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. 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. E 2 | o .‘ P fl,tb)’)@‘l | = ' L e ;- . ’ . ’r R % :K 7‘. AT Vi Q;_:r;.f f ‘ ‘ ‘,!':;',‘; 25 i ; :ér\'" & ey Py ]: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, - '-‘_. ~",,‘4 B ,: 4 7’- ‘;l :“‘, "£; %‘:F ’/3»%4:/‘1( s Ifi L kel e A es A I_.: ‘; oSy ’m:r ,’E; ¥ AN N |w‘“_"_-" Uk Bt s BAB IJ e & R arE Tl . f;«,,\ A;I RS VLSS CSERay |U, g Y A g 2 (& al hpieSs aaa ][ e fifi = s eeR | s I .\"..'-).',".m 5 f I‘ | l 1 S N . oy -e\ S | || A E)5 RN =HE ~ N | ) #24 Dars {B, B R MU RN Sy et b Bo\ T D L hiA 303 R s e =0 B W 1 TS "T'—'-‘-‘ o 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,