Tropical Heat (Larimore Lovers Series)

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In the first decade of that period there were three fires, one in , one in , and one in In the last years of that period the school had to contend with the rapid growth of high schools, and with the opening of the men's colleges to women, which greatly decreased the demand for separate schools for women. Many schools for women died in these years, and the Illinois Woman's Col- lege lived only because of the devotion and sacrifice of its friends, chief among whom, and deserving special mention, were Dr. DeMotte, president from to , and Dr. Short, president from to These friends saw, through all these discouragements, the day surely coming when a high grade college for women would be one of the greatest educational needs.

The Last Ten Years Their foresight and their faith have been more than justi- fied in the events of the last ten years. There is a rapidly- increasing demand for a well equipped college for women, and the school has had a remarkable growth. Beginning with , every year has seen an enlargement of the col- lege plant. In an extension was made to the build- Page Four X e The C o 1 1 e g" e Greeting's ing, another in , and another in In a tract of three acres was added to the original five acres of the college property.

In another addition to the campus was made. In a central power house was built, giv- ing ample equipment for heating, lighting and laundry. The Next Ten Years The great and imperative need of the college now is en- dowment. It is unsafe and unwise to hazard the life of the college by leaving it without any safeguard or sinking fund in time of accident or emergency.

It is impossible to pro- vide necessary equipment of library, laboratories and facul- ty out of the current income. We rmist have endowment. And we expect to secure it by the seventieth anniversary in One hundred and fifty friends can do it. Some will give these sums outright; some will give on the annuity plan; and many friends will leave such sums to the college in their wills. I fully believe such friends are living. Like America in the fifteenth century, they are only waiting to be discovered. Henceforth it ought to be our main business to find them. The words of our Savior are both a command.

President Harker. HE word "pioneer" always stirs our hearts. Instantly we are carried back in imagination to scenes of struggle, great disappointments, and final victory. It takes grit and gump- tion to be a pioneer, and we always feel like crying "All hail! It is in commemoration of such great men that Founders' Day has been established in Illinois Wo- man's College, and it will henceforth be a great day with us. It was celebrated by us for the first time on Friday, No- vember 5th.

Many friends of the college were present, and those from out of the city were entertained at a luncheon given by Dr. Harker at the noon hour. The ex- ercises of the afternoon were held at in the chapel, which was very tastefully decorated with college pennants and beautiful flowers. DeMotte, who was president of the college from to , was the second speaker. Dan Brummitt, of Chicago, edi- tor of the Epworth Herald. A special feature of the whole program was the singing of college songs by the girls. The girls entered into the sing- ing with great spirit and enthusiasm, and added much to the pleasure of the whole program.

Testing his Metal — A young man with a bronze complex- ion fell in love with a girl with a. She immediately called a copper, who, with a steely glance led him away. It is the largest and most modern building that has ever been erected on the Illinois Woman's College campus. It should stir the hearts, not only of the girls of the present student body but of those who have already gone out as well. For in it the dreams of some of the latter have been realized. It is a five-story building, connected to the main building by a passage way from each floor except the first.

The three upper floors form the new dormitory, which accom- dates seventy girls. The rooms are very attractive. The walls are finished rough, and tinted a light tan. The wood- work is a dark brown oak. The floors are hard finished and oiled. Each room has two windows, making it light and cheerful. The two lower floors are devoted to the home economics department, society halls, recitation rooms, a biological laboratory and an oflSce. Page Bight gCFg7? They are separated from each other by a hall, but the walls of this hall are folding parti- tions.

The two halls can be thus thrown together into a large reception room. The walls and wood- work of these are finished just the same as the two upper floors. The recitation rooms are large and well lighted. The black-boards are slate, and the lockers and cabinets requir- ed for special subjects have been built directly in the rooms. The Home Economics Department, occupying most of the first floor, has a large kitchen, which is arranged in the most up-to-date manner.

Adjacent to this is the dining room, which, -with its table and china closet, must be a source of joy to the Seniors. An elevator, constructed after the most approved plan, with all the modern appliances, forms an important part of this building. Shower-baths have also been put in on each of the three upper floors. ETTY swung up the street from town and turn- ed to cross the campus.

Betty usuallj' showed two blithe little dimples, but today the dimples were in eclipse, for Betty was worried. She had not heard from Dick for a week. Now, as a matter of fact, the universe did not depend upon Betty's hearing from Dick every other day, but then Betty thought ihaX. However, there were reasons for part of her feeling. Weren't their fathers partners in the law firm at home? And hadn't they always, from the time when both wore pinafores, expected to marry some day?

Then, when no letter had yet come, she began to grow worried. So she worried for three more days. It was during this time that Betty ac- quired a reputation for being melancholy and red-eyed, and given to irrevelant remarks. As an instance of the last, when asked the cause of the War of the Roses, she had ab- sent-mindedly murmured, "typhoid fever. Today the week was up, and still he had not written, so Betty knew that something dreadful was the matter.

She went to her room, locked the door, and spent an hour in shuddering over the things that might have happened to Dick, and they were legion. Broken bones in football me- lees, small-pox, fevers, snake-bites, measles, attacks from midnight assassins, trolly and railway accidents — oh-h-h — it was too horrible to think of, and Dick was enduring all these agonies alone. She would go to him. She sprang up and began getting ready. While she packed and cried with equal fervor, one of the maids knocked at the door: "A special delivery for you.

Miss Betty. It was — it was in Dick's own clear hand-writing. At least he was not very ill or badly hurt. As Betty tore open the letter she grew a bit angry. Dick had no right to frighten her so, for one long week. Then came the letter, "Dear Little Betty: Crazy to write to you? Well, I just guess I am. Congratulations, for I 'm now a "Sig" man. It's the most exclusive "Frat" here, and I 'm just scrapin' the clouds I feel so good, about it. That 's why I have n't written.

Part of the initiation was that I Page Ten The C o 1 1 e g- e Greeting's could n't write to my best girl uor read the letters that came from her for a week. I stuck it out, but, well, it was tough. It 's all right now, isn't it, Betty? Yours, Dick.

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Betty softly folded the letter. The dimples once more held sway. Nina Turner, ' Groups left the chapel every fifteen minutes, with their guides, visiting various countries. They first visited Italy, where they were served with Chili ConCarne. Taking a very circuitous route they reached England and found there roast beef sandwiches. Of course they went into Holland and enjoyed a glass of milk and a sandwich. Go- ing to Japan they were refreshed with a cup of tea and wa- fers. In Africa they picked bananas and dates, and en- joyed watching the strange people — but they were all glad to get back to America, where they were served with Tutti Frutti ice cream and wafers.

The groups went from Italy, in the main building, to England, in Harker Hall, back again to the main building, making as long a trip as possible. The different rooms re- sembled the various countries, and the girls in these rooms were in the native costumes. Rena Crum spent a few days at the college the first of November. She gave a very enthusiastic talk at Phi Nu, which was very helpful to both old and new girls: The annual Phi Nu banquet was held at the Colonial Inu, Monday evening, November Editob-in-Chiep — Janette C.

And now there is another "vision" to be realized. But this time there are seven years to bring it to pass, so there is no occcasion for every one to rush immediately to her purse and count pennies. For of course a "vision" means that some one must give money for something — anew build- ing, more equipment, or, as in the present case, an endow- ment fund. C Seven years sounds as if it were a long time. But really it will come very soon. If you don't believe it just count it up for yourself.

So you see it behooves us to begin collecting at once, and also to bestir the long-suffering "friends" of the years past to make one more effort to secure the well being of the school. What for? Oh, for just anything we might happen to want, maybe a gymnasium do you think it possible? Think of anything you would like best, for there need be no end to a "vision" you know.

At any rate you are forewarned, and those of you who lived throuh the Music Hall campaign will readily understand what is before us. And those of you who were not here to see those hundred squares marked off one by one, will soon know what it means to be told that a new "friend" has been found who is most anxious to give to so great and good a cause. And your part? Simple enough. Have faith, and leave no room for failure. Wouldn't you like to know a little bit of the history of College Greetings? Oliver, who wrote so beauti- fully of Dr. Short in the last issue, was the one who started the paper.

At the fiftieth anniversary she kindly consent- ed to publish a word of greeting to the alumnae. Searching about for a name she at last decided on "Jubilee Greet- ings. That spring she published three numbers. Then Dr. Harker was gen- eral manager over a year. In i8g8 Miss Delia Dimmitt was made manager, and she ran the paper until the fall of , when it was given into the hands of the Senior Class. There was no change in this arrangement until this year, when the management passed from the class to a more rep- resentative board, and The College Greetings became really the college paper.

Our hearty thanks are due one of our last years Seniors for the story that appears in this issue. We appreciate her willingness, especially when we remember that it was un- der difiiculties. The time was short, and the powers that be had seen fit to impose a '"college plot.

Especially the tenth muse idea! But if only she had come before and rejoiced and departed before! In other words, if only the era of the short story, by force extracted from the unwilling heads of Page Thirteen 3? The College Greeting's Freshmen had been of the past! But, alas, it is of the pres- ent, and looms large for the future as well. A Were n't you relieved to know that the Spectator will no longer follow you, criticize you, and brazenly write about your shortcomings? Let 's all join in hoping that the new club will be less critical and strenuous.

What do you do with all your spare time? When it hangs heavily on your hands write something for Greetings. Are you all disgusted with the late appearance of the pa- per? Well, so are we, but it can't be helped, so we have to endure it, but really we hope for, and even promise, better things after Christmas. We beg your pardon for last month's promise, of plans of the new building. There were none available for cuts, hence you will have to accept the picture in its place. A Thanksgiving Day Few days in the college callender are checked off by stu- dents, faculty or friends farther ahead, or with a brighter nod of approval than Thanksgiving.

It is a fine day — a late, delightfully late, corridor breakfast; church, to which we file in long and appropriately dignified line; this year to Brooklyn, to be rewarded by an unusually fine Thanksgiv- ing address by Dr. Post; the jolly time of a Mallory Broth- ers' entertainment in the evening, are all to be recorded, and with emphasis. But the day is an afternoon day, a din- ner day. The dining room could scarcely be prettier than it was this year; the work of Miss Rolfe and the Freshmen, who planned and carried out a scheme of quiet loveliness in yellow, in candle shades, chrysanthemums, and a great Page Fourteen The College G r e e t i n g- s basket of yellow corn, partly in husk, for a centerpiece on the guest table, was the talk of the hour.

Before sitting down Dr. Harker reviewed the hard days of the Puritans, and as a toast to them and their glorious courage, we ate together a bit of parched corn, five grains of which had been placed at each plate, as five grains had been doled out to them on that hard black day just before the coming of the ship with the supplies that called forth the first Thanksgiv- ing day in the new land. And we were thankful with them despite years, and thankful for our present wealth of com- fort and prosperity as we turned to our own delightful din- ner.

No words of mine can fittingly report the feast — so b-'autiful was it, so delicious, so lovely in all its appoint- ments, and so full of good cheer and kindliness from Dr. Harker at one end of the great table all the way to Mrs. Harker at the other, and at every other table besides. In- stead of the usual toasts the dinner was concluded with a reading by Miss Murray, two songs by Mrs. Hartman, and some college songs, in which all joined most heartily. For several years she was our physical instructor, but for the past two years she has been in Chicago, trying to regain her health.

Her brave strug- gle was in vain, and the end came September 12, Adolph Gore have been recent visitors here. The following mothers have been guests of their daugh- ters during the month: Dr. Jennings, Mrs. Ryan, Mrs. Rankin, Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Smith, of Normal, The college has been greatly honored by having its grad- uates made eligible to a free scholarship in the Chicago Training School.

Vickery were callers at the college to visit to visit their niece, Miss Beryl Vickery. The college is receiving favorable notice from a great many newspapers throughout the country, owing to the successful Founder's Day celebration. Lewis A. Masey, of Springfield, and Mrs. Lloyd Stribling, of Virginia, have been callers here during the month. Bishop Quayle, who delivered his lecture, Hamlet, in the interest of the Epworth League of the Grace Methodist church, called at the college on Nov.

He expressed himself as being well pleased with all he saw here. We must have endowment. No college can exist without it. Let us deny ourselves something for our Alma Mater's sake. Many small gifts make an aggregate of generous propor- tionso -i J The C o 1 1 e g- e G r e e t i n g" s The Memorial Scholarship Fund has received about one hundred dollars during the vacation months. We should receive at least that much every week between now and commencement ot Let us solicit from former stu- dents, friends, and alumnae everywhere that we may add five thousand dollars to the fund before the next alumnae reunion.

All contributions for this fund, which is estab- lished in honor of the presidents of the college, should be sent to Mrs. The Illinois Woman's College now has alumnae. Of this number so far as our records show are living and deceased. This does not include the honorary or associate alumnae. McCormick on November 8th. Metcalf was a student at the college in Ebey, of Herman, Cal. The address of Ethel Dudley, now Mrs. Paul Cooper, is Main St.

Hortense Campbell Gore, '07, S. Oak Park Ave. Gore teaches in the High school. Announcement has been received of the birth of a son, Byron Edward, to Dr. Canatsey, of BluffSj Canatsey was formerly Inez Proudfit, ' Mae Thompson McElvain Mrs. Miss Mary Pegram, '64, has been visiting in Missouri during the summer, but is now back. She is in pretty good health and may be addressed at the Deaconess Hos- pital at lyincoln. Wallace Riddell, of San Francisco, Cal. Riddell is an instructor in chemistry in the University of California. The wedding will take place Dec.

The hours were from 3 to 6 and the guest list included the intimate friends of Miss Harker. The engagement was announced in a rather unique way, each guest being given a large yellow rose with Miss Har- ker's name attached on which was written "Void After Dec. Miss Wylder was assisted in enter- tain-ng by her sister, Miss Pearl Wylder. The rooms were tastefully decorated v;ith yellow roses and white chrysanthemums and the monogram "R. Miss Weaver was hostess, Friday afternoon, Nov. Wallace Clifford Riddell.

A very happy hour was spent making sachets of all sizes, shapes and descriptions, which were presented to the bride-elect with amusing suggestions. The decorations were wholly of red roses, a most charming feature being a rose-trellised garden, where Miss Harker, armed with a salad fork, in liew of a spade, dug out various packages, which proved to be all sorts of charming adjuncts of the tea table, cut glass, china, silver and linen.

Page Eighteen f.? The C o 1 1 e g" e Greeting's A very pretty closing to the party was shower of rose petals from a great rose-covered heart as Miss Harker left the room. The guests of the afternoon were the faculty friends of Miss Harker. Helen Lewis, '09, is conducting the art classes in the Quincy Conservatory. Mary Metcalf , of the same class, is having a year of trav- el and pleasure. The studio classes are larger than ever — more students are enrolled in all courses than ever before. Some handsome articles in metal and leather are being made for the term exhibit, and the interest is large in jewel- ry work.

She came to help the girls to chose delegates to the convention to be held at Rochester, New York, December 29 to January 2. This convention is held once every four years, and every college and university in North America are represented, although it is called a Student Volunteer Convention — it is not required for every delegate to be a Student Volunteer.

She told them many interesting, as well as instructive, things of the work done in Foreign fields. They brought back very interesting reports which were given in the meeting Sun- day, November 14th. This convention was entertained by the Knox College Christian Association. We are very glad to report that one hundred and twelve dollars is pledged for Systimatic giving. Each girl prepared and served some one dish. Colean and Mr. Stafford Mr. Phillips was accompanied at the piano by Miss Louise Miller. Juniors — Miss Anderson. Sophomores — Miss Cowgill. Freshmen — Miss Rolfe. Senior Specials — Miss Gettemy.

Junior Specials — Miss Russell. Specials — Miss Harvey. The College Greeting's The class organizations are: Seniors. President — Dess Mitchell. President — Mildred West. Vice-President — Ninah Wagner. Secretary and Treasurer — Gladys lyeavell. Secretary and Treasurer — Anna Schaffer, Freshmen. President — Milllicent Rowe. Vice-President — Helen Ryan. Secretary — Geraldine Fauche. Treasurer — Einily Allen. Senior Specials. President — Elizabeth Todd.

Vice-President — Leo McCutcheon. Secretary — Henrietta Helm. Treasurer — Pearl Jennings. Junior Specials. President — Merle Ackcrman. Vice-President — Louise Baker. Treasurer — Marjorie Gamble. Secretary — Maude Wallace.

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President — Zola Stum. Vice-President — Ruth Hamlin. Secretary — Grace Stum. Treasurer — Bess Holnbach. President — Eunice VanWihkle. Vice-President — Myrtle Walker. President— Clara Bell Smith. Vice-President — Mabel Kniffen. I St Preparatory. President — Mary Neptune. Vice-President — Bess Akers. Secretary— Edith Smith. Treasurer — Mildred Torrence. President — Alice Shekelton. Vice- President — Christine Remick. Secretary — Edna Murphy. Treasurer — Helen Roberts.

Senior Specials entertained: On Oct. Alma Booth was tried in the Belles Lettres court room. Miss Booth was charged with attempting to escape from Harker Hall by the jfire escapes on the evening of October 22nd, Dess Mitchell presided as judge, and Louise Gates represented the trustees. As the decision was to establish a precedent for the future great interest was manifested in the proceedings.

Witnesses from the faculty and students brought convincing evidence against the defendant, and the bitter sarcasm of Attorney Gates, in cross examination, was difficult to answer. At- torney Hine made a touching plea for the innocence and past commendable reputation of Defendant Booth, and the jurors were profoundly moved. The honorable court then imposed the fol- lowing penalty: 1. The defendant should clean the sheriff's room for six successive weeks.

She should scrub the corridor of the second floor of Harker Hall and paint the fire escape. She should carry water to all Belles lyettres until February. Maps and pictures of the vicinity were shown. The president of Belles Lettres Society recently received a probate notice that the society had been remembered in the will of the late Mrs.

Julia Palmer Stevens, of Bloom- ington. Julia Palmer Stevens was a descendant of a re- markable and distinguished family, her father being t,ouis Palmer, a well-known piorneer of Madison county, Illinois. She was born in that county in Two brothers were of national reputation. John M. Palmer, senator, gov- ernor, and candidate for the presidency, and Henry Palmer, missionary physician of India. Stevens had a passion for study, and attained great scholarship, mastering seven foreign languages.

She made translations from the French and other languages even in her old age, and received great praise for her work from foreign scholars. In Mrs. Stevens came to this col- lege as teacher. Because she was such a student of litera- ture she became interested in the societies, and was made an honorary member of Belles Lettres. She grew very en- thusiastic over the work, and through her unusually wide range of knowledge was an inspiration to all the girls. While still a resident here she met Rev. George Stevens, pastor of Centenary Church, who later became her husband. After they left Jacksonville both Mr.

Stevens kept in touch with society affairs. In Mr. Stevens entered the pastorate at Blooming- ton, Illinois, where he died a month later, and there his wife resided until her death. Stevens, and which will be accredited to our fund for a society house, was most gratefully received by the girls, and will serve as a greater stimulus for loyalty of all Belles Lettres.

This month we have already received several exchanges, and we gratefully acknowledge them. Hearti- est greetings to all our old friends, and to all our future friends! Like the old Hoosier, we may say: "If we never hear from ye we '11 never know ye. Teacher — "I shall be tempted to give this class a test pretty soon!

De- Motte, president of the college from to , was with us in chapel service. DeMotte is now president of the Indiana State School for the Deaf, and he closed his talk with the impressive rendition of the twenty-third Psalm in the language of the dumb to the accompaniment of the fresh young voices of our girls. Professor A. Williams, of Hillsboro, visited us on No- vember He taught music here in Illinois Woman's College before the civil war.

He was greatly pleased with the many improvements that have been made, and ex- pressed his deep emotion at hearing the old college songs that the girls rendered for him. A very interesting bit of news was given us one morning in chapel recently. It was concerning a new rule made by the faculty board, namely: "That no student of the Illinois Woman's College who does not make a general average of 80, or who falls below 70 in auy one study, may appear on any public program, or be eligible to any office in any de- partment of the college.

Miss Rolfe, on Nov. Fruit salad and wafers were served. All vote Miss Rolfe a charming hostess. Page Twenty-seven The most dainty things in Rings and Jewelry. New and handsome styles of goods in Sterling Siver. Contents Christmas Arostic. Qo it happens every year — W Always has, as yet, — Such a lot of things we want, And so few we get. Why not always? Unbroken friendships, Great accumulations of cheerful Recollections and affections 07i Earth, and Heaven for us all. Adapted ft om the German of Rudolf Bautnbach. Any way these little lights are not needed to- night, for in an hour thousands and thousands of candles will shine through the December darkness.

It was Christmas eve, and invisible angels were hovering in the streets and alleys of the old city. Also, creatures of flesh and blood, with cheeks tingling from the cold, were jostling one another in the streets. Most of them carried carefully-wrapped objects, which later would be received with joy around a brilliantly-lighted Gbristraas tree. Every one was in a hurry. Gradually the streets became more quiet, and the windows of the houses shone brightly through the night.

Through the door of an old patrician house, a tall man, with a broad brimmed hat and a long cloak entered. A white dog followed him. After he had reached the upper hall-way, he paused before a door that bore the name of a noted artist, and in a few minutes he walked into a com- fortable room, lighted by the soft light of a lamp. A large gray cat came purring to meet the man and his dog. For the dog and the cat had lived together for years, not as the proverbial dog and cat, but as two good comrades who had gone to school together.

The man removed his hat ad cloik, and stepped to the window. In the house across tl e way could be seen the Page Three The C o 1 1 e g" e Greeting's light of a Christmas tree, and the shadows of children and grown people moved across the lowered curtains. For a long time the man stood there. Then he turned away, passed his hand over his eyes, and said softly to himself: "I am alone.

Then he sank into a large chair, and gave himself to his thoughts. They were not cheerful pictures which the lonely man saw; a sad childhood, a youth full of hard sacrifices, strug- gles and disappointments. Honor and possessions had fi- nally come to him, but in the time of need he had unlearn- ed how to be happy. His youth was past; in his dark hair the hoar frost of the beginning autumn was glistening — and he was alone. Then suddenly he heard close beside him the words: "Suppose we chat awhile. The master sleeps. Yes, of course, on Christmas eve animals re- ceive the power of speech.

I often heard of that when I was a child. If I only can sleep until I hear what they have to say. He neglects me. I shall probably have to catch mice again in my old age. That would be hard. A wife generally looks with jealous eyes at the friends a man has had in his bachelor days. For both of us our best days have passed. It was a woman's head, with large, dark, child-like eyes.

And since we two agree, that is the main thing. But, be still — he is moving! He is awake! But they were curled up like snails, apparently buried in sweet dreams. And the man began to walk up and down, as one who is occupied with important thoughts. We shall leave the lonely man with his dog and his cat, and climb the stairs as high as they go, where, in narrow rooms, poor people rest from the toil of the day. In one of these little rooms, the cleanest and neatest of them all, two women were sitting — the one old, the other young. The girl's pale face showed refinement, and her eyes were large and dark.

She was a seamstress. The old woman was her aunt, and she had come from her poor home on the other side of the city to receive the presents. She had risen to go, for it was a long way to her home. Are n't you afraid? O, if I wanted to I could tell you many stories, but I might frighten you. And did n't you ever hear that in this night a young girl can learn who is to be her future husband? But, then, it is very dangerous to try it," she added. But he is not of flesh and blood — he is only a ghost — and when the cock crows he will vanish. The girl will do well to put a cock in a sack, and place it near her.

If the mysterious guest becomes an annoyance she can pinch the cock and the spook will disappear. The little seamstress was busy with a few household du- ties, and at first she laughed at the story her aunt had told: then she became thoughtful, and in the end — it was only an innocent jest — she brought a white cloth, set the table, and put two plates upon it.

To be sure, she had no cock, but she wore a little cross at her throat, and all spooks retreat before a cross. At last she thought of one more, but he was a distinguished man whom people honored. He had proba- bly forgotten her — the poor seamstress in the attic. Two years ago, while her mother was still living, he had met her for the first time on the stairs; he had stopped and looked at her with kind eyes.

The next day he had asked her to come to his studio and pose for him. She had refused at first, for she had heard such dreadful stories of artists and their models. But the artist had addressed her so kind- ly, and she went to him. Her mother accompanied her. Later she saw the finished picture. It represented an old man with a harp, and beside him sat a young girl — the lit- tle seamstress. Afterwards the painter had placed a large bank-note in her work-basket. Since that time she had not spoken to the painter, but she had become a friend to his companions, a dog and a cat, and she had been kind to them whenever she could.

Then there was a knock at the door! She started. What if the Christmas magic were not a fairy story! The door opened, and a spectral visitor stood in the open- ing. He looked like the painter. The poor child sank in- to a chair, and buried her face in her hands.

Then the ghost began to speak. He spoke of his lonely, joyless life, and then he spoke of love and loyalty, and the girl listened with beating heart. Whatiif perhaps this were not a ghost! With trembling hand she touched her cross. All magic would vanish before the cross. He smiled, took the cross, and said: "You poor child, you do not believe my words. I swear on this cross that I hold in my hands that I mean it faith- fully and honestly with you.

O, thou blessed, happy Christmas eve I Then there was a scratching at the door. When the door was opened the dog bounded in, and after him the cat. They came to bring their good wishes. The dog sprang now at the man, then at the girl, and barked for joy, and the cat purred like a spinning wheel. They were proud of it, but they said not a word, for true service receives is reward in silence.

New Girl: "Will you please tell me the teacher who has expression? HE Christmas had fallen on a Sunday. Throughout Rome, the day before Christmas, placards had been posted announcing a spe- cial service in the Italian mission. The native pastor had chosen for his dis- course "The Martyrs of the Reformation," a bold theme, sufficient of itself to challenge attention, but tonight a special interest cen- tered in the figure of a young and very influential Roman priest, who had come to the service to make public renun- ciation of the faith in which he had been reared.

The church was packed; even up the center aisle, men were standing in dense lines. Scattered here and there were a few white haired men, clad in scarlet capes, and holding in their hands the scarlet cap that marked them as belonging to the fast-passing remnants of the Garibaldian soldiers, who had won for Italy civil and religious liberty. It was very still when the pastor rose, but the sense of danger seemed only to increase his fearlessness, and his great theme roused his best gifts of eloquence.

As he be- came more and more open in his utterance, the temper of a part of his audience manifested itself, and hisses rose. Then the applause of his sympathizers mingled itself with the cries of "Bravo! Then the sermon closed, and the singing began. The words of the refrain ran, "And the fetters that bound me are broken — are broken at last! As the last word died away the priest sprang to his feet, exclaiming that indeed the fetters which had bound him for thirty years were broken. Then, in visiting his par- ishioners, he had found a family much disturbed because the young daughter, while at school in France had come in contact with some Protestants, and was reading the Bible.

Finding the young signorina inclined to argue, he had ta- ken the Bible from her to read himself, that he might bet- ter persuade her of her errors. As he read he began to doubt his old faith; he had sought the Italian Protestant minister, who had pointed him plainly to the way of salva- tion by faith. For months he had wavered, but now at last he announced himself a humble believer in Christ as his personal Saviour. The old pastor, deeply moved, rose and dismissed the congregation, pervaded now by a stillness more impressive than the wild enthusiasm of the half hour previous.

Strangely exalted, the ex-priest passed out into the lu- minous night. His way led past the Coliseum, and he went in and walked among the ruined arches. In his warm imagination its ancient splendors returned. He fancied Nero sitting in his royal box, while down in the arena, the Christians were led forth to the lion. In the new passion of his own sacrifice, it seemed a glorious death to die. He suddenly stopped, and stretching forth his arms toward the city of his birth cried out that, he loved her — he loved her.

Swiftly it came to him, that no longer could the secret hand of the Vatican lay its curb on the free course of his patri- otism. Then he wandered on and on, past his childhood home, no longer open to him; past the parish priest's house, through all the old familiar streets. The dawn of Christ- mas morning found him still walking aimlessly in the quiet — alone. The seclusion in which he had been reared unfitted him for the sharp strife with men; besides, his education was Page Nine The C o 1 1 e g- e Greeting's scholastic, not practical. From henceforth no true Catho- lic would be allowed to employ him; even the church into whose fellowship he had last night entered took a priest with reservation; too many of them had come Into its com- munion, afterwards to besmirch it by some scandalous con- duct, for its leaders to have full confidence in any man so trained in evasive habits of thought.

He recognized that he himself had been put to many tests before he was coun- seled to take that last irrevocable step which screened him from his old life. Then, in the midst of his desolotion, he thought of Lu- ther at hostile Worms, of that other great priest of his own race, sacrificed for conscience's sake, and he was strangely comforted. It was still early when he sought the Christmas service at the mission. The pastor had been searching for him every- where, and embraced him with true Neapolitan warmth.

The father of the young signorina has been to see me. They were here last night, hiding at the back of the congrega- tion. Today they will be here also, to enter into commu- nion with us, and, Signor Vicini, they say it is all because of your willingness to confess the Christ. Others have been moved, and more there is to tell" — The flow of his volubility came to an abrupt pause. Sig- nor Vicini — no longer Father Vicini — was giving a silent handclasp to his old parishioner, and back of him stood his wife, his son, and daughter.

Tears stood in the ex-priest's eyes. Was he come already, bringing his sheaves with him? He raised the fingers of the dark-eyed signorina with reverence to his lips. The sheaves lay at her feet. The father and the old pastor saw and understood the sig- nificance of the act. The mother saw and understood also, but she saw further, and knew in her heart that it fore- shadowed the coming and fulfillment of a sweet hope to a priest forbidden. He came back with gold to transport his family to that new land, and with something more precious than gold, which he gave into his wife's hand, saying, 'I have a treasure here which will bring us either joy or woe.

The stir has been so great that the parish priest sent for the bishop, who was commissioned to go and exorcise the devil. Think of that, all of you, a bishop riding through the town with his two fingers outstretched to rid these people of the Spirit of God! Why, even the children ran from him. Say not nay to the Spirit's call, nor plead your own unworthiness. I have not watched your soul growth all these years for naught. It is borne in upon me that you are to have a great, yea, a glorious part in the regeneration of Italy. The following picturesque bit of English, advertising a government stage line, was copied by Prof.

Decorus and very much solids horses- experienced carri- ages — polite persons of exceptional services and recom- mended of the "Alpine Club. NE holiday time, years and years ago, the court of good King Arthur was making merry, knights and ladies giving themselves heartily to song and revelry, when a strange adventure befel, and this is the adventure. As they sat around the tables jesting and making gladsome talk on the eve of the Christmas feast, as I have said, there sudden- ly rode into the great hall a strange knight all in green, a knight to delight a lady's heart, yet fearsome withal, so un- wonted his appearance and so bold his mein.

His rich dress was green from bonnet to shoelace, croselet, mantle, scarf and all. And his face, so far as could be noted under his helmet, was green. The trappings of the horse were green also, and even the horse itself — from the nose to the tip of the long tail that swept the pavement in King Ar- thur's hall. A strange and haughty challenge was on the Green Kright's lips. He acknowledged the renown of Arthur and his followers, but boasted himself greater than any or all.

In his hand he carried a huge green ax, and he dared any one to wield it and by one blow cut off the owner's head. It would not have been so troublesome a challenge, but for the condition imposed, that if successful he must journey to the land of the stranger just a year and a day from that time, to yield his own neck in turn to a fair blow from the green ax.

The knights hesitated. Certainly magic lurked somewhere, and Arthur, lest he be shamed before them all rose to meet the venture, but was prevented by the generous and courtly Gawain, who, though scorned by the Green Knight, took the weapon, swung it in a great circle, and with one blow cut off the Green Knight's head. Then Gawain was ruthful. He had hoped not to succeed, for he remembered the consequences. He stooped to the floor, picked up his head, set it on again and rode out of the hall with a much more gracious air than he had ridden in.

Then there was great lament for Gawain, for all the knights looked upon him but as a dead man when the year should roll around, and he should bare his neck to the blow of the strange ax in the land of the Green Knight.

Loure Bussey

There was no stopping time, however, nor would a knight of Arthur's break his pledge, and a year from that time, with great dejection in his own heart, and sorrowful lament on the part of all his friends, Sir Gawain set out from the court of Arthur at Camelot, and journeyed to the place of his adventure. The second day before Christmas brought him to a fine and spacious castle, where he sought harbourage, for the way had been long and dreary; also his heart was sad. Here he was so royally entertained by the lord and his fair lady, and by the pleasant damsels of the place, that he consented to pass the few days left him before his appointment with the Green Knight in their midst.

And they were passed in this wise: three nights running the lord of the castle in- vited Gawain, if he chanced to be so minded, to go hunting with him on the morn. But Gawain declined. And three mornings running, before Gawain got up, being weary from his long journey, the lady of the castle came into his cham- ber and petted and made love fo him. But Gawain was a courteous knight, and virtuous, and was not enticed by the lady's charms, but received her kiss each time frankly as a brother.

Each afternoon the lord of the castle returned and threw his game at Gawain's feet, and Gawain gave him a kiss in return, for they had agreed to exchange the trophies of the day. Neither asked any questions. On the third morning the lady could scarcely be satisfied, for she said that she loved him, and feared greatly that harm might come to him that day. So Gawain yielded so far as to ac- cept from her a magic girdle along with the kiss, and he bound the girdle under his dress. He found the little chapel where he was to meet the Green Knight very near, and marveled that he had not seen it as he came up four days before.

Flere all was deserted, but he heard noises near, the noises of lire, and a bellows, and sharpening steel, and Gawain was sadder still. Then the Green Knight came. They made little show of friendliness, for in truth Gawain felt none, whatever may have been the mind of the other. Then Gawain said he was ready. He bared his neck, and bent his head for the blow, and the green ax was swung above, but never descended. On a second trial it descend- ed, but wide of the mark; and on the third made just a lit- tle dint in his neck, which he felt no more than the scratch of a pin.

Then both knights rejoiced — one because he had not lost his head, and the other, whom Gawain now beheld changed to the exact form and appearance of the lord of that castle where he had received such sweet refreshment, because by this trial upon a knight of virtuous life and val- orous heart, the wicked spell that had long bound him was snapped, and he was himself again. The three blows brought no harm, because Gawain had confessed the three kisses that had been given him; the slight scratch was for the girdle which he had accepted, and not confessed, for you must know that the trial of Gawain had been fully agreed upon between the lord and lady, each day before the lord rode off to hunt.

There was great rejoicing in that castle when they re- turned, and a feast was made for Gawain, and there was re- joicing later in the court of Arthur, and a feast for the hero whom the knights and ladies of Arthur had thought of as no better than a dead man when he started on his journey. Now if you are anxious about this matter, I might ex- plain that the success of Gawain was due, no doubt, to the pentagon, which was his device, and signified these five perfections: I.

His five senses were always keen. His five fingers never failed.

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He trusted in the five wounds of Christ. In every diflficulty he had strength in the five joys of the queen of heaven in her child. I 've told every one not to say a word. That claim descent from mine and me; But I respectfully decline such Compliments to me and mine. Ceylon's name is on every package. Mamma is in the next room. But how are you feeling, Gilly? I don't understand it, for I felt well enough when I started. If Jim were here—Hilloa! We're in luck. Hi, Rock! At the sound of the engineer's voice, our hero, who was following leisurely the crowd to one of the cars, looked in that direction to see the soot-begrimed countenance of his old friend.

Jump in here, then. It won't be like riding in a parlor-car, but it will suit you just as well, I'm thinking. Railroad companies have a rule forbidding persons to ride with the engineer without permission from the president or superintendent, though at the time we write this matter was not as rigidly looked after as now. Rock, however, who had passed nearly all his young life on the foot-board, would have been deemed an exception to any rule.

At least, so thought Jockey Playfair, the veteran "knight of the lever" on the Pen Yan mail and accommodation. The signal to start was given, and with a full head of steam on, the old engine, trembling and groaning from her pent-up power, began to creep ahead, as if feeling her way along the switches and through the yard, going faster and faster at every revolution of her wheels, until the station-lights faded in the distance, and she plowed boldly into the night. The tall form of the engineer, clothed in greasy overalls and jumper, stood at his post like a grim sentinel on duty, his right hand on the reversing lever, his left on the throttle, while his steely gray eyes peered into the gloom, as if expecting to see spring from the regions of darkness the hosts of danger and death.

No engineer who has stood at the lever for any length of time refuses to believe that his trusty servant is without her faults, however he may care for her. She is subject to her ill-moods as well as himself. The engine, so good-natured on his last run, so prompt to obey his will, on this trip is stubborn and hard to manage. He can see no reason for her change of spirit. Her wonderful mechanism is in perfect working order, her groom has arrayed her for a dazzling passage, her fireman has fed her with the best of fuel, the flames dart ardently along her brazen veins, she bounds off like a charger, eager for conquest.

Her first spurt over, she falters, sulks. No coaxing can change her mood. In vain her master bestows greatest care upon her; with each effort she grows more sullen. Jockey Playfair's engine was in the sulks on the trip of which we write. The Silver Swan had never seemed in better temper than at the start. Delays in making connections, the bad condition of the track at places on account of the recent heavy rains, with other difficulties, had caused them to lose time. The engineer, however, had confidently expected to make up for this before reaching Wood's Hollow, sixty miles above the Big Y junction.

In the midst of his anxiety his fireman was taken suddenly ill. Then his engine began to fail him. This last gave him more uneasiness than all the rest. Never mind, old Jockey! During the next ten miles nothing was said by the three, and then, as they stopped long enough at a way-station to take on a solitary passenger, Jockey merely remarked:.

If we can't do better than that on our next run I'll never touch the lever again. As Jockey knew, he was now on the most favorable section of the road. No signals were to be expected for a long distance, and there was no reason why he should not regain a good part of the lost time. As soon as he was fairly under way again, he "linked her up. Rock understood his duty perfectly and was determined the Silver Swan should not hunger for fuel under his care. And Tommy was the best fireman ever on the Pen Yan, not even excepting you, Gilly. The Silver Swan was behaving beautifully now.

Apparently she had gotten over her sulks. Nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of their progress until the lights of Haford's Run came into sight. At this place they must stop to refill the engine's boiler, and while Rock looked after this matter, Jockey carefully examined each part of the wonderful machine, talking to it and patting it as he would a child.

When he had run his practiced eye over the bars, joints, connecting-rods, cylinders and steam-chests, then around the pilot to the other side to find everything in fine working order, he came back to the cab-step and consulted his watch. So you will, Jockey! If we can gain ten minutes before getting to Trestle Foot, we'll venture to Woodsville. Are you ready? Jack's boy? Well, he is good for it. If Gilly is sick he had better come back into a passenger. The next instant the conductor's lantern waved back and forth, dense volumes of smoke rolled from the smoke-stack, and snorting as if with rage at being driven on again, the engine forged on along its iron pathway.

I'd like to shake the rascal out of his jacket. He's been wanting Gilly's place; but he can't get it. What do you want? Why, bless you, you are fit to take my place. Not many trips did old Jack make without taking you with him. I used to fire for him, you know. He had a mat for you at his feet, and when too tired to keep awake longer you slept curled up on the footboard. Ah, it was something such a night as this when poor Jack made his last trip! There was no station at the Hollow then, and he was counting on a clean sweep to Owls' Nest.

Leaving the air-line grade he swooped around the curve, when right in his face and eyes he saw a string of loose cars, which had broken from the special on the highlands. I caught a gleam of his white face as he reversed, and then he was beside me at the brake. Fortunately no other lives were lost, though the passengers were terribly shaken up, and two of the freight cars were piled up on the engine. He met the fate of a hero, and it was always a mystery to me the company never did more for his family. They were rushing along at a tremendous rate, and an inexperienced eye would have seen nothing amiss.

In fact, the engineer himself could not. The driving-rods were shooting back and forth in perfect play, while the large drivers were revolving with clock-like regularity. Every now and then Jockey would give the lever a slight pressure, which would be instantly felt by the iron steed. Despite all this the Silver Swan was not doing as well as she ought.

She was barely keeping her course at the usual speed. Jockey glanced to the boiler. The index finger pointed to the gauge at degrees. Three more degrees was all she could stand. Rock was doing his duty. The track was straight and level. Still the Swan showed no disposition to gain the twenty minutes coveted time. That is always on time. Just then the little gong over his head sounded, in response to the conductor's pull upon the cord. Jockey quickly answered this with a blast from the whistle, which the other would understand to mean that the engine was already crowded to her utmost.

The old engineer was losing his temper by this time, and with his hand still on the lever he leaned forward to peer into the gloom, parting before the dull rays of the headlight, as if to let them pass. A drizzling rain was yet falling, but he did not notice this, for at his first glance a cry of horror left his lips, and he staggered back, exclaiming:. Rock started forward with surprise, and he uttered a cry of terror as he saw the gleam of a headlight and the shadowy outlines of an engine and train, less than a rod in front of them.

It is a safe assertion to make that every girl has at some time or other played with dolls; in fact, it is almost impossible to imagine a girl without a doll. Of course, the older ones have outgrown their dolls, and only keep the old favorites as souvenirs of childish days and pretty playthings, and it is quite likely that they would be puzzled to explain why they call the little image a "doll," and not, as the French do, a "puppet," or, with the Italians, a "bambino," or baby.

What is the meaning of the word "doll? Some saints were more popular than others, and St. Dorothea, or Dorothy, as the English have it, means a "gift from God. In this age of enlightenment it is not often that one meets with an adult who cannot read and write, and the encounter is generally as amusing as it is amazing. In one of the interior towns of Pennsylvania there lives a farmer who brings butter, eggs and produce to market, and, being illiterate, also brings with him his son to do the "figuring.

For awhile he got along very well by letting his customers do the figuring; but presently he sold two rolls of butter to a woman who could not figure any better than he. The farmer was much puzzled, but, being resolved that she should not know that his early education had been neglected, he took a scrap of paper from his pocket and began. A small Detroit boy was given a drum for a Christmas present, and was beating it vociferously on the sidewalk, when a nervous neighbor appeared, and asked, "How much did your father pay for that drum, my little man?

But, to his horror, when he got home that night there were four drums beating in front of his house, and as he made his appearance, the leader stepped up and said, cheerfully, "These are my cousins, sir. I took that dollar and bought four new drums. Do you want to give us four dollars for them? Photography is an art that looks to be easier than it is, but some beginners add to their difficulties by inexcusable carelessness.

A young lady bought a Kodak at a dealer's before she went on her summer vacation, and was so confident of her own ability that she took only the book of directions and went off. She took seventy or eighty shots in picturesque places, and promised copies to all her friends.

When she came home, she left the camera to have the film developed and printed. The artist developed on and on, but found none but blanks. In great surprise, he sent for the amateur photographer, and when she came he asked, "How did you operate this camera? Why, I pulled the string as the book says, and touched the button.

And then the artist roared with laughter. She had never once removed the cap that covered the lens, and had, of course, taken not a single picture, and when she found what she had done, or rather not done, she wept bitter tears. One of the most amusing accidents imaginable happened recently to an old gentleman in one of our large Eastern cities. He was asked to buy a ticket to a fireman's ball and good-naturedly complied. The next question was what to do with it.

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He had two servants, either one of whom would be glad to use it, but he did not wish to show favoritism. Then it occurred to him that he might buy another ticket and give both his servants a pleasure.

Not knowing where the tickets were sold, he inquired of a policeman, and the officer suggested that he go to the engine house. So the old gentleman went to the engine house that evening, but there was no one in sight. He had never been in such a place before, and stood for a moment or so uncertain how to make his presence known. Presently he saw an electric button on the side of the room, and he put his thumb on it. The effect was electrical in every sense of the word. Through the ceiling, down the stairs and from every other direction firemen came running and falling, the horses rushed out of their stalls, and, in short, all the machinery of a modern engine house was instantly in motion.

Amid all this uproar stood the innocent old gentleman, who did not suspect that he had touched the fire-alarm until the men clamored around him for information as to the locality of the fire. Then he said, mildly, "I should like to buy another ticket for the ball, if you please. If you simply desire to get a picture from your negative in the easiest and quickest way, without going through the necessary processes which are involved in toning, you can use cyanotype paper, which requires but one process for the completion of the picture and that process simply a bath in clean water.

Prints made upon this cyanotype paper have a beautiful blue tone, and are so simple and easily made that they are very popular. This cyanotype paper is sold in any desired quantity and size, and it is never worth while for the amateur to prepare his own paper, as it is a tedious and uncertain process.

When you are sure the negative is thoroughly dry, place it in the printing frame with the film side uppermost, and upon it lay a sheet of the cyanotype paper cut the right size, with the prepared side next to the film of the negative. The frame should then be put where the sun's rays will fall upon the glass, and allowed to remain there till the cyanotype paper has turned to a dull bronze in the shadows.

It will be necessary to look at the print from time to time to see when this point is reached. If the paper is not allowed to print long enough, the result will be that the picture will wash off the paper when it is put in water. When you think it is done, place it in running water, or in several changes of water, and wash it thoroughly. It should be washed till the water that drips from it is no longer discolored, but is perfectly clear. The picture then should stand out in blue tones on a clear white ground.

If you prefer to use the ready sensitized paper, there is a preliminary process through which the paper must pass before you print it. This process is called "fuming," and consists in exposing the paper to the fumes of ammonia for a short time. A fuming-box is needful, but one can easily be constructed, without the expense of purchasing this convenience.

Take a wooden box about two feet cube, and, with hinges, make a door of the cover. Close all the cracks with strips of cloth so that the box will be both light and air tight, and fasten corresponding strips around the edges of the door so that no light will make its way in there. When you are ready to fume your paper, pin two sheets together, back to back, and hang them on one of the strings. Several sheets can be fumed at once in this manner. Fill the dish with ammonia, and closing the door tightly, let the paper absorb the fumes for fifteen or twenty minutes.

After fuming, the paper should be given a short time to dry before it is used for printing. If your negative is a thin one, a diffused light is better for printing than the direct rays of the sun. Diffused light is a strong light that is not sunlight. If the negative is exceedingly thin, the light indoors, away from the window, will be sufficient.

Satisfactory results cannot of course be achieved with too thin a negative, but this diffused light will give the best print that you can obtain. In examining the print from time to time be sure that you do not open both sides of the printing frame at once, for if you should do this, you will find it impossible to replace the print in exactly the same position, and so it will be spoiled by being printed with double lines.

No exact rule can be given for the length of time which should be allowed for the printing of a negative. It should, however, be allowed to become twice as dark as it ought to be after the picture is toned and mounted. The after processes of toning bleach the print very much, as the amateur will discover for himself.

If a negative is very dense or thick, as over-development will sometimes cause it to become, the time for printing will be considerably extended. While in a good light, with a negative of the right density, five minutes or less is sufficient to print a negative, three or four hours will sometimes be required. When the print has become dark enough, it should be removed from the printing frame and put at once in a dark place where the light cannot reach it. It is what is known as a proof at this stage, and the light will turn it black.

About twenty prints can be toned at once, and, as it is a long process, it is better to wait until several have accumulated than to go through the various operations with only one or two prints. They should first be trimmed to the required size. Some amateurs leave the trimming until after they have finished the toning process, but this is not advisable for several reasons. In the first place, it is easier to trim them beforehand, because they lie flat and are not curled up, as they generally are after toning.

None of the toning solution is wasted in toning the parts that are of no use, and if the accumulated clippings are saved, they are of some value on account of the silver in them. The trimming cannot be satisfactorily done with a pair of scissors, as it is impossible to cut perfectly straight. A thick piece of glass called a cutting mould is used, and a convenient little instrument called Robinson's trimmer. If you do not wish to go to the expense of these articles, however, you can manage very well by using a sharp pen-knife to cut with and any piece of glass with straight edges to trim by.

You should have a firm, hard substance to cut on glass is preferable , and on this should be put a piece of paper. Upon this paper the print should be laid face downward, and after you have decided how much of it you are going to cut away, draw your knife firmly along by the edge of the glass, pressing down well, and the strips will be cut off leaving a smooth, straight edge.

After the prints have been trimmed, they should be soaked in water for fifteen minutes. If you have not running water in which to place them, the water should be changed several times. This preliminary washing must be very thorough, or the toning will not be satisfactory. To prepare your toning bath, make up first a stock solution of fifteen ounces of water and fifteen grains of chloride of gold and sodium. The chloride of gold and sodium can be obtained in small bottles which come for the convenience of the amateur prepared in just the desired quantity.

For a toning bath for twenty prints, take ten ounces of water, three grains of sodic bicarbonate, six grains of sodic chloride common salt , and three ounces of your stock solution of gold. Add to this bath three ounces of the stock solution of gold that has had three drops of saturated solution of bicarbonate of soda added to it. This bath should be alkaline, and you can test it with red litmus paper. If it turns the paper slightly blue, it is ready for use. Put this bath in a flat tray porcelain preferably , and then lay the prints in it face down. Move them all the time, to insure evenness of tone and to prevent spots.

The prints are of a reddish-brown color when they are put into the toning bath, and in about fifteen or twenty minutes they begin to turn to a rich purplish black. Experience will teach the amateur at what point the prints should be removed from this bath. They should lie long enough to have every tinge of red entirely removed, and yet not long enough to turn the prints to a dull gray.

When the prints have been sufficiently toned, they should be thoroughly washed and then put into the fixing bath. This bath is made of one gallon of water, one pound of sodic hyposulphite, one tablespoonful sodic bicarbonate, and one tablespoonful common salt. These ingredients should be thoroughly dissolved, and then a portion put in a tray. This tray must be kept for the fixing bath and not be used for any other purpose.

The prints are put in the tray in the same manner as in the toning bath, and moved continually until they are fixed. This process should take fifteen minutes, or, if the bath is rather cool, the time may be extended to twenty minutes. After the prints have been removed from the fixing bath they are put in a strong solution of salt and water, to prevent their blistering. After they have been in this solution for about five minutes they are then ready for their final washing. The prints should be left in running water for some hours, and there is very little danger of washing them too long or too thoroughly.

After every trace of the fixing bath has been removed, the prints may be taken from the water and dried between sheets of chemically-pure blotting paper. The prints are now ready to mount. This is by no means the least difficult nor the least important of the many processes necessary to secure a successful picture. Even if care has been exercised in all the other processes, yet if the prints are carelessly mounted they will not look well. The prints should be wet in clean water and laid in a pile upon each other, with their faces down.

It is necessary to have a very adhesive paste to make the prints stick well to the mounts. There are some pastes that are manufactured for this purpose, but it is very easy to make one which will work equally well. Boiled laundry starch, with the addition of a little white glue, is perhaps the best; it can be easily made, and with the addition of a few drops of carbolic acid will keep well.

It is made in the proportion of one and three-quarter ounces of starch, mixed with one ounce of water, till it is a smooth paste, as thin as cream, and eighty grains of glue added with fourteen ounces of water. The whole should be well boiled and six drops of carbolic acid added. This can be put in a bottle and will keep a long time. After the water is pressed from the wet prints a bristle brush is dipped in the paste and drawn back and forth over the print, till it is thoroughly covered. The position on the mount should have been previously marked with a pencil or with pin-pricks, and when the print is well covered with paste it should be carefully lifted and put in place.

With a piece of paper laid over it and a flat paper-cutter, all the unnecessary paste and any bubbles of air may be pressed out from between the print and the mount. If it is desired to mount prints in an album, a piece of cardboard, an eighth of an inch smaller than the print, should be placed upon the back of the print and the exposed edge covered with paste. Put on just as little as possible and lift it in place at once, before the paste has time to dry. Pass a soft cloth over it to press it into place and then close the album.

In less than an hour it will be dry, and if properly mounted will be firmly adhering to the page. The one important factor for success in photography is care. Without it, you can accomplish nothing, no matter how complete and costly your outfit may be. With care and patience you may achieve results that will be a pleasure to your friends as well as yourself, and will give permanent existence to pleasant scenes and occasions that otherwise must be only memory pictures.

Elizabeth Brightwen describes, in "Nature Notes," her method of collecting birds' feathers, by grouping them artistically in the page of a large album. Cartridge paper of various pale tints is best, as one can choose the ground that will best set off the colors of the feathers. Every other page may be white, and about three black sheets will be useful for swan, albatross and other white-plumaged birds.

Draw out the tail feathers and place them quite flat in some paper till required. Do the same with the right wing and the left, keeping each separate and putting a mark on the papers that you may know which each contains. Now open the tail-feather packet, and with the razor carefully pare away the quill at the back of each feather. When all the packets are thus prepared it is only the quill feathers that require the razor then we may begin.

One never does two pages alike—there is such scope for taste and ingenuity—and it becomes at last a most fascinating occupation. The best feathers of one wing may be put down, one after the other, till one has sufficiently covered the page; then the other wing feathers may be placed down the other side; the centre may be filled in with the fluffy feathers, and the bottom can be finished off with some breast feathers neatly placed so as to cover all quill ends. It is best, I find, to fill a wide-mouthed bottle with dry gum, and just cover the gum with the water, allow it to melt, keep stirring and adding a few drops of water till just right—no bought liquid gum equals one's own preparation.

It may interest some to know how I obtained the ninety-one birds which fill my books. Some were the dried skins of foreign birds, either given me by kind friends or purchased at bird-stuffers'. The woodpecker and nut-hatch were picked up dead in the garden. The dove and budgerigars were moulted feathers saved up until there were sufficient to make a page. It is a pleasure to me to be able to say no bird was ever killed to enrich my books.

It is always lonesome here, and to-day will be the worst of all. Only think of the fun the girls will be having in dear old Deerfield, while I am off out here in this—". She stopped short, fearing she might say too much. What she had been about to say was "this horrid, desolate Kansas ranch. Nothing but snow, snow, until I am nearly blind. But think of the girls at home—what they are having.

They are getting their tables ready, this very minute. They will darken the parlors and have gas-light, and pretty dresses and lots of callers. But I have often told you we must bear in mind why we left the East, and why we are here. Father would not have been alive but for this change of climate and open-air life.

You know he is getting well, and is so happy in that. We ought not to mind anything if he can be well again. Lilian felt ashamed, and tried to dry her tears. Yet she was unwilling to quite give up her discontent. Then, desperately, "I wish there would be a cyclone or a blizzard, or a prairie fire! I wish the Indians would make a raid! Just then Lilian heard a great stamping of feet and gay voices outside on the kitchen threshold.

Her four brothers were coming in from doing their morning chores. As they entered they let in a great rush of cold air. Jack spied Lilian through the half-open sitting room door. Wyman, "and can do a great variety of things. Lilian isn't strong enough for hard riding, and, besides, she misses her friends. Jack went into the sitting-room and playfully pulled her ears, and tried to laugh her out of her gloom.

She told him all that had been in her thoughts—how the Deerfield girls were getting ready for callers, what pretty dresses they would have, and what gay, good times. I want anything except this awful experience. I'd make my very best courtesy and wish him a Happy New Year. I would spread the table with the rose-bud china, make coffee for him, and—".

Then he'd tuck your braids into his belt, and away he'd go to the reservation to hang them up on the ridge-pole of his wigwam! Lilian watched the four boys on their ponies go down the poplar-lined lane to the highway, and then, too desperate for reading or study, or even helping her mother, she flung herself on a sofa and hid her face. The day was a dazzling one.

Neither of these did Lilian have, and it took her nearly the entire forenoon to get through her bitter struggle with self. When she finally roused herself she found her mother had put the rooms to rights, and besides her own work, had done all the little tasks Lilian had been used to assume. This made her remorseful. She got her books and began to study. But somehow the brilliant sunshine kept drawing her to the window to look out. The sky was of an intense blue that was almost purple. The blue-jays were flitting and calling.

She stood tapping a tune on the window panes. Presently she noticed, on the far crest of one of the snow billows, some moving black figures. They were mere specks against the intense blue beyond, but they fixed her attention. Almost as soon as she saw them, however, they disappeared in an intervening valley. Almost immediately her curiosity was stimulated again by the re-appearance of the figures on the next rise.

She could not distinguish numbers, but she felt certain it was horsemen. Again they vanished from the crest into the lower-lying space between the land-billows. And so she watched them until they were near enough for her to see it was indeed horsemen. Perhaps they will turn at the Climbing Hill Corners. They can't be coming here. Lilian ran after the glass. She adjusted it and raised it to her eyes. She had only one glimpse, however, before the descending riders were again hidden by an intervening ridge.

It seemed a long time before they came again in sight. Lilian had just said, "They've turned on the Climbing Hill road," when they burst into full view on a not-distant summit and halted. Lilian could distinctly see them pointing, as if discussing the way to take. Then, of one accord, they put spurs to their ponies and came wildly dashing down the slope. Wyman grew pale also. During her short life in the West she had seen only one or two isolated Indians, and those always at railway stations—dull, commonplace creatures enough, and with nothing suggestive of the warrior about them.

I wish—I wish the boys were here. Indeed the Indians were coming on fast. They were now in plain sight on the long incline and were riding at a full gallop, gesticulating and pressing forward with what looked to Lilian like savage fierceness. Wyman, her native courage reasserting itself. They are not going by. They have halted, and are pointing to the house. They are turning in at the lane. Oh, mother! But while she was speaking, the Indians had wheeled into the gateway and swept up with a headlong pace to the very door.

They swung themselves from their saddles, tethered their ponies to the hitching rails and came quickly up on the porch. Wyman had thrown off her momentary fear. She stepped to the door and opened it. Lilian trembled in every muscle. The leader of the party was a huge fellow, much taller than his followers. He was more fantastic in his dress, too, and had streaks of paint on his cheeks. The rest had turkey feathers stuck into the bands of their slouch hats, and all had blankets over their shoulders. The chief uttered a surly "How!

He obeyed directly, the rest stalking after him in perfect silence. They went at once through the sitting-room to the kitchen stove and held out their hands to warm. This done, they squatted on the floor, with various low guttural sounds to each other, as if exchanging views. They apparently approved of the comfort, for a stolid silence ensued. Lilian was absolutely spellbound with terror and could not move.

Wyman went to the pantry to prepare them food. The chief was restless. He kept his eyes roving over everything. Finally he began to move about. He waved his hand at Lilian and pointed to the rosebud china, making an imperative gesture, as if to say, "We want to eat off those. Lilian, anxious to seem to want to please these terrible visitors, nodded and smiled a ghastly smile. The very fact that she must do something seemed to relieve the spell of cold horror that had settled on her.

She took a fresh cloth from a drawer, and spread it deftly on the table. As she straightened the corners daintily, to see if they were quite even, the Indian grumbled his approval. She took out the dishes and set seven places. She recalled, with a great thump of her heart, what Jack had said about scalping, but as yet there had been no warlike demonstrations.

She began to be more at ease. But what was that uneasy chief doing? He was prying into everything. Lilian distinctly saw him put her scissors into his pocket. But she dared not protest. While thus distracted, she heard her mother in the kitchen burst into a merry laugh. Wyman was in the pantry, holding a corner of her apron over her mouth, as if to smother her amusement. There sat the six Indians on the floor, with hats drawn down surlily over their faces, and with blankets shrugged about their shoulders.

Wyman pointed silently at the ludicrous row of savages, and covered her lips again with her apron. Wyman had made the circle of waiting braves move somewhat away from the stove, so that she could cook ham and warm potatoes. Lilian returned to her table-setting. She placed a spoon-holder on the cloth, full of bright tea-spoons. The inquisitive chief gave a genuine whoop of delight at sight of them. He sprang to her side and openly began putting them in his pocket.

This was too much. Lilian flew at him and tried to snatch them away from him. He scowled fiercely, and jabbered at her in excited gutturals. At once she heard a great scuffling of feet in the kitchen. The other Indians, attracted by the sound, were coming to his rescue.

Here," to the others, "your chief is stealing. But he can't have my spoons. You—" catching hold of the nearest one— "Jack! He's just a common thief! But allow me to present to you our cousin, Harold Wyman, just arrived from Wyoming. I saw you were well over your first fright, so I thought I'd let the boys carry out their fun.

Let's have dinner. All we lack now is the coffee, Lilian.

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When the new cousin, and Uncle Abner's boys and the four teasing brothers were seated about the table, Lilian asked:. This morning when you were crying for callers—especially Indians—the thought struck us it would be lots of fun to give you your wish. We found Cousin Harold at Uncle Abner's, and he helped us out. He's been on a ranch for years. We knew you wouldn't recognize him. The rest of us kept in the background. I don't believe they've had half as jolly a time as we have. Their calls will be just the poky, polite ones. But mine are genuine wild West.

Collin stood staring at Trudy. She had not loosened her clinching hold for an instant, and, before he had realized it, the last warning had been shouted, the plank had been withdrawn, and the Sandy Hook was moving off. And he stood on the pier. Trudy tried to stop her shower of tears, and Collin could but look at her. It was a rare thing to see Trudy cry, and it was on his account she was crying.

What are you going to do now? What are you going to do with me? Tell me that! With a reckless laugh, Collin turned into the freight-office and threw himself down on a box in an unnoticed corner. And Trudy followed her prisoner. How could I? That would have been the worst! How could you have wanted to, Collin? Worse than what? His head hung in his hands, and his eyes were sullenly lowered.

You'd see things plain enough if you stood in my place, Trudy, and you'd feel! Do you want me to tell you just how things stand? I've lost my place because I was a fool, and worse than a fool! That Grand View business is all over town. More than one fellow has said 'Grand View' to me and snickered. It's got around worse than the thing was, too! Gus Morey told me he heard we'd started to steal the best horse and buggy in Conover's stables and got snapped up at Buxton. I've lost my place, and do you think I can get another, with a thing of that sort hanging over my head?

I guess not! I'd have done anything. I tried to get something to do at the Riggs House; and I went up to the sawmill and the canning factory; and I got the same answer everywhere. They'd all heard the story, and they said they didn't want a boy with a recommendation of that kind. But he isn't going to suffer for it; not a bit. His father's got money, and Dolph can go on loafing around town and getting other fellows into trouble.

He'll never get come up with. Nobody could have got me into any trouble if I'd done the right way. But it's done, and look at me now. The whole town is down on me. And mother ," said Collin, grimly—"mother's the worst! This thing has soured her till she hasn't a kind word or thought for me.

She said she ought to turn me out of the house; that I was a torment and a disgrace to her, and she ought not to put up with me. I do believe it! And if she thinks that way now, what will she think when she reads the note I left for her? I couldn't face her, and tell her I'd taken that money, but she knows it by this time. And I'd like to know how I'm going to see her after that! She won't believe I meant to put it back; she won't believe anything; she's down on me, and I can't stand it!

The best thing I can do, and the only thing, is to take myself off; and I'm going to do it. I don't know what'll happen to me, nor what'll become of me. But I'm going. You've stopped me this time, whatever you did it for. I'm not worth your worrying, Trudy; I'll tell you that. But I'll go yet. Trudy stood looking at her captive in more hopelessness than she would admit to herself. She knew that this, Collin's first serious trouble, had overwhelmed him till he had despaired. She could see plainly enough the weakness of his arguments, and she foresaw the misery into which he was ready and anxious, in his despondency, to plunge.

But how to make him see it? That was another matter, and one which staggered the faithful, anxious girl. To run away! What folly, and what sure ruin! But, if Collin would not see that hard truth? Trudy's heart sank. She had gained her point, for once; but beyond that, which was little, would she prevail? Collin was young and headstrong and in the depths of woe, and what would, in spite of her, be the outcome, Trudy feared to think. Rosalie Scott was coming towards them at a quick trot, looking this way and that, searchingly, till she saw Trudy.

What a girl you are! What were you after? If I ever saw such a runner! I knew you could row, and now I know you can run. I thought you'd seen a ghost, or something worse. You'd have run the other way, though. She looked from Trudy to Collin, with undisguised wonder. Collin only stared at her. Trudy smiled, but with quivering lips, and traces of her tears were plain. She was the picture of amazement and curiosity, and Collin could not help smiling. He was dazzled, too, by the gay apparition in the yellow-ribboned dress, the big, daisy-trimmed hat and the patent-leather shoes. I didn't think it was anything private, or—solemn.

That's what she was running for. The boat's gone, and we'd better go. I don't know what Trudy's going to do with me now. Maybe she knows. He got up, his bundle sagging from a nerveless hand and his face dull, and they turned up the pier. That's the way I always do, you know. I do things before I think. And I'm sorry for you. Softly humming, Rosalie walked a little apart and pretended to find great interest in the still water, the scattering row-boats and the few belated bathers along the shore. For want of other occupation she took off her hat and swung it till the daisy-wreath was in peril.

Trudy and Collin walked in silence. But the active brain of Miss Rosalie Scott was by no means idle. Trudy was destined to see yet another remarkable instance of the impulsiveness without which Rosalie Scott would not have been Rosalie Scott, and which worked for good or ill as the case happened. When they had covered the pier and had passed up the street as far as the Bellevue Hotel, had reached its broad entrance, she suddenly turned.

Oh, don't look so scared—just for a minute! Trudy Carr has promised me a visit for a long time, anyhow, and—well, you'll have to come. Rosalie was in earnest. She took them each by the hand and pulled them up the wide piazza steps, reiterating her commands. And Collin Spencer, who had had no notion of complying, found himself, before he could get his breath back, standing in one of the fine great parlors of the Bellevue Hotel, gaping in confusion at a long mirror and blue plush chairs.

She ran to a small knob in the wall and pressed it, and to the brass-buttoned boy who appeared said, "Please ask Mrs. Scott to come here. Sit down, I say. It's only a notion of mine, that's all. I know you won't care. Maybe it can't do any good, but it won't do any harm. I know something is the matter, and I—I'd like to have my mother hear about it. If you knew her! She's so good to everybody, and always does just the right thing, too. I've known her to help so many people and think nothing of it. That's the way she's made. I don't know what's the matter, but I know you got me out of an awful fix, Trudy Carr, and that my mother knows it, too, and—".

I thought you were to meet them at the boat? And Rosalie's mother, who had a face of sweet refinement, with clear gray eyes, and wore a handsome dark gown with billowy-lace falling from neck and sleeves, and had a pleasant voice and smile—Rosalie's mother shook hands with Trudy Carr and Collin Spencer, and sat down near them. And Rosalie brought a stool and perched herself between them. Collin was getting every moment stiffer and redder. He felt like an intruder, and, despite these softening influences, made up his mind not to say a word. It was nobody's business but his.

It was his own miserable affair. How, then, did the story get itself told? He sat bewildered by all this strange and unwelcome situation, while slowly, drawn out by questions and gentle comments, his trouble was told. His first weak mistake, the disaster at Buxton, Trudy's attempt at righting matters and her failure, and all the dreary facts of the present condition of things.

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I should be glad to do something, believe me. I am deeply sorry for you, my boy. It seems to me that your case is a peculiarly hard one. I am glad I have heard your story, for I can give you my sympathy, if nothing more. You made a mistake; you were thoughtless and weak; yes, you did wrong. But—I can't help saying it—it seems to me that your punishment is too great. You have escaped nothing; the worst has come. The worst fault was not yours, and yet you are suffering most. At least, don't be ashamed of having told me," said Mrs. Scott, that ready sympathy of which her face spoke strongly roused.

I have heard nothing but items concerning her since Rosalie first saw her. And that little adventure on the bay is not to be forgotten. Yes, I would help you gladly. Conover what I can be and do, there'd be some chance for me; I could 'live it down. Scott's quiet agreement. I had an idea about it—I wonder—I want to do what I can.

I might send a note to Mr. We'll go together. I have an idea, as I said. Collin was getting used to bewilderments, to being hustled and managed like a baby instead of a tall, seventeen-year-old boy. One thing—he had not been remarkably successful at managing himself. And when, ten minutes later, he stood with Mrs. Scott, her bright young daughter and Trudy in Mr.

Conover's livery-stable, he kept a stiff upper lip and waited for what should come. Conover came forward to meet the oddly-assorted four. For Collin Spencer he had only unsmiling surprise, and his glance at Trudy was puzzled. But he knew by sight the lady from the Bellevue Hotel, and he raised his hat with an inquiring face, and drew forward the only chair the stable boasted. Accepting it, Rosalie's mother wasted no time in getting to the point, and wasted no words.

Conover," she began, "I must apologize for being an interferer, for that is what I am. My business concerns this boy. I have just now heard his story from the beginning. Conover, half doubting the interest of such a lady in such a case. About the effort of this little girl, Trudy Carr, to save him, and about the discovery and discharge. And, Mr. Conover, I want to ask nothing less than that you take the boy back into your service on a month's trial.

I feel convinced that the consequences of his error are almost more than he deserves, and perhaps more than you realize, Mr. He was led into it by a bad companion, whom he has certainly dropped. First impressions go for something. I cannot but believe the boy himself is steady and trustworthy. And then the anxiety of this girl, who seems to have been such a friend to him—".

The story has spread through the town in exaggerated forms. He has tried to get work elsewhere and on that account failed. I cannot see what is before the boy unless you can forgive and take him back, for it is here only, it seems both to him and to me, that he can redeem himself. I ask you to take him on a month's trial, and I wish to give bonds for his good behavior.

I am Mrs. John Scott. This, then, was Mrs. Scott's idea of which she had spoken. Surely a convincing one.

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