Evening Round Up - More Good Stuff Like Pep
by William Crosbie Hunter
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The residents of Pompeii had fine plumbing, baths and luxuries.

They had a place called a vomitorium. The old Roman sports were gluttons; they stuffed themselves, then went to the vomitorium and threw up so they could eat more.

Near Pompeii is the ancient buried city of Herculaneum, but it is covered with lava, hard as granite, while Pompeii is covered with ashes.

Our western hemisphere is called the new world, but all parts of the world are equally old.

The Missouri River swelled up and washed out a big cul de sac and bared those three towns near Omaha. We haven't dug much in America but likely in a few years we will discover some old towns equally as ancient as Pompeii.

Verily, this earth of ours has had humans on it for more than the 6,000 years our written records give as its age.


An Intoxicant That Often Turns Men Into Murderers

A false patriotism, an inherited acceptance of servility and obedience, makes the foreigners meek, sheep-like men.

This great war, and most every great war of the past, is possible because of a distorted understanding of patriotism.

Patriotism began away back yonder when sons and daughters were taught love and loyalty to the pater, the father. The patriarchs of old extended the patriot idea to the tribe and later as tribes banded together and formed nations. The patriotism principle was the basis for the bond that tied men together for a common cause.

Now patriotism is bounded by geographical lines and national boundary lines. The patriotism is most sincere, and most solemn, for men willingly sacrifice their lives for it.

But, really, this patriotism is one of the narrowest and most cruel forces in the world. It causes wars, waste and desolation. It makes jealousies, braggadocio and keeps up the fight spirit.

The false patriotism is an obstacle to broader human progress, brotherly love and the finer things in life.

Kings and rulers, fired by selfish egotism, know full well what a powerful force patriotism is and they nurse the babes with fatherland stuff and give them tin soldiers to play with and tin helmets to wear.

Patriotism, when it reflects love of the place of one's nativity, when it spells home and love and association, is a natural and a beautiful sentiment.

But patriotism, as fomented and fostered by governments for war spurs and goads, is a monster that lives on blood.

To keep this false patriotism alive, wars must be made, so that human blood can be secured to save the monster from perishing. Human blood fires and intoxicates this false patriotism behemoth.

And so, on slight pretexts Kings are insulted. War lords have put out chips on their shoulders on purpose to be knocked off, and when the chip is brushed off then comes the declaration of war.

The banner, patriotism, is flaunted in the air. It is the shibboleth of the red blooded, hot headed, bravest and best of the nation, the youth, who die in countless thousands—for what?

Such patriotism is failure and worse than failure. It is hindrance to civilization.

These bewildered men have let reason escape, and intoxicated false patriotism poison come in their brains to take the place of reason.

In their delirium they try to appear consistent, logical and abused. In their extremity they try to co-ordinate their acts with God's mind.

Each nation has its own interpretation of the Divine will. Each asks Divine help for his nation.

God looks at the maddened millions of insane murderers and his heart is torn as He sees the avalanche of tears shed by bereaved wives and children.

The patriotism that is responsible for starting this war is a mockery, a snare, a delusion, and deserves the profoundest contempt of every man who loves his fellow man.

Europe has certainly put riot in patriotism.


A Poor Vehicle for Humor

The man who ridicules everything is on the toboggan slide and he will finish the slide as an out-and-out grouch.

You and I know men who never have a pleasant word to say of anyone, or a serious commendation of anything.

Ridicule and sarcasm are often coated with would-be humor, and try to pass for puns. By and by, however, this ridicule and sarcasm gets to be a habit, and the coat of humor becomes threadbare.

Just at this time friends depart, for the grouch phase of the disease has started.

Sarcasm and ridicule are powerful weapons when used adroitly and for good purposes. But when sarcasm and ridicule are used constantly as a means to generate fun or as vehicles for humor, then the evil commences.

People will listen to you for awhile, if you good-naturedly ridicule a thing, but when you are known to have the habit, then is when friends give you the go-by.

Sarcasm and ridicule wound deeply; they are hot pokers jabbed in quivering flesh.

Don't juggle with ridicule or sarcasm, for people look beneath the veneer nowadays. They remember and repeat the axiom, "there's many a true word spoken in jest."

There are so many beautiful things to say, so many kind expressions to utter, so many helpful hints to give, that we should be ashamed to say or do things even jokingly that may hurt another.

Safest way is to run no chances. When you ridicule a thing or a person, you may ridicule the tender heart of one you should cheer and help.

Ridicule is the negative element anyway; the only good it can be is by reflex or rebound force.

Ridicule is conceived by the humor idea. It is used because it so easily lends itself to a seeming clever way to create a laugh.

Humor of the clean sort is a rare gift. Humor may easily descend to low comedy by use of ridicule, and often the audience does not differentiate between low comedy and rare humor.

The masses will laugh when the comedian on the stage hits his friend with a club; that sort of fun-making satisfies adults who have children's brains and such brain-constructed people will also laugh at jokes which ride on ridicule. But you who read these lines are worthy of better things; that's why you are reading this book. If, in my audience there are those who have the ridicule habit, I want to arouse you to a better sense of humor than you can get by the employment of ridicule and sarcasm.

I don't want you to descend to the level of the grouch. The slide-down is so easy, the climbing back and up from the depth is so very hard.

Ridicule and sarcasm are cheap, slapstick methods to produce fun. They leave a sting many times when you are not aware of it.

When fighting whiskey, sin, corruption or evil hosts, then use burning ridicule and caustic sarcasm to sizzle and destroy the things that need to be destroyed.

Now I've told you, and next time you find yourself using ridicule or sarcasm to provoke mirth remember you are toying with a habit-forming practice that is likely to get the best of you unless you stop and stop now.


She Is Your Partner, Don't Cheat Her

A wife is either a partner or an employee. If a partner, she has a right to the fifty-fifty split on profits; if an employee she is entitled to her wages.

A thrifty husband is commendable, but a show-me-what-you-did-with-that-money husband should be punished by being sentenced to attend pink teas, afternoon receptions, and to match samples at the dry goods store.

Married folks must be on the partnership basis, or there's sand in the gear box.

Give the wife the check-book; let her pay the bills; tote fair with her; show her and give her just what your income affords, and what economic and wise administration warrants; she'll cut the cloth to fit the garment.

When the husband questions every turn, every move, every cent, the wife feels like a prisoner or a slave. Wives will do good team work when they are broken to double harness with their husbands.

Women are generally raised without any requirements of economy; they are pretty birds, and used to preening and smoothing their plumage and looking pretty.

It's the female instinct in the human. In the animal world the male has the plumage and does the strutting and fascinating act; but in the human animal the female is the bird with the bright plumage.

You can't expect her to know about pennies and purses and prudent purchases the moment you slip the ring on her finger.

But she's an intelligent filly and she'll go in double harness much better if trained and coaxed and petted than she will if she is haltered, broke and a Spanish bit put in her mouth by the husband's stinginess.

She'll shop better than her husband if he takes an interest in her shopping and encourages her in her economical administration of the household budget.

She wants a word of appreciation once in a while. She chills under the surveillance and parsimony of an eagle-eyed, detective, lawyer-like husband.

She's a sweet bird and sweet birds and hawks don't nest well together.

Where the hawk and the dove are in the same cage the feathers will fly.

As I came through the park this morning I saw a pair of robins who have the right idea. They share home responsibilities and do fine team work. I think they are mighty happy, too; daddy red breast looked mighty proud as he hustled worms for the family breakfast.

Mamma robin looked down with loving eyes at her hubby, and the little baby robins sang a chorus of joy at the very privilege of living in such a home.

Worry will fly out of the window the moment the husband and wife lay their cards on the table and play the open hand. The moment one or the other keeps a few cards in the sleeve, then worry and trouble comes back.

The moral of this is: husbands and wives, live together, get together, stay together, play together, save together, grow together, share together. Travel the same road; don't take different paths.


The Rarest, Sweetest Pleasures in the World

There are two principal pleasures man seeks; one is material pleasures and that takes in about ninety-nine per cent of the human family.

The other, the one per cent, seeks mental pleasures, and this little group is the one that gets the real, lasting, satisfying and improving pleasures.

Material pleasures are eating, displaying, possessing, and society. Material pleasures generate in the human the desire for fluff, feathers, and four-flushing.

Material pleasures accentuate the desire to possess things, and in the strife for possession hearts are broken, fortunes wasted, nerves shattered and finer sentiments calloused.

The homes where material pleasures abound are the ones where worry, neurasthenia and nervous prostration abound.

Material pleasures are merely stimulants for the time being, and there always comes the intermittent reflexes of gloom and depression.

The desire to show off, to excite envy in others, is always present at the homes where material pleasures are the rule.

Material pleasures call for crowds. Mental pleasures are best enjoyed in solitude.

The material pleasure seeker lives a life of convention, engagements, routine, action, strain and high tension.

The person who is so fortunate as to appreciate and follow mental pleasures, is serene, natural, happy and content.

A cozy room, loved ones around, music, books, love and social conversation, those are mental pleasures; those are best.

He who can pick up a book, and read things worth while, gets satisfaction unknown to those whose life is banquets, theaters, dances, automobiles, parties, bridge, clubs and society doings.

The lover of books and home can enjoy the play, because he only goes to plays worth while, and he doesn't overdo it.

The confirmed theater-goer is a pessimist; he roasts nearly every play, and he is universally bored.

Get the home reading habit. Don't over-do it. Call on friends, go to a good picture show once in a while; to good concerts; to good plays, but do not make this going out in the evening plan a habit. Let it be merely a dessert, or a rarity; like candy and ice cream, proper and enjoyable when taken in moderation.

When you get started reading worth-while books on science, on history, on geography, on travel, on natural history, you will get into an inexhaustible field of pleasure and satisfaction.

Any time you can pick up your book and be happy.

Waits in railway stations will be opportunities; trips on trains will be pleasant; evenings alone will be enjoyable, if you can get into a book you like.

Mental pleasures are best.

Material pleasures are merely passing pleasures.


The Man Who Found It and the Man Who Used It

Four hundred years ago Jim Balboa climbed a mountain peak on the Isthmus of Panama, and looked on the boundless Pacific and said: "I have this day discovered you, and henceforth the geographies will perpetuate this great event."

Little did Jim think that by 1914 ships of twenty thousand tons would sail through the impassable mountains.

Jim knew he had discovered something great, but little did he dream of the real greatness of the world's future. Little did he dream that the vast new continent on whose neck he stood was to hold the greatest nation of the twentieth century.

Gold, new territory for kings, new fields for the church—were the magnets which drew early navigators like Balboa to the land in the West across the Atlantic.

Those early adventurers little thought of exploiting their discoveries for the benefit of mankind.

It is a long time and a far cry from Capt. Balboa to Colonel Goethals, from the discoverer to the constructor, and it is our good fortune to see and enjoy a work beyond the wildest dreams of Columbus, Balboa, Cortez and the other wanderlust adventurers.

Not only that, but the Panama Canal, now opened to the world, was for years deemed a chimerical dream and an impossibility, by the world as well as by most Americans.

Every ditch digger, including the great De Lesseps, proved a failure, so to Yankee grit in the person of Goethals belongs the credit for the completed work which is now called the "Eighth Wonder of the World."

The Pyramids, the hanging gardens of Babylon, are wonders, but we have a Yankee contractor who can duplicate them if anyone puts up the money for the job.

We do not build pyramids or hanging gardens because they serve no useful purpose.

The Panama Canal is a greater wonder and is a most practical benefit to mankind. It doubles our navy; it enables us to move supplies of every kind from one coast to the other quickly and less expensively.

It shortens the world's highway between the oceans and helps every human being.

Balboa's name will live in geographies as the discoverer of the Pacific Ocean, but Goethals' name will be remembered as the man who made most use of that discovery for the benefit of mankind.

The shades of Balboa and De Lesseps likely stalk around Panama at midnight and rub their eyes in amazement.


The One Time in Our Keeping

As I walk on the old Santa Fe Trail each morning through Penn Valley Park in Kansas City, the marks of time are plainly visible.

Erosion of water and wind have bared the sedimentary rocks and exposed the layers in well defined pages so I may study this great rock-paged geology book, and indeed it's a pleasure to me.

Back of all is the grand plan of the Universe of which this earth is an atom. That plan is ruled by a Divine law and power.

For you or me to take a fragment of truth and attempt to pass it as a definite science, a complete religion or all truth, is an assumption which these records of countless ages frown upon as a hopeless, bootless task.

All science has some truth; all creeds, sects, isms and cults likewise have truth, but no branch or group possesses all truth.

My fossil fish on the wall wiggled his tail thousands of years ago, very likely millions of years.

He lived and died in accordance with the plan of the Creator of the Universe and you are an atom and I am an atom in that Universe and governed by the power that gave life and crushed to death that fossil fish.

Verily we presume when we say, "we have all the truth; think as we do or you are lost."

The old world has not told its full story. The Universe of which this world is a part is still a deeper mystery.

We shall not know all truth until the great revealing time.

We cannot change the pages of the millions of years gone by. We can do very little to change the pages of the millions of years to come. What little we can do, we can only do TODAY.

Today is yours and mine; let's do the best we can with our possession in act and thought and word.

The sun goes down behind the sky-line on the West as it has done for millions of years. I lay aside my pen with a bigger view, a deeper appreciation of the Creator and a profounder faith in His wisdom and works than ever.

God made. God rules. God plans. And verily we are weaklings and foolish, who presume by selfish prayer to suggest to Him what He shall do.

Let us strive to be appreciative of Him and try to lift ourselves in sublime thought into the higher faith thought and realize that we are part of Him and His plan, and failure is impossible to us, if we keep up and on, doing good, speaking softly, dealing gently, showing kindness today and living in accordance with the big, broad, generous, charitable plan instead of the little, bigoted, narrow, selfish idea that we are sole possessors of truth and that the man who differs with us in belief is in error.

This chapter is about big things and in it is a big moral for all who are big enough to grasp it.


All for You, Old Man, and It's Timely

This is your inning, Dad.

There has been so many beautiful things written about Mother and all the rest of the family that it is high time we should tell you how we love you and how we appreciate you.

You've worked so hard; you've been so ambitious to do things for your loved ones, and they have accepted your sacrifices, work, and watchfulness as matter of fact.

You've had dreams of a some day when you would relax and play and enjoy, but you have set that some day too far ahead. You consider yourself after all your loved ones are more comfortable and happy, and time is passing, Dad; the marks of time are showing on your poor, tired head; the wrinkles of care are marking your face, and the roses are bleaching from your cheeks.

You are too unselfish, too much centered in that some day. Let's change things a bit, Dad. Sometimes the some day doesn't come.

You are entitled to, and it's your duty to have, happiness and pleasures and health and joys, right here now today.

Your loved ones do not want you to spend your health getting wealth. They don't want to see you worn out, tired, weary and unhappy in the evening of your life. Besides it's your duty to let them share responsibility and work out their own problems. They will be better if you let them gain knowledge by practical experience.

Come on, Dad; get in the group and enjoy things now and you will live longer and you will get more out of life and give more pleasure to your loved ones. Get in the game, Dad; let's see the old light and twinkle in your eyes; let's have the sunshine on your face; the love-light on your lips and the happiness in your heart. Come on, Dad, we all want you to do these things.

Leave your cares at the office; come on and play, and you will be so much better and stronger and so much more successful in your business.

Let's have the corners of your mouth turned up tonight at the supper table; be part of the family, Dad, not a poor, tired bread winner.

We don't want to hear any more sh—sh—or whispers when you come home. We don't want to feel that restraint and uncomfortable feeling; let's laugh and sing and love and play—let's make your home-coming a joyous event.

We all love you, Dad, but you haven't made it as comfortable as you might for us when we try to express our love. You've been too tired, too busy, too much occupied with those business thoughts.

Don't you see how we love you, and how we appreciate you? Don't you know that there is no one in the world who can take the place of Dad?

Keep your heart young, Dad; we will help if you only say "come on." We are waiting for the signal. Let's start the new schedule tonight; come on, Dad, what do you say?


When They Cry There's a Reason; Find It

Now come the wise doctors with the injunction to let the baby cry. They tell us it's good for the baby's lungs and that the baby needs the exercise and all that sort of rot.

They augment this with the statement that if we soothe or coddle our babies they will get the habit and require our attention always before they go to sleep.

Old Mother Nature has been pretty successful in raising animals. Let the kitten, dog, pig or chicken give the sign of pain or distress and the mother will hasten to its offspring and nestle it.

When a baby cries, it's because it's hungry, or too warm or too hot or too uncomfortable, or it has pain or distress. It's just nature's instinct given by God to the helpless infant that it may call attention to its trouble. The doctor would complain if uncomfortable. The doctor or the parent can help himself, but the baby can use its only signal, a cry.

When baby cries it should be taken up and soothed. Don't pay any attention to the doctor who says the baby cries to be petted; baby can't reason in its infant days; its little brain hasn't reached the reasoning powers.

Doctors constantly protest and warn us against over exertion on the part of children and even adults; yet they tell us to let the few-weeks-old baby cry, which is the most violent and extreme exertion it can put forth.

Crying puts a strain on all the baby's vital organs and its delicate, fragile blood vessels and heart. There have been thousands of babies who have had irreparable damage done to their constitutions because of this cold-blooded, heartless fad of the doctors, to let baby cry.

Many a mother's heart is torn and wrung because of the doctor's order, "Let the baby cry."

The mother is worked up into an excited nervous condition by the doctor's inhuman order to let the baby cry, and this same doctor tells her not to become excited because it will have a bad effect on her nursing baby. Just read this paragraph over again and see if the doctor hasn't crossed his logic wires and insulted common sense.

The doctors become calloused; they are used to seeing pain and suffering. It's easy for them to endure pain in others, and easy for them to give them heartless orders.

And generally the doctor who affects most knowledge about baby rearing is the one who has no babies of his own.

Dr. Walls of Chicago is one of the most eminent child specialists in the world and he agrees with my conclusions in this matter and so does most every really great child specialist I know.

When baby cries, find the reason; change its position; see if there is a pin sticking; find out whether it's heat, cold, hunger or pain.

There's a reason why babies cry. My wife is emphatic on that point and she has reared three mighty fine babies, and I have watched and helped her.


Be a Know Girl, Not a Show Girl

Girl, what a wonderful creature you can be. What a glorious success you can make of your life, if you get the right start, the right hands to help you, the right hearts to love you, and the right eyes to watch you, the right thoughts to make you, and the right ideals to guide you.

There are so many influences to spoil you, so much convention, so much artificiality, so much snobbery, so much caste, so much foolish frivolity.

Then there are the wrong examples, the wrong grooming, the wrong environments, the wrong influences surrounding you, that it is not to be wondered why so many girls lose their heads and make a fizzle of their young lives.

The fizzle is generally because daddy and mamma have a lot of foolish notions about bringing up the girls. Especially is this so if the parents are wealthy.

Here is the history of many a rich girl. She is born without welcome, fed on a bottle, reared by a nurse, grows up in a nursery, estranged from her mother, later on sent away to school, mixes with a lot of other rich girls, gets lots of foolish notions, false estimates, and prejudiced views. She graduates and comes home and there are a lot of "doings" which she attends, then comes the show-off which is called a debut.

She is shown off like a filly at the horse show, and some high-collared young man wins her head although she thinks it's her heart. She thinks it's the thing to marry, and he is such "a swell fellow," he is such "good company," and he "dances so well,"—these qualities win her head.

So the girl marries, has children, husband goes broke and the girl awakens to the necessity of coming down from her pedestal, facing stern necessity, and raising her children as her mother should have raised her.

That's the picture of the poor rich girl whose parents are to blame for the nonsense she got in her head.

But, you, Girl, you are going to learn your cooking on a gas range instead of a chafing dish; you'll learn to bake bread before fudge; you'll learn how to cook solids before you learn to make salads.

You will study simplicity, sentiment, sense, sereneness, sweetness, rather than envy, frills, feathers and foolishness.

God's noblest woman's calling is the work for children and home.

To cook and sew is a higher duty and better occupation than bridge parties and society.

Not that you must cook and sew, my dear, but that you can if necessary.

With the ability to cook and sew you can properly direct the cook or seamstress, and they will respect you for your education.

The painted, powdered, tinsel, fluff, feathers and furebelow girl may be dashing now and you may envy her, but you, with your quiet, sweet, simple, sensible ways—you will win real love, real respect, real affection, real pleasures, real satisfaction, in all the days to come; you will make a success of your life.

Frills and feathers may be an attraction to the girl who makes the fizzle of her life, but sweetness and simplicity, and sentiment and sense, are precious jewels that will endure for all time.

Be that sweet girl. Do not be the "show" kind, or the blow kind, be the real "know" kind, and you will grow in the hearts of all who love reality and hate artificiality. We all love the "know" kind—the sweet, simple, sensible girl who knows.

So here's my hand, little sister, little daughter, little girl, and to you here are also the sweetest thoughts of mine heart, for I picture you through eyes, and through a heart, that sees two sweet little girls of my very own.

I am going to stick mighty close to my girls and try to bring them up to be real girls who will be loving, lovable and loved.

So then here is the hope that you, girl, will start right, keep right and end right. I want you to think of sense, sentiment, and simplicity rather than dances, dollars, duds and doings.

I want your life to be one of poise, happiness and serenity instead of noise, worry and nerves.

This little message is all for you—GIRL.


You Can't Earn Your Board on the Board of Trade

I've been riding through the golden wheat belt of Kansas, and estimated the new wealth; for that which grows is the only real profit or wealth. All else are trades, speculation or bookkeeping accounts.

The farmer plants the wheat. God makes it grow and we eat it.

But in a big building in an amphitheater in the city, is a crowd of wild men in shirt sleeves, perspiring, shouting, making signs, clawing the air. This crowd never raised wheat, but they raise pandemonium. It's the board of trade; its job is getting the wheat from the farm to you and me who require it to live.

I've recently visited the biggest food market in the world, the Chicago Board of Trade. Below the gallery sat a nice dignified elderly man who wrote a note on a slip of paper, folded it and gave it to a boy.

The boy was off like a shot to the wheat pit; he gave it to another white-haired young-faced man of cultured, refined, even scholarly bearing, so different from the row raisers in the pit.

This nice man was the floor man for a big grain commission house; he read the message, and then did the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde act. He turned red, purple, and green. His neck swelled, he threw back his head and screamed while he held up his hand and five fingers. Each finger meant 5,000 bushels of wheat; five fingers meant 25,000 bushels to sell. In an instant, like a pack of wolves, the other crazy men raised their hands with bent and twisted fingers, the sign language of the pit.

The old man made a sign, the wheat was sold. He was Dr. Jekyll again; he yawned and was composed once more.

Soon a boy came with another slip, and the old man went mad again. I asked my host if it wasn't pretty busy today; he said "no, it's a dull market."

That 25,000 bushels of wheat was sold half a dozen times. Every broker who handled it got a commission. The buying and selling was speculation.

Outside the board were the hangers on, the down-and-outs, the has-beens, who used to be in the pit and throw fits like the nice old man I've described.

These has-beens have the speculation bug, and hope they can come back some day and make fortunes out of lucky guesses.

The only ones who make money on the board of trade are the company who rents offices, the cigar man, the lunch man, and the telegraph operators, and the commission men who get one-eighth of a cent a bushel either way the market goes. Some of these commission men get the speculation bug and go broke, and yet there are callow youths and business men and clerks and other outsiders who believe they are smart enough to speculate on the Board of Trade. That belief helps fatten our penitentiaries.

No outsider ever made money on the Board of Trade if he stayed with the game. And the speculators on the inside graduate to the down-and-out class if they play long enough. There's a group of millionaires who control them and all others are pikers.

You can't beat the Board of Trade; it's not in the cards.


A Little Study of the Universe

Tonight I am in the Ozarks and old Mother Earth is passing through the belt of meteoric dust, that great mysterious sea in the universe through which we pass every year about the middle of November.

It is midnight. I will not reach my destination until 1:30 in the morning. Two fellow passengers in the car, after cussing their luck, have finally gone to Snoozeland, while I call the passing hours opportunity.

I look out into the night and marvel at the countless stars in the infinite black void, and wonder how closely those stars may be connected with humanity.

That they are connected I have no doubt, for truly "the sun, the moon, the stars, and endless space as well, are parts, are things, like me, that cometh from and runneth by one grand power of which I am in truth a part, an atom though I be."

How many stars are there? Well, let's get ready to appreciate number. I can see about 3,000; with opera glasses I could see 30,000.

The late Franklin Adams photographed the whole canopy with 206 photographs. He counted the stars by mathematical plans, and gives the conclusion that there are 1,600,000,000 stars, and that number is just about the number of humans on this earth. So then there is one star for each of us.

Each of those stars, practically speaking, is larger than the earth. Many have human beings who think and reason like we do. Multiply the 1,600,000,000 population on this earth by any portion of the 1,600,000,000 stars that may have thinking creatures on them; multiply that total by the millions of years and millions of generations that have passed out of existence.

Think of these numbers and limitless boundaries and then tell me that one little man, on one little star we call earth, has a strangle-hold on truth, and that his viewpoint, his ism, his little dogma, his narrow creed, is all sufficient, and that he can give me and you and them definite rules and patterns for our belief.

Verily, little protoplasm, you have another guess. We can by experience and tests prove two and two make four. We can by practice and experience prove that love, kindness, help, gentleness, sympathy, cheer and courage bring happiness.

These are tangible things; but when one wee Willie with sober face tells you and me and others that he has the truth about the definite, full workings of God's plans and purposes, I think of the greatness of 1,600,000,000 stars each with 1,600,000,000 humans and of the unnumbered generations gone by, and say, verily we must live TODAY and do the best we can today in act and thought and word.

Yesterday is dead, tomorrow is unknown; where we have been, where we will be, we know not. Where we are today we know, and God in His great plan knows only the final answer as to our future estate.

He will take us and hold us and place us in His keeping and according to His purpose, even though we do not or cannot follow or believe any one of the little man-formed creeds, isms or cults as the measure and rule for our beliefs.

Those stars testify to the certainty of God, and I believe in Him.


Are Ever Subject to Backbiters

When a man by his brains or by fortunate combination or circumstances arises to a position of prominence he becomes a target for the envious and a pattern for the imitator.

Emulation and envy are ever alert in trying to steal the fruits of the leader or doer of things.

The man who makes a name gets both reward and punishment. The reward is his satisfaction in being a producer, a help to the world, and the glory that comes from widespread recognition and publicity of his accomplishment. The punishment is the slurs, the enmity, the envy and the detraction, to say nothing of the downright lies which are told about him.

When a man writes a great book, builds a great machine, discovers a great truth or invents a useful article, he becomes a target for the envious few.

If he does a mediocre thing he is unnoticed; if his work is a masterpiece, jealousy wags its tongue and untruth uses its sting.

Wagner was jeered. Whistler was called a mere charlatan. Langley was pronounced crazy. Fulton and Stephenson were pitied. Columbus faced mutiny on his ship on the eve of his discovery of land. Millet starved in his attic. Time has passed, and the backbiters are all in unmarked graves. The world until its end will enjoy Wagner's music, Whistler and Millet's painting will attract artists from all over the world, and inventors will reverence the names of Fulton and Stephenson.

The leader is assailed because he has done a thing worth while; the slanderers are trying to equal his feat, but their imitations serve to prove his greatness.

Because jealous ones cannot equal the leader they seek to belittle him.

But the truly worth-while man wins his laurels and he remains a leader; he had made his genius and the creature of his hopes and brains known to the world.

Above the clamor and noise, above the din of the rocks thrown at him, his masterpiece and his fame endure.

And compensation, the salve to the sore, makes the great man deaf to the noise and immune to the attacks of the knockers.

In his own heart he knows he has done a thing worth while; his own conscience is clear, and he cares not for the estimate of the world.

His own character is his chief concern, and he is content in the knowledge that time will bring its reward.

If you have high ideals in business, if you make success, mark well, you will be a subject of attacks, of lies, of malice, of envy, of disreputable competition; there is no way out of it.

But you will be repaid. The lover of fair play, the grateful, the true, honest, worth-while people will flock to your standard; the riff-raff will skulk behind bushes and throw rocks and mud, but their acts will prove to the great mass of the people that your purposes, practices and policies are right.

Therefore, courage is to be your chief asset; with patience, pride, perseverance your lieutenants.

Be not weary, grow not discouraged when your progress is hampered by obstacles.


The Pleasures of a Well Lived Life

There are three periods in our lives: the youth period or prospective period, the adult or introspective period, and the old age or retrospective period.

Too many there are who look forward to old age with fear or dread.

But old age has its joys and pleasures as keen as youth or adult age, if the youth and adult ages were lived sanely, worthily and properly.

If middle age is spent in getting dollars only, then old age will be days of empty nothingness.

Youth is the planning time of ideals and ambitions, middle age the building time and old age the dividend time.

With many, old age is reading the book of the past, with sadness as the reader recognizes that the ideals, plans and hopes were shattered. As age turns the page in the book of the past he reads one hope after another vanished in smoke.

Anticipation is seldom realized, and this is as it should be, for in time men will learn to live each day for each day's good and each day's happiness.

Let us perform our duty today, let us put away a kindly act, a smile, a word of cheer in the bank of good deeds.

Each of us has our share in this world's work. It matters little whether our actual share is what we had guessed or wished it to be.

Vicissitudes clip us here and there, so-called misfortune or bad luck will strike us when least suspected. The failure of our dreams should not grieve us.

We cannot reach up and grasp the stars, but like the pilot at the wheel at sea we can steer by those stars and help us on our way.

Our ideal may not be realized but the journey to it may still be a pleasant one.

Our ideals, plans and hopes had a real purpose, a real service; they gave us courage and made us work and thus they were well worth while.

We must not in the old age period condemn ourselves because our plans failed or our castles were shattered.

There is no hard luck but incurable disease or death. It is not for us to mourn the past or weep over the vases from which the flowers are gone.

In our active days we must realize we are putting memories away in our brains that will come back to us in old age.

Only what we put in our brains we can take out.

So then, Mr. Avarice, I warn you if gold is your God it's cold comfort you will get in your sunset days.

Build up loving ties, appreciation and worth-while riches of good deeds, and in your evening of life you will be welcome in the midst of the group.

If your life was sold for gold your evening of life will be short and miserable; legatees will grudge you your every breath; they will endure you simply because they are checking off the days from Time's calendar until the day of your passing, and the dollars you sold your soul and heart and life for will be lavishly spent by cold-blooded heirs who cared nothing for you.

Leave a legacy of love, example and character, and if with these there are a few dollars, they simply prove your frugality, economy and independence.

A few dollars left to heirs will help. Many dollars will hurt. Dollars in old age will give you pleasure by helping in tight corners, and helping your loved ones over the bumps in the road.

Use the dollars to help those you love to help themselves, and your old age will be a busy, happy one and you won't be in the way.

To prepare for that happy period of your life the foundation must be built in the active today period.

Carry smiles in your old age; they will keep the heart young, the digestion good, and life will be worth while.


What Geology Tells Us About Time

I have traveled horseback over the great arid plains of the West and read the story of the ages gone before.

In Arizona and New Mexico there are ancient ruins of forts and cities built by people we know not of.

Chalcedony Park with its petrified forest of mammoth trees silently testifies to a period when vegetation was rampant and on what is now a desert.

In Wyoming there is coal enough to furnish fuel for the United States for several centuries.

Coal is carbon made from trees and vegetation covered with earth and rock, pressed, and preserved through the thousands of years necessary to change it from vegetable to carbon.

Oceans and floods gradually covered millions of acres of trees and plants with ooze and soil and sand. Ages turned some of these deposits to stone.

There in bleak Wyoming is testimony and evidence of changes that time only can bring about.

"A thousand years is as a day and a day is as a thousand years." Thus wrote the scribe of old. So then we must consider this estimate of time in reading the history of the sequential events in the first chapter of Genesis which describes the order of the world's creation.

The arrangement of the formation of the world was the dividing the light from the darkness, conforming to the rotation of our globe and consequent day and night.

Then the separating of land and water, then the birth of vegetation on the land, the creation of fish and reptiles in the sea, the fowls of the air, the beasts of the field and finally the higher animal, man.

And the pages of the earth's surface carry in their stratification indelible records harmonizing with this scriptural arrangement of the evolution of the earth from its chaotic misty past to its concrete definite present.

Yes, this earth of ours is old, so old mere man cannot contemplate or accurately estimate its wondrous age.

The fossils of the mammoth reptiles and beasts which lived before the ken of man are numerous in the fascinating West I know so well.

In those arid desert hills are bones of the ancient rhinoceros, parent of our horse, and there are shells and fossils of fish and bones of animals imbedded in the strata of rock.

Man reads these pages and he is lost in bewilderment, impoverished in thought, dumb for words, paralyzed for expressions, to co-ordinate the evidence with any man measure of what the age of the earth is.

Historians say the world was 4,004 years old before the Christian era and 1915 years have passed since then, making the age to date 5,919 years.

The first records speak of Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel and up to the time Cain went to the land of Nod there is no record of any other people in the world.

It is not surprising that through the dark ages dates and facts were lost and even there may have been mistakes in translations.

We have not a complete history in written language, but we have some very definite history in the rocks and hills and lands and seas.

There must have been people in the world when Cain went to the land of Nod, for the Bible history says Cain took unto himself a wife and his wife bore him a son and she named the son Enoch, and she builded a city for her first born and the name of the city was called Enoch.

The world certainly is more than 5,919 years old. Read the record of time so plainly visible at Niagara Falls.

Niagara Falls eats away about two feet of rock in a century; the gorge is a good many miles long. At the present rate of erosion it takes 2,640 years to eat away a mile. Multiply that by the distance between the falls and Lake Ontario and you have an idea of how many years Niagara Falls has been at work.

Before Niagara Falls was in existence the country round about was under the sea; before that under glaciers; before that under the tropics, and I don't know how many times it has swung on its pendulum between Frigid, Temperate and Tropic Zones.

So you see we are getting lost in a labyrinth of mystery when we take these known facts concerning the earth's age and try to definitely set any particular number of millions of years as the old world's age.


A Little Appreciation to Everyone Who Reads This Book

And now my pleasant occupation of writing this book draws to an end. I sincerely hope you have received some definite suggestions that will be helpful to you; that's my first purpose.

I have more books in my brain in embryo. They are hatching out and you may look for books of mine to appear every once in awhile so long as ability to write is mine.

There is an indescribable something in my relation with my readers that is sweet beyond words to tell. I look upon you, the readers, as brothers and sisters; yes, more than that, you are my friends.

As I travel both in this country and abroad I drop in book stores and meet the friends who sell my books and from them I hear some mighty pleasant and enthusiastic expressions of approval. Appreciation is worth more than dollars.

The daily increasing sales of my books is due to one thing, and that is that you, my readers, my friends, are telling your friends to buy my books. This personal interest and recommendation is advertising of the most valuable kind.

Because you get your friends to buy, the sales are good and that's encouragement. It's the spur that keeps me ever writing, planning, and studying, that I may write more books.

So here is my hand of friendship, my heart's gratitude, my complete appreciation of your interest and patronage.

We've spent many pleasant moments together in these evening round-ups, and until we meet again in person or through one of my books, keep good thoughts working for your benefit. Get serenity, poise, power, purpose and good cheer.

You can be strong; you will be strong so long as you control your thought habits.

Life is beautiful, it's well worth while. Clouds will come, obstacles will confront you, troubles will get in your way; but each and all of these will disappear, if you keep on your way, with courage, smiles, will power, and perseverance.

And from me and my loved ones to you and your loved ones here are all good wishes, and encouragement, and sympathy, and love, all tied together with this golden thought: let us help one another while we sojourn here today, and as we do it—let us


Thus endeth our Evening Round-Up.

Col. Hunter's Books

Pep $1.00

Evening Round-Up 1.00

Dollars and Sense .50

Ginger Snaps .50

Brass Tacks .50

Character .25

Friends .25

Col. Hunter's Motto .10 (Brass)

Any of above sent postpaid upon receipt of price.




A Book of

Poise Efficiency Peace

By Col. Wm. C. Hunter

Real Self Help Optimism Health and Happiness

224 Pages - $1.00


—to you who are rushing along, to tell you—"Slow Up!" A cry to you who are lagging behind—"Brace Up! Catch Up!"

Do you need a lift or a push—sympathy or a slap on the back—are you a help or a hindrance to yourself? In either case, you don't care what's wrong—you want to know what's right! Let this book tell you. When you are willing to help yourself, here is a ready friend to point the way.

It tells you how to analyze your assets and how to cash them in to realize the best results from those assets.

Col. Hunter says: "Nothing I have ever written has given me so much pleasure, for I receive thousands of letters from those who have been in shadowland, tired, discouraged and miserable, and they now have courage, strength, ambition, hope, poise, efficiency and peace through reading the experiences and following the suggestions of PEP."

This remarkable book is 71/4 x 41/2, 224 pages. Narrow 12 mo. fits the pocket. Author's portrait. Pep is beautifully bound in cloth.

Sent postpaid anywhere for $1.00.


Evening Round-Up

by Col. Wm. C. Hunter

More Good Stuff like PEP

256 pages, $1.00

This book is the same size as PEP but has thirty-two pages more. The following foreword of the author tells its purpose:

"Each evening, just before retiring, we will have a little Round-Up of the day's doings, of the problems of our business and home life, of our hopes and ambitions.

"We'll try to solve perplexities, dissolve worries absolve ourselves from pull backs and resolve to better our lives.

"We'll plan and prepare, that we may have more poise—efficiency—peace; that's PEP.

"We'll learn how to establish helpful thought habit, that our lives may be full of gladsome notes instead of gruesome gloom."—The Author.

The Evening Round Up will be appreciated and welcomed by all who have read PEP. It's a great, inspiring, practical, plain, powerful book. It is brilliantly written, and most fascinating reading.

Delivered postpaid anywhere for $1.00.


Dollars and Sense

by Col. Wm. C. Hunter

This Great Book

Has reached a sale of a half-million copies

Price 50 Cents.

A practical book of business "horse sense," containing 130 pages of boiled-down, successful, practical experience. It treats of the vitals of business—from the inside; of expense; fixed charges; overhead; buying; selling; advertising; credit; debt; employer and employee. It is suggestive, simple in language and systematic in arrangement. It embodies little theory but much tried-out truth. It has a real dollar-and-cent value to employer and employee.

You will find interest and benefit in its pages. Fully a half million of these books have found appreciative readers. It has been bought in large quantities by heads of firms and of departments to give to those under them. The investment brings a substantial return to both.

Bound in cloth; size, 41/2 x 61/4 inches.

Sent to any address postpaid for 50c.


Brass Tacks

By Col. Wm. C. Hunter

50 Cents

A volume of "capsule optimism," full of smiles, cheer, courage and hope

Brass Tacks is a unique publication, so-called because Col. Hunter gets right down to "brass tacks" in advancing pointed optimisms, level-headed truths, driven-home common sense. It is a book of vital paragraphs and concrete ideas dealing with the life issues of every day. A suggestive, terse guide to right thinking along the highway of humor and hopefulness.

There are sentences to remember for their keen analysis, their brevity, their wit. You will like "Brass Tacks" if you like to get somewhere and get there quickly. There is entertainment and inspiration. It is the kind of book you re-read—and find new meanings and help each time.

Bound in cloth; size, 41/2 x 61/4 inches, a handy size to slip in the pocket and read at odd moments.

Printed in two colors. With half-tone portrait of the author.

Sent postpaid to any address for 50 cents.


Ginger Snaps


This Great Book

will reach a sale of a million, we hope.

Price 50 Cents

GINGER SNAPS is a book of business helps. It is one of the best business books from the pen of Colonel Hunter, and he declares it even a better book than its famous companion, Dollars and Sense.

Ginger Snaps is up to the minute in helpful, practical business suggestions, profitable plans and good ideas.

It is the same size as Dollars and Sense, printed in the same type, and on the same quality of paper. Ginger Snaps is printed on heavy paper and bound in imitation leather cover, semi-flexible.

The size of Ginger Snaps is four and a half by six inches. It is a handy, tasty volume for pocket, for traveling bag or library table.

Ginger Snaps is often bought in quantities by manufacturers, jobbers and business houses to give to employees. It's a splendid book for this purpose.

Price 50 cents postpaid.


Two Beautiful Gift Books


25 Cents

A beautifully printed gift book in art designs and colors. Cover embossed. Book bound with silk cord. Character is one of Col. Hunter's best heart and soul outpourings. A beautiful book for your reading table. A splendid book to give to your folks.


25 Cents

A touching appreciation of the much abused word, Friends. Printed on heavy art plate paper, illustrated in colors and gold ornaments. Cover embossed in silver.

Every friend of Colonel Hunter who knows and appreciates his human, feeling style will love this book.

Either book sent postpaid anywhere for 25 cents.


Col. Hunter's Motto

Price ... 10 Cents

Engraved on heavy brass Exact size of illustration

This favorite motto of Col. Wm. C. Hunter, with his signature, makes a fine pocket piece. It has a hole in the center so you may tack it up on your desk, dresser or on the wall. It is engraved in heavy brass, background with black, baked enamel. This beautiful souvenir sent postpaid to any address for 10c or $1.00 per dozen.

Hunter Service Kansas City, Mo., U. S. A.


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