any more now. And so I am rich. But you, you have got seventy millions
and you need five hundred millions, and are really suffering for it.
Your poverty is something appalling. I tell you truly that I do not
believe I could live twenty-four hours with the awful weight of four
hundred and thirty millions of abject want crushing down upon me. I
should die under it. My soul is so wrought upon by your helpless
pauperism that if you came to me now, I would freely put ten cents in
your tin cup, if you carry one, and say, "God pity you, poor
unfortunate."


A MOVING TALE

Many a young man has succumbed to his environment. The hero of the
following moving tale is no exception:

She was waiting for him at the station. It was two o'clock in the
afternoon, and he had to go back that evening on the midnight train. He
acted like a man in a dream, but, none the less, he appeared to know
precisely what he was about.

As the train drew up the station was crowded. There she was in the
midst of the crowd, smiling and beckoning to him. Without a moment's
hesitation, and before she even realized what was happening, he sprang
forward, put his arms around her, and planted a clinging kiss on her
lips. She blushed intensely and whispered as well as she could:

"Oh, you mustn't!"

He made no reply. His eyes were fixed. Half frightened, she led the way