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VOL. 60. WHOLE No. 2296.
Second National Bank TOWSON, Md. LEX US SERVE YOXJ. Financial incceat In life is greatly aided by good business associations. One of the first requisites Is a deposit account with a strong, live, np-to-date bank. This gives you standing in your community and will be fonnd a great convenience. Some day you may need just such assistance as your bank can render. If you are a depositor with the Second National Bank of Towson yon can rest as sured of friendly consideration at all times. For onr Directors and Officials are progressive, Influential business men of onr com munity, closely in touch with all our business interests, and able End willing to afford their patrons every accommodation possible with safe banking. We solicit vour banking business. Let us serve you. -lOPPICBRSi Thomas W. offutt, Elmer J. Cook, l vice-presidents. Thoß ‘ j ’ President. Harrison Rider, ’ cashier. THOMAB W. OFFUTT. W. BERNARD DUKE, HENRY C. LONQNEOKER, Elmer J. Cook, Wm. a. Lee, Z. Howard Isaao, Harrison Rider, Chas. H. Knox, Noah E. Offutt, John I. Yellott, w. Gill Smith, John V. Slade. Jan. 26—ly. _____ irpTRUE PROSPERITY*^; ] > TRUE PROSPERITY is not attained by spending all the money one earns, J , < | bnt by saving as much of it as possible. , * ( J The men who DO things today are not those who spent their money as fast J > < I as they got it. but those who saved from time to time, until they had sufficient < J J ' means with which to go ahead and accomplish some purpose. J , 3 1 Are YOU saving today what you do not need ? ] > 3 1 We can help you save, and will add each year something to yonr savings, J , ( 3 according to the amounts you have had on deposit with us in our Savings De- , J 3 > partment during the year. J , 3 > Any boy, girl, man or woman can begin now to put aside a part, If not all, < ( < ’ of hls or her Income, and when the opportunity arrives be prepared to invest J , * , same In a good paying proposition. < [ 3 • This is real prosperity. . % < J Join the prosperous band today by opening an account with ns NOW. , > * 3 Interest paid on savings accounts. < 3 :• The Towson National Bank,!: TOWSON, Md. 3; < 3 JOHN CROWTHER, DUANE H. RICE, W. C. CRAUMER, 3; President. Vlce-Preside* 4 . Cashier. 3; < 3 Oct-JO-ly < 3 THE COMMERCIAL BANK OF MARYLAND BELVEDERE AVENUE, Near Reisterstown Road, ARLINGTON, Md. CAPITAL STOCK, $25,000. * ■ 0 > USTOW OPEN 3TOIR BTTSIITESS. . . o Does a general Banking Business in all that is consistent with safe and careful man agement. The location of our Bank makes it tie most convenient place for a large number of residents of Baltimore county to transact their financial business. During the short time our Bank has been open for business of deposits has reached a success far in excess of our expectations. We have a SAYINGS DEPARTMENT and pay interest.on money deposited there. Call and see us- and we will explain why it will be to your advantage to open an account with us. Prompt attention given to all collection business entrusted to us. —— o— — —: OFFICERS: — CHAB. T. COCKEY, Jr., JOHN K. CULVER, Ist Vice-President. CHARLEB E. SMITH, President. HOWARD E. JACKSON, 2d Vice-President. Cashier. —rDIREOTORS: CHARLRB T. COCKEY, Jr., HOWARD K. JACKSON, ROBERT H. McMANNS, ARTHUR F. NICHOLSON, J. B. WAILEB, MAX ROSEN, JOHN K. CULVER, GEORGE W. ALT, H. D. HAMMOND, J. FRANK SHIPLEY, H. D. EASTMAN. Dec. 20-ly fPttscelXatxeous. ' Muller & Yearley, HARNESS, TRUNKS and EARS, 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 “ swlt will pay you to see them. Special induce ments to early buyers. v POPP GOOD WHIP WITH EACH PRPP r nun BLANKET. f lUau OoUOtMaySO Ralph W. Rider, Livery, Sales and Exchange STABLES, WEST CHESAPEAKE AVENUE, Near the York Road, TOWSON, Md. First-Class Teams and Automobiles —FOR HIRE.— GOOD SERVICE and REASONABLE PRICES Dec. 12—3 m J DICKSON O’DELL, SURVEYOR, Ofllea-No. OFFUTT BUILDING, TOWSON, Md. Deo. s—ly Ijlilili Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R., 2X Milks from Towson. Constantly on hand A LARGE STOCK OF MULES, TO SUIT ALL PURPOSES. ace -i^- Coach, Driving, : TT 0T)0 B 0 Saddle and :: : ■ll ftl V Ifl \ General Purpose lIUIiUiJU FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE. whorsesToarded-w C. a P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H.~RIOE, Prop’r, TOWSON, Md. Oct.24—lf GROVE FARM FALLS ROAD, North of Brooklandvllle, Md. PRIZE WINNING— Guernsey Cattle, Berkshire Hogs, Shropshire Sheep. FOR SALE— A Few Registered Heifers, Between 4 months and 2 years old Apply to JAB. McK. MERRTMAN, R. F. D. Lutherville, Md. C. Sc P. Telephone—Towson 42. Oct. 24—ly ROBERT CLARK. A. W. CLARK. LUTHERVILLE STEAM * LAUNDRY, ROBERT CLARK & SON, Prop’rs. NEWLY FITTED THROUGHOUT AND NOW READY FOR BUSINESS. Good Work and Moderate Oharges. Public patronage respectfully solicited. GOODS CALLED FOR AND DELIVERED. C. Sc P. Phone. Mch 7—ly Flowers, Ms, k FOR WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS, AT REASONABLE RATES. Special Attention Given to Ornamental Gardening. JOHN L. WAGNER, Florist, W. JOPPA ROAD, TOWSON, Md. C. & P. Phone—Towson 8-F. [Nov. 21—ly CUBS FOB CASE. Don’t you trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you. Don’t you look for trouble; Let trouble look for you. Don’t you borrow sorrow; You’ll surely have your share. He who dreams of sorrow Will find that sorrow’s there. Don’t you hurry worry By worrying lest it come. To flurry is to worry; 'Twill miss you If you’re mum. If care you’ve got to carry, Wait till it’s at the door; For he who runs to meet it Takes up the load before. If minding will not mend it, Then better not to mind; The best thing Is to end it— Just leave it all behind. Who feareth bath forsaken The Heavenly Father’s side; What he hath undertaken He surely will provide. Then don’t you trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you: You'll only double trouble, And trouble others, too. The Observer . A FOBTUHATB MISFORTUNE. Miss Love joy had been at her brother’s house but little more than a week, yet already she had to con fess to a vague feeling of disappoint ment. She had not seen her brother and his wife for more than seven years, during all of which she had longed for them with the homesick intensity of the exile. The anticipation of this homecoming had cheered’ her through many a dreary term of teaching ; yet now that reality had taken the place of anticipation, she found something lacking. The old home was still the same, and her brother and his wife were as kind as ever ; but during this time of separation their only child had grown from childhood almost to woman hood, and with the growth had come a change in father and mother which made, poor Aunt Ruth feel like an alien and a stranger. The merry, open-hearted brother had become quiet and care-worn. The bright, pretty, cultivated sister in-law, as dear to Rnth as if united to her by ties of blood instead of mar riage, had faded into an almost shab bily-dressed drndge whose only pur pose in life seemed to be to keep Hazel’s bed of roses free from thorns. Both had been as glad as possible to see their self-reliant, independent Western sister; but it seemed to Ruth as if their principal interest was in noting the effect upon her of Hazel’s grace and Hazel’s beauty and Hazel’s accomplishments. That had been the constant theme of conversation when Mr. Lovejoy was not too preoccupied to talk at all or his wife had an in frequent moment of leisure. Now Aunt Ruth was quite ready to admit that the grace and beauty and accomplishments were there, but the greater grace of helpfulness and filial gratitude seemed to her both lacking and unlooked for. Nor was the girl wholly or even principally to blame. No return had ever been de manded of her for all that had been given, and the idea of giving unasked was yet unborn. Ruth’s own few gentle attempts at remonstrance had been met with such an air of mild surprise, such earnest disclaimers on the part of the parents, that she had seen the futility of words and resolved to say no more. She did not wish to be regarded as meddlesome and disagreeable. Just now she was feeling particu larly out of sympathy with the con ditions. As she went steadily on with the dishes she was washing, she could hear her niece chatting in ani mated fashion with a caller in the parlor. She knew that it was Mr. Bennett, the young man who had called in the afternoon to see if Hazel would sing at a parlor concert to be given at the Young Men’s Christian Association rooms the next week. Mrs. Lovejoy had answered the bell and informed him that Hazel was out; but Hazel herself, when she came home from her drive with a girl friend, had spoken of meeting him, and told as a great jokeabout his re mark that “he would call again in the evening, as the servant had as sured him she would be in then.’’ “If the child had only seen what it meant!” sighed Aunt Ruth to her self. But even Hazel’s mother had laughed the matter off .although rather consciously and with a flush ; and when Hazel had smiled and said : “Never mind, mamma dear. When I get to be a prima donna you shall have all the servants you want,” the smile and the foolish promise had salved the wound effectually. As the young people talked and laughed together in the parlor, Rnth could hear Hazel’s mother moving softly about upstairs, putting to rights in her prompt, methodical way the things which Hazel had left scattered about when she made her toilet and hurried down to meet.her caller. Then by and by a door opened, and suddenly there was the sound of a fall and a suppressed cry of pain ; and Miss Lovejoy, rushing out, found her sister-in-law lying near the foot of the back stairs, white to the lips and with her patient face drawn in agony. “I’ve fallen, Ruth, and I’m afraid I’m badly hurt. I think my ankle is broken.” Ruth looked and saw the poor foot hanging limp and twisted in its well worn slipper. “It is broken, Helen,” she said. “I will call Hazel, and send her for the doctor at once.” But even in her extremity Mrs. Lovejoy stretched out a detaining finger: “Please, Ruth,don’t frighten her,” she said. “Couldn’t you go your self? I’ll stay quietly here till you come back.” “My dear, I think Hazel will want to go, and, anyway, I’m sure it is best to tell her.” Then, as Ruth started toward the parlor door, something which she always says was an inspiration flashed into her mind. The boldness of it terrified her for a moment aod made her pause, but only for a moment. Then, with a calm face but a little sick feeling at her heart, she walked TOWSON, HD., SATURDAY, JANUARY 9. 1909. through the hall and into the parlor. She paused only long enough to bow to the caller, and then said, quietly : “Hazel, our poor servant has fal len on the stairs and hurt herself badly. Can you go for the doctor ?” For just a second after she had ut tered the terrible words, Ruth felt afraid of the issue. If Hazel should fail—if the canker of thoughtlessness had eaten too deep—she knew that she should never forgive either her self or her niece. But the girl, as the meaning of her aunt’s words made itself plain to her, rose to her feet, and over her face, to the very roots of her hair, poured a flood of crimson which quickly gave place to a deadly pallor. “It is my mother,” she said, with a dignity which no one had ever no ticed in her before. “Let me go at once.” Then she turned to her visitor, wholly indifferent as to the impres sion she might make, anxious only to atone for her previous cowardice. “I know you will excuse me, Mr. Bennett,” she said. “Itismy mother who has fallen. My aunt is punish ing me very justly for not having told you, as I should, that the lady who opened the door for you this afternoon was not our servant, but my mother. We have no servant.” People had often said that Mr. Ben nett was fastidious. He may have been, but he was also a gentleman. The scorn which Hazel’s confession could hardly help arousing had no chance to show itself in his face. Pity for the girl’s embarrassment and suf fering, and admiration for her final courage and loyalty and frankness, blotted out every other feeling. “It was my mistake, Miss Love joy,” he said, gravely, “and I am afraid an unpardonable one. lam more sorry than I can tell you.” Then, before anyone could object, he had seized his hat and started for the doctor. He found him and brought him back, and remained to help him lift and move the sufferer; and by and by, when there was no excuse for staying longer, he said to Hazel’s aunt, with an almost boyish diffidence and hesitancy : “Miss Lovejoy, please do not think me presuming, but my father and mother are both away, and our ser vants have almost nothing to do. Will you not let me send one of them to help you—a woman who has been with us a great many years? She would tie most willing to come, and I’m sure you would find her of as sistance.” With all her independence, Aunt Ruth was almost tempted to accept the offer, but it was Hazel who de cided the matter. “It is very kind of you, Mr. Ben nett,” she said, “and please don’t think us unappreciative; but just now, at any rate, we shall get on very well. J have a vacation now, and I can give all my time to my mother and the house. I want to do it. She has waited on me all my life.” She was equally determined when her father came home and somewhat excitedly urged the necessity both of a nurse and a kitchen girl. She con vinced him—although he knew it only too well before —that they could not afford it, and she had her way. Like all young pilgrims, Hazel found the road long and sometimes rough, and she traveled it often with aching feet. But she never turned back, and in the long days which fol lowed, filled as they were from early morn till late at night with petty household duties, she learned as she could never have learned in any other way the cost of that mother-love which had so long and jealously shel tered her. — Youth's Companion. FOB IHKy" FINGEBS. A girl I know has made a wonder ful discovery, which she thinks all other school-boys and school-girls should know, too. “It’s so needful, mamma,” she says. ‘ ‘All buys and girls get ink on their fingers, you know.” “Surely they do, and on their clothes as well,” said her mother. “I can’t get the spots out of my clothes, but I’m sorry when they get there,” responded the gitl. “I try very hard not to. But I can get the ink off my fingers. See!” She dipped her fingers into the water, and while they were wet she took a match out of the matchsafe and rubbed the sulphur end well over her ink spots. One after another the spots disappeared, leaving a row of white fingers where had been a row of inky black ones. “There,” said the girl after she had finished. “Isn’t that good? I read that in a housekeeping paper, and I never knew they were any good before. I clean my fingers that way every morning now ; it’s just splen did !” So some other boys and girls might try Alice’s cure for inky fingers. — Harper's Round Table. WILD TUBKKYS. In the early days of our country, wild turkeys were caught in turkey pens. These were enclosures made of poles twenty feet long,' laid one above the other, forming a solid wall ten feet high. This was covered with a close roof of poles and brush. A ditch was dug beginning fifty feet distant from the pen, sloping down, carried under one side of the pen and opening up into it through a board with a hole just large enough to let a turkey pass. Corn was strewn the whole length of the ditch. The turkeys followed the ditch and the corn up through the hole into the pen, holding their heads too high ever to find their way out again. Often fifty captives would be found in a pen at one time. Hyker —Troubled with indiges tion, eh? You should drink a cup of hot water every morning. Pyker—l do; bnt they call it coffee at my boarding-house.—Chi cago News. HABD WOBK AS A MEDICINE. Great responsibility seems to be a powerful health protector. People in very responsible positions are rare ly sick. When a man feels that great results are depending on bis personal effort, illness seem to keep away from him, as a rule, at least until he has accomplished his task. It is well known that great singers, great actors and lecturers are seldom sick during their busy season. Hard work and great responsibility are the best kind of insurance against sickness. When the mind is fully employed, there does not seem to be much chance for disease to get in its work, for a busy, fully occupied mind is the best kind of safeguard against illness. The fact is, the brain that is com pletely saturated with a great purpose, that is fully occupied, has little room for the great enemies of health and happiness—the doubt enemies, fear enemies, worry enemies. Busy people do not have the time to think about themselves, to pity and coddle themselves every time they have a little ache or pain. There is a great imperious must which forces them to proceed, whether they feel like it or not. The result is that they triumph over their little indispositions and crash out little ailments before they have a chance to grow into big ger ones. Fear is the great enemy of the unoccupied mind. The person who does not feel the pressure of his vocation, has time to worry over the possibility of his getting the disease which may be prevalent at the time. But if every crevice of his mind is filled with his work, his resisting powers are not weakened by the fear of disease. In other words, the busy mind is in its normal condition. The mind was constructed for work, and when it is idle all sorts of troubles begin. The fear enemies and worry enemies creep into the vacant mental ity and work all sorts of havoc. Keep your mind busy. The occupied mind, the busy mind is the safe, the happy mind. It is a remarkable fact that when any one feels under great obligations to do a certain thing at a certain time, he generally manages to doit. Other things equal, the chances of such person being physically dis qualified at a certain date are infinitely less than in the case of a person who has plenty of leisure. Mental activity is a great health preserver, a great life saver. Exercise of mind and body seems to be the normal medicinal corrective of disease. It seems to be absolutely necessary for the preservation of ro bust health. No function can be perfectly healthy in a normal condition unless it is exercised. Work seems to be the great regulator of the human ma chine. Idleness has always and every where bred mischief. Vice and crime are engendered during idleness. When a man is busy in some useful employment he is safe. He is pro tected from all sorts of temptations which injure him in idleness. Like an unoccupied building in the country, or unused machinery, the idle brain deteriorates rapidly. —New Century. LOGIC OF ECONOMY. Waste not, want not, is the old proverb which was told over and over again to most of us in our early days. And our parents, in some way or an other, have practiced economy until there was no question of want. Whenever anything was necessary, be it large or small, it was provided. The ability to do this came from the habitual practice of a wise economy. It is easy to spend every cent of in come, it is easy to be lavish ; it is bard to be wisely economical. Economy must never be confounded with meanness, for they are as wide apart as economy and waste. The woman who wastes the money en trusted to ber by injudicious buying will end in the poorhouse unless some body with common sense takes her in hand. The woman who wastes food deserves to need it. The woman who dresses to the last dollar of her hus band’s earnings will live to go shab bily clad or to wear second-hand gar ments from the hand of charity. Those things are not pleasant to contemplate. THE HABIT OF ABSOBBINO. The habit of absorbing information of all kinds from others is of untold value. A man is weak and ineffective in proportion as he secludes himself from his kind. There is a constant stream of power, a current of forces running between individuals who come in contact with one another, if they have inquiring minds. We are all giving and taking perpetually when we associate together. The achiever today must keepin touch with society around him ; he must put his finger on the pulse of the great busy world and feel its throbbing life. He must be a part of it, or there will be some lack in his life. A single talent which one can use effectively is worth more than ten talents imprisoned b y ignorance. Education means that knowledge has been assimilated and become a part of the person. It is the ability to express the power, to give out what one knows, that measures efficiency and achievement. Pent-up knowledge is useless. “Bobby,” said the teacher, “how many zones are there?” “Two,” answered Bobby, with a littl question ing note in his voice. Then seeing the puzzled look that came into the teacher’s face, he rattled without a stop. “One male and one female ; the male can be temperate or intem perate, the female frigid or torrid—” and he stopped for breath. In Beggs, Okla., a minister marry ing a negro couple asked the woman : “Do yon take this man for better or for worse?” She explained: “No, judge, I wants him jest as he is. If he gits any better he’ll die, and if he gits any wuss I’ll kill him myself.” HOW HE HEFT HOUSE. When Mrs. Jack went away for a month’s visit she was quite contented about her house, for Jack assured her that in the sad days before their mar riage he had been used to keeping bachelor’s hall, and that the pretty little home would be safe in his care. Still, there was a shade of anxiety in her mind on the morning of her re turn. ‘‘Did you get along all right at the house ?’ ’ she asked when her husband met her at the station. “Yes, fine.” “Did you get many mealsathome?” “Some. I couldn’t eat much.” “You poor old dear, it must have been dreadfully lonesome for you.” “It was. This is our car,” said Jack, who did not seem to take an in terest in the subject of his housekeep ing experience. Mrs. Jack studied his profile as they sat side by side on the car and decided that he looked tired and thin. “How sweet and natural if all looks?” she said, as Jack unlocked the door of their dwelling. “Yes, the house is still here,” he remarked, unenthusiastically. Mrs. Jack inwardly bewailed the fact that the best of men, like her dear old Jack, were painfully lacking in sentiment. But as she stepped into the hall, where the dust lay apparent ly a half inch thick on the table and hat-rack, her own rejoicing at coming home weakened a little. When she entered the living room, where over flowing ash trays filled her nostrils with unpleasantly antique odors, she gasped, “Oh, Jack!” But Jack, seemingly unconscious of any discordant note in the usually at tractive room, said: “I’ll have to hurry downtown, dear, or I shall be late at the office.” Go he did, leaving Mrs. Jack to explore the rest of the house alone. She went first to her own room. Hardly waiting to remove hat and gloves, she began trying to straighten out the chaos she found. She hung up trousers and coats and put away shirts and then made up the disorder ed bed. “Poor Jack ! How he must have suffered in this untidy place,” she said to herself. Then she went into the guest room, where daintiness was always the pride of her order-loving heart. She fairly groaned as she beheld the beautiful lace spread she had herself crocheted lying in a crumpled heap on the floor and one of the pillow shams, which matched so prettily, wadded into the wash basin, mildewed and showing only too plainly that it had been used as a towel. The bed, like the one in her room, was unmade, and a stray collar and a pair of socks were proofs to the indignant wife that her hus band had had the temerity to use this best spare room. Wishing to know the worst, she penetrated into the pretty chamber sacred to the long visit of her sister, and was horrified to discover a dirty pipe reposing on the little white desk and tobacco scattered everywhere. The bed, too, was pulled to pieces, as if a hot night had made the sleeper restless. “How could Jack have smoked in here when he knows how Claribel ab hors tobacco?” Mrs. Jack asked her self. By the time she had made the tour of the dining-room, kitchen and pan try she came to the conclusion that never again would she trust her be loved belongings to the tender care of Jack. On the dining-room table was her best damask cloth, generously splashed at one end with coffee and stained at the other with great spots of grape juice. Soiled dishes—her frailest china—were piled up here and there through the rooms. A large turkey platter with a small, dried-up chop on it, graced the top of the gas stove, rubbing elbows, as it were, with a huge iron skillet in which were the musty remains of some much-fried po tatoes. Rusty knives, forks and spoons lay in the sink with -a pot of half-cooked oatmeal. Two venerable fried eggs on a saucer, flanked on either side by bottles of soured cream, stood on one window sill, while on the other was the coffee pot full of grounds. Mrs. Jack gazed for a moment at the scene. Then she dried her tears and, holding her skirts high above the greasy floor, walked out of the kitch en and into her own room—the only spot in the house which as yet had been brought into semi-order. She donned her freshest and most becom ing frock, and, going out of the house, locked the door on what seemed to her a reign of terror and confusion, and presented herself at her husband’s office in time to go to lunch with him. "Have you got everything straight ened already ?” he asked, with a wel coming smile. “You found things pretty shipshape?” “Shipshape!” repeated Mrs. Jack, sarcastically. “The ship must have been struck by a typhoon.” “I suppose it was a little mussy. I really meant to go around there yesterday and fix things up.” “Go around there ! What do you mean ?” “Well, you see,” answered Jack, looking for the first time embarrassed, ‘ ‘after I had slept in all the beds and got a good many of the dishes dirty I thought the best thing to do was to move over to the club, so I stayed in the house only three days after you left.” “Oh!” was Mrs. Jack’s only audi ble comment, but as she looked at Jack she said to herself that he was not really so thin and tired as she had at first thought. —Chicago News. Sunday School Teacher —“Would you not like to dwell in Heaven, Johnny?” Johnny “No, ma’am. We’ve moved three times already this year, and I’m gettin’ tired of helpin’ pack up!” - The only people who enjoy rising early are those who don’t have to. GBEATEB HEW YOBX. New York is great. Standing on the Brooklyn bridge, a sight is spread before the observer that cannot be elsewhere equaled. The great piles of buildings on the Manhattan side, rise like peaks of the Alps or the Sier ras. The old landmarks are entirely hidden. Trinity and St. Paul’s do not show even the tips of their spires. The great postoffice and the city hall are out of sight. Externally and visi bly an entirely new New York is be fore you. If you have not been here since the great old-time buildings, you have never seen this city before. Buildings rising to the height of for ty-two stories crown the view, and other giants of only lesser height fill in the space between. Then you look away two miles ribrth to the Metropolitan Life building, which overtops all between and beyond, and you see here and there, in ragged outline, the heads of the new order of buildings lifted everywhere. Then you turn your head to the new Brooklyn; especially to the Heights, and see the new hotels in this aristocratic dwelling place, that in like manner hide all the old Heights out of sight. These hotels are great square-topped buildings, fifteen and twenty-stories high, with no longer a church steeple in sight. This part of the city has become a place of mag nificent residence hotels. Again you turn your eyes to your immediate surroundings. No longer is a big procession of footmen rushing back and forth over the great bridge, but trains of electric cars chase each other over four tracks almost as fre quently as space will allow, while out side of them all automobiles and car riages, as well as heavier vehicles, fill to the full the two roadways as signed to them. Above you is the grand new bridge, whose huge towers are already built and whose great ca bles already swing from the towers and are anchored in the distance be yond on either side. This bridge is almost parallel to the old one. It is being built to divide the immense trav el and traffic between the two parts of the new New York, for New York now does not mean the little island below the Harlem river. That is now called Manhattan borough. Above is the Bronx borough, named after old Mr. Bronck, who in the ear ly Dutch days cultivated its acres and pastured his cows on its hillsides. Brooklyn is called the borough of Brooklyn, and it takes them all to make the great metropolitan city. A mile and a half away is another that crosses the East river from the termini of the New York Central, the New York, New Haven and Hartford, and the Harlem and other up-country railroads. It is wonderful how the city is be ing borne down and its foundations torn up to accommodate the railroads. The great Pennsylvania lines are hav ing all the buildings for a space wider than old Canal street, swept out of the way for their immense viaduct through the main part of the borough of Man hattan, and Brooklyn is having a like wide passageway, made diagonally through her great buildingt to accom modate the lines that are to cross the new bridge. It seems very strange also to see the old fashioned dump carts and derricks at work, right by the side of the city hall to clear away old buildings and excavate the ground for the sky-scrapers that are to take their places. But so it is. —The Ad vance. A FLEA FOB KIHDHEBB. ■ Wherein lies the heart of our dis content? Perhaps no better answer can be found than in the universal lack of charity and kindness. We all know the multifold blessings of true charity, but there is need to distinguish between charity and gen erosity. The most generous man, one who perhaps endows colleges annually and supports hospitals, may at the same time be a monster of cruelty, a human Cerberus. One learned man says: “Be kind, be good, be gentle, and again be kind,” showing the underlying prin ciple of all goodness and gentleness. But the real, the genuine, unsul lied charity is that which leads the poor ragged child to share his crust of bread with his dog, the wealthy heiress to transform her fortune into homes for the poor and hospital for the afflicted. Perhaps now there is a greater need for this gift than at any previous time. As civilization advances, the more nerve thrills and mental excitement we meet, the more are we apt to for get the misery the unhappiness of others. Not by deed alone may we be kind. Perhaps a gentle word instead of a harsh one, a pleasant look of welcome on a cloudy morn will dispel the mist of gloom, and add a bit of inner sun shine to the outer glow. Let us all consider what little act of love, of self-sacrifice we have ren dered God’s oppressed. Let us per form daily some little act of kindness as a tonic for ourselves and others. It is no discredit to have enemies and opposition. Many men hesitate to adopt any course that will call for opposition by enemies. The world is full of envious people. Some hate a man because he is successful in some business or occupies a prominent place in the community. The world has no animosity toward the quiet citizep who offends no one, gets in no one’s way. It is the live man, the man of push and energy, who incurs enmity. Every man who is fearless in the dis charge of his obligations in any sta tion of life has enemies. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth,” she de clared. “You bet you wouldn’t,” the mean man replied. “I would be in a posi tion then to take my pick.” Give a small boy a piece of chalk and he will make his mark in the world. ESTABLISHED 1850. OHE DAY AT A TIKE. The sun warms us by his beams, one day at a stretch, and then disap pears until the next day. Each person lives best who does his best for one day at a time, and then refreshes himseW for his level best the next day. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Short periods are long enough for the endurance of hard knocks. Man lives only from moment to moment. A whole day is a lengthy period as compared with the space of each heartthrob. Take just one day at a time and de termine to make it unique in your whole life history for the light you can cast about you. Say your prayers and go about your tasks in the morning, and leave fu ture obligations and duties until the next morning. Work while the day lasts, and leave nothing undone that should be per formed. Every morning should find you with a clean record. The duties of each day are these : Speak better words, do nobler acts, be more godly, disseminate more sun shine. All life is summed up in being, do ing and saying. If there is aught be sides these, it is simply shining. All measurements of time, like months, years and centuries, is chief ly for convenience sake, but the day is for business. The clock tells the hour, the min ute, the second, as these artificial pe riods pass, but nature’s mechanism cells off the days. “Work while the day lasts.” The clock cannot separate you from your record if you meet life’s obligation day by day. The flow of time knows no other break like the natural period of twen ty-four hours. It is the hammer stroke of the sun. Many persons think a calendar year as a complete circle, yet severed at one point like a key-ring. Rather should we think of the years as an endless spiral spring, one coil rising above another, until we reach the final break. LOST OPPORTUNITIES. How the handicapped millionaire envies boys in school or college and would give half his wealth for the chance to lay a foundation which they are thinking of spurning! How many an embarrassed man in public life longs to re-live boyhood that he may correct the mistakes of his youth I How much more he could make of his position, if he had cultivated his mind when young ! He does everything at a disadvantage. His grasp of doc uments, speeches and books is weak because he does not know how to study. He must employ a literary secretary to save himself from blun ders of grammar, errors in history and biography or in political economy. He is forced to petty expedients to hide his ignorance. Oh, what a pity it is to see splendid ability made to do the work of medi ocrity ! A man of magnificent parts, feeling that he is by nature intended to shine as a leader, is pitiable when compelled to do the work of an inferior and plod along in hopeless obscurity. The eager unrest of youth that chafes at restraining school walls and longs to rush to action makes havoc with countless careers. In after days the old proverb will ring mockingly in memory : He that will not when be may When he would he shall have nay. What are investments in bonds and stocks, in houses and lands, compared with investment in an education, in a broad, deep culture which will en rich the life and be a perpetual bless ing to one’s friends? To rob oneself of the means of en joyment which education and culture give has no compensation in mere money wealth. No material prosper ity can compare with a rich mind. It is a perpetual wellspring of satisfac tion, of enjoyment. It enables one to bear up under misfortune, to be cheerful under discouragements, and tribulations which overwhelm a shal low mind and an empty heart. — Suc cess. SEEMED OF DOUTFUL QUALITY. One day, after listening to a story particularly offensive with age, Lin coln McConnel, the Georgia evange list, told this: An old darkey went into a store down in Georgia and asked : “Say, boss, got any gunpowdah heah i ’ ’ “Yes, we have gunpowder.” “Lemme see some of that theah gunpowdah.” “Pore a little of that powdahin my hand.” The old darkey took the powder near the light, ran his forefinger around and around in it, looked at it critically, and then smelled it two or three times. “And you say this heah is pow dah?” “Yes,” answered the dealer, sharp ly, “that is powder. What is the the matter with it?” “Dunno, boss” —the darkey shook his head doubtfully—“but hit smells to me like it’s done been shot off befob.” _____ A teacher had told the class of the wonderful voyage of Columbus and bow he insisted on continuing the i voyage after the other men were clam oring to return. Then she asked : “Who was Columbus?” with the view of hearing how well they had • followed her talk. One little hand went up. "Well, Johnny, whowashe?” ask -1 ed the teacher. “Columbus was the gem of the ocean,” was the answer, i • All the world’s a stage, and near ly all the actors thereon are high kickers. ; Some men are always having a “terrible time.”