The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 12, 1903, Page 6

P 7 Ui 0 /////ln',’,’!'. i THE SHRILLING | MEOWS OF # KITTY Kate Thyson Marr . REAL ginger pop president keeps every- body guessing which way he’ll pop, and who'll catch the cork. The whole coun- try acknowledges the ginger, and he wouldn't dare deny the “pop.” > »s What Nothing yet discovered, short of a coffin and cold storage makes W. J. B. so fidgety? could quiet that garrulous old man. * % = To obey or not to obey? Never mind, boys, if she really loves you, she’ll actually crawl to do the obeying. * % The cynic is the fellow who has dislocated his morality. * v s The optimist is the fellow who has more hope than hustle. He hopes the other fellow will hustle. -~ The pessimist is a cross between the cynic and the dyspep- tic wanted, and imagines that all the girls he didn't want wants him. T The bachelor girl is the girl who is dying to get married but puts up the bachelor bluff. She generally wants a lot of dough for her matrimonial cake, and would rather put up 2 weak tea bluff than not have a real gold plated matri- monial adjustment. . = The masher is like a fly on fly paper. Stuck on himself and thinks every one else ought to be stuck too. . » * Give a man or woman plenty of wine and a little time and you can write their biography while you wait. . . Some lives are so worthless that they are hardly fit for the dump " . It is the friction of life that polishes up its rough edges. e % & When you ride on a self-acting trolley it is sometimes hard to control the brakes. . = All precious things are found through much diving. The real treasures of earth are never found on the surface. » . = Never expect gratitude where you crave love. People who ought to be grateful hate oftenest where they should love. * » - A woman is rarely jealous of an elderly spouse—and yet! . A woman who has never loved but once, and madly loved on to the end, ought to be canonized. P Woman is weak. Oh, pshaw! A four look at a six foot spouse and make him could hardly see him with a microscope. * * foot woman can shrink until you Love is like smallpox. Sometimes you escape, but it often leaves awful scars. * = - A man thinks he knows a woman, and yet he is always making discoveries. A man may be always the same 6 thing, but a woman, oh, my! “« % When a man marries 2 widow he may be the chief mourner for his predecessor, or he may be a grateful debtor. * = = A man thinks his life ends at the altar. A woman thinks hers is just beginning, and the hubby dear has to get a gait on him to keep up the pace. * % * When 2 woman still loves 2 man who has ceased to love her she will become either his good angel or an avenging Nemesis. In either event I feel sorry for the man, a martyr is as aggravating as a fiend. s * 3 1 would rather trust a woman's intuition than a man's judgment. * * s A woman's mirror is her safest confidant. .« * » When 2 man makes love he is always interesting. other times he may be real prosaic. = I am always suspicious of one whom I hear spoken of as “so good.” A woman who is “so good” is either too ugly or too uninteresting to be anything else. A man who is “so good” is either a fool or a pauper. At LR B making mischief between the husbands and wives of their friends. . o' The man who speaks'ill of a woman is-eitheraknaveor a cad. * % % Can any one explain why so many splendid men and women marry conceited ill-bred fools? * ® % g The cross is 2ll right and looks as if it had been fc:d§ on carpet tacks and hard cider. No wonder it looks dys- peptic. S The bachelor is the chap who couldn’t get the girl he When a woman loves she sees the whole world through love’s lovelit eyes. . = = A woman sees everything at a glance. A man might strain his eyes forever and never see anything (that he ought to see). . = = A snob is a fellow who has money enough to buy good clothes and thinks they make him a gentleman. * ¥ = The by who leads a Sunday-school class generally lands at the foot of every other class. . * It’s blooming hard luck when 2 man has to take quinine with his whisky. . All husbands are more or less cranky, but a wife ought to learn to turn the crank without making too much of a squeak, * * = It’s the people who have never been married who make such 2 howl about the evils of divorce. Some women are so vain that they are never happy une’ | | 3 THE SUNDAY CALL. This Is the Sécond of a Series of These Faumous Letters, Which Have Created a Tremendous Sensation Both in America and Europe, to Be Printed in the Sunday Call. .The Third, Next Sunday, Will Be “Commercial Travelers.” PASTELS IN PORK. > |LETTERS FROM T /A SELFMADE . ) |MERGAANT TO RIS 50N . . . From ‘‘Letters from a Self-Made Mer- chant to Hig Bon,” by Georze Horace Lorimer. By permission of Small, May- pard & Co., Publishers, Boston, Mass. — SPECULATION. EAR PIERREPONT: Now, I want to give you that tip on the market. There are several reasons why it isn’t safe for you to trade on ’Change just now, but the particular one is that Graham & Co. will fire you if you do. Trading on mar- gin is a good deal like paddling around the edge of the old swimming hole—it seems safe and easy at first, but before a fellow knows it he has stepped off the edge into deep water. The wheat pit is only thirty feet across, but it reaches clear down to Hell. And trading on margins means trading on the ragged edge of nothing. When a man buys, he’s buying something the other fellow hasn’t got. When a man sells, he’s selling something he hasn’t got. And it's been my experience that the net profit on nothing is nit. When a speculator wins he doesn’t stop till he loses, and when he loses he can’t stop till he wins. You have been in the packigg business long enough now to know that it takes a bull only thirty seconds to lose his hide; and if you'll believe me when I tell you that they can skin a bear just as quick on "Change, you won't have a Board of Trade Indian using your pelt for a rug during the long winter months. Because you are the son of a pork packer you may think that youknow a little more than the next fellow about paper pork. There's nothing in it. The poorest men on earth are the relations of millionaires. When I sell futures on ’Change, they're against hogs that are traveling into dry salt at the rate of one a second, and if the market goes up on me I've got the solid meat to deliver. But, if you lose, the only part of the hog which you can deliver is the squeal. I wouldn’t bear down so hard on this matter if money was the only thing that a fellow could lose on 'Change. But if a clerk sells pork, and the market goes down, he’s mighty apt to get a lot of ideas with holes in them and bad habits as the small change of his profits. And if the market goes up, he’s likely to go short his self-respect to win back his money. I dwell a little on this matter of speculation because you've got to live next door to the Board of Trade all your life, and it’s a safe thing to know something about a neighbor’s dogs before you try to pat them. Sure Things, Straight Tips and Dead Cinches will come running out to meet you, wagging their tails and looking as innocent as if they hadn’t just killed a lamb, but they’ll bite. The only safe road to follow in speculation leads straight away from the Board of Trade on the dead run. Of course the Board of Trade and every other commercial exchange have their legitimate uses, but all you need to know just now is that speculation by a fellow who never owns more pork at a time than he sees on his breakfast plate isn’t one of them. When you become a packer you may go on 'Change as a trader; until then you can go there only as a sucker. 1 hear a good deal about men who won't take vacations, and who kill themselves by over- work, but it’s usually worry or whisky. It’s not what a man does during working hours, but after them, that breaks down his health. A fellow and his business should be bosom friends in the office and sworn enemies out of it. A clear mind is one that is swept clean of business at 6 &'clock every night and isn’t opened up for it again until after the shutters are taken down next morning. Some fellows leave the office at night and start out to whoop it up with the boys, and some go home to sit up with their troubles—they’re both in bad company. They're the men who are al- ways needing vacations, and never getting any good out of them. What every man does need once a year is a change of work—that is, if he has been eurved up over a desk for fifty weeks and subsisting on birds and burgundy, he ought to take tofishing for a living and try bacon and eggs, with a little spring water, for dinner. THE KING BUSINESS By “The Parson” ' i | | i | - BOUT all the use citizens of a free re- public have for kings to-day is to gaze at them from a distance when they are crowned or assassinated. The cable ac- counts of such ceremonies and such trag- edies make interesting reading for a day or two, and then we go on our way, con- gratulating ourselves that a different B kind of regime prevails in this coun- try. And yet for a good many hundred years the business weak, flabby, dissolute, cruel, hateful specimen of a man then for us all the glamour and glory traditionally associated with the kingly calling vanishes. Plain John Smith, citizen and gentleman, is a good enough title for you and for me. Yet while the kingly title and function has little attraction for us, we should not disdain the chance to help preserve in the world the true ideal of kingship. One place yet remains in America where every man of us may set up his throne and that is in the sacred privacy of his own home. To all intents and purposes the of making and of unmaking kings and of fulfilling royal functions furnished the chief occupation for millions of human beings, and constituted the chief interest of their lives. With the growth and diffusion of democratic ideas all over the world, the king business seems to be an out- worn industry. It appears most incongruous when the gen- tleman who happens to bear the title of king ranks on the moral scale only a notch or two at best, above a New York Bowery tough, even though a thin veneer of co'urt manners may cover up his rottenness. Thank God, say I, that we have reached a point in the development of public morals when we are demanding of the few kings left in the world that they shall be kingly. That is the only quality which can give them peaceful slumbers when they lie down at night. That is !fle only thing which can prevent them from being tumbled uncer- emoniously down their palace stairs either by cunning pre- tenders or by rivals with more legitimate claims, or by out- raged public opinion. We can stand a good queen like Victoria. We can even get up some enthusiasm over roy- alty, its trappings and flashing jewels, the profound salaams and all the niceties of court etiquette, provided the sovereign himself corresponds in bearing and character to our child- hood’s ideal o? kingship. But when we have reason to be- lieve that Emperor, Mikado, Sultan, Czar or King is a true husband, the faithful father, is king over his own House- hold. He may not claim, he never should exact any homage, but if he has a royal, generous nature, if through mastery of self, he has acquired a right to rule others, if his law is the law of kindness, if he incarnates before the eyes of his household truth and justice day by day, then he cannot help being the virtual monarch of that little circle If it is a complete circle the probabilities are that the sovereignty will be shared by the one who sits opposite him at the table. We hear so often to-day of the women who shine as “queens in societies” that it sometimes seems as though that distinction were the chief ambition of our wives and our daughters. But for every one who “thus ignores her kingdom right at hand and plunges into the artificial, fevered life of society in the hope of making con- quests there, ten women are to be found, I believe, each one of whom is amply content to be the guiding star, the balance wheel, the inspiration and.the acknowledged and revered queen of her husband and her children. Once a little lad, after being trained by his mother to say a Bible verse in a Sunday-school, appeared on the ht{om and spoke up boldly: “My mother is the light of the world.” Everybody laughed, of course, but the tactful, quick-witted superintendent said at once, “Why, yes, my little man, of course she is the light of your world.” L3 THE ORACLE OF. MULBERRY CENTER By S. E. Kiser. ULBERRY CENTER, July 7—It does my heart good to ses the way the Christian people of this great and glor- jous republic are protesting against the outrages to them poor Jews ower in Russia. It shows that we are not yet so dragged down by our mad rush for sordid gold that we forget the debt we owe to humanity. In our eagerness to pile up dollars on top of one another we can still pause to put up a good, stiff Protest against barbarism, if it happens to be the kind we den’t like. If there is anything we won’t stand over in this country, this land of the free and home of enlighten- ment, it's outrages against the Jews in Russia. That’s one thing that makes our blood bubble right off till our ander- clothes fairly sizzle. Let the Turks boil Christians in oil if they have to do it for the purpose of not letting time hang too heavy on their hands. That’s legitimate, because the Turks haven't anybody but Christians to torture, and we 2s a nation don’t believe in meddling with the business of European nations anyway. Wae are goin’ to stick to the Monroe doctrine through thick and thin if Turkey tortures every Christian to death that can’t move out. What business is it of ours how many Macedonians or Armenians are roasted at the stake or tied up to gate-posts where they can watch while their wives and children are bein’ tortured? The Macedonian vote over here ain’t worth lookin” out for and the Armenians have no political influence that anybody cares two cents about. Then, again, what business is it of ours how many Hot- tentots the English kill off tryin’ to get more land in Africa? 1 hope nobody over here will be foolish enough to ever get the colored brothers to take up the cause of the Hottentots and threaten to vote against the party that didn’t express sympathy for them. If they ever do that England may as well prepare to get licked by us once more just to make it about three times and out. Another thing that we can overlook without botherin” our conscience is what the French are doin’ in Africa Who cares how many of them greasy people down there get killed off if they don’t know any better than to hold out against a great and enlightened nation that wants their territory? And they are nothin’ but a lot of bow-legged Mohamme- dans, not believin’ in our religion, any way, so why should we care how many of them get wiped out? The Moham- medan vote over here wouldn’t be enough to eleg} a justice of the peace in a country district if it- was all bunched to- gether. They can’t expect us to run the risk of stirrin’ up foreign complications by advisin’ France to go easy. Frafce might point the finger of sympathy at a few hundred thou- sand Mohammedans that needn’t be named here and want to know why a Mohammedan in Africa ought to have any more tender treatment than a Mohammedan in the Philip— I mean than a Mohammedan anywhere else. Once in a while part of the Russian army goes over into China and burns a town or two and shoots and drowns the people, but them are some more of the little acts we haven't any right to meddle with, as long as they don’t in- terfere with the open door policy. Of course, if they fol- lowed up the killin’ by interferin’ with our business interests it would be perfectly right and just that we should protest. Why should a great Christian nation be expected to get excited over the killin’ off of a few hundred, or, may be, thousand, idolaters, specially as long as there was millions and millions of "em left to idolotate? If they’d adopt our religion they might have some reason to think they had our sympathy, but there’s where they’d miss their guess. Bigotry is not among our faults. We never let religion in- terfere in matters of this kind. We are a broad and liberal- minded people, ever puttin’ humanity before creed and freely acknowledgin’ the right of the Russians, who have always been friendly to us, to kill as many Chinese as they please in pursuit of healthful recreation and exercise as long as the Chinese vote over here ain’t worth goin® after. I am pleased to say that the people of this beautiful and enlightened village have put the stamp of their earnest dis- approval on the Russian horror a*in the Jews. We held a mass meetin’ in the town hall last Thursday evenin’ at which I had the honor to be one of the vice-presidents of the occasion. Judge Miller presided, and the meetin’ was opened with an earnest prayer by the Baptist preacher, who said it was a time when all questions of race, creed and color should be forgot. Then the judge took the floor to deliver one of the eloquent speeches that make him justly famous all through this county and some of the -adjoinin’ town- ships. Sphivers of horror run through all of us as he told about he awful things that had been done by the Russians and there was hardly a dry eye in the hall. “How can we as civilized people look on this terrible scene unmoved?” said the judge, in one of his beautiful bursts of eloquence. “It is enough to make the star of civ- slization quiver in its orbit and tumble in a million atoms from its socket. The picture is worthy of the darkest age that ever dawned. Here at the beginning of the gloriousest century within the memory of man is a great nation goin’ back to savagery and in a frenzy of blood-thirsty self-abne- gation forgottin® all the laws of progress. In a moment it goes from the age of reason to the age of—" At that point the judge was interrupted by Orrin Hitch- cock, who rushed into the hall yellin’ that Ira Hooper and a nigger by the name of Hicks Rowan had got in a fight over a game of cards and the nigger had shot Ira in the back end of Turner’s livery stable. After a hot chase of about two hours we caught the brute and me and the judge had the honor of helpin’ to pull on the other end of the rope, the preacher not bein’ there owin’ to sickness in the fambly and him havin’ went home early. So in the excitement we f¢ the resolutions of (hy (o_lx: !:hed'ilmm’ of the’ Rus: -tn hbm ill u‘i. nm'z:mw in’. e delay was unfortunate, but mi avoidz?{e. l.nd’the doctor thinks Ira h’l:‘l fni‘rht:h:l’c.‘?‘o et wel g I forgot to say that before the judge started on his speech the school superintendent read this poem, which 'roused great enthugiasm: Rise, sons of Freedom, rise; Released roen galing hoads yoursd el m ing s Go forth—set olhegt freel -, Rise, sons of Freedom, rise; Fight till oppression lies A bleeding, lifeless carcass at The feet of Liberty. Rise, sons of Progress, rise; Be not content that right Lies back of you—go forth to lead The gropers to the light! Rise, sons of Progress, rige; Fight on till error dies And sophistry and brutishness Are buried from our sight. Yours for progress, ! JEFFERSON DOBBS.