One of the oddest parcel post packages ever sent was "mailed" from Grangeville to Lewiston, Idaho on February 19, 1914. The 48 1/2 pound package was just short of the 50 pound limit. The name of the package was May Pierstorff, three months short of six years old.

May's parents decided to send their daughter for a visit with her grandparents, but were reluctant to pay the train fare. Noticing that there were no provisions in the parcel post regulations specifically concerning sending a person through the mails, they decided to "mail" their daughter. The postage, 53-cents in parcel post stamps, was attached to May's coat. This little girl traveled the entire distance to Lewiston in the train's mail compartment and was delivered to her grandmother's home by the mail clerk on duty, Leonard Mochel.

In this unusually broad comedy for [Douglas] Fairbanks, the acrobatic leading man plays "Coke Ennyday," a cocaine-shooting detective parody of Sherlock Holmes, given to injecting himself from a bandolier of syringes worn across his chest, and liberally helping himself to the contents of a hatbox-sized round container of white powder labeled "COCAINE" on his desk.

Fairbanks's character otherwise lampoons Sherlock Holmes with checkered detective hat, clothes and even car, along with the aforementioned propensity for injecting cocaine whenever he feels momentarily down, then laughing with delight. A device used for observing visitors, which is referred to in the title cards as his "scientific periscope", bears a close resemblance to a modern closed-circuit television. What is apparently a clock face has "EATS, DRINKS, SLEEPS, and DOPE" instead of numbers.

The film displays a lighthearted and comic attitude toward Coke Ennyday's use of cocaine and laudanum, while he catches a gang of drug smugglers, he does so after consuming most of their opium. One of the actresses appearing, Alma Rubens, later became addicted to morphine and died young.

Cincinnati, Feb. 18 — The World's Health Organization is waging a bitter war against kissing, arguing that the practice is a menace to health. The president of the organization, Mrs. Imogene Rechtin, says that, for instance, the germs of consumption are spread by kissing. The organization has had buttons with the words "Kiss not" imprinted therein, which signify that the wearer is a member of the organization and absolutely refuses to impress his lips against another's. Mrs. Rechtin says: "The work of the World's Health Organization is to show the people that the health of our nation demands that we protect ourselves. Do not kiss sick people. In the case of smallpox the disease shows quickly after infection has taken place, but in consumption it does not, therefore do not kiss any one. You are not sure by looking at a person whether he has consumption or not. He may not know it himself. Sometimes he is able to attend to his regular duties till the last. If with the expenditure of $30,000,000, as was spent last year to conquer consumption, to say nothing of the heartaches for the loved ones gone forever, we could say we are now rid of the disease then the crusade against it would die a natural death, but with all this expenditure we are still in the midst of it. We must be more active, more earnest, go to the source of the supply and stop passing the disease from one to another with our mouths." The pledge of the organization reads as follows: "In order to encourage good health and lessen the spread of consumption I desire to join the World's Health Organization and hereby pledge myself to discourage the custom of kissing on the lips whenever it is in my power."

Sir: I ask the acceptance by your Society of a hermetically sealed tin box containing a copy of the catalogue of one of America's largest department stores in which are descriptions and pictures of practically all article used now in the industries and avocations of the United States. This gift is on the following conditions:

This box is to be opened in 1965, A.D., and again in 2015, A.D., and a student designated by the President of the Society shall write a thesis on the change of the preceding semi-centennial period. I request my descendants of those dates to pay $50 (fifty dollars) to the writer of the thesis. I have no doubt that payment will be duly made, as I have seven children and grandchildren, married and doing well, who agree to this proposal. As I have also four great-grandchildren, it is almost certain that my descendants will be numerous fifty and one-hundred years hence.

That the changes will be great and important in the articles in use in 1965 and 2015 may be gathered from the fact that the railroad system, telegraphs, telephones, the machines worked by electricity, air craft, submarines, and hundreds of other inventions, have been made practical since I was born, and most of them within fifty years.

Picture a fat freshman dosing in the chemistry class. The day before he had said boldly, and unashamed, 'I think I'll cut that beastly class in chemistry. I don't care what those darned atoms do to each other.' The fat freshman enters the class, bored and rebellious. He remains in it sleepy and indifferent. Suddenly he starts, suppressed a yawn, stealthily arranges his tie sheepishly, combs the hair with hurried fingers.

What happened? Has Old Bones (his disrespectful nickname for the professor of chemistry) been rooting around some second-hand store and found Aladdin's lamp?

The freshman's perception, newly acute, pierces his usual mental haze. The scene is a real one and delightful. True, 'Old Bones' is continuing his discourse. He is describing the chemistry of the blood. 'But this war of atoms may be a beneficent one,' he drones. 'The presence of disease-breeding bacilli in the blood is not necessarily destructive. For there are vigilant baccilli who lay hold upon the destroyers and slay them, as you see illustrated by this dance.'

The eyes of the freshmen beam. Never have 'Old Bones'' lectures been rewarded by such rapt and flattering attention. On the platform one lithe young Amazon in short Roman tunic is struggling with another.