hospital. But I suppose there was nowhere else. It looks like a nice room. Is that the nurse there?” Before John could reply Mabel was at the bedside. “I am the nurse,” she answered. He studied her face. “I like your looks, my dear. You’ll take good care of the old mau. Guess I’ll sleep a little more,” he drowsily murmured. “This is very strange,” John whis pered. “He wasn’t at dinner at the hotel tonight, but sometimes he stays away. Of course, I didn’t dteam he could be here. But I remember now that I gave him your address on a slip of paper—he said he would call on you—and it looks as if the ambu lance men supposed it to be bis home. And now what’s to be done ?” “He will stay here, of course, until he is well.” “But the care and anxiety, Mabel ?” “I think of what he has done for you, John. And he is your uncle. Don’t worry, dear. We will get along all right. He thinks he’s at a hospital.” Johu suddenly smiled. “Perhaps that would be better. He is a little prejudiced against Mabel Spencer, you know.” A restless movement from the sleep er drew the girl quickly to the bed side. “Are you there, nurse ?” She put u\>i cool hand on the old man’s brow. “You have a nice voice and a soft hand,” said the quivering voice. “Don’t go away.” “I will stay right here.” The invalid steadily gained his strength. And then one day he had an alarming setback. It was an at tack of heart failure. But when John reached the house the patient was sit*, ting up smiling. “Glad you came, John,” he said. “The danger is over for the present, but it has set me to thinking pretty hard. Will you leave me with him for a minute, Mabel?” The girl smilingly nodded as she left the room. “Be within call, my dear,” his feeble voice added. “Now, John.” “Yes, uncle.” “There’s a little matter that’s on my mind. I want it settled right away. I told you the other day that I didn’t think you treated Mabel as she deserved. Since then I’ve no ticed a change in your demeanor to ward her. I’m glad of it. I want you to marry that girl, John.” “Marry her, uncle.” “Why not? She’s the only girl for you. And then she’s too good a nurse to lose out of the family. What do you say?” “What does she say?” “I don’t know. I think she feels friendly. I’ve done my best to pot you in a favorable light. Call her in and we’ll find out.” “Come here, Mabel, please,” said the old man. “You know I’ve had a warning, and there’s no telling when I’ll get something worse.” The girl came forward and stood by the bedside. “Mabel, my dear, what do you think of my nephew here?” “The girl’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t quite understand,” she said. “Do you think well enough of me to marry him?” The girl flushed a little. Then she smiled down at the old man. “Does he think well enough of me to ask me to marry him ?” “That isn’t the question,” said the old man. “But I’ll ask him. Do you John?” “If you wish it, uncle.” “Confound you, that’s not the way to answer. She’s a great deal too good for you. Will you marry him if I ask you to, my dear?” The girl smilingly nodded. “Then that settles it. Take hold of hands. That’s to bind the agree ment.” John rolled his eyes toward the girl. “Wait, uncle, I want to tell you something.” He paused and ’ suddenly laughed. “This is the girl, uncle.” “What girl?” “The girl I told you about, Mabel Spencer. The girl you started to see when the motor ran you down.” The old man stared at him. “What’s that? Why you didn’t say anything about her being a nurse. You said she was a school teacher.” “She’s not a professional nurse, uncle.” “Eh? Isn’t this a hospital ?” “No, uncle. This is Mabel’s [ home.” He stared at them in silence. Then he scowled darkly. “Well, bless you for a pair of grin > ning plotters !” he growled. “Aren’t you ashamed to take such au under • handed advantage of a poor old man when he’s down ?” And then he suddenly smiled. ■ “Mama, is that bay rum in the bottle on your table?” I “Mercy, no, dear!” she replied. “That is mucilage.” “Oh!” said little Johnny, “per haps that’s why I can’t get my hat l off. ” The Methodist Retordet . BROADWAY 18 GREATEST STREET. B “The greatest street in the world is in America. London may have its a Strand and Piccadilly, Paris its Bois de Boulogne and Champs Elysees and Berlin its Unter den Linden, but view- ed from any aspect expect that of a mere age, Broadway—New York’s ■J Broadway—is ahead of any two of ? them put together.” 1 The words were spoken by an Amer , ican who has just returned from a “ trip of several months through Europe but they may be taken as typical of the sentiments of those who have had r the opportunity of comparing the most celebrated thoroughfare in the * United States with others more or less known to fame in foreign coun tries. e Broadway is a long street. It ex- from the southernmost tip of Manhatten to its extreme northern , point where the Harlem and the Hud son join to shut it off from the main land. This is a distance of some four -1 teen or fifteen miles. As a matter of s fact the street retains its name and e identity all the way along the eastern bank of the Hudson to Albany, 140 3 miles away. Along its course within the bounda ries of the island it exemplifies every activity of the city and nation of which * it forms a part. More than 1,500,- s 000 people live along it and 10,000,- f 000 trips a day are made on foot and in vehicles along and below its surface. ‘ Thirty million business transactions e involving amounts from a penny to s millions of dollars take place along it e during every twenty-four hours. 7 It is a business, shopping, theater, 1 hotel and residence street, and, as * many a confirmed Broadwayite has discovered, it is possible to find almost * every conceivable means of making and spending money within its limits. * Beginning its course at the Bowling Green, where the Dutch burghars of New Amsterdam smoked their even r ing pipes and sniffed the salt breezes * coming up the bay, for the first half t mile of its length Broadway is the 1 street of big business, the home of the trusts. Almost at its lower end, No. 26, is the Standard Oil building,- its '■ twenty floors devoted entirely to the 1 activities of the great oil combination and its subsidiaries. Along this part of the street are the ■ offices of the big steamship compa nies, the steel corporation, the rubber l trusts and scores of other aggregations : of capital representing hundreds of \ millions of invested capital. Inter spersed with these are banks, insur ance companies, lawyers, and brokers’ > offices and all the varied machinery l required in the operation of great fi ' nancial undertakings. 1 Farther up, between City Hall and Union Square, Broadway runs through the heart of the whole sale district. For some two miles it * is lined with great merchandising es ’ tablisbments in which are gathered 1 the manufactured products of every l part of the world. Above this, in turn, is the retail dis s trict. The crowds which, farther down, consisted chiefly of men, show as great a majority of women as soon > as Fourteenth street is passed and the t big department stores which have t succeeded the wholesale establish * ments are thronged with smartly ■ dressed shoppers. The shopping section of Broadway * has been moving rapidly uptown dur ing the last few years and has crowded out a number of hotels and theaters. I Its northern limit now is Herald 1 Square —at least this is the location t of the farthest uptown big department store. Here at Thirty-fourth street, too, is the most crowded spot in the 5 city or in the world. By careful com t putatiou more than 1,500,000 per -1 sons pass there every day, and this number will be still greater when the 1 new Pennsylvania terminal is com -1 pleted and the tunnels under the North \ and East rivers meet near by. ; Above Thirty-fourth street extends s “The Rialto,” “The Great White > Way,” “Champagne Alley,” toquote a few of the pet names New Yorkers [ have given to their favorite stretch of Broadway. This is the region of ho . tels, resturants and theaters. Longacre Square is the core of the . evening life of the metropolis where the crowds of pleasure-seekers are thick . est and where all that is typical of the gay, careless, fashionable life is most . in evidence. , Following Broadway’s uptown course onward one passes block after block in the region about the lower , end of Central Park given over almost , entirely to the automobile industry. 1 “Gasoline Alley,” it is called in the local vernacular. Still farther north is the region of great apartment ho l tels, the homesof those residentsofthe - city who are among neither the rich est nor the poorest, extending block ; after block in structures of towering 1 height for several miles. 1 Where the street begins to mount the heights that form the northern part of Manhattan it enters upon an other phase, passing great institu -1 tions, the lofty arches of the Cathe j dral of St. John, the halls of Columbia ’ University and, farther up, the college of the City of New York, t Broadway has two advantages which . many other famous streets lack—a * worthy beginning and ending. At its , lower end is Battery Park, a spot of greenery looking out on the busy wa ters of the harbor; and at its upper s terminus is to be placed the beauti ful Hudson memorial bridge, which 1 will form a fitting gateway to the city from the landward side. Broad way always will be the street ofspec l tacles and processions, the national pa rade ground and the national play j ground. To forget is the great secret of strong and creative natures —to forget after the manner of nature herself, - who knows no past, who begins afresh at very hour the mysteries of her un * wearying travail. A soft answer may not always t turn away wrath, but it saves a lot of time. VENTRILOQUISM AMONG THE BIROS. There are many accomplishments 1 which the lower animals seem to pos i sess inherently, but which man can only gain through great application. It would take a long time for a boy to learn to make the sort of snare that a spider spins instinctively, and a colony of beavers can build a better dam than can a crowd of untrained men. One of the human accomplishments hard to learn is ventriloquism. It seems to be a gift which comes to but few of the human species; yet among birds there are species every individ ual of which possess the power of making the voice seem to come from another spot than that in which the owner is located. There seems to be very little reason for this in most cases, but still there must be some, for nature is very eco nomical in bestowing her gifts, and one may be sure that the possession of the power argues its usefulness. The first example of ventriloquism which will occur to most people is the voice of the mourning-dove. I sup pose that every boy has been fooled by this bird. I know that I was and was delighted when I discovered, after walking around a tree in the orchard, that the voice did not come from far away but close at band. When the mourning-dove utters his call he swells up air-sacs in his breast and neck, and these act as a sort of sounding chamber, which tends to hold and repress the sound, as a sound is made in a barrel. The emu has the same quality in his voice. It is as though these birds swallow their voices. The crow has some notes which are very ventriloquial in quality. One note in particular is much like the bark of a distant dog, so much so, in fact, that I had trouble in convincing a friend that it was the voice of a crow about three hundred feet away and not that of a distant dog. The chickadee has a call-note of such quality that its source is always un certain until the bird is located. The oven bird’s “teacher! teach er !” always seems to come from sev eral feet higher than where the bird is actually standing. The thrushes, at least the wood thrush and the robin, have a peculiar habit of singing to themselves, as it were. Often, as I have been sitting in the woods, p wood thrush has been singing, say, thirty feet away, which I supposed was at least 200 yards away, until I discovered the bird. The whispered song is perfect, so far as phrasing and notes are concerned, but in a very low key. I have heard a European thrush sing in a cage at the zoo when the notes could not be heard farther than fifteen feet. With my ear within three feet the song was as perfect and beautiful as in the ordinary way. Why these birds sing so I have no idea. The peculiar wattles on the neck of a guinea fowl had no significance to me until one day when I was making a careful drawing of a wild guinea fowl. The wild guinea cock has wat tles as the domestic one, only exag gerated. I noticed that when the cock’s beak was toward me his harsh call was louder. Then I noticed that when his beak was open the lower mandible, being lowered, almost filled the space between the two side wat tles, thus making a cup, and that the notes were thrown by a sort of mega phone, or just as a boy throws his voice by making a cup of his hands. — St. Nicholas. POOR WOMAN FOOLED, AS USUAL. A dentist received a call the other morning from a couple whom he soon had reason to believe were lovers. The girl had an aching tooth, and as they entered the young man said: “Now, darling, the worst is over. Just take a seat and it will be out in a minute.” “Oh, I daren’t!” she gasped. “But it really won’t hurt you hard ly any, you know.” “But I’m afraid it will.” “It can’t. I’d have one pulled in a minute if it ached.” “I don’t believe it.” “Well, then, I’ll have one out just to show you that it doesn’t hurt.” He took a seat, leaned back and opened his mouth, and the dentist apparently was selecting a tooth to seize with his forceps, when the girl earnestly protested: “Hold on ! The test is sufficient. He has proved his devotion. Move away, Harry, and I’ll have it pulled.” She took the chair, had the tooth drawn without a groan, and as she went out she was saying to the young man : “Now I can believe you when you declare that you would die for me.” And yet —every tooth in his head was false ! WORKING TOO HARD. The owner of the farm had been enjoying himself at the county fair, relates the New York Herald , while his hard-worked wife stayed at home to see that the farm suffered no loss in his absence. “Well, Sarah,” said the owner, upon his return, “I’m about all tired out. Is the cows in the barn ?” “Yes. long since,” replied his wife, barely looking up from the task then in band. “Is the hosses unharnessed an’ fed?” “Yes.” “Chickens locked up?” “Yes.” “Wood chopped for mornin’ ?” “Yes.” “Wagon heel mended an’ ready t start in th’ mornin’?” “Yes.” “Well, then,” concluded the ex hausted owner, with a sigh of relief, “let me have my supper. I’m goin’ t’ turn in. Farmin’s beginnin’t’ tell on me.” There is many a hitch in the teamster’s business. ACTIONS THAT SPEAK. i A thinly clad young man was walk ing along the city street one winter morning, eating peanuts from a five cent sack in his coat pocket in lieu of a breakfast, when he saw a number of boys trying to attract the attention of a flock of hungry pigeons in the street by tossing cracked crumbs at them. He stopped and joined in the fun by shelling some of his peanuts, breaking the kernels into small pieces, and throwing them on the pavement near the birds. Recognizing a new benefactor, they flocked around him, eagerly picking up his offerings, but keeping an eye on him meanwhile, prepared for in stant flight in the event of his becom ing too familiar. Long experience had taught them to be suspicious of strangers. Stooping down and holding a tempt ing morsel between his fingers he call ed the birds gently. At first they shrank back, but pres ently and old bird, having first in spected him critically with one eye and then with the other, stepped for ward gingerly, plucked the titbit from his fingers, and started away. Not finding the experience so very terri ble, the old bird soon came back, and was rewarded with another choice bit of peanut. The other pigeons speed ily followed the example. “That’s more than they do for any of us,” said one of the boys. The young man gave the pigeons about half his stock of peanuts, and then straightened up. “That’s all I can spare you this time,” he said, starting away. A middle-aged man who had been watching the performance with con siderable interest tapped him on the shoulder. “Young man,” he said, “are you looking for work?” “Am I?” was the response. “I’ve been tramping over this town for over a week, huntings job.” “What can you do?” “I’m a sort of jack of all trades. I can carpenter a little, run an engine, repair bicycles and —” “Can you take care of horses?” “Can I?” said the young man, his face lightening up. “I was raised on a farm.” “Well, come along with me. I need a coachman, and I’m not afraid to trust my thoroughbreds with you. I’ll take the recommendation the birds have just given you. Will you work for me for 030 a month and board till you find something better?” Would he? Weil l The young man is now his middle aged employer’s trusted man of all work, with a wage tocorrespond, and the pigeons have never had occasion to retract their recommendation — Youth's Companion. PROVED HIS SPELLING. An amusing incident occurred in McLean county, 111., at the first court which Stephen A. Douglas, the fa mous politician, attended alter hiselec tion as prosecution attorney. There were many indictments to be drawn, writes Professor Allen Johnson in his life of Douglas, and the new prosecu ting attorney in his haste wrote the name of the county M’Clean instead of McLean. His professional breth ren were greatly amused at this evi dence of inexperience and made merry over the blunder. Finally John T. Stuart, subsequent ly Douglas’ political rival, moved that all the indictments be quashed. Judge Logan looked at the discomfited youth and asked what he had to say to support the indictments. Smarting under the gibes of Stuart, Douglas replied obstinately that he had nothing to say, as he supposed the cxmrt would not quash the indict ments until the point had been proved. This answer caused more merriment but the judge decided the court could not rule upon the matter until the precise spelling in the statute creating the county had been ascertained. No one doubted what the result would be, but at least Douglas had the satisfaction of causing his critics some delay, for the statutes had to be procured from an adjoining county. To the astonishment of court and bar and of Douglas himself it appeared that he had spelled the name correct ly. To the indescribable chagrin of the learned Stuart the court promptly sustained all the indictments. The young attorney was is high feather and made the most of bis triumph. The incident taught him a useful les son —henceforth he would admit noth ing and require his opponents to prove everything that bore upon the case in hand. WHAT IS A FRIEND 1 Seated around the table they talked of friendship. “A friend is a balancing pole,” said the athlete, “a balancing pole without which it is impossible to walk safely the tight-rope of life.” “A friend is a jewel,” said the 1 pretty girl, “that shines brightest in ’ the darkness of misfortune.” | “A friend is a volume,” said the ' journalist, “a volume of sympathy 1 bound in cloth as a rule, though io rare cases the binding may be silken.” j “A friend is a golden link,” mused the jeweler, “in the chain of life.” “He is a plaster,” said the physi -1 cian, “for the cuts of misfortune.” 1 “Like ivy,” said the botanist “the , greater the ruin the closer heelings.” “A friend, said the grass widow, sadly, is the first person who comes in when the whole world has gone out.” An Irishmen who had started pho tography went into a shop to purchase a small bottle in which to mix some of his solutions. Seeing one he want ed he asked how much it would be. “Well,” said the chemist, “it will • be two pence as it is, but if you want anything in it, I won’t charge you for the bottle.” I “Faith, sor,” said Pat, “then put a cork in it 1” • The essence of generosity is ever ! self-sacrifice. ESTABLISHED 1860. THE COLD BATH. In a paper read at a meeting of an association for the study of tuberculo sis an eminent doctor said that one of the curious facts connected with the practice of the cold bath in the morn ing is that so many of its votaries positively declare that they enjoy it. He contends that they do not and can not enjoy it. The doctor is doubtless right as far as he goes, but he does not go far enough. He misses the main point, perhaps the only point worth empha sizing. There is abundant reason to believe that the most curious fact connected with the cold bath in the morning is that so many people who insist that they enjoy it do not take it. There is vicarious atonement, and there is also vicarious bathing, and it is a very easy matter to enjoy a bath that is not taken, the bath of somebody else. Almost anybody gifted with a little imagination can sing the praises of a cold bath in the morning. There are the pleasurable, even delightful, shud ders of the first dip and splash ; the brisk rub with a coarse crash towel; the warm, healthgiving glow ; the new man feeling, exhilerating, up lifting, as one gets into hisattire for the day’s work, and, above all, the sense of cleanliness imparted by the cold bath every morning. And it is equally easy to take a cold bath every morning. It only remains to turn on the hot water faucet and enter the tub. Or both faucets may be turned on and, without entering the tub, he may stir the water vioie®**, with his hands, draw long breaths and shiver, not perceptibly, but audi bly. It will all sound remarkably lifelike, this performance, wonderful ly like taking a cold bath. Even an alert and suspicious sentinel, stationed at the door, his ear delicately attuned to what is going on within, may be readily deceived by the cold bath in the morning Contemplate, some broiling August forenoon, the man who tells you that he fairly revels in the cold bath on winter mornings as he gingerly steers his bare feet through the ripples that are lazily lapping the beach at a shore resort and believe in him and trust him if you can. Watch him advance as if he were going to meet his doom, hesitate, glance shoreward longingly, retreat, immersing slowly, reluctantly inch by inch. Suddenly he remem bers that he must wet his head if he would avoid a chill, and he pauses to shampoo bis hair in the sad sea waves —this hero of a thousand frigid baths on a thousand frozen mornings ! As a matter of fact, what a man may do alone with his sponge in his bath-room no other man may know, and what he pretends he does may be as “false as dicer’s oalEfs/ r-—~Prbvi dence Tribune. JOHN’S SISTER. “Didn’t Clare remind you what you were to do?” “Yes’m. She reminded me an’ kept a remindin’ me till I just made up my mind that I wouldn’t!” There are a good many people who will sympathize with the boy who gave this answer. For there is some thing in human nature that rises in rebellion against that vexatious thing we call “nagging.” Many a girl with good intentions throws her influ ence on the opposite side from what she intended, merely because she is not content to let well enough alone. “John, you know you’ve got twen ty minutes of your practicing to fin ish.” “Yes, I know.” John’s tone is perfectly good-natured. He does not resent the reminder. “But, John, it’s half-past four. There is lefcs than two hours till sup per time. “I’m going to do it pretty soon, Kitty. I’m not going to stop in the middle of a chapter.” “Yes, but the trouble is you get so interested, John. When you’ve fin ished this chapter, you’ll think you have time to read another, and, first thing j’ou know, the supper bell will ring and your practicing won’t be finished. 0 After the conversation has continued in this strain for a quarter of an hour, John probably begins to make short answers. Then he professes a com plete indifference as to whether he finishes his hour of practice or not. He is as likely as not to wind up the talk by declaring his intention to drop music altogether. It is all very well for a conscien tious sister to feel herself responsible for reminding her brother as to his duty, and encouraging him to do it. But she makes a great mistake if she determines not to give him any rest till he does the thing she thinks he ought. Instead of helping him in the way of right doing, this mistaken course is very likely to drive him in the opposite direction. Good advice, encouragment, a little insistance, if tactfully given, are all a help. But no one is ever helped by nagging. OBEYING ORDERS. Gen. Frederick D. Grant said to his servant one morning: “James, I have left my mess boots out. I want them soled.” “Yes, sir,” the servant answered. The General, dressiug for dinner that night, said again : “I suppose, James, that you did as I told you about those boots?” James laid 35 cents on the bureau. “Yes, sir,” he said. “And this is all I could get for them, though the corporal who bought ’em said be would have given a half-dollar if pay day hadn’t been so far off.” Josiah Quincy, the prominent Boston politician, was walking near the City Hall, when he heard an Irish laborer accost another thus: “That’s Josiah Quincy.” “An’ who’s Josiah Quincy?” the other asked. “I niver see such ignorance, ’ re • joined the first. “He’s the grandspn of the statue you see in the yard.”