The president of the Board of Trade is Hon. Lloyd E. Chamberlain, one of the leading lawyers of the city, an ex-senator and in every

Edward B. Mellen, Lloyd E. Chamberlain, Ellery C. Cahoon, Horace A. Poole, L. Frank Garfield, Elroy S. Thompson, Robert C. Fraser, Emery M. Low, Herbert E. Guy and Frank E. Shaw, executive committee. Some member of the executive committee is chairman of each of the standing committees, by virtue of which plan the executive committee, when it meets, is in touch with all the work of all the committees.

The quarters of the Board are in the Whipple-Freeman building, Main and Court streets, one of the

HON. LLOYD E. CHAMBERLAIN PRESIDENT BROCKTON BOARD OF TRADE

way a leading citizen. He has been president of the Board from its institution, is an influential member of the Massachusetts State Board of Trade and a member of its executive committee. He is one of the trustees of the Taunton Insane Asylum, might have been the candidate for congressman if he had said the word on more than one occasion, and his name immediately flashes into mind when there is need of a leader in any public movement.

The other officers of the Board of Trade are Ellery C. Cahoon and Horace A. Poole, vice presidents; Elroy Sherman Thompson, secre

EX-ALDERMAN GEORGE CLARENCE HOLMES "FATHER OF THE BROCKTON HOSPITAL"

largest and handsomest business blocks in the city.

A potent agency which is ever at work for the fame, prosperity and excellence of the city is the daily press. There is no city of equal size

With the exception of the first five months the Times has been under the sole direction of its present publisher, William R. Buchanan, and to-day enjoys a circulation of nearly thirteen thousand daily. Its managing editor is Arthur J. Chase.

The Times was first published from the Church block, which was called the Times building during the occupancy of the concern, until the present handsome Times building was completed in 1897. The removal into the new home was on

is still in the prime of life. Many there are who are less than forty. It is a young man's city, in business and professional life.

A young man who is making a wonderful success in a new line of Y. M. C. A. work is George S. Paine, boys' secretary of the Brockton Y. M. C. A., organizer and director of the Brockton Boys' Club. He came here from New Bedford to do some big work for the imperiled boys. He had been told by the organizer of the National Federa

tion of Boys' Clubs that the Y. M. C. A. could not do boys' work. He organized a club with twelve boys and the present membership is two hundred and sixty. In various lines it has made a wonderful record and the "Brockton plan," which he originated, has a national reputation.

Brockton is not an exotic dropped from heaven by angel hands. It did not spring like Aphrodite, from the sea, there is no sea, not even a lake or river. It is not a city which cannot be hidden because built on a hill, such as the Scriptures describe, there is no hill.

Nature left Brockton like so much "free raw material," but somehow the right kind of men have fashioned it and their work needs no apology.

Labor which is unintelligent, men who are "brothers to the ox," are unknown in Brockton and always have been. "The will to do, the soul to dare" have been characteristic of the community, and the intelligence to go ahead and achieve has brought about a world-famous city in Plymouth county.

"I will" is the motto of Chicago. "I do" is the explanation of Brockton.

Among the many mysteries and melodies of life and literature, some refuse to be caught and labelled and soar beyond our grasp. A host of definitions fail to catch and hold the evanescent rainbow of humor, the electric flash of wit, the auroral and intermittent display of genius, the real source and cause of inspiration. What is music? it expresses the unexpressed; it is a bond between earth and heaven: but has it been ever satisfactorily defined, or its power over mortals explained?

And among authors, why is it that some writers however gifted and widely read in their lifetime, vanish down "the back entry of time," or only live in libraries, in extra good bindings; like the cardinal virtues, "well spoken of, but seldom used," while others with no more ability, possibly not so much, stick fast to Fame's wings in the winnowing of the centuries, retaining and increasing the charmed atmosphere that is immortal? From Dan Chaucer to Stevenson, you know how few make a place for themselves in your inmost heart.

Jane Austen had this wondrous power of perpetuating her personality and the fascination of her character sketches; and reverent scholars make pilgrimages every year to her home and her last resting place to get if possible one little bit more of unpublished Ana. Lamb, the one and only Charles Lamb, with his marvellous head and angel face; the whimsical, moody, slim-legged, splay-footed, stammering darling, gains each year a stronger hold on the reading world. He was the ideal brother, his courage was heroic, his friendship a precious gift; he gave delightful card parties with "puns at nine" and beer or wine all the time. But beyond all that his mind and soul are with us more vividly if possible than when he was in the body, struggling with trials, handicaps and literary and romantic disappointments.

Mr. E. V. Lucas, who is recognized as the final authority on the Lambs, has already given us seven octavo volumes containing all their works and correspondence and now offers two volumes with fifty illustrations including eleven pictures of the two whom only the demon of insanity could separate.

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He calls his hero "the most lovable figure in all English literature" and proves this claim. We, who love him too and are so familiar with every year of his existence, value most the quips and phrases that we have not seen. He describes at length "one Rickman"; "the finest fellow to drop in a' nights, about nine or ten o'clock, cold bread and cheese time, just in the wishing time of the night, when you wish for some one to come in, without a distinct idea of a probable body. A fine rattling fellow, has gone through life laughing at solemn apes; a species in one; a new class, an exotic, any slip of which I am proud to put in my garden pot."

Mary Lamb wrote to Mrs. Coleridge of a nice little girl "who is so fond of my brother that she stops strangers in the street to tell them when Mr. Lamb is coming to see her." And the biographer adds, "I know of no incident in Lamb's life, or in any one's life, that is prettier than this."

When dreamy philosophers were discussing "man as he is and man as he ought to be" "Give me," interjected Lamb, "man as he ought not to be." When brain weary he once took a room away from his home just to avoid his nocturnal, or knocketernal visitors, but he soon longed for the old comrades again.

How delicious to those of us who find human nature as exemplified in ourselves; how "very human," this confession of frailty: "This very night I am going to leave off tobacco! Surely there must be some other world in which this unconquerable purpose shall be realized."

He spoke of asking some rather dubious persons to supper: "You would not sit with them?" asked Talfourd.

"Yes," said Lamb. "I would sit with anything but a hen or tailor."

And who cares what he said of the writing "female." Of L. E. L. Lamb said, "Letitia was only just tinted; she was not what the she-dogs now call an intellectual woman." We remember how proud he was of his sister's poems.

To a man who said something he considered witty. "Ha! very well; very well indeed!" said Lamb. "Ben Jonson has