Of course, we all know, Uncle Peter, that my theory has wormholes all over it, but didn’t I make good?

We do not need a book or history to tell us that Julius Caesar was over forty before he ever saw the base of Pompey’s statue; that Brutus and Cassius were over forty before they saw a chance to carve their initials on Caesar’s wishbone; that Cleopatra was over forty before she saw snakes; that Carrie Nation was over forty before she could hatchet a barroom and put the boots to the rum demon; that Mrs. Chadwick was over forty before she opened a bank account; that Jonah was over forty before he saw a whale; that President Roosevelt was over forty before he saw a self-folding lion; that Kuropatkin was over forty before he learned to make five retreats grow where only one retreat grew before; that George Washington was over forty before he was struck with the idea of making Valley Forge a winter resort; and so forth, and so forth, world without end.

But these suggestions only prove the rule, Uncle Peter, and the rule is this: 

  Some advertisement now and then
  Is relished by the greatest men!

Don’t worry, Uncle Peter, because you are getting to be a has-was.

You may do something in your old age which will make people think less of you than they do now—­you never can tell.

With these few words I will leave you, Uncle Peter; wishing you as much age in the future as you have had in the past.

  Yours with love,
    William Osler.

After getting this letter Uncle Peter began to breathe easier and two days later he was quite able to resist the desire to crawl under the bed every time a bottle of soothing syrup arrived from the drug store.

Uncle Peter got very gay the day after Admiral Togo won the battle of the Sea of Japan.

Fifteen minutes after the last Russian battleship had been slapped on the cross-trees Uncle Peter had a letter written to Togo.

I am going to show you a copy of it, if I get pinched in the act: 

  New York, This Morning. 
    To Admiral William Duffy Togo,
      the Japanese crackerjack.

Dear Togie:—­Please forgive me for writing you these few lines, but I have been through several wars myself and I have witnessed how easy it is for a hero to take the wrong road and walk unexpectedly into the cold storage department of the public’s estimation.  That is the reason I wish to give you a few points on the etiquette of being a hero, which I have studied from observation in this country.

Brave Togie:—­When you get home in Tokio or Yokohama, or Communipaw, or wherever it is, keep the face closed, more especially in the region of the mouth, because the moment a hero begins to speak somebody will misconstrue what he says and get him talking politics when he only meant to say, “Drink hearty!”

Clever Togie:—­Don’t ever talk with an ambitious reporter unless you have a baseball mask over the face and a mosquito netting over the vocabulary; because if you only say to him, “How’s the health?” you will find in the morning paper a column interview, in which you have decided to run for Mikado on the Democratic ticket.