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VOL; 60. WHOLE No. 2306.
| I-AN OLD MAID-f ji 3 ; 2 Once there was an OLD MAID who said she did not ] • 3 [ 3B need to marry, as she had a parrot that swore, a monkey J > 3 J 5* that chewed tobacco, a lamp that smoked and a cat that ] > 3 1 dks stayed out at nights. But the Old Maid needed a Bank 'S j ► 3 | a Account and YOU need one too. Bank with 3 * 31 g “THE OLD RELIABLE,” j[ 3; s Progressive,commercial,conducted along modern as well S. 3‘ 3 J T as conservative lines. 3 ’ < [ paid in Savings Department."®® m \ i; The Towson National Bank,:! ji TOWSON, NfllcL. 3[ <\ JOHN CROWTHER, DUANE H. RICE, W. C. CRAUMER, 'j •3 President. Vice-President. Cashier. 3; ' ► OctJfr-jjT THE COMMERCIAL BANK OF MARYLAND BELVEDERE AVENUE, Near Reisterstowa Road, ARLINGTON, Md. . .0 —— CAPITAL STOCK, $25,000. . ■ .0 — * NOW OFEHST FOE BUSINESS. . M o Doe. a general Banking Business In all that 1. con.i.tent with safe and careful man agement. The location of our Bank makes It the most convenient place for a large number of residents of Baltimore county to transact their financial business. During the short time onr Bank has been open for business the amount of deposits has reached a success far in excess of onr expectations. We have a SAVINGS 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 ns. Prompt attention given to all collection bnslness entrusted to ns. . s. ■ a— —■ —iOFFICERS: — CHAS. T. COCKET, Jr., JOHN K. COLTER, Ist Vice-President. CHARLES E. SMITH, President. HOWARD E. JACKSON, 2d Vice-President. Cashier. —:DIREOTORS: CHARLES T. COCKEV, Jr., HOWARD E. JACKSON, ROBERT H. McMANNS, ARTHUR F. NICHOLSON, J. B. WAILES, MAX ROSEN, JOHN K. CULVER, OEOROE W. ALT, H. D. HAMMOND, J. FRANK SHIPLEY, H. D. EASTMAN. Dec. 2d—ly Second National Bank TOWSOJST, Mcl. BOXES BOXES SAFE DEPOSIT BOXES AT THE SECOND NATIONAL BANK OF TOWSON, • 0.00 FBR YEAH, FOR YOUR VALUABLES. BOXES BOXES -lOPPICEHS! Thomas W. Offutt, Elmer j. cook, ly 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 i. Yellott, W. Gill Smith, John V. Slade. Feb. B—ly .Stock 3£arms. iprsns Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R., 2X Miles mom Towson. Constantly on hand A LARGE STOCK OF MULES, TO SUIT ALL PURPOSES. —AMO— ***** Coach, Driving, : TT HTIO H fl Saddle and :: : ■ K\H \ General Purpose UUIIUiJU FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE. •■HORSEsToARDEDi* C. A P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H.~MOE, Prop’r, TOWSOU, Md. 00t.24—1v GROVE FARM PALLS ROAD, North of Brooklandvllle, Md. PRIZK winning— Guernsey Cattle, Berkshire Hogs, Shropshire Sheep. FOB BALB A Few Registered Heifers, Between 4 months and 2 years old Apply to JAS. McK. MKRRYMAN, R. F. D. Lutherville. Md. C. A P. Telephone—Towson 13. Oct. 81—ly Geo. W. Kirwan & Co. 13 N. CHARLES STREET, Between Baltimore and Fayette Streets, BALTIMORE, Md„ | HABERDASHERS | I SHIRT BAKERS. | SHIRTS TO MEASURE— Thl w de y^tment ed special care. All shirts are made on our own premises and our FIT AND FINIBH have made us well known as a SHIRT HOUSE. If you have not tried us, do so by ordering a Sample Shirt. Cartwright A Warners' English Unshrinkable Underwear has been the best for over a hundred years and will be for a hundred years to come. |9~BOTH PHONES. [July 1-ly Dr. A. 0. McOURDY & CO., TOWSON, Md. Orders received for— ALL KINDS OF SLATE. Peach Bottom Booflng Slate, W L Slabs for Walks, w|w Chimney Tops, XpC Burial Casas, W * Cemetery Willi, Imposing Btones, Ac., Ae. WCall on or address as above. C. A P. Phone—Towson 33 R. [July*—ly . MULLER & YEARLEY, HARNESS, THUNKS and BARS, 343 N. Gay Street, BALTIMORE, Md. Collars, Names, Chains, Etc. STABLE SUPPLIES. 49*Special prices to readers of this paper.*®* Write for Catalogue. BLANKETS AND ROBES BELOW COST. ESTABLISHED 1878. BOTH PHONES. DANIEL - RIDER, 1001 GREBNMOUNT AVENUE, BALTIMORE, Md., COMMISSION * MERCHANT For the Sale of Hay, Grain and Btraw. Orders for Mill Feed, Gluten Feed, Cotton • Seed Meal, Oil Cake Meat, Salt, Ac., will receive prompt attention. [Apl. 4—ly i E. SCOTT PAYNE CO. > OF BALTIMORE CITY, I HARDWARE, 363 and 364 N. Gay Street, Baltimore, Md. Bar Iron and Steel, Springs, Axles, Wheels and Spokes, Horse-Shoers' Supplies, Carriage and Builders' Hardware. A. C. DIETRICH, Treasurer and Manager. Phones. [Jan. 30—ly J. MAURICE WATKINS & SON, —DEALERS IF— Staple, Fancy & Green Groceries Fruits in season. Fresh and Sait Meats. Full line of Tobaccos, Foreign and Domestic Cigars, Ac. Sept. 13—ly TOWSON. Md. Money to loan-in sums to suit. ROBERT H. BUBBEY, Towson, Md. r Feb. 10.—tf Residence Cookeysvillp. For “The Union.” LIFE’S JOYS. BY OEOROE E. TACK. I have drunk spiced crystal wine from out OreeD goblets of tbe hills, I have caught the far-flung echoes of The seraph’s songs In rilis, I have revelled in the golden wealth Of old warm-hearted sun. Life has poured me out its treasures ere Its magic day is done. Fair Love and Friendship deem I precious, Eager I touch their lips. Enamored of all their holy charms. My soul their nectar sips. For me Time's ripened fruits are stored, With elemental life; While depths abyssal yield me joys, From out their roar and strife. What though the flowery lanes I roved, Led each to threat’ning cliff? What though the waters I trusted long, Battered my fragile skiff ? Mighty the bands that upbear mo are. Sleepless the Pilot true; Tbe Guide 1 needed not, as I thought, Proffers his aid anew. The pulsing wings of day. swift-flying. Have borne me to the night: The starry night, whose still eloquence. Hints of that Home of light, Where temples of dust shall fall no more. But greet with deathless lips. While holy voices uplift their songs. And life Its nectar sips. THE 01 EL WHO CAME. BY TEMPLE BAILEY. “How much is she going to pay you ?” demanded Mrs. Warner. The color flamed into Miss Aspa sia’s fair face. “Why, we couldn’t let her pay anything,” she said, gent ly, “Her mother was a distant cousin and we were playmates. And when the mother died and Victorine wrote that she would like to visit us after she finished school, of course we told her to come.” “Well, I think you were very fool ish,” was Mrs. Warner’s unvarnished statement. “A big, strong girl like that! Why, she’ll eat you out of house and home!” Miss Emmeline looked anxious. She was as fat as Miss Aspasia was thin, and her longings were for the flesh-pots, while Miss Aspasia’s were for the things of the spirit. “I suppose she will have a pretty big appetite,” she said. “Of course'” Mrs. Warner assert ed, “and I can’t see any reason why you two should be saddled with a boarder who doesn’t pay anything.” “Oh, we are very glad to have her.” It was Miss Emmeline who emphasized now. “It will be pleas ant to have someone young in the house.” But after Mrs. Warner had gone, the sisters looked at each other doubt fully. “Suppose she shouldn’t be— nice?” faltered Miss Aspasia. “Suppose she should eat us out of house and home !” And they stared at each other with startled eyes. Their guest was due at half-past six. At six o’clock Miss Emmeline put some delicate linen squares on tUe mahogany table, and set forth a somewhat meager supper of thinly sliced bread, jam and dried beef. As the preparations progressed, Josephus, the yellow cat, who had been asleep in his own chair, waked up and purred his appreciation. Miss Emmeline smoothed his head with a nervous hand. “We can’t cut down Josephus’ cream,” she said. “Whatever else we do, we can’t cut down his cream.” “Of course not I” Miss Aspasia’s tone was impatient. ‘‘l wish you wouldn’t always think about things to eat, Emmy,” and she trailed up stairs to the room which they had prepared for Victorine. It was a bare little place, although the furniture was of mahogany and the old prints on the walls of greater value than their owners guessed. But of girlish decoration there was none, and after Miss Aspasia had surveyed it with some disapprobation, she went across the hall and brought back a heart-shaped satin cushion of faded pink, that years ago had been made to grace her own wedding furniture. And when her romance had ended, the cushion had been laid away, to be brought out now for the first time. Miss Emmeline puffed heavily up the stairway and stopped in front of the door. “I never supposed you would let anyone use that cusbiou,” she said, reprovingly. “The dresser looked so bare,” re plied Miss Aspasia. “But I couldn’t stand it to leave it there if she should not be —nice.” “Well, I would wait until she came,” was Miss Emmeline’s way of settling it. “You’d feel perfectly dreadful to have all kinds of pins stuck in it.” Miss Aspasia snatched the precious relic to her bosom. “I’ll wait,” she agreed, and fled to her room to wrap it in its tissue paper. As she went, Miss Emmeline announced, “I’m go ing down to make the tea. She ought to be here in a few minutes, and things will be all ready.” But she was not there in a few minutes ; and when seven o’clock had come and half-past, the little ladies made fresh tea, and ate a little of the supper, reserving carefully the largest share for the expected guest. Eight o’clock struck, and Josephus curled himself up for the night on his cush ion ; nine o’clock, and Mrs. Warner rushed over with a telegram. “I met the boy just outside,” she explained. “Something’s happened,’’said Miss Aspasia, faintly; but the telegram merely announced that the train was late —five hours late. “Now don’t you sit up for her,” Mrs. Warner advised. “She won’t be here til! midnight, and Mr. Warner 1 can meet her.” But another telegram from the ap proaching guest came at ten : • “Train further delayed. Don’t wait up. Will take a cab out.” “Victorine certainly must like to ! spend her money,” was Mrs. Warner’s i comment. “Two telegrams and a cab ! And yet not pay her board !” And in the face of her withering sarcasm the sisters were silent. But they did not go to bed. They [ nodded in their chairs, and at mid night Miss Emmeline said, wistfully, as she looked at Victorine’s supper, still set forth on the silver tray, “I’m hungry.” Miss Aspasia shook her head. “I wouldn’t eat any of it,” she said. TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, MARCH 20. 1909. “Victorine may want it when she comes.” It was two o’clock when they heard the rattle of the cab on the empty street. “She’s here !” they said, breath lessly, and ran to let her in. She was paying the man, and her low laugh came to them. “Oh! oh !” she said. “Did you sit up, you bad little ladies? I told you to go to bed.” Something in her voice made the sisters laugh in response. They had never been called “bad little ladies” in that affectionate way, and they liked it. “Tell him where to put it,” said the voice again, and then they saw that the cabman was staggering under a flat trunk, and they made way for him. And after the cabman came Victo rine, radiant, glowing, exquisite. She kissed them, and hugged Josephus, and cried, “Oh, it’s lovely to be here ! It was perfectly ducky of you to let me come!” Miss Aspasia held the girl’s hand in a loving clasp, while Miss Emme line beamed on her, and said, “And now, my dear, are you hungry ?” “ Hungry !” said Victorine. “I could eat a house 1” Miss Aspasia dropped her hand. “We —we saved you a little supper,” she said. “Perhaps we should get you something more.” Victorine’s quick eyes caught the trouble in the old faces, and she re membered what her mother had told her of the careful management that had kept the two little ladies from ex treme poverty. “No, indeed !” she said, quickly. “If you’ll just make a cup of tea while I get into something comforta ble.” Then her arms went round Miss Aspasia again. “I’ve just been pining to see you, ’ ’ she said. “Mother has told me of the time when you were girls together, and how Miss Emmeline like tarts and you liked to write poetry. And now that she isn’t —here —I felt that I just had to come to you and Miss Emmeline —” “Precious child !” murmured Miss Aspasia, and wished that the pink cushion was in place on the mahog any dresser. “Please don’t plan anything but the tea,” Victorine directed, as she went upstairs. “I have some things in the little trunk ; my other trunks will come up in the morning.” Miss Aspasia followed, taking in, with fashion-starved eyes, the cut of the tailored gray suit, the bunch of violets and lilies of the valley that brightened the front of it, the trim hat with the gray veil. Victorine, on her knees, lifted out the tray of the flat trunk. “I bought such things in New York —the shops were perfectly irresistible. I found this kimono for myself,” and she dis played one of faint mauve crape, with wistaria blossoms trailing over it, “and these I bought for you and Miss Emmeline.” “Oh !” Miss Aspasia quivered, as she gathered up the exquisite pale blue garment, all sprinkled with cherry blossoms. Miss Emmeline’s was a cheerful affair of gray, with a flight of swal lows across it, and a cherry-colored border of satin. “Put it on,” Victorine urged, “and be comfortable. We will make a night of it, dear Miss Aspasia.” And Miss Aspasia, with her eyes shining like a girl’s, ran down to Emmeline. “Oh, the lovely, lovely child, Em meline !” she said, with a break in her voice. “She has brought us these!” They put on the kimonos, survey ing themselves almost stealthily in the mirror in the sitting-room, i “What would Mrs. Warner say?” Miss Aspasia remarked, almost guilt ily, as she blushed at her charming reflection. “I don’t care what she’d say,” said Miss Emmeline,recklessly. “I’ve never been so comfortable in my life,” and she swept into the dining-room to make the tea. There she found Victorine in the midst of a picturesque array of par : cels with brilliant wrappings and gay : labels. There were boxes of wonder ful biscuits, and tins of sardines and i potted things, and bottles of olives, and jars of ginger, and little cream i cheeses wrapped in tin-foil, and some : delectable little glasses whose con i tents caught the light and glowed crimson. “What is it?” Miss Emmeline asked curiously. I “Bar-le-Duc,” said Victorine. “It is a French preserve of currants in r honey, and it’s fine with cream cheese 1 and crackers. Try it.” i And Miss Emmeline did try it, and ; she ate cavair and Camembert, and t goose-livers and anchovies, and a lot of other things which she had read 1 of in cook-books, but had never seen. “I never felt so Bohemian in my r life,” she confided, at last. “I’ve heard of such things, but I never had ; a chance to try them. Well, I won der what Mrs. Warner would say, 5 Aspasia?” l Miss Aspasia did not answer. She 3 was watching Victorine, who was feeding sardines to the ingratiating ’ Josephus. As the girl moved her i arms, her kimono fell back a little, r showing about her neck a slender chain, from which hung a ring with -a flashing jewel. Victorine looked up and caught t the glance of the tender old eyes. “Oh,” she said, and her hand went j to her neck, “I —I want to show it to s you—it’s my engagement ring. Bob i gave it to me and I wouldn’t wear it at school —I wanted you to be the 5 first to wish me happiness —you see, I haven’t mother —” y Her voice broke, and she reached - out her hands to them. , “And if you don’t mind,” she went , on, “I want to be married from here. i Just a little quiet wedding. But I am so alone —I haven’t any nearer I relatives —and I told Bob if you . didn’t mind —” Mind ! It seemed to Miss Aspasia as if her cup of happiness was full. For yearsshe had yearned for romance, and here, at last, it had come. Not for herself, but in the form of this lovely proxy ! . “You see,” Victorine went on, Qonfidingly, “I have so much money I don’t just know what to do with it, and I knew you would enjoy seeing my pretty clothes, and I could have all the troublesome things, refresh ments and all that, sent out from the city—but still it would be a home wedding, and—and Miss Emmeline could bake the cake—” “I baked your mother’s wedding cake,” said Miss Emmeline, between smiles and tears. “I know,” said Victorine, and in the silence that followed, Miss As pasia slipped away, to come back presently with her eyes shining like stars. And when the gray dawn drove them at last to bed, Victorine found on the old mahogany dresser the heart-shaped cushion of faded pink. “Mother made it for you 1” she cried. “She told me —for your wed ding —and—O, Miss Aspasia, your lover —died —” “Yes,” Miss Aspasia whispered, and for a moment the young woman with love for her future and the old one with love for her past clung to gether. Then Victorine straightened, with a tremulous laugh. “I—lsballnever stick a pin in it,” she said, “but if you dod’t mind, I’m going to snip off just a wee bit of faded ribbon from that cushion and send it to —Bob.”— Youth's Companion. SPARING HER HRRVEB. The mistakes which were plentiful ly sprinkled along Mrs. Comer’s ca reer were never regretted by any one more than by Mrs. Comer herself. “I used the very best judgment I had,” she said, referring to one un fortunate occurrence, “but, as usual, everything went wrong. ‘ ‘You see, I went to Greenville in the morning with Mrs. Hobart, in tending to go on to Nasua, but I changed my mind when the weather turned cool and spent the day with Anna Woods, going home at dusk. I’d forgotten my little bag with my key in it, so I went right over to Mrs. Hobart’s. “She’d gone down the road to Mrs. Cole's, but I found her key behind the left hand blind and went right in. “The house was dark, but I said to myself, ‘I won’t light a lamp for fear of scaring her, a timid woman, living all alone, as she does.’ So I sat in the dark till I heard her coming up the walk. “When she found the door was un locked she gave a kind of a gasp, so I stepped forward and then, long as I had a cold so my voice didn’t sound natural and I was afraid ’twould scare her, she being so timid, I put out my hand and laid it on her arm. ‘ ‘And, if you’ 11 believe me, ’ ’finished Mrs. Comer plaintively, “she fell right over in a faint and cut her fore head on the edge of the rocking chair, and I thought I’d never bring her to! ‘ ‘There’s no use trying to be careful with a woman like her.” — Youth's Companion. LIFE DUTIES AND OPPORTUNITIES. Apart from the mere condition of living, man has duties to fulfill and opportunities to embrace. Brute crea tion lives and acts by fixed laws ; but man is a rational animal and is guid ed and directed by reason. It is be cause man has reason that God, his Creator, assigns him duties to fulfill and affords him opiiortunities which he should embrace, and it is upon the matter of his discharging his obliga • tions as to both that will rest man’s happiness here as well as hereafter. As regards himself, man’s first duty it to labor. Reason suggests it as necessary for self-preservation, and Revelation commands it as a payment of the penalty of original sin, as we read God’s words to Adam, “Thou shalt eat thy bread in the sweat of thy brow.” Man is also to take care of his life. He must not expose it to dangers un necessarily ; he must not neglect the needs of his body, nor fail to give it due rest and relaxation, for man is not the owner of his life but only its custodian, and it is decreed by God, who is life’s owner by reason of hav ing created it, that man one day will have to return his life to Him and make strict accounting for the care he has given it, and for the use he has made of it. Judge Wicks, who used to preside in. a Maryland court, was a great stickler for verifying the attorney’s references. In pursuance of this cus tom he one day completely upset a young lawyer who was taking an elo quent flight. “If your honor please,” he cried, bombastically, “it is written in the book of nature —” “On what page, sir?” interrupted the judge, who had only caught the last toords. A little boy was sitting behind a baldheaded man at church, who was scratching the fringe of hair on one side of his bald pate. The old gen tleman kept it up so long that at last the boy became interested, and, lean ing over, said : “Say, mister, you’ll never catch him there. Why don’t you run him out in the open?” Wife (during the spat)—l don’t believe you ever did a charitable act in your life. Husband —I did one, at least, that I have lived to regret. Wife —Indeed ! What was it pray ? Husband —I saved you from dying an old maid. “By one of dem wise provisions of nature,” said Uncle Eben, “a man dat thinks he’s too good to work ain’t ginerally competent to do work dat ’ud amount to noffin’ nohow.” OUR COAST BEACONB. The goal toward which the light house board of this country is striving is a continuous chain of lights com pletely encircling the United States and possessions and in the case of rivers and inland seas bounding the waters on all sides, so that a ship may never leave the area of a light thrown by one lighthouse before entering the circle of the light of another. As fast as Congress will appropriate the money the gaps are being filled. But what makes the light? When the curious inquirer is told “kerosene” he naturally wonders why his own student lamp does not give a better light if the same oil in the lighthouse sends its beams from five to twenty five miles. Various methods of lighting were in use until 1840, when a new system was introduced of employing nearly true paraboloid reflectors and better 1 glass lenses. In some cases these re flectors gave a light which is not sur passed even today, except when han dled with intelligent care. In 1852, when the present lighthouse board was instituted, the Fresnal system of lenticular glasses was introduced from France and still remains. The first cost is great, but by the saving of oil over the reflector system this is soon reduced. With any reasonable care a fine light always results, and it is im possible for a keeper to maintain a poor light with this apparatus with out flagrant disobedience of instruc tions. Even with such an apparatus no common lamp can supply the light. First order lamps have five wicks, one inside the other, and are fed with oil by a pump and pipe system. The oil is fed to the wicks so that it reaches the ends where the flame is in the right time and in the right quantity. It is difficult to look at it, so intense is the light. In the lenses rather than in the lamp is the secret, for they pick up and utilize nearly all the rays of light which ordinarily go astray. The Fresnel apparatus collects almost all of this waste light and reflects and refracts it out ia one great broad beam of light, parallel to the surface of the sea, where it is needed. The flames which come from the lamps are largely transparent. So, of course, are all other similar flames. If flames were not transparent there could be no advantage in having one flame inside another and a third in side the first two, etc. The lights from the inner flames could not get out and would do no good. In some lighthouses usually the range light purposes, the light is all to be concentrated in one beam. This is done by concentric rings of prisms and a central bullseye and a reflector. Vessels getting such a light in range, either by itself or with another light and running down the beam, are safe from obstructions which may be near by, the range lights or beams of light marking out the channel to be fol lowed. It is frequently asked of lighthouse keepers why electricity is not used in place of mineral oil. An electric light is expensive to install and difficult and expensive to maintain. There is al ways difficulty in keeping the arc ex actly in the focal point of the lenses, the carbons never burning twice aline and constant watching being necessa ry. Failure to have the light source exactly in the focal point of the lens results in sending the light rays up or down instead of straight out, where they are wanted. Electricity, while superior in penetrative power in a fog, has no advantage over a powerful oil lantern in clear weather. Mineral oil, colza oil or lard oil lights of the first order could be seen a hundred miles were it not for the curvature of the earth,- and as long as the light is visible long before the coast is all purposes are served. It is only within recent years that mineral oil has been in use. Lard oil succeeded colza oil and was used ex clusively up to 1880 and with mineral oil up to 1889. Since the latter year mineral oil has been used entirely* except where electricity has been ex perimented with, or coal or acetylene gas. So far coal oil, for power, effi ciency, cleanliness, ease of operation and cheapness, holds its own against all other means of light making. Electricity, if it can be successfully installed, is the best light, but through expense of maintenance and in the in ability to get skilled attendants for such a light for the price set cn keep ers’ services it makes slow headway. The traveler who cruises up the coasts and who sinks one light before picking up another must know that somewhere in the dark circle is a spot picked for the foundation of a light which will be erected as soon as funds and time allow. —Scientific American. WHY DO YOU SCOWL! Does it improve your looks ? Not even so much as the thundercloud in a summer sky, for it, at least, gives signs of the sun behind. Does it add to your popularity ? Not while a sunny disposition is the win ner as friend maker and keeper. Does it heighten your charms ? Not to those who count sullenness the deadliest fault a woman can have. Does it boost your chances in life? Not with the man who has ever had the ill-luck to employ a sulky worker. Does it keep you young looking ? Ask the masseuse who has to wage war on that heavy line between the 1 eyes and the crow’s feet at the corners. Does it make life sweeter? The sweetening power of a scowl is as salt in the sugar bowl or vinegar in the molasses jug. Does it make things easier ? About as easy as sand on a ballroom floor, : or running an unoiled jigsaw. Does it pay ? Not until crossness ' becomes currency for content, and a [ frown is pacemaker for a smile. Strangely enough, it’s when a f man comes right to the point that he 1 is considered blnnt. t If people laughed more they would all be happier and healthier. THE AFPLE-BROKEB. When the first cool days of Septem ber send city people home ready for work, then begins a business among the orchard-owners of New England of which the casual summer visitor has little knowledge. The apple-broker’s busy days have come, and expert apple-pickers, with long ladders, small baskets and bar rels, appear in all the orchards, and spread over the trees with the persist ence and industry of an invasion of browntail moths. Each band of these workers is headed by a responsible and capable man, secured by the apple-broker be cause of his knowledge of the apple market, his reliability, and his gift of managing men. This boss is fur nished by his employer with numerous directions, among which are small slips of paper which read something like this: Before October Ist, gather Mrs. Brown’s Orchard. Pound Sweetings —London. Ben Davis’—Boston. Blake’s Orchard. Early Baldwins —New York. Yellow Stock —San Francisco. The boss understands by this list that the pound sweetings are to be gathered with unusual care. No rough shakings of the branches on which this fruit grows. A careful man, with a small basket swung over his shoulder, goes up the ladder. Every apple is clipped from the bough, placed in the basket, and when the basket is moderately full, the man de scends. These applesare each wrapped in tissue-paper and put in boxes, much in the same way that California oranges are packed to send east. Then a card is tacked on the box, marked, “Mrs. Brown’s Pound Sweetings, 100, London,” and the boss makes a similar entry in the little account book, which, at tbe end of each week, he hands over to the apple-broker. The real business of the apple-brok er, however, begins in midsummer. If you are in an apple country, cen tral Massachusetts, or near Mercer, Maine, and are an observing person, you will notice now and then a keen faced, capable-looking man driving about the country roads, talking with the owners of orchards and carefully examining the half-grown fruit. The man is generally a resident of an apple-growing district. He knows the history of every orchard, how old the trees are, the quality of the fruit grown, the owner of the orchard, and how to deal with him. It is in midsummer that the bar gains are made. The apple-broker buys the crop. By so doing he as sumes a considerable risk. There may be, even after midsummer, too much rain, too much heat, a visitation of the dreaded apple worm, in fact, any one of a dozen possibilities may ruin the product of an orchard and spoil the broker’s profits; while the farmer, with a round sum deposited in the savings-bank, thanks his stars that he sold his apples in July. The apple-broker has no leisure on his hands. Barrels and boxes are no small thing to be considered when yon are to harvest the orchards of six or seven townships. Now and then the enterprising broker starts a cooper shop and box manufactory of his own near the town where the most fruit is raised and here, during July and August, a dozen or more men work, busily turning out barrels and boxes which will be sent to the uttermost partsof the earth filled with the pound sweetings or the firm, fragrant Bald wins of New England. But the cooper shop is not the only dependence of the apple broker for barrels. Early in the spring he begins a canvass of the country. His team stops at a farmer’s house. “Good morning, Mrs. Smith I” he calls to the pleasant-faced woman at the door. “I hear that you make such good bread that your husband has a lot of empty flour-barrels.” “Now Mr. Perkins?” chuckles the pleased housewife. “The idea! I guess it’s Jim’s appetite that keeps the flour-barrel empty.” “Got a good many empty barrels, eh?” questions the broker. “Land, no ! There may be two or three out in the shed.” “I’ll give you fifty cents for the lot, Mrs. Smith, without counting ’em,” declares the wily trader, hand somely. Mrs. Smith is willing, nods her consent, receives her piece of sil ver, and' sees three empty barrels loaded on the back of Mr. Perkins’s wagon. He has made a good bargain. In September less careful buyers will pay thirty cents apiece for all manner and kind of barrels. From house to house he goes, securing one barrel here, three or four there, until his sheds are filled with barrels, and he can look forward to the harvest with out apprehension When the bosses bring in their lit tle account-books for the final reckon ing, the broker knows just where he stands. His bargains with distant buyers were made long ago. He marks his boxes and communicates with his shipping-agents. But his day of leisure is not yet. He goes from orchard to orchard, looking into barrels, climbing a tree now and then, urging on his employ es, that an untimely frost may not find his fruit ungathered, and so ruin him. From town to town he hastens, sending a load of barrels here, start ing off a promised order there. The orchards of northern Maine offer a more difficult problem to the apple-broker than do those of Massa chusetts. Often the matter of trans portation becomes serious because of the distance from railroad-stations. It is not as easy to secure good help, many of the orchards are on steep hillsides, and even the trained mind of the apple expert is often puzzled as to ways and means of securing good results. But that he meets this problem successfully is proved by the I thousands of barrels of apples which Maine sends every year to distant markets. —Alice Turner Curtis , in I Youth's Companion. ESTABLISHED 1850. DOGS A8 WATCHMEN’S HELPERS. “Training dogs to assist the watch men and police is a very simple mat ter,” said a~ old private watchman of Boston, o formerly walked a beat in the South End. “Dogs like the work. They enjoy prowling around through alleys and backyards and nosing into corners and behind barrels and piles of boxes, and their wonderful sense of smell of ten enables them to locate an intruder so securely hidden that his presence would never be suspected by a watch man. ‘ ‘When I was walking a beat a large Newfoundland dog began following me of his own accord. I didn’t en courage him at first, but let him go along on my rounds as much for com pany as anything else. That dog watched me like a detective and seem ed to understand everything I did ; fol lowed me into every yard, and in less than a week knew every house that I was employed to watch. “In ten days he was doing a large part of my work. Of course he could not try the doors, but after the first round, when I tried all the doors and saw that everything was right, all I had to do was to send him in to search the yard, and he did it thoroughly. If anything was wrong he barked and I ran in to see what was the matter. Once a back door was open. The gentleman of the house had come in late, left the door unlatched and the wind blew it open. The dog knew it was wrong and barked for me to come. “Another time I heard him barkitilg in a back yard, and running in, found he had cornered a man hiding behind ? pile of boards. The dog worked with me for nearly three years. Every evening, no matter what the weather, that dog was on hand at the patrol box where I reported. On cold nights we would go into an en gine house to warm, and while the dog enjoyed the warming hour as much as I did he was no skulker, but whenever I was ready to go he was ready, too. “I lost him because his owner moved out of the city, but as soon as it became known among the dog pop ulation that he wasn’t working his place was taken by a hound that I had often noticed following us in a furtive fashion, as though he would like to be of the party, but didn’t want to intrude, and the new dog seemed from the first to understand every thing that ought to be done and did it as well as his predecessor.” THE PASSING OF A FAMOUS HOUSEMAN. Charley Taylor, veteran horseman, died January 9, at the age of 103. He had made White River Junction, Vermont, his home for about 50 years. He loved horses, as a boy in Canada, sold and handled them there and in the States, and finally became a well known driver on the race tracks of both countries. It is estimated he won 70 per cent, of about 1,700 races. He rarely descended to questionable advantage but foresaw, out witted and outraced opponents. He knew what his horses could do in any event, was always with them, and slept with them. He rarely carried a whip, but urged them by a word. He “never abused an animal to have that come up against him.” He was thorough in trifles. His habits were regular and exemplary. He was always in condition. It was his quiet boast that he never lost a meal, never had a cold or a doctor, never took a glass of liquor or used tobacco, never used an oath or shook a dice. He never mar ried. His last race was at the age of 96. As a centenarian he drove ex hibition half miles at fairs, and even last October, at the State Fair, resent ed proffered assistance when alighting from the sulky. His mental and phy sical activities were surprising to the last. He did the chores, cared for the garden and hens. He would rarely sit down, and always kept busy, saying “That is what saves a man. Work to eat, work to sleep. If a man can’t sleep he’ll wear out.” A four weeks’ siege of pneumonia car ried Mr. Taylor off at last, though the attending physician says he was out doors every day during the time and seemed recovering until a relapse the day before his death. Our picture, taken when near the century mark, is typical of the man as legions of friends knew him. —The Vermonter. _ 0 ONE LAUGH MAKES MANY. It is a fine thing to be able to make hundreds of people laugh heartily. To have the power to achieve this pur pose is little less than a gift of the gods, and the price of a real humorist is undoubtedly above rubies. Public drinking fountains of physic and a free change of air to the entire popu lation would probably do less real good than the diverting antics of the mirth manufacturers. If A. laughs as he reads some fun ny bit, he chases dull care away; then he goes out in a better humor, cheers all he meets, possibly makes them laugh, and they in turn feel bet ter. One laugh makes many, and a joke or a book which can produce widespread laughter is, therefore, a kind of public tonic, and highly to be esteemed. The first witness called in a petty lawsuit in Cincinnati was an Irishman of whose competence as a witness the opposing counsel entertained doubt. At their instance there was put to him before being sworn the usual in terrogatory, “Do you know the na ture of an oath?” A broad grin spread over the face of the Irishman as he replied: “Indade, your honor, I may say that it is second nature with me.” > l “Here, ma !” requested the boy, l hurrying from school before time, ► “hangmy jacket up behind the stove.” 5 “Is it wet?” “No, but teacher sent 5 me home to tell you to warm my 1 jacket for me.” t 1 Some men are rich enough to afford every luxury except aclear conscience,