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THE JOY-BELLS

'OU may think this particular number of your little magazine is pretty well filled with Christmas, and it

is. Christmas comes but once a year, and this is my only apology. It's apology enough.

If I can ring the chimes in your soul with this little silent partner, then my mission in the month of December will have been done, and done well.

There is no holiday in all the year that approaches Christmas. There is no season that stirs so much sentiment or that gives rise to such a variety of observations, as that of Christmas.

The heart of childhood all over the world would throb less happily if it were not for Christmas. The soul of the older-grown would get as cold as clay if it were not for the resurrecting influence of this holy holiday.

The Christmas season is so cosmic that humans demand a more reverent frame for the beautiful picture. Christmas is more than a season of giving, of eating plum pudding and goose.

Christmas is a time when the blind can see the touching appeal of the green laurel or the occult presence of the rosemary—a time when even the deaf can hear the joy-bells of life. ᄆ

ST. FRIEND

IF I were asked to give a name to a Christmas dinner, it would be called "The Feast of St. Friend."

A Christmas dinner is as personal as your own birthday, and certainly offers greater latitude for sentiment.

There is a sympathetic comprehension at a Christmas dinner that proves an intimately personal achievement in the field of entertainment.

An invitation to dine at the Christmas board with another is indeed a rare and unmistakable compliment.

THEN LOOK OUT

HOW you regard your competitor is a pretty good measure of your own work.

If competition inspires and incites you, then it is the life of trade. If it irritates and seems to injure you, then look

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"BY THE SIDE

OF THE ROAD"

-my new book, is an effort to take you up and over the trail of life to a point where you can see the rising sun of inspiration.

It is an intimately personal talk with you, and all out in the great hills of the vast Alone.

In the plainsman's parlance,"it gets under your belt."

I feel sure you will be pleased with this beautifully printed and magnificently bound book.

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AND ALL FOR YOU

'HE demands and commands of business often call a man away from his home, hours and hours more

than he really thinks. The difficult, all-absorbing business cares in his struggle for success often occupy his entire time and his best energies. Finally Father is looked upon as the meal ticket, or just plain "Dad."

There are millions of men in this country who go home each night from the day's race with little gold and a tired face.

Have you a dad?—not rich, not proud; just one among the surging crowd, toiling, striving from day to day, facing whatever may come his way. Silent, steady, and always true -working like mad, and all for you.

If you are blessed with this overgrown boy, commonly called “dad,” cherish him in your childhood, support him in your manhood, and in his old age make him feel that he is more than "governor"; give him to understand that he is the husband of the greatest woman in all the world-your mother. ᄆ

NOT SO NOW

LIFE is bigger, broader, longer and stronger than the years gone by.

The snow-white cap that Grandma wore while she sat in the chimney corner and knit are the things we remember. But things are not so now. Mrs. Cornelia Poillon, a grandmother, is making and selling garden pottery. Mrs. Charles Bell of Denver is shipping bulbs to every state, and she began her activities along this line at sixty. "Marion Harland” is eighty-five, and she learned to operate the typewriter after she was seventy-five. She now writes every day. Amelia Barr, who is over eighty, works constantly.

A WONDERFUL OPPORTUNITY

YOU ask me how you can improve your position in life, how you can increase your income, and I'll tell you: Just make your present position a business college. It is the most practical school in all the world, and the only university in the United States that pays its pupils while they study to become proficient. What a wonderful opportunity a job is!

I

LUTHER'S CHRISTMAS TREE

'N the heart of Germany, and in 1483, Martin Luther was born of Protestant parents. His mother was a

peasant woman. His father was a miner. Frequently young Luther would sing in the streets for pennies, until at last, at the age of eighteen, his ambition was rewarded, and he entered a university.

Although upright and pious, to all outward appearances, Luther trembled with conviction of his shortcomings to divine requirements and exposure to divine wrath. To the profound astonishment of his friends, and to the utter disgust of his father, he entered a convent.

In 1517 Luther reached the historic turning point of his life, and he broke with the Church. In 1520 the bull delivering Luther to death was published, but the bull was not carried into effect.

(You see, they had no use for the "bull" then.)

To the Roman Catholic, Luther appeared as a rash and reprehensible rebel. To the Protestant, he was a hero.

But let me tell you of a chapter in his life that seems to appeal to us all.

Luther was on his way home one night. It was bitter cold and the sky was clear. It was Christmas Eve, and the stars shone in all their luster, until a star in the East gave Luther a sudden inspiration. He turned from his homeward course and wandered into the hills. Soon he brought back with him a small fir tree. Luther placed this tree near the hearthstone of his little cottage home, and on it he fastened candles, for he had not forgotten his Catholic teachings.

The scene surprised and delighted the children of the home, and here we have the history of the first Christmas tree over in Germany-part Protestant, part Catholic. Think it over.

And here you have the beginning of a beautiful custom— the human-divine delivery department of dear old Santa Claus. 0

CONFIRMATION

AN old friend of The Silent Partner writes: "I am now over - eighty years old and have suffered a whole lot over the things that never happened." And here you have confirmation of a well-worn saying.

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