fashion; and find a playmate in the bright, hearty, it may be, rough boy from the middle class or from the home of poverty?

But more than this, you have a duty to your country. What, in this light, is your duty toward American philistinism? Your son must be made as refined and as cultivated as a carefully regulated home influence can make him; and then he must be sent to the public school, to rub against the coarseness of the boy of the town. If your boy cannot endure the rough contact, he is not worth an education. If he can, he will be a stronger man and a keener scholar be

cause of it. Above all, he will give his less fortunate companion a glimpse of cultivation and refinement at the time when it has power to lift him. In this way, cultivation may link itself with rugged manhood; and from this union must come in time that true American who shall make the lonely philistine unfashionable. As the American philistine ceases to be the type by which the nations recognize us, men shall say, "Here is the man that Washington and Jefferson and Franklin dreamed of when they founded the new republic, a man who is an embodiment of refinement and simplicity, — the American gentleman.”

M

I'm

Y wife thinks I grow rusty. Jove! I'd like a chance to rust. tired of polishing up!" This remark, made by one elderly man to another in a Fifth Avenue stage, was overheard by Dr. North with amused interest. The speaker lifted his shining beaver and exposed a forehead scored with the hieroglyphics of many perplexities. A moment later he stopped the stage and descended, followed by the doctor, and the two men found themselves ascending the same flight of steps, leading to one of the mansions which face the avenue. Explanations followed, and the doctor learned that the man who was so tired of polishing up was the father of young Field to whom he had been summoned.

The son, Otis Field, was a member of the Harvard Nine, and had received a slight injury some weeks before upon the ball field. A growing lameness sent him home at Easter, and a week later he began to realize with dismay that he was "in for it," as he expressed himself. Two or three prematurely hot days reminded him of the cool and spacious country-house where he had been wont,

as a boy, to pass his summers with his Aunt Hannah. He began to long to exchange the coddling concessions of home nursing for his aunt's bracing individuality. Besides, his mother and sister were going to Europe, and since there was now no prospect of his accompanying them, the sooner he put the city behind him the better. Accordingly, Aunt Hannah had been consulted, and her neighbor, Dr. North, the leading physician of Rockford, had undertaken to be the young man's escort.

"You'll dine with us, of course," said Mr. Field to the doctor. "Oh, never mind," he added, as the doctor glanced at his travelling gear; "that's all right. Mills will brush you up. We've half an hour before dinner," he continued, consulting his watch. "Otis will claim you until then,- and here comes Mills to show you up."

"Hello, doctor!" exclaimed the young man, at sight of the doctor's homely features. "Now this is what I call friendly! They tell me you have promised Aunt Hannah to gather up my fragments and carry them to Rockford."

"Yes, she is eager to have you with her," assented the doctor with a cordial hand-shake. "Let me see. Can you walk?"

"Hobble, you mean. Behold!"—and the patient rose with considerable difficulty and slowly made his way across the room, with the help of a cane.

"There, don't walk back!" commanded the doctor, scanning the young man closely and noting the pain the effort cost him. Then pushing his easy chair forward, he made him sit down while he drew him back.

"Now tell me where you feel pain when you walk."

"Just here," said Otis, indicating the place.

"H-m! So I supposed," said the doctor gloomily. "And you probably thought it necessary to exercise a good deal, eh?"

"Yes, and a deuced bad time I've treated myself to whenever I've tried it." "Just so. Well," after a pause, “we'll get some crutches and get you off to Rockford, and try what virtue there is in fresh air."

The doctor appeared in the diningroom some minutes later with an exterior improved by the manipulations of Mills. The ladies appearing at the same moment, the doctor was presented to them by his host with formality, and Mrs. Field began at once to ply him with questions about Otis. He was deciding that she was a solicitous mother, even if somewhat strenuous with her spouse, when the lady turned to her daughter, saying,

“Well, Maud, I'm so relieved! I was afraid we might have to give up our plans for the summer. And it would have been such a disappointment!" she added, turning to the doctor. "We had made all our arrangements for going abroad when that unlucky accident happened to Otis. But since you think it only a matter of time and fresh air, — "

The doctor was about to qualify his statement, when Mr. Field put in decided word.

a

What good could you and Maud do by remaining?

The doctor glanced at Miss Field, who seemed to have lapsed into a condition

of semi-consciousness. She ate mechanically, and there was a remote look in her eyes, as though she had no part or lot in her environment. He saw the futility of admitting the truth about the patient's condition to these women, and decided to discuss it later with the father alone.

The conversation for a time was forced and desultory. Finally, Mrs. Field spoke of the opera. She regretted that her guest could not hear one of the Wagner representations. The doctor explained that he had availed himself of the opportunity the previous evening, and added something not enthusiastic.

Here Miss Maud recalled her intellect and bestowed a scornful attention, while the doctor deprecated any claim to being musical in the modern sense. During his years of student life in Germany he had attended opera with great delight.

"But music in Germany," he said, "is like the air you breathe, not a luxury, but a part of life. I confess I am not musical enough to enjoy it in the same degree here. There, it is the music you go to enjoy. The accessories are modest, they do not eclipse it. Here, the audience and the glare so distract that it amounts to desecration."

The ladies stared and evidently thought the criticism audacious.

"Moreover," continued the doctor, "Wagner's music always tortures me. It is mostly written in the service of the painful emotions, hate, grief, despair, and, as he is master of his art, how can one do otherwise than suffer?"

"Your views are certainly original," said Mrs. Field in a tone tinged with

sarcasm.

"Give me a cheerful frog-pond any summer night," quoth her spouse, "rather than a box at the opera."

Mrs. Field's nostrils quivered an effect often produced by her spouse's utterance. It was the only protest she condescended to make, but it always sufficed. Mr. Field had thus become so well-trained that he rarely transgressed when guests were present.

"There was not a vacant seat the last Lohengrin night," said the lady.

"How many of the audience, do you

But it might yield yet to careful treat

ment.

"But suppose it doesn't yield?" asked the startled father.

The doctor tried to put him off; but Mr. Field insisted, and the doctor admitted his fears of an abscess. Mr.

"Damn

Here the nostrils palpitated dangerously, and their owner rose and led the way to the drawing-room, remarking significantly, "One of us must go to Otis."

Mr. Field accepted this dismissal with a deprecating air, as of one who acknowledges a merited rebuke.

"You see the result of a business life, Dr. North. It crushes all ideality," observed Mrs. Field.

The doctor observed more than one . result. As he glanced about the luxuriously appointed apartment, he wondered whether these women ever felt one throb of gratitude, or any appreciation of the labor that gained all this elegance, and the indulgence which supplied it. His heart went out to the old man, and he experienced a pang as he thought of the

trial in store for him.

It was fortunate that Mrs. Field was too full of her own ideas to remark his preoccupation. She was bent upon demonstrating to her guest that she, at least, was well equipped for keeping ennui at bay. Art, literature, science, ethics, all were brought forward for discussion. She did not say, "You see I am a woman of culture," but that was the impression she was ardently striving to convey. An hour passed in this way before her husband's appearance put a stop to the flow of egotism. Then, to the doctor's great relief, the ladies excused themselves upon the plea of some social engagement.

Now was the doctor's opportunity. He began by saying that he had avoided admitting to the ladies how tedious a case like that of Otis often proved. An unlucky accident upon the base-ball field had caused a strain which, neglected, had resulted in considerable inflammation.

Dr. North explained the connection of the psoas muscle with the human economy. He cheered his host somewhat by suggesting that it might, after all, prove a blessing in disguise; for, even were the abscess averted, the patient would not be able to resume any form of athletics for months.

"If I had a dozen sons, not another should go to college," protested the old man bitterly. "In former times there

was

some ambition among students. Nowadays the men who make any figure do not require brains, but muscle!"

"The lank, pale student was the approved pattern of those times, the midnight-oil man," suggested the doctor smiling.

"And why not midnight oil burned over books as well as midnight gas at amusements? I begin to think that this world is nothing but a iunatic asylum for the rest of the universe. That would explain everything; nothing else will !"'

"An excellent theory," returned the doctor," and a charitable one. And now suppose we go up to Otis and arrange for the trip. I shall ask Dr. Warren to make an examination of the case before leaving town. After that, the less time lost in making the change the better."

The examination made by Dr. Warren early the following morning confirmed Dr. North's diagnosis, and the next train conveyed the patient and his escort to the desired bourne. The trip occupied only four hours, and was planned to cost the least possible effort; yet it made such

"I'll look in when you are rested," said his aunt, as she adjusted the window shutters. "Silas is in the next room. Just touch this bell if you want anything."

Otis turned his languid glance to the window, which commanded a view of the near waters of Long Island Sound. A point of land running out some distance made long shadows, and he could just descry a boat floating idly close to shore. It contained only one figure He felt a feeble curiority about her, as he had felt as to who " Silas" might be. But he was glad there was no one at hand to ask, for in the reaction after the day's bracing there came a languor which made rest a luxury.

a woman.

A floating boat; a blue sky with drifting. clauds; opposite shore in the dim distance; his room large, cheerful, shaker-like in its cleanliness; the odor of sweet-brier creeping in at the windows — upon all of these details Otis closed weary eyes, to wake a couple of hours later with refreshed senses. The boat had disappeared, the shadows were lengthened, and Otis, sitting up in bed, had a great mind to test his powers of locomotion, when his aunt's knock prevented. The door opening disclosed her bearing a small tray with a glass of milk punch. "The doctor's orders!" she nounced.

an

Otis drank with a relish which gratified her; then taking one of her motherly hands, he made her sit down, "for a good visit."

"And first, who is Silas?" he asked. "Oh, he is a young man who is glad to get his board in exchange for such help as he can give me. He will be company for you as well as help, and he won't be under foot when you don't want him. He's reading law."

66 'What all alone in his room?" "Why not? He attends the cases in court when they're on, and hears how they are conducted. And Judge Haight is going to take him into his office next winter."

"It must be rather slow."

"Slow and sure. He hasn't had your

but her face was full of love. Aunt Hannah's head and heart were often at odds. "It's a queer world! Some throw away their chances, and some never have any," she continued.

"Oh, don't go," begged Otis as his aunt moved with that intention; "I've a hundred things to ask. What has become of my old playmate, Edith Campbell? And is that old bookworm, her father, still alive?"

"As much as he ever was."

At this moment a clear whistle was heard, which, approaching, proved to be the air of "The Campbells are Coming." "That's Edith now!" said his aunt. "That's her signal."

"She must be quite a big girl by this time."

"No bigger than she has been for several years."

"Do you mean to say she is a young lady?"

"As much as years can make her. Let's see it is seven years since you passed the summer here."

"By Jove!" exclaimed Otis, "she must be twenty!" His fancy had pictured her still a girl in school frocks.

Footsteps upon the veranda called his aunt to the door, and directly Otis heard a voice outside: " Open your mouth and shut your eyes!"

"Strawberries!" exclaimed his aunt. "As large as plums, I declare!"

"I've heard her. She cultivates vegetables." The doctor broke into a peal of laughter.

"What's the joke?" asked Otis with preternatural gravity.

"I'm picturing to myself your encounter with this great, robust country girl who cultivates vegetables and can pull a good oar."

"How came she by her tastes?" exclaimed Otis. "She didn't get them from the old stock that fossil of a father."

"No, Edith and her father are not very congenial. She offended him on the threshold of life by not being a boy." "He ought to be contented, since she has the habits of one."

"Oh, such habits are his horror. He wanted a boy to become a duplicate of himself."

Your Aunt Hannah insists that the poor mother's life was blighted by his depressing influence."

"But he's had no such blighting effect upon Edith."

'Fortunately not. She has too much mind of her own to succumb."

"It's a problem that from those two lives, one blasted, the other fossilized, there should spring this buoyant, debonnaire, — I don't know exactly what debonnaire means, but it's just the word for her, isn't it?"

"I thought you hadn't seen her!' "No more I have, but,” "Debonnaire," interrupted the doctor, musingly. "Yes, that describes Edith very well."

"And so she manages not only to live, but to thrive?"

"Yes, and she is her father's Nemesis the incarnation of activity, which he abhors. But the old professor is much esteemed by this community, you know." "For what, pray?"

"For his learning and his piety."

"Oh, Lord!" ejaculated Otis, "from such learning and piety, good Lord, deliver us! Who the deuce?" he exclaimed, as a timid knock interrupted the conversation. "Come in!"

The door opening revealed a tall, lank figure, clad in garments so loose as to give the impression of an animated manikin. A rising feeling of amusement at the apparition was dispelled, however, by a glance at the head, which was noble and impressive.

"Good day, Silas," said the doctor. Then noticing Otis staring, he added, "So you haven't met? Mr. Field, let me present your guide, philospher and friend in the person of Mr.

He had actually forgotten the name.

"Silas," interposed the fellow. Otis held out his hand, which the other grasped without shaking.

"Joe? Oh, yes. But Joe isn't the bookworm his father would like him to be. The eldest daughter is the only one the old professor thoroughly approves.

"It would be an easier character to sustain than the other," responded Silas in a slow drawl, an expression of shy humor creeping over his features. Otis's face beamed appreciation, at which the