There may be a difference twixt red-headed men and men with red hair, but I cannot explain it now. I’ve heard it said that no one ever saw an imbecile or a pauper with red hair, and that there are no red-headed old maids save those who are determined to remain old maids. All of which was brought up by my thinking of my red-head friend, Ellis—Ellis who writes “The Smoking Room” in the _Northwestern Lumberman_. Ellis might have graduated at a college of which Ras Wilson was president, but at a guess I don’t believe either one of them ever crossed a campus—and I’m glad. College would have ironed all of the individuality out of these strong men and given us instead a pair of droning curates. Emerson said “wealth is good for those who can use it,” and I say college is good for those who know how. Now Ellis is not the smartest man who ever lived, and no one claims that Ras Wilson is, not even Ras himself; but when I think of these men I mumble to myself, “Thou hast not much head, Teddy, but thou hast a heart and perhaps ’twill serve as well.” Into all the work these men do they infuse a deal of throbbing human sympathy. You seem to feel that you are in the presence of a fellow on whom you can rely; one who has nothing to conceal, who is afraid of no man and of whom no man is afraid. And the moral of it is, while we cannot all be geniuses we can be gentle men if we have a mind to. * * * * * “Life is a warfare,” remarked Clangingharp as he rolled a cigarette. He paused, licked the edges of the paper calmly, viewed his work with critical eye, applied the match, blew three whiffs through his nose and continued, “Life is a warfare—between the sexes. I’ll leave it to any truthful man or woman who has arrived at years of discretion, married or single, if life is not one long campaign between man and woman. There are continual skirmishes, advances, repulsions, nocturnal surprises, ambuscades, diplomatic consultations, parleys with one or both trying to outwit the other. After stormy times peace is declared with good priestly reservations; sometimes they call it eternal peace because it lasts a whole day. It’s mostly a game of strategy. Armistices are agreed on only for the sake of getting into the other’s camp to find out what is going on. ‘All is fair in love and war’ is a fool proverb. Bless my soul, love _is_ war:—have you a match? Thank you!” * * * * * A worthy young man writes me from Keokuk after this wise: I want to tell you something about Agnes Repplier. I just drew from our town library here a book of essays by her and on the first page is a notice that the book was placed in the library September 15, 1890. Yet I was the first person who ever called for the volume, and the leaves were still uncut. The incident related is interesting, but it is not a fact about Agnes Repplier; it is a fact about Keokuk. * * * * *