In a recent issue was published a letter from one of The Busy Man's advertisers, informing us of the valuable service this magazine was rendering him. His advertisement brought inquiries which showed the wide circulation of The Busy Man’s on the other side of the Atlantic as well as on this.
IT was Robert Louis Stevenson who first demonstrated to me the fascination of a map, and ever since I sat in the high seat of the old apple tree and followed breathlessly the fortunes of Long John Silver, I have found no more charming plaything, whether it be the huge railroad map that beguiles an hour’s wait in a metropolitan station, or the little two-by-twice road map in the pocket of my bicycle skirt.
YOU doubtless never knew Hicks of Hackensack; which is your loss rather than his, for, while there are probably very many people who are much like you, there is but one Hicks. When he was still of a tender age, his parents had been called to greener fields and, realizing that he would be about as capable of earning a livelihood as a canary would of playing Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song’’ on a comb, they had left him amply provided with this world’s goods and in such a way that he couldn’t unprovide himself, as he assuredly would have done if he had a chance.
IN a Ouida or Corelli novel there is usually a point at which the tall, blond hero, erect as a Greek god, appears in the wild mountain pass, breasting the raging thunderstoom, and raps at the monastery gate for shelter. The hero wants more than shelter.
RAILROADING isn't any fun any more. Sordid commercial folk in Wall Street, with never an idea in their noggins but to invest money and make it pay dividends, have improved all the romance out of life on the rails. They have reduced grades and straightened kinks and eliminated low joints and high centres and wooden culverts and crazy bridges until a ride over the division is about as thrilling as walking to church Air brakes have so thoroughly crowded out the good old Armstrong kind that a brakeman has no use for skill or judgment or muscle or even a vocabulary in stopping a train.
THE board of directors’ yearly communication lay before the general manager of the Mann Mercantile Company. It was his first news of the proceedings of the annual meeting. For Johnston was not a member of the board of directors ; in fact, no one really was—except Benjamin Mann, founder, ninety-nine per cent, owner, eleven-months-of-the-year-absentee president of the Mann Mercantile Company.
IT is difficult for even the most subtly agile of moralists to append the quod erat demonstrandum to this record of the final solution of Susan Apthorpe’s emotional complexities. Twist the tale as one will, there is no point at which he can say:
OUR Southern whites present the only instance in the history of the world of a people mainly English by blood and tradition, who have dwelt continuously for six or eight generations below the 39th parallel. They are essentially a people of what the French call the Midi, and these interrelated facts of race and residence have been too little considered in the examination of their history and the prognostication of their future.
Andrew Carnegie’s Address to Students of Pittsburg Commercial College
IT is well that young men should begin at the beginning and occupy the most subordinate positions. Many of the leading business men of the country had a serious responsibility thrust upon them at the very threshold of their career. They were introduced to the broom and spent the first hours of their business lives sweeping out the office.
WITHIN recent years, many honors have come to the great commonwealth of California, none of which outrank in splendor or in prophecy'the crown she has won as Queen of climatic conditions, furnishing a superior vantage ground for the sweep of the “magic mirror” when it shall swing to the motion of the universe—the largest telescope the world has ever seen.
WHEN Tim Murphy let his enthusiasm get the better of his judgment, and in the excitement of that disastrous night, joined the front rank of the strikers in a general mix-up and cracked the head of a deputy sheriff, the result was what he might have expected—two years in the penitentiary.
WHO is she? Who is the female Croesus of this age of colossal fortunes, of magically acquired wealth? Richest woman of the world—who can claim such distinction? Where does she live? What does she do? What are her hobbies? Is she generous to the poor?
WHEN James Butler left Ireland, thirty-one years ago, his only assets were a ticket to New York, a rugged constitution, smiling blue eyes and an ambition to make his mark. When he went back to Ireland thirty years later to see the friends of his boyhood he was the owner of more than three hundred grocery stores, millions of dollars’ worth of New York city real estate, the promoter of a scheme to own grocery stores in every city in America and the possessor of one of the finest trotting stables in the New World.
NED FARRELL was a gambler by instinct and a business man by conviction. Because his convictions tempered and guided the manifestations of his instinct, he was acting Pacific Coast manager for the old and conservative house of Kendrick & Company, Incorporated, instead of being a stock operator or a follower of the races.
WHEN H. Ferguson Hedges, millionaire promoter, investor and man-about-New York, turned his thoughts upon matters convivial, and word of it went “down the line,” bouncers took a precautionary turn at the Indian clubs, waiters put ironstone china on his - favorite tables, cabdrivers crowded close to the curbstone in front of all-night cafes, and careful cashiers in his regular haunts charged up a few bottles to his account by way of preface and introduction.
I YIELD to no one of you,” said Mr. Mellen in a talk before the West Side Workingmen's Club of Hartford, "I yield to no one of you that you have worked harder, or longer hours, or for less pay; that you have had harder taskmasters, or more disagreeable; that you have been more apprehensive of the future or more bitter over injustice; or that the spirit of discouragement has ever made the world darker than seemed possible to bear, so dark that almost any change was a promise of improvement...
YES, it is true that I borrowed $20,000 and went into the coke business when I was twentyfour on my own account during the panic of 1873,” said Henry Clay Frick, in his quiet, decisive way, when I asked him about this myth-seeming story of his business start.
THIS here thing of bein’ a twin ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, specul if each durned twin is as like t’other as a lookin’ glass reflectun of himself. My brother Jim’s as like me as I’m like myself, freckles, green eyes an’ all, an’ his head ain’t none lighter an’ none darker.
MISS HENRIETTA RENSHAW was a plump little woman, well groomed, well gowned and frankly forty-five. She belonged to that third sex—the business woman—now in process of evolution under our very eyes, and to subtle and intricate feminine intuitions she added a decision of character and a breadth and clearness of judgment typically masculine.
EARLIER in the day, when the accidental overturning of an inkwell in King’s office had resulted in a liberal bespattering of Oakley’s trousers, King had insisted that his own tailor should repair the damage. “Fiddlesticks!” he had replied to his friend’s arguments in favor of the hotel valet.
THERE never were greater opportunities for young men in America than are offered here on every side to-day. The older heads of the great industrial enterprises are retiring in favor of younger and fresher blood ; and they, in their turn, must give way as time goes by to the third generation that is growing up.
JACKOS are the common heritage of childish humanity. Everyone of us has, in the days of his youth, owned and cherished a Jacko, and found its long, lank body, clad in parti-colored fur and its soulless squeak, a satisfactory household substitute for the monkey at the Zoo.
The Aerial Encounter of Judge Reardon and Monsieur Rambaud
McCready Sykes in Appleton’s
JUST then the automobile stopped. There was no doubt about it. The machine stopped ; the whirling landscape stopped and Judge Reardon stopped in the middle of his sentence. The sentence had begun like this : “And what pleases me most is that we have made our trip of three hundred miles without a single accident or involuntary—” and he would have said “stop,” but to his great chagrin he did it instead of saying it.
HIS EXCELLENCY EARL GREY on the Future of Canada: "I never walk in the streets of Ottawa or along the beautiful drives of Rockcliffe Park without remembering, and with a feeling of exaltation, that 1 am treading on soil which, before the close of the present century will carry the capital city of a nation of eighty, millions.
In this department we draw attention to the most important topics treated in the current magazines. Readers of The Busy Man’s Magazine can secure from their newsdealers the magazines in which they appear. :: :: :: ARMY AND NAVY. Our Position of Nanal Peril.
The six best selling books in Canada for the month of July are as follows : 1. Cruise of the Shining Light. By Norman Duncan. Long Labrador Trail. By Dillon Wallace. 2. The Brass Bowl. By Louis Joseph Vance. 3. Port of Missing Men. By Meredith Nicholson.
A well-known judge, who had the reputation of being a "bon vivant," was one day trying a case in which there was a dispute about a water supply. Having just partaken of a hearty luncheon, he began to nod suspiciously during the counsel’s long-winded argument.