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Edited «nd Published by the Inmates of the Minnesota State Prison* Stillwater, Minn. mitered at the postoffice at Stillwutei, Mian., as second-class Bail matter. Contributions solicited from all sources. Rejected manuscripts Will not be returned. THE MIRROR is issued every Thursday at the following rates: One Year Six Months - ----- .50 Three Months - - * " " ~ * 25 To inmates of all penal institutions - - 50 c*s. per year Address all communications to THE MIRROR, Stillwater, Minn. THE MIRK OR is a weekly paper published in the Minnesota State Prison. It was founded in 1887 by the prisoners and Is edited and man aged by them. It aims to be a home newspaper; to encourage moral and Intellectual improvement among tho prisoners; to acquaint the public with the true status of the prisoner: to disseminate penological Information and to aid In dispelling that prejudice which has ever been the bar sinister to a fallen man’s self-redemption. The paper Is entirely dependent on the public for Its financial support. If at any time there shall accrue a surplus of funds, the money wll be expended In the Interests of the prison library. TO INMATES. For the information of new arrivals and all others desiring to send The Mirror to friends we wish to say that the privilege will be granted by complying with the following rules: Write your own name and register number and send same to this office with name and address of person to whom paper is to be sent. Each paper must be kept clean and folded in the same manner in which it is received and placed in your door every Friday night. All inmates are requested to comply with this order whether sending out a copy or not. Service in the Prison Chapel at nine o’clock every Sunday morning. Protestant and Catholic service every alternate Sunday. Rev. C. E. Benson and Rev. Fr. Corcoran chaplains. Come, Worry, let us walk abroad today, Let’s take a little run along the way: I know a sunny path that leads from Fear Up to the lovely fields of Wholesome Cheer. I’ll race you there —I’m feeling fit and strong. So, Worry, come along! We started on our way, I and my Care. I set the pace on through the springtime air, But ere we’d gone a mile poor Worry stopped, Tried hard to catch his breath, and then he dropped, Whilst I went on — Au easy winner of that Marathon. And sinoe that day when vexed by any fear, When Worry’s come again with visage drear, I’ve challenged him to join me iu that race, And found each time he could not stand the pace. —John Kendiick Bangs, in Ainslee’e. Bishop McGolrick of Duluth has announced his intention of carrying out a plan to colonize agri cultural lands in the northern part of the State. It is his intention to endeavor to induce seven thousand families now located in the congested cities of the eastern part of the United States to remove to lands which he has selected, personally inspeoted and found to be particularly well adapted to general farming and stookraising. The families selected for settlement are to be of the Catholic faith principally and farms in severalty are to be sold them upon most favorable terms and at low prices. The plan is not a moneymaking one, but is based primarily upon philanthropic principles—that of bettering the moral, material and spiritual condition of those who will take hold of the good Bishop’s ideas. The plan proposed by Bishop McGolrick is not a new one. About thirty years ago Archbishop (then Bishop) Ireland obtained a large tract of land in the western part of the State and brought over quite a number of families from Ireland. The town of Graceville was founded—being named after the then Archbishop of the Episcopate—Archbishop Grace. The immediate results of Archbishop Ire land’s colonization did not bear good fruit in the be ginning, but there were numerous reasons for the apparent failure in the initiatory transplanting of families from a foreign country to a then praotically wild and woolly frontier. Since that time great prog ress has been made in railroading and in the growth of the country—thus affording ready markets for farm products. The result of whioh has been great prosperity for the settlers brooght over by Aroh bishop Ireland. Bishop McGolrick is a good man in addition to being an honest one. He has been engaged in do ing beneficent works all of his long and eventful life. Against bitter opposition and many difficulties he has built up his diocese into one of power .and for midable strength and character. In his present un dertaking—that of peopling the northern part of the State —and thus making waste plaoes “bloom anc blossom as the rose,” he will be engaged in a grand CHURCH NOTICE. A CHALLENGE. EDITORIAL. and noble service. First of all, the people whom he induces to locate on the lands selected will prosper and call him blessed. The commonwealth will gain materially in adding a large number of .desirable families to the population of the State. It may be said truthfully that if anyone can make a success of the projeot outlined, Bishop Mc- Golrick is that man and he ought to have the aid and encouragement of all who can help the plan along by word or deed. John A. Johnson, the greatest Governor Min nesota ever had, is dead. He passed away early last Tuesday morning at Rochester, Minn., his untimely demise mourned by every man, woman and child in the State and by many millions throughout the na tion. President Taft in his speeches in the Twin Cities referred to the late Governor as “Minnesota’s favorite son,” and such he waa. The President also alluded gracefully to the possibility of Gov. Johnson being called upon to serve the nation in time to come in a higher sphere —but Death, unconquerable, has changed the course of history in that respect. “In the midst of life we are in death,” and no one knows what a day will bring forth. The un timely death of Gov. Johnson is a sad blow and re minds all of the immutable law of the Master which calls home the high and the low—the rich and the poor—at his own appointed time. John A. Johnson was born in St. Peter, Minn., July 28,1861, and was therefore in his fortyninth year at the time of his death. He attended the com mon schools of his native city. At the age of four teen he became employed in a drug store, where he remained for ten years. In 1886 he became one of the editors and publishers of the St. Peter Herald. He was a member of the Minnesota National Guard for eight years, having served as Captain of Company I, Seoond Regiment. In 1899 he was elected to the State Senate, serving one term. In 1904 he was elected Governor of this State as a Democrat, being reelected in 1906 and 1908. Lieutenant Governor Eberhart, Republican, is the new Governor. A number of years ago Elbert. Hubbard wrote his Message to Garcia which has been translated in to and printed in every known living language. Mr. Hubbard builded better than he knew when he wrote that short article. The world wants the one who can do things—not the one who is continually offering excuses. The one who says, “I can,” is preferable to the one who mumbles, moans, mutters or sputters, “I can’t.” The man of excuses is not wanted any where. He is of no use to himself or anyone else. When a task is assigned to one to perform, the thing to do is to go ahead and accomplish it. That is as true in one place as in another. “Practice makes perfect.” Genius is the fruition of hard labor. The master minds of the world are all united upon that axiom. Therefore, the thing to do is to be of that class who work and watch and watch and work for the opportunity to try to do that which the whining and whimpering individual says he cannot perform. This country can stand any kind of a tariff when the producers are prosperous. It cannot stand any sort of a tariff when the consumers are hungry and the producers are poor. In the last analysis the pro ducer pays all fixed. charges on everything—going and coming. The farmer pays the freight on his produce to market and pays the freight on every thing he buys. Great is the producer—the fellow who tickles the earth and makes it groan under the good things it brings forth. A celebrated scientist says it is impossible for any human being to injure one’s self by work. That sounds like arrant nonsense. Work is benefioial— but too much work is injurions. No doubt about it. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that over work is never the immediate cause of a serious in jury or the cause of an immediate irreparable, injury. And the cry is: “Back to the farm —back to the farm.” Farming is almost a luxury now with all modern conveniences at the ruralite’s doorway. Dr. Cook is evidently the man to reoover the stolen Charley Ross and find out who struck Billy Patterson. Flying across the Atlantic in airships is ap parently not far off—according to the present out look. When the mind rests the body is in repose and that is a good thing for both brain and body. Man’s ingenuity will conquer the air and all of the elements. The road to wealth is generally the road to ill health. UNDER THE LASH. BY ANGLICUB. WVWVWWI* Little Chertnany Says: Was ist? I blay der musik? Yah, yemubefc* I blay der hundret-ton horn some more yet. Dot Webb he aindt no Rood, ohoost blay der horn Like liddle pabies blay as soon’s der born, Don’d ged no musik, noddings else but vind, Brovessor says you bet I got him skinned. Choost oom-pah, oom-pah, oom-pah all der ray, He blays choost like a dongey eading hay. ♦ 9 9 The Baritone’s Views: A little man you see in me, You know my name? It’s A. F. B. I am the man who killed the whale, And skinned the shark and told the tale. Yes, sir, I did it, I alone, And now I whale the baritone. Heave ho, my hearties, let ’er rip, Musio is great and so’s a ship. The Solo Cornet’s Opinion: I am the one and only man Who governs things Pierian; If you don’t know me, it’s your loss, The great Chautauqua Circle boss. This band wouldjaurely make things hum If only Ford could play the drum;. Oxcuse me, does he play it well? Just visper about William Tell. Scientific Note: I am an entomologist, an entomologologist, My specialty is chugs. In manner intellectual I simply disinfect yon all With highly perfumed drugs. Oh, I’m the boy that burns you out And cleans you out and turns you out, And when I play the bass, Old Butch grows green and pink by turns, He says he feels like Tommy Burns When Johnson shoved his face. Mistah Ford Speaks: Yassah, aho, I play the dram; Cain’t yo heah dat rum-tum-tom? Unole John goes off the key, Keys all look alike to me. Marches old and all the new ones, Hear me cover up blue ones. When the clar’net squawks, ker-jee! Where’d the band be without me? Rum-pum! Rum-Pum! Kr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r Rum-Pum! Parlez'vous Frenchy? Ze museek? Ah, I play heem grand*. Wizout me where would be ze band? I play ze two-step lullaby Viz solo on ze water key. And ven I praotees all ze boys In solitair don’ make no nois, Zey keep like mouses, oh! so steel, And call me Weendy-Jammer Beel. Tonsorial Talk: You want a shave? You got a clock Needs mending? Can ifix your lock?* You’d like to learn to draw, you say? I’ll ’tend to you some other day. Pm busy on this melody, “The Aeronautic Symphony,” The words are Frenoh, by Isaac Pitman,. I’ll bet you it will make a hit, man. 9 9 9 9 9 9 * ♦ * ft ? * ? ? ?