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THE GEORGIAN’S NEWS BRIEFS Christmas I’d WTe* <yO Buy That PRESSNT BOJ*- Tne VJ<P£ Ths Way a MAH t>oe.S Hl$ X'MAS SHOPP1M6- HELLo JoE- * want To SPEAR. ONC. 1 AU RtG-HT JuST OHE 6WE HE ANOTHE R- a B'T5 v^orTh T/RKeY f?AFFUlL Fee- Tm.Row after three. HOURS SB KT (m%h MAKE TfotS Tt£ LAST 6AME I'VE <5oT To DO SOM 6 SHOPPING- T 1 I a '-■X 'Two Qoa RTfc^^ and A ABCKEL /^Ht> Tn£ W^V a womah T>0£S IT SUPPOSE T COULD HAVE v\aD “These DELIVERED BoT There’s such a Jam around , chrvsTmas . THINKING OF CHRIST By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX " ■ ■ ■- s, „, —^ (Reprinted by permission from the December number of Good Housekeeping Magazine.) HINKING of Christ, and hearing what men say Anent his second coming some near day, Unto the me of me, I turned to ask, What can we do for him, and by what task, Or through what sacrifice, can we proclaim Our mighty love, and glorify his name? T Whereon myself replied (thinking of Christ): Has not God’s glory unto him sufficed? What need has he of temples that men raise? What need has he of any songs of praise? Not sacrifice nor offerings, needs he. (Thinking of Christ, so spake myself to me.) The rivers from the mountain do not try To feed the source from which they gain supply; They pay their debt by flowing on and down, And carrying comfort to the field and town. They scatter Joy and beauty on their course, In gratitude to the Eternal Source. And thus should we (thinking of Christ) bestow The full sw’eet tides of love that through us flow Upon earth’s weaker creatures. To the less Must flow the greater, would we lift and bless. Christ is the mountain source; each heart a river; The thirsting meadows need us, not the Giver. Thinking of Christ, let us proclaim His worth By gracious deeds to mortals on this earth, And while we wait His coming, let us bring Sweet love and pity to the humblest thing. And show our voiceless kin of air and sod The mercy of the Universal God. Not by long prayers, though prayers renew our graee'- Not by tall spires, though steeples have their place- Not by our faith, though faith is glorious— Can we prove Christ, hut oy the love in us. Mercy and love and k ndness—seek these three. Thus (thinking of Christ) myself said unto me. ARE YOU STARVING FOR AIR? By EDWIN MARKHAM- S AMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS, of the American Medical As sociation, in “The Health Master,” just from the press of Houghton Mifflin Company, offers a book of importance. It is the account of a family who adopted the old Chinese plan of retaining a doctor to keep them well, in stead of taking chances on being ill and then calling in the doctor. Lessons on pure milk, infec tions, care of eyes, etc., are given under the guise of lively fiction, and I commend the book to my fellow-citizens. Here is an ex cerpt showing the tenor of the pages: “ ‘You can pick your air to some extent, so it’s worth while to know r where it’s good and where it’s bad. “'Don’t tell me that New York is unfit to breathe in!’ said Mrs. Clyde, with a woman’s love for the metropolis. " “Thus far it’s pretty clean. The worst thing about New York is that they dry-sweep their streets and throw all the dust there is right in your face. The next worst is the subway. When analysis was made of the tube’s air, the experimenters were sur prised to find very few’ germs. But they were shocked to find the atmosphere full of tiny splinters of steel. It’s even worse to breathe steel than to breathe coal. “ ’Look at the modern sleeping car—heavy plush seats, soft hangings, thick carpets, fripper ies all as gorgeous, vulgar, ex pensive, tawdry and filthy as the mind of man can devise. Add to that windows hermetically seal ed in the winter months, and you’ve got an ideal contrivance for the encouragement of mor tality. Never do I board a sleeper without a stout hickory stick in my suit case. No matter how low the temperature is, I pry the w indow of my lower berth open and push the stick under. “ ‘I remember in my college days that the winter term was considered to be the most diffi cult in every year. The curricu lum didn’t seem to show it, but every professor and every un dergraduate knew’ it. Bad air, that’s all. The recitation rooms were kept tightly closed. The hu man brain can’t burn carbon and get a bright flame of intelligence without a good draft, and the breathing is the draft. Now, on the evidence of Charley’s teach er, when winter comes percent ages go down, although the les sons are the same. So I asked her about the ventilation, and found that she had a supersti tious dread of cold.’ ” “ ‘I remember Miss Benn’s room,’ said Julia, thoughtfully. ‘It used to get aw’ful hot there. I never liked that grade anyway. and Bobs got such bad deport ment marks.’ “ ‘Both of the twins had colds all the winter they were in that room,’ contributed Grandma Sharpless. “ ‘When W’ill the substitute mothers and fathers who run our schools learn about air?’ he cried. ‘Air! It’s the first cry of the newly born baby. Air! It’s the last plea of the man with the death rattle in his throat. It’s the one free boon, and we shut it out.’ “ ‘But you wouldn’t have them study with all the windows open on a zero day?’ protested Mrs. Clyde. “‘Wouldn’t I? Far rather than choke them in a close room! Why, in some schools the sickly children have special classes on the roof, or in the yards, all through the cold w’eather. They study in overcoats and mittens. And they learn. Not only that, but they thrive on. iL’ ”