Newspaper Page Text
. The
g B 'tance
est Inheritan
MSo et s
é By Winifred Biack.
§ POOR laborer received a message the other night telling him
that his mother over in Norway had left nim a legacy of
SIOOO,
A The laborer was s 0 overjoyed at the news that he threw
down his pick, climbed out of the ditch he was helping to
dig, called together such of his companions as would listen
to him and went and got so drunk that within two hours
he was lyinz in a cell trying to remember what had hap
pened to him,
And we look upon money as the only legacy!
If that poor, hard-working, saving, self-denying mother over there across
the sea had spent every penny of that one thousand dollars on herself or on
some one who would have known how to use it, how much better off that poor
stupid son of hers would have heen!
What an inexorable hand seems 1o stretch between us and our foolish
hopes and wishes sometimes! i
If that mother coald have willed her boy common senge or self-control, she
would have left a will worth the treasuring,
I wonder how many millionaires there are who wish they could write a
last will and testament which would bequeath to their children the qualities
which made the millions instead of the millions themselves.
I'd rather be born with common sense and a level head for an inheritance
than to come into any kind of an estate that any human being can leave an
other,
Don’t fret about that boy of yours, little anxious-eyed mother.
You won’t be able to leave him a cent. Glory bhe; but you've already given
him his inheritance, %
He wears the proud sign of it in his bright, clear eyes and his head held
high in honest pride.
Don’t worry over that girl, either, ;
The gentle heart and steady brain her father gave her will outlast aud
outbargain a thousand fortunes cast in mere dollars.
There's too much wealth in the world now, Mr. Successful Business Man.
Stop piling up gold, like a monkey with a bundle of sticks,
Spend what you have generously, but sensibly, and let that boy of yours
#0 out and earn what he needs,
Tear up your last will and testament and try to give him something real
to inherit, so that when he is your age he will go and look at the headstone
that marks the place where you lie buried and say: “My father left his chil
dren gomething worth the leaving when he died— something that no court of
law and no will contest can take away from usg, something that cannot be
wasted, and spent and thrown away.”
Poor labhorer, with your rioting thousands! I wonder if you were o mnch
more feoolizh than a lot of us who laugh at vou, after all.—New York American.
.
§9}M~u zhe ; et ) |
’
Craze of Home Owning
R ]
é To be Thought of Only When Prosperous
Q@ and Sixty.
T A T T
£l et By August Van Dyck. w?fg
& HIS craze of home owning is widespread, and is especially
# ' rampant among naturalized Americans, It is one of the
firet impulses that they get after reaching this country. The
reason is clear, The possibilities of home owning on the
Continent are remote, with the result that the ownership of
a home is a cherished longing, They perceive that such
; . ownership is possible in this country, and they set about it
actively, securing it eventually at great personal sacrifice
and prchable extinction of freedom. The children of many
a family have grown up in want owing to the insatiable longing of the par
ents to own the home that they live in. They save nothing by it, but on the
other hand run the risk of incumbering themselves with unsalable property.
They have the delusion that they are not paying rent; but they are paying
rent and probably more than they ean afford.
The advice that I would give is to gelect a house or flat well within one's
means and put the balance of the savings regularly in the bank. If an oppor
tunity in another part of the country then comes one will not find his move
ments hampered by the necessity of maintaining an unprofitable investment.
The American people are essentially nomadic. They cannot be otherwise,
with new regious to exploit, new towns to found, and new opportunities to
grasp,
Take the advice of one who has passed the allotted vears of three-score
and ten and who has been a home owner ever since he was twenty-three, dis
carding from time to time what appeared to be perfectly satisfactory when it
was bought, and usunally, interest computed, at a loss. It is my firm L‘Ol!\'i(‘.-
tion that no man shown own his own home until he has prosperously passed
the age of sixty years.
N TV RNty ™
L) J 7 : 9
s Conciseness a Dirtue:
i, o Ao S
Ey Professor Thomas R. Lounsbury.
AT A
ro— HE gospel of conciseness, like the gespel of silence, is pro
claimed in hundreds of articles and books. Every one,
I however little he himself follows its precepts, recommends
them to his friends and charges disregard of them upon his
s foes. Now, conciseness is neither a good thing nor a bad
thing in itself, Its value, like its appropriateness, depends
‘ upon the subject, upon the occasion, upon the audience ad
e dressed. But the success of it depends most of all upon the
< personality of the speaker. If terseness can be united with
vigor of expression which conveys the idea powerfully to the mind and with
point which fixes it there, nothing can be more all-sufficient. Conciseness,
then, has done its perfect work. But to effect this result requires great abil
ity, if not genius; and great ability, to say nothing of genius,
is very exceptional. On the other hand, when brevity is
united with dullness—as it is very apt to be—it loses not merely
the power to influence and to inspire, but to inform. To be concise, without
being bald and jejune, is granted only to the highest order of minds. On the
other hand, condensation, even when the matter is particularly valuable, is
rarely entertaining. Intellectual fare can no more be made palatable by com
pression than can bodily. Pemmican is described as a food intended to com
prise the greatest amount of nutrition in the smallest space. It is useful—
in fact, invaluable-—cn certain occasions and in certain places. But no one
is likely to choose it as a reguiar article of diet, still less to entertain his
friends with it at a feast.—From Harper's.
Ry o)
. .
g v Shat do Eat .
eet 5 . SO, S
Ey Joseph B. Bowles. !
00000008 @A T has been indisputably proved by experiment that animal
i foods are more easily, more readily and more completely
digested than vegetable; milk, eggs and beef being the most
readily so of all foods in use, having a minimum of residue
(from 3 to 6 percent) remaining undigested, while from 20 to
000¢ e U perecent of all vegetable foods pass through the alimen
tary tract undigesied. While it makes little difference as
i:::.““i régards the obtaining of nourishment, the question, from
the view-point of digestion and non-fermentation is decided-
Iy in favor of a mixed diet—not wholly one or the other. It is claimed that
the eating of meat clogs the system with uric acid, producing rheumatism,
ete. There is no gain, however, in changing to a vegtable diet, because the
vegetables that are substituted for meat (those furnishing the protein—beang,
peas and lentils) contain xanthin, a substance ciosely allied to the urie acid
in meats and producing the same results. Summing up the pros and cons of
vegeturianism and mixed diet, carefully and without prejudice weighing the
one over against the other, we may safely say that it is not altogether the
kind of material that enter the being, but the kind of Dbeing the materials en
ter—From the St. Lounis Globe-Democrat.
“LfO-MORROW.” -
Men say that they will do the work »
That at this moment the{ would shirk—
That they will “hustle like a Turk?
To-morrow, M
When the collector sternly comes *
A man gets off some haws and hums
And promises the neeedful sums
. To-morrow, :
WWhen evils make the people warm
They lift their voices and they storm
An((vow that cities they’ll reform -
To-morrow. ¥ £
Misunderstandings with a friend
Are something that they soon will mend,
They’ll bring these troubles to an egd
To-morrow. ey
-
Oh, what a grand world this will be
For every one, for you and me—
Let's hope that we may live to see
To-morrow, 5
—Chicago Post.
\\\ APardonable neceil7/
/f//. By Anise Mitford, N
Of course, it was a very deceitful
thing to do, and I am thoroughly
and heartily ashamed of ha.vin}fgvme
it; and yet I would do it over again.
It was entirely Dorothy's fault for
being so stupid; but what can ‘you
expect from a girl whose nickname
is Doll or Dolly? She has never been
called by her real name, but always
Doll, and as a name it certainly suits
her, for, with her fair hair and ggrge
blue eyes and soft and pinky dimpled
skin she is just like a doll from a
very nice shop—and nearly as help
less. It wasé while I was staying
down at Bartington that I dls,;}overed
how deeply and completely Bob
Eversleigh had fallen in love with
Doll. "
“My dear child,” I said, as we sat
chatting together over the fire, “I
can’t think why you are horrid to
Bob, when you know you lnteq&io
marry him.” ; =
Doll, who is a little dear, but very
spoilt, pouted and gave the tfi'% a
vicious dig, and then gave me a side
long look.
“But I doa’t know,” she said, Wwith
much assumed ambition and pride,
“perhaps I shall make a nfuch more
brilliant match.” She screwjed‘up
her lips to show how much. ;
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I doubt
it as you are so much in love with
Mr. Eversleigh.” 7
“I?” saic Doll, opening her blue
eyes very wide. ““Why, whatever put
such an idea in your head?”’
“Nothing,” I responded, airly;
“only when people blush when other
people’s names are mentioned, ft's
no use pre'tending they are mnot in
love,” and I glanced at the soft and
pinky face, : L
“My dear Nell,” said Dolly, with
a smile, ‘“your room is really very
hot; I think ll'll go upstairs and
dress.” ‘
* * * ” L * *
Something has aappened since yes
terday, although I hardly know what
it really is. I only know that Bo»
Eversleigh left in a hurry this morn
ing and Dolly has been suspicious
cheerful all day long; but I have not
seen her now for nearly an hour, so
I think I will go upstairs and, meta
phorically speaking, take her even
ing temperature.
* *® * w* * *® *
I found, Delly lying on the sofa
in her room, her face in a pillow that
was very damp, and a small wet
handkerchief by her side.
‘‘Hello, Dolly! Whai's the-—have
You got the toothache, dear?”
A stifled voice came out of the pil
low. “Deon’t be silly, Nell!"
SWellL' 1 sgin apologetically,
‘'you see, both words end in ‘ache.’
She sat up, looking like a mucn
disheveled and well-worn doll. “oOh,
Nell,” she eried, ‘‘he—he’s gone away
forever!” And she burst into floods
oof despairing tears.
“New York is only sixteen miles
away,” I said tentatively. *“lt's not
far to motor, and I have biked as
far, so he might even walk it if he
were in good conditien; and then the
train—there is always a train!”
“Don’t be hoirid and—and make
fun of me!” sobbed poor little Doll.
“I—l refused him last night.”
“Why?” I asked, in genuine r=-
tonishment. “You refused him—
but why, my dear girl?”
“I don’t know!" cried Dolly. *I
—II think I meant him to ask me
again., I said I didn't want to get
er ;aged, and of course I thought he'd
beg me to reconsider it, and make a
lovely scene’—and she hung her
head a little—'and then, of course,
I meant to come round in the end.”
I burst out laughing; 1 could not
help it. “My dear Dolly,” I said,
“men don't make scenes in these
days—excepting in books. Of course,l
if you said you didn't want him and
told him to go away—" 1
“Yes—but he ought to have known
that I did not mean it!" sobbed little
Doll.. “I don't like girls who jump
at an offer, and I didn't want to he
too eager; but I wish I hadn't re
fused him now, and—oh, Nell, I am
S 0 very miserable!”
“Why don’'t you write and ask him
back?"
“What!” she echoed indignantly.
“Write and ask him back again!
How can you ask me? Never! I—
I'd sooner die!” 3
“Then, my dear,” I said with sym
pathy, “I'm sorry, but you'll have to
die.”
® & = » * * *
Dolly was really growing pale and
thin. There is no doubt that some
women fade almost perceptibly under
the very first break of grief, and 3
began to be really alarmed shout my
littie childish friend, and really
afraid she would fade away. She
declined to go to any parties ox take
any interest In anything, and as she
had not told ber people about her pro
posal and had bound me to strict
secrecy, no one knew what she was
fretting about. I knew Bob Evers
leigh fairly well, but not well enough
to 'mention so delicate a subject to
him. What, therefore, could I pos
sibly do to brinz them together?
~ I thought of all sorts of schemes,
but none of them looked promising.
In my desperation I even considered
gending for Bob and ezplaining the
whole situation to him. -But, as I
have just said, I did not know him
very well, so I was in doubt as to
how he might take such a proceed
ing; and there was the awkward pos
sibility that I might, by too precipi
tate action, offend the gentleman and
get both Doll and myself into a peck
of trouble. What to do I did not
know.
1 sat and thought and racked my
brain, and finally took up Doll's last
despairing letter and read it slowly
through. In the midst of my sym
pathy I could not help feeling some
wonder as to why women confide
their love affairs in people—l never
could; but then I've nothing to con
fide. Poor little Doll! I felt I must
answer her letter and try to console
her, so I wrote her a long letter and
told her how sorry I was for all her
| grief, and how I quite understood
how sad she must feel! °
l “You have indeed,” I said in my
letter—‘‘you have indeed thrown
away your happiness in a foolich
manner, and if Mr. Eversleigh were
not aun idiot he would have known
vou really loved him and that it was
only your natural modesty that made
you refuse him,” and so on and so
on. And then I wrote another note
to Bob and asked him to come
around and dine, 1
* * * * a 8 =
1t was two days later when my
door was flung suddenly open and
Doll, unannounced, rushed into the
room.
“Oh, you darling, darling Nell!”
she cried, and, running to me, clasped
‘me in her arms.
“What's the matter?” I gasped, as
I glanced at the flushed and radiant
face. ‘‘Whatever is the matter,
Doll?”
“Oh, you'd mnever guess,” said
Dolly; ‘“‘but the other day you made ‘
the cleverest mistake in all the world
—the best mistake you ever made.”
“A mistake?” I echoed weakly.
“How and wher did I make a mis
take?"”
~ She laughed delightedly. “‘Dar
ling Nell,” she said, “whatever do
you think you did? You know when
‘you answered my last long letter?”
g ¥es: what of 117”7
“Well”’—she paused to turn and
press my hand—'‘you sent the one
you had written to me by mistake
to dear old Bob and his to me, and
he rushed off at once and—and
hegged me to marry him; and he
called himself all sorts of mean and
horrid mnames. And now, darling
Nell, we're engaged to be married,
and it's all through you, and I love
you so!”’ 7
And once more she turned and |
kissed me gratefully, her pinky face
a deeper rose and the big blue eyes '
shining with happiness. And that is
why—although, of course, it was
very deceitful—l really Dhelieve,
under the same circumstances, I
would do it again.—From DMcCall's
Magazine.
Fights Only Railroads.
Oul in Broken Bow, Neb., lives the
most unique lawyer in the United
States——Jesse Gandy by name. Gan
dy only takes one class of litigation—
a claim against a railroad, preferably
the Burlington Railroad. Twenty
yvears ago Gandy was a wealthy farm
er and rancher.
Gandy owned a large section of the
country in Western Nebraska. The
Burlington Railroad wanted a right
of way through the land. Gandy do
nated the land on condition that he
should have a pass over the division
as long as he lived. The railroad fur
nished the pass for several years.
Then came a change of management
and Gandy's pass was cut off. Gandy
took his case to several lawyers, but
found that each of them was retained
by the railroad and none would take
his case.
“IT'll study law and fight my own
case,”” said Gandy. In time he was
admitted to the bar. His first gn
nouncement read: ‘I will take all
righteous cases against a railroad and
I will guarantee to win, If I lose
your case I will pay the costs. If I
win your case you pay me a part of
the costs.”
For sixteen vears Gandy has been
busy fighting the railroads, and espe
cially the Burlingion. He won't take
a case unless he is convinced the
plaintiff has a good chance of win
ning, and he pays all the costs, just as
his advertisement reads. Usually he
refuses to accept any fee for his serv
ices. He "is independently wealthy,
and simply fights because he loves it
and also to ‘‘get even’ with a railroad
for “‘dirt"” done him,
Gandy also bears the reputation of
being the only man who ever rode a
wild buffalo bull. This he did on a
wager, staying on the animal's back
for five minutes, but he was in bed a
‘week from the shock.—Minneapolis
l Journal. “
A s S
_ Copper For Electrical Purposes.
The three leading electrical manu
facturers of this country consumed
141,000,000 pounds of copper during
the fiscal year just closed—a decrease
of 9,000,000 pounds for the year
1906-'O7. Of this enormons figure
the General Eleciric Company con
sumed the most of the metal, or 65,-
000,000 pounds. The Western Elec
tric canie second with the consump-
Lion of 18,000,000 pounds, . _
HOW TO LOVE -
AND AVOID DIVORCE.
Eishop Fallows Has a Remedy
to Unite Est:aiged Wives and
Husbhancs. o«
Bishop Samuel Fallows, of the Re
formed Episcopal Church, who found
ed Christian Psychology, has taken
another plunge into the occult. He
announces a remedy to unite estranged
husbands and wives and kill off the
divorce evils. It is to be done by
suggestion and auto-suggestion. He
told all about it in an address on the
“Psychology of Doubt.”
The Bischop declared he had used
the method successfully. He also
gave an instance in which it had been
used by a Chicago lawyer to prevent
a divorce between a man and wife.
To begin with, when a man or woman
desires to win back his or her mate,
the mind must be kept in a receptive
condition. The Bishop continues:
“One cannot believe unless he puts
himself in the position to believe;
one cannot love unless one puts him
self in the position to love; one can
not continue to love unless one wills
to continue to love. Of course, we
cannot will to love and then love, or
will to believe and then believe.
© “What the will can do is to create
by auto-suggestion a will in this sub
consciousness to continue in love or
to believe. This I make use of in my
efforis to reunite people who have
entered into the holy bonds of matri
mony and who think that they have
ceased to love each other. 1 have
never before made public what I say
in these private conversations, but I
- avill do so to-night to illustrate my
point.
“The first thing to do when one of
these persons comes to me thinking
that he or she has ceased to love is
to set the will in operation to bring to
-the sub-consciousness a consciousness
of the past. It is idle to say, ‘You
must love cne another.” No amount
of will can bring that about; but the
will ean summon recollection.
“I say to the troubled one, if a
woman, ‘Go back over your whole
life. ‘Go back and reflect on the time
that you were being wooed and won.
Did you take a great magnifying glass
then to look for faults? Were you
happier than now? They say that
love is blind, but this is to be taken
in a limited sense as blind to faults.
Nothing in the whole world is more
keen sighted to see good qualities.
You are blind to the good and taking
a magnifying glass to the faults. Go
back into the past and think of the
way you sacrificed and toiled to make
the home. Recall the good times you
have nad together.’
“In this way is created by auto
suggestion the will to continue in
love, which may prove more power
ful than the false belief that they
cannot love.
“This same method can bring about
marriage.”
- Bishop' Fallows concluded with
these epigrams:
“Love once and you must love al
ways. Love cannot be killed once it
is instilled. There is no earthly
power that can make two people fall
in love with each other. If two peo
ple really love each other once that
love can alw,ays be revived. Deep in
their hearts they will always love
one another. Divorces are but the
climaxes of half-hearied battles.”
e R eSN R
Audubon a Missouri Grocer.
It is not generally remembered that
the world-wide reputation of Audu
bon as a naturalist, incidentally, is
due to his failure to establich himself
permanently as a Missouri grocery
merchant and dealer in the best
brands of Kentucky whisky.
In 1810 he and Ferdinand Rozier,
cf Ste. Genevieve, loaded a keelboat
at Louisville. Ky., with 310 barrels
of whisky and groceries and started
down the Ohio and Mississippi to Ste.
Genevieve to open a grocery store.
The trip was made during the winter,
and the streams were so full of ice
that the boat was drawn up against
the bank and winter quarters were
established just below Cape Girar
deau. When Ste. Genevieve was
reached, after the opening of naviga
tion, the firm of “Audubon & Rozier”
opened their store and did a pros
perous business. But the business
was done by Rozier, for Audubon pre
ferred the woods 1o the counter and
devoted more of his time to sketching
and stuffing birds than he did to mar
keting the 310 barrels of good Ken
tucky bourbon, or any groceries. This
led to a dissolution of the partner
ship. On April 11, 1811, Audubon,
convinced of his unfitness for busi
ness, sold out to Rozier and took up
the work for which he was better
fitted than any one who had lived
before or who has lived since, and
trom a fourth rate grocer became the
great ornithologist. The grocery bus
iness which Audubon abandoned grew
until finally it “extended throughout
all of upper Louisiana.”—Kansas
City Star.
e ——— ————
Houses and Homes.
There have been, and there are to
day in the various lands of the earth,
many people who have no houses, and
nothing that you could call furniture,
even of the antique variety. But
there can be no doubt that they are
far happier than many who are com
fortably housed in mansions which
contain everything that money can
buy.—Uncle Remus’'s Magazine.
-“——_—_———
What We Have Done.
When the hour of death comes—
that comes to high and low alike—
then it is not what we have done for
ourselves but what we have done for
others, that we think on most pleas
antly.—Sir Walter Scott.
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]:idc or Resign—.—,.
E There was an enormous f;t cé'lonel, :
| Who wrote this thought in his jolonels
T “1 seldom feel pique,
| But cannot keep mique,
| That order to ride’s so infolonel.”
; —Philadelphia Ledger,
i s
| The Indiscernible Distinctiorn,
; “Remember, my boy, always give
, your seat to a lady.”
| - “But how are you going to know?”
t +—Life. .
| Worldwide,
; Stella—*“l understand there is g
“diamond crisis.”
{ Bell—“ Yes; I quarreled with
| Jack.”—New York Sun.
{
‘ His Way.
First Broker—*"l hear it's been
touch and go with poor old Carter.”
‘ Second Ditto—*“Yes, he touched me
for a dollar this morning and went.”
| —Harper’s Weekly.
| No Invitation.
| “There's some good things in town
this week,” said the engaged girl who
was hinting for an invitation to the
theatre.
“Well,” responded Mr. Grouch, “I
ain’t one of 'em.”—Kansas City Jour
nal,
| “Butch” the Boaster,
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PRI L
Neuv. O. Riche—‘‘See them books
all bound in calf?” :
Literary Friend—‘Yes.”
Neuv. O. Riche—‘'‘Well, I killed
all them calves myself!”—Punch.
[ A Careful Man.
| “lam very fond of my home.”
| “But I notice that you don’t stop
there very much.”
. “That’s because lam so careful of
et =1
i\ “What has that to do with it?”
! “I don’t want to wear it out.”—
. Nashville American.
j Getting His.,
| “Of course you don’'t want any
i thing you are not entitled to,” said
. the conscientious man.
| “Of course not,” answered Senator
Sorghum, “hut I will incidentally re
mark that I always have the best
| talent available to ascertain what I
"am entitled to."—Washington Star. ,
f Experienced?
j ‘““Never mind, dear,”” he said reas
| surringly, as she raised her sweet
| face from his shoulder, and they both!
| saw the white blur on his coat; "it
| will all brush off.”
| *‘Oh, Charlie,” she burst out schb=
bing, hiding her face again upon his
| whitey shoulder, “how do you know?™*
| —Somerville Journal.
| Two Methods.
| Amateur Farmer—*“Why, yes, I
reckon on raising enough to supply,
| my table, and if there’s any over I'lk
"send it to market. Isn’'t that what
| you do?”
Professional Farmer—“ Wall, no,
| not exactly. I reckon on raisin’
| enough to send to market, an’ if
| there’s any over I supply my table.”
| —Puck. :
| i
j Balboa.
| Balboa was toiling down the west«
ern slope. ¥
| “Caramba,” he muttered, wiping
11 his brow, . “This discovering the Pa
cific is tough work. For two cents
| I'd wait for one of these autos to give
{ me a lift.”
t However, he pressed on and beat
' the leading machine.—Philadelphia
| Ledger.
E His Credit Impaired.
| Dinguss—*“Shadbolt, I haven't
‘ asked you for any money for a long
| time, have I?”
| Shadbolt—*“No; you never asked
me for any money for a long time.
i You always wanted it for ‘just a day
or two.” That's why you're not going
|to get any this time, Dinguss. Air
| feels a little like snow, doesn't it?”"—=
i Chicago Tribune.
! Piling On Too Mucl:.
| Hercules has just cleaned the Au
gean stables.
‘“*Now, then,”” commanded his task
master, ‘‘vou can take down the pare
. lor stove and store it away for the
summel,”’
! “I don’'t mind work,” muttered the
! hero, “‘but I don't feel equal to that
task,” so he went away to help the
| gods fight the giants.—Brooklyn Life,
