Charles Page Bryan, former ambassador to Japan, died in Washington
     of heart failure at the age of sixty-one.

     Judge Arthur E. Burr, Judge of Probate for Suffolk County, dropped
     dead in the court-house at the age of forty-eight.

     Hiram Merrick Kirk, Municipal Court Justice, New York, died in the
     forty-seventh year of his age.

     Lieut.  William T. Gleason dropped dead in the railroad station,
     Salt Lake City, as he stepped from a railroad train, at the age of
     forty.

Indeed, it is not only the men of military age who drop off under this strain, but the very vital strong men behind the lines.

THE ROAD TO EFFICIENCY

It is an extraordinary thing that the people in this country, many of them coming from the most vigorous ancestry, should be willing to compress all their athletic enthusiasm into a very small period of their school and college life, and then to forget to take any exercise (except vicariously) until warned, sometime after forty, that Nature will exact a price for such folly.  It is certainly a puzzle to understand how men can willingly slip into fatness and flabbiness or nervous indigestion, forget entirely what a pleasure physical vigor is, fold their hands contentedly, with the statement that they haven’t time for physical culture, and so, gradually, by way of the motor-car and the dinner-table, slide into physical decadence and a morbid condition of mind and body.  And yet three or four hours a week, less than an hour a day, with the assistance of fresh air and water, and within a sixty-or ninety-day period, will start these people on the road to recovered health and vigor.  All that is necessary is to get the proper action of the lungs, of the heart, and of the skin, and, finally, of the digestion; then the results will follow fast.

A WINTER VACATION

The first time a good conservative New England business or professional man, who has worked hard all his life and who has attained a commanding position in the community, determines to break away and take a vacation in the winter—­a thing he has heard about and sometimes wondered how other people could manage to do it—­he meets with the surprise of his life.  After boarding a train and traveling for twenty-four hours toward the South and sunshine, he begins to lose a little the feeling that he is playing “hookey” and is liable to be dragged home and birched.  But he does wonder a little whether he won’t have hard work in finding somebody to play with him.  When, however, he disembarks from his train at his destination—­we will say Pinehurst—­he has already begun to realize, through noting the other bags of golf-clubs on the train, that possibly he will be able to get some partners.  When he arrives at the hotel, although it is early breakfast-time, he is astounded at the number of people there, and he is inclined to think that he has happened upon an unusual week or that this is the one place in the South where golfers congregate.