Scores of persons lose their chances of being happily married through making an unnecessary obstacle of money. The importance of it is often exaggerated. Many a man hesitates to propose to a girl because of his small income. Very often much misery, misunderstanding and tangled lives result from the silence. More unfortunate love affairs are the result of what has not been aid than of spoken words.

When a man has a small sure income, and a prospect of increase, there is no legitimate reason for his not speaking of his love; no reason, for that matter, to prevent marriage. People are so desperately afraid, though, of beginning married life in a small way. They fear the sacrifices which they will be called upon to make—of the criticism to which they will be subjected. Many years of happiness are lost in this way. It is such a mistake for young people to want to start marriage in the state that their parents are ending it.

To delay marriage until a "comfortable" income is available is to prove something lacking in the love.—Answers, London

One fighter is glad that Packey McFarland has returned from the Pacific coast because he would like very much to get on a match with him. That fighter is Rudy Unholz, former Boer champion, but now a prosperous truck and chicken farmer in the vicinity of Denver, Colo. Unholz is willing to take on any of them and if some of the matchmakers are willing to stage him with Packey he would be glad to consider the matches good as made right now. Failing in that Rudy will consider matches with any of the other lightweights.

The current week has been the coldest of the winter in this part of Minnesota. The real cold spell began with the advent of the new year and so far has not relented. From Monday to THursday the thermometer was down to 18 or 20 degrees below zero every night and remained below zero all day.

The intense cold tested the capacity of most of the heating plants. Many cases of bursting plumbing were reported, and gasoline engines generally succumbed to the low temperatures. Nevertheless, the houses are generally prepared to withstand the severe spell; there are no cases of suffering reported; the health of the community was never better; and the cold is generally supposed to be a good thing for business. So why complain?

Now that an English inventor says that he has been successful in inventing an apparatus for telephoning water without wires, perhaps telephoning across the Atlantic may soon be an accomplished fact. There's certainly enough water there.

"Street cries, are nearly—always in the minor key," says the Paris Journal des Debats. And an English commentator avers that this key is maintained in our own street cries—such as "Sweet Lavender." And he thinks the explanation is that the minor key involves less strain on the throat that has to emit the same cry all day long. But London cries are few of them in the minor key of the Parisian boy who heralds the evening on the boulevards with "Volla Le Soir." Our own newspaper boy has cultivated the raucous monotone that collects politics and murders into one simple yell. There is nothing of the minor key about the milkman's announcement. And perhaps the least musical of all cries is that of the man who hawks coal about the street. He does not shout "Coal." No stranger would suspect him of coal. He emits only a single bellow, repeated at short intervals, a bellow without form or comeliness; it is the least common denominator of the street cry.

Almost every public park in the United Sates has its lively and half-domesticated colony of squirrels, and there is no other creature of the woods and fields with which city children may—and do—become so familiar. An interesting story which shows the depth of feeling which these little animals are capable, comes to the companion from Waterloo, Ia.:

A physician who lives near one of the parks in that city had long had an especial interest in a pair of squirrels which made their home in a tree within sight of his house. One day he noticed that one of this pair was running up and down a certain tree in the park, meanwhile chattering in the greatest excitement. Finally the little fellow appeared on a branch, holding between his paws the severed head of his mate, over which he was moaning and whining pitifully. On investigation, it appeared that the dead squirrel had been caught an actually decapitated by a limb split off from the tree by a storm of the night before. The grief-stricken mate would not abandon the body all that day, and mourned over the severed head with an intensity and absorption which seemed almost human, with a depth of emotion indeed, of which some human beings are hardly capable.

If you blush, put on glasses, advises Dr. H. Campbell, an English physician. Not tin ones to conceal the object which caused your flush. Or, no—but regular glass glasses, "strong convex lenses," he says in the Practitioner. And this is how he demonstrates his proposition:

"The artificial myopia thus induced by blurring the surroundings tends to diminish self-consciousness. The female sex is more apt to blush than the male sex, although more men than women seek medical help for morbid blushing."

Among the "horrible examples" while Dr. Campbell came across in practice were those of a young man who was obliged to leave the army because of blushing; of a physician, forty years old, who abandoned his practice because of it; of a minister, thirty-two, who "blushed" himself out of the pulpit.