LIFE. We are bom; we laugh; we weep; We love; we droop; we die! Ah! therefore do we laugh or weep? ■Why do we live or die? Who knows that secret deep? Alae, not I! Why doth the violet spring Unseen by human eye? Why do the radiant seasons bring Sweet thoughts that quickly fly? Why do our fond hearts cling To things that die? We toil—through pain and wrong; We fight—and fly; We love; we lose; and then, ere long, Stone-dead we lie. O Life! Is all thy song! ‘‘Endure and—die?" —Bryan Waller Procter. ► WHEN THE BREAD ROW CAME OUT. By W. CALVER MOORE. (Copyright, 190S, by Dally Story Publishing Go.) "Put dat nickel on de bread row; flat" "What, Billie! You goin’ up against the wheel again?” "Yes, I got a straight steer for it, sure. Dreamed about bread last night and see a big pile of it at de baker s dis roomin’.” It was not the first time he had played policy. The waif of the streets begins to indulge in this form of gam bling at an early age, and Billie was one of those little city sparrows whose origin is more or less clouded in ob scurity. He had been taken to raise by an Irish washerwoman who had succumbed to a too strenuous life when her protege was still a very small boy. Billie did not become a public charge. He started out in life by sell ing newspapers for the other boys, and it was not long before he had his own bundle and was able to get along vers well for a newsboy. With the sanfe charitable spirit which had been Buoi a pronounced trait of his foster mother, he had undertaken a trust. Oae of his competitors met with an accident which rendered him a help less cripple. When Ben was brought back from the hospital Billie said he could “sell for both,” and so the thing was settled. He had succeeded in "selling for both” so well that he was j able to lay by a little moft^jflSoaafrKh grown to very ** comforOibiJpoportions. Billie's s»vgs were not the ac cumulation! t an embryo miser. The doctor hadlitl that Ben must have a brace font It back and Billie hoped to have enbui money to buy one at Christmas. I; In the eT«ig Billie would carry his friend from their garret room to tliMpisy street. The boysbecome great favor ites with t& ayers, and also with Jack Burk, «T ' was the proprietor of the placelglhrk was a little dark skinned Irisfcjca with a big grey I mustache aim lie inevitable swagger that accomjfcs prosperity. Billie bad® period of bad luck. Newspapers df. not sell as readily f as they shouljfifliive, and day followed day without aijf^ addition being made to his hoard. fsfee brace seemed far ther off than nr when he had a sud den inspiratlap. He would “ go up against the nheel.” A few “hits” would give hli&ll the money he need ed. Then canptte dream. He would h A been entitled to re ceive five dolltjps if his numbers had appeared amort! those drawn that evening. But In numbers did not ap pear and the n|*t day he staked five cents In the inning and the same amount again Jlljtbe evening with no greater su e continued to play twice :il the winning of five dollars have only reim bursed him :im of his stakes; then he inc ie amount of the stake to ,s. The possible profit on t isoon almost ab sorbed, and jnint rose from ten to flftee fteen to twenty, and from to twenty-five. Billie becai jus. The week. jby rapidly. He was hot as i , he had been. It ^ was becoming mor^ and more difficult * Billie had a period of bad luck, to carry his charge down to the street. Sometimes he brought food to Ben and sat quietly by while it was eaten. He ‘‘didn’t feel hungry," or he had "eaten his on the way up." If Billie went to bed hungry, then nobody but Bilie was to be any the wiser. As the pile of savings dwindled away, his habit of “eating it on the way up" in creased proportionately. The hungry maw of Policy was ever open and re quired food almost as often as Ben; as for himself, well—. This condi tion of things could not continue for I ever. There is a limit even to the ' physical endurance of a newsboy. Billie’s absence was quickly noticed by the older players. “Where's Bil lie gone?” asked one of them one evening. “Oh, he’s sick,” answered a young fellow who was busily chewing to bacco and spitting at regular inter vals. “You been running his play?” asked the first questioner. “Yes, I was just goin* to take the slip up to him when you asked.” “WTiat’s the matter with him, any how ?” a / “Then I get a hundred!” Billie shrieked. “Dunno. Just kind of fagged out and weak like a sick cat. Don’t think he'll ever live to see it come out.” “Been starvin’ hisself to make his play, like as not.” “What? Takin’ a play from a sick kid?” asked a man who felt jubilant over the winning of a few dollars. “Next thing it'll bo like Sallie Wig gins, who played the rent row till she hadn’t no money left fer rent, and got put in the street the day afore it come out.” This anecdote appealed to his hear ers, who joined in a loud guffaw. All except Burk. Burk, who laughed at anything and everything, dropped his cigar and followed the young man who had gone into the shop. "Say, Mack, what’s all this about Billie?” “Why, he’s sick and I’ve been run ning his play for him, Burkie.” “How heavy is the kid playing?” “Half a dollar flat.” “The deuce you say! Well, I’ll be blowed." The young fellow opened his eyes and muttered his astonishment under his breath. It was not the profanity that caused his surprise. No, it was the expression on his employer’s face, and he could see no reason why Burk should “go daft at a half dol lar flat.” “Mack, I guess I’ll go up and see the kid, myself.” The dusty stairs creaked out their misery, as Burk climbed to the top floor of the tenement house. One of the women told him that nothing more could be done for Billie, and there was a lump in his throat as he entered the dingy little room. “Why, it’s Burkie! Hello, Burkie! How are they knocking you?” called Billie. Jack Burk was “Burkie” to every one, but the friendly tone in which the nick name was uttered, the note of welcome and pleased surprise from his victim, made that lump in his throat grow larger and more obsti nate. He crossed over to the bed and sat down. Billie feebly reached out his hand, Burk took it and then released it with a Bhudder. Could that little bunch of bones, such thin bones, really be the hand of a boy? His eyes became accustomed to the half light, and he saw that the hand was that of a little skeleton-like crea ture who had, without doubt, been Billie, the newsboy. “Well, Billie, they ain’t doin’ a whole lot, that is, not many of them ain’t.” “Somebody make a hit?” asked Bil lie, seeing the implication. “Yes, you hit me, and hit me heavy, too.” "What! I hit you?" “You was playin' the bread row, wasn’t you?” "Yes,” cried Billie, excitedly. “I knew it would come out. Here's me play. Fifty flat.” “It’s more than come out,” said Burk, who was not going to under act his part, “it’s come out in both wheels.” “Both wheels! Then I git a hun dred!” Billie shrieked. His eyes bulged with the surprise of it all, and he rose to a sitting posture, but th« exsrtion was too much and be sank bark with a gasp. "Yes, you git a hundred. I brought you the money.” Burk counted out one hundred dol lars from the roll that fairly made the eyes of the boys water. There was a suspicious moisture in his own eyet’. Water? Perhaps. Billie ran bis hands lovingly over the money and then handed it to Ben. "You can git de brace nq,w. I guess I won’t last long, but you can git de brace, anyhow.” The lump seemed to be rising again. So it had all been for the sake of the Jittle cripple. Burk was suffer ing as he had never suffered before. Rum had dulled the edge of other sorrow, but this was the kind of a thing that would last. The little, pinched face of Billie, the newsboy, would haunt his dreams forever; would rise up between him and pol icy—yes, now was the time to close the shop. "Did you bring a slip so I could see the numbers?” Billie's voice was weaker and the room seemed to be growing darker and darker. The gnawing pain had J left him and he felt very comfortable and drowsy—oh, so drowsy. "No, I forgot it,' said Burk, pre tending to search Cn cis pocket, "I'll bring you one in the morning.” "Yes—in—the mo/ning,’’ said Bil lie, "in—the—morning.” When morning came it found the little cripple sitting sadly by the bed. He would get the brace for his poor, weak back, but his friend was gone, and tho roll of green paper In his hand seemed to mean so little after alL KNEW HE COULD REACH IT. Wonderful - Nerve of a Player in a University Baseball Team. Sojfie five years ago a group of col lf‘g lutes, Tho yellowing sunlight on the hlllsidi falls; Alone, aloud, one lingering robin flutei And from the elm our golden oriel, calls. This Is the season that she loved of old Saying with darkened eyes that Au tumn turned Her homesick heart out past the evenlni gold. Sadly to some old home for which sbi yearned. Gray hills and Nor'land homes!—perhapi 'twas best From her own home she had not lon| to wait; O evealng stars that waken in the weat O happier worlds, came ahe your waj too late? —Arthur J. Stringer In AJnalea'a Mags sine Slander talks through the copper* \ bead's mduth. It must take a lot of sand to enable a grocet- to sell sugar below cost. Superior quality and extra quantity must win. This Is why Defiance Starch is taking the place of all others. Put-it-Off waits to dance until he hears the partridge drum. Stops the Cough and Works (MT the fold Laxative Broruo Quinine Tablets. Price25c. The young crow thinks its mother the finest singer in the woods. INSIST ON GETTING IT. Some grocers say they don’t keep De fiance Starch because they have a stock in hand of 12 oz. brands, which thcv know cannot be sold to a customer who has once used the 1H oz. pkg. Deflunce starch for same money. Every time a great man does any thing along comes some little man who claims to have advised him. Mr*. Winslow** ftnottilng Wyran. For cr