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wonderful dress, after a while, but in his supper also, and excused himself and got up and went out on to the veranda. The early twilight had come and above the last crimson streak across the western sky the quiet heavens were purple, set here and there with palpitating stars, like headland lights on a darkened sea. Glen thrust his clenched hands in the sagged pockets of his rough tweed jacket and went and leaned against the trellis of the porch, looking off southward over the dimming valley. A bell, for Thursday evening prayer service, sounded faint from the village, coming teeteringly on the gentle breeze: here and there the lights of homes flashed forth, gleaming yellow, like a constellation fallen down from the serene sky above, and then the late moon poked her prow above the distant blackshaped mountains and launched herself on the placid sea of night. But of these scenes and sounds the tall silhouetted figure on the veranda took no evident note, and the call of the men to the cattle for the night, the flashing of a lantern down the lane, and the clamor of Lad, the pup, wheedling the sheep from the nearby pasture into the fold, all of which should have called him from his reverie passed unnoticed. The cool of the spring night strengthened, but Glen did not feel it. Only shifting his weight now and again from one rough-shod foot to the other, he continued leaning against the vineclad support, his unheeding eyes roving from light to light and down the long, pensive shadows of the woods. Perplexed by his peculiar position, beset and handicapped by untoward circumstances, he had got himself into that frame of mind where the unintended shaft of doubt, let loose by Mrs. Marsh's chance remark, penetrated his armor of patient faith, touching him to the quick with its sting of poignant dread. He turned and went back into the house. Mrs. Marsh was just sitting down with her crocheting by the even

ing lamp. Her husband, his toilroughened hands in contrast with the smooth vellum of the volume, was reading a copy of Glen's well-worn set of DeQuincey essays. Alan MacLaren sat droning by the open fireside, his pale blue eyes fixed vacantly on the leaping flames. The old Scotchman sat thus much of late evenings, thinking, thinking, seeing faces in the fire of those he loved. The bonny tresses of the wife he had lost and of the daughter lost to him also were in the yellow of the flame and their bright eyes in the glow of the lambent embers. At times he would start forward in his old rush-bottomed chair, gripping his great, age-weakened fists together until the kuckles knotted like rope ends, murmuring impotent curses on all who had any hand in luring Flora from him. Once, a year before, he disappeared for several weeks and then came back haggard and spent after a vain search out in the cruel world, of which he guessed so little, for his “wee bonny lass,” as he never ceased to call her. Since then he passed but little time in his cheerless cottage, but haunted the house, keeping close to Mrs. Marsh or to Glen, saying little, but following them for evident companionship in his travial of heart like a dumb creature. For many things which he did he was not responsible, and no duties were put upon him. But he pottered about, doing this thing and that unconscious that the responsibilities of old had slipped from him. Glen sighed as he passed the bent figure by the hearth, and touched the old man's head gently as he went on through the living apartment and up to his room in the old wing of the building. In this older part of the dwelling Glen maintained his dominion—one room his chamber, the other, full of books, boyish gimcracks, old furniture, fishing rods, and, as Mrs. Marsh was wont to exclaim on cleaning day, “general disorder.”

(To be continued)

THE GREAT “Discovery"

The New England press for the past month has been lining up with the Peary or Cook camps.

We are not aware that any individual has an inalienable right to be first at the North Pole. The principal asset which the world has derived from "the adventurous spirit has been the stirring of red blood and the access of manhood incident to the struggle with the brute forces of nature. It is more than likely that it will judge the relative merits of competing candidates for the honor of “discovery” by the manliness of their respective attitudes, and it is quite possible for any and all to so conduct themselves that the world will shrug its shoulders, and say, “who cares whether you were there or not?”

At the same time this would be unfortunate. Let us be patient and not belittle the greatness of a great achievement.


Street railway companies in Massachusetts have offered to aid the state in its battle against forest fires. The state has accepted the offer, and general orders have gone forth to many of the railway superintendents to begin the work of co-operation at once, on a well-planned system. This move on the part of the railway companies places a commercial value on rural scenes. It is to protect scenery, because its attracts the people and creates traffic for the companies.


Through the generous gift of twenty acres of land in Mattapan, by Mr.

James M. Prendergast, the Boston Association for the Relief and Control of Tuberculosis has been enabled to undertake a new experiment in the after care of discharged sanatorium patients. The return to live in congested quarters of the city often negatives the good results of Sanatorium treatment, so Prendergast Camp has been developed to offer a continuation of the Sanatorium life so far as is consistent with a return to work. In a beautifully wooded tract within the city limits, and only fifteen minutes by trolley beyond the Forest Hills extension of the elevated railroad, men who have had the tubercular process arrested may find ideal outdoor conditions under which to clinch the cure. An administration building, with kitchen, dining-room, shower baths, and toilets, and a long “lean-to,” accommodating twelve men, comprises the present equipment. In the sleeping shack the ward effect has been avoided by a division into “cubicles,” with walls of canvas reaching part way to the ceiling. In each cubicle there is a bed, chair, closet, and chiffonier. Each cubicle is open to the front and has a window in the rear high over the bed, offering ideal conditions for outdoor sleeping. It is expected that patients from the different sanatoria who are ready to return to work, but who dread a return to unfavorable living conditions in the city, will be glad to avail themselves of this opportunity to continue the treatment. The price for board has been fixed at $4 per week. It is aimed to serve well-cooked and appetizing food, with free use of milk and eggs. A small garden was cleared last spring. This will be extended so as to furnish a supply of fresh vegetables for the table.


Mr. Henry E. Paulson and wife are respectively superintendent and matron at the camp. Mr. Paulson left Rutland three months ago, and has undertaken this position in preference to returning to his former work in one of the shoe factories at Campello.

The Prendergast Camp—a night camp, it might be called—is a new departure in caring for tuberculosis. Its progress will be watched with great interest, and if successful it will surely lead to the development of suburban homes specially adapted to rental charges and in construction for the housing of the entire families of patients, both men and women, who seriously need something better than is offered in the congested districts of the city, at a rental within the means of the workingman.


The Brockton Fair is planning this year to hold the greatest outdoor athletic meet ever held in New England. They have gone to a great expense to build a quarter-mile cinder track within the oval of the Fair Grounds, with a good building for training quarters, supplied with shower baths and other accommodations. Having this quarter of a mile track they are enable to have a more complete meet than in former years, when they were dependent on the horse track for their use. There will be another departure this year, the athletic games taking place on Thursday, October 7, one of the big days.

On Tuesday, the first day, there will be the usual children's sports of all kinds, with basket-ball and football games; on Thursday, the seventh annual athletic meet of the Brocktonduced above has been recently acquired by E.C. Berhek, Esq., of Boston, who is to be congratulated upon the possession of so masterly a work from the studio of this distinguished Boston artist. Mr. Monks' chosen field is one inviting either the most laborious study or —slovenliness! To gain a fairly adequate knowledge of the form and habits of an individual species and vary its presentation in pastoral composition might be thought quite sufficient by men of no mean quality. But it is not in this way that Mr. Monks has attained his masterful strength. He is never done with the study of his sheep. He lives among them, and when the accidental interest arises in the great play of out-of-doors, he is there to chronicle it with interpreting insight of his long training. Mr. Monks' sheep are, in the first place, real sheep, capable of moving about on the legs he gives them and cropping grass with their strong teeth and lips. In the second place, they are individuals, each with his personal equation, and in the third place, they are doing something that sheep do in the way that sheep do it. But this is not all. Nor is it sufficient to add that Mr. Monks has been a close student of light and successfully transfers to his canvas an infinite play of color. Over and above all this, which is the firm foundation upon which his art builds, is a pastoral quality drawn from the human heart. His impressionistic realism is set to work doing something more than transcribing objective actuality—to which, nevertheless, it is never false. In all his paintings is that ineffable touch that makes all the world kin. The picture before us is of sheep conscious of the shepherd's care. About them is no fear, no anxiety. They are the sheep of the Twenty-third Psalm— the sheep that are known each by its name. In the background is a hint of abundance, of shelter, and of house. Trust, contentment, peace—these are its message, over and above its splen. did drawing and masterful transcription of light and shade.

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Mr. Monks is an industrious workman. From his field workshops and from his studio, at No. 296 Boylston street, new pictures are constantly appearing, each with its distinctive quality—sometimes leaning toward broad, poetic landscape, sometimes toward almost literal portraiture of the flock or some strong leader or meek-eyed ewe. In this fruitfulness as well is that master shown which ranks him among the men who in our day are making the city of Boston known as an art center to be seriously reckoned with.

As Was forecasted in our September number, the opening of the theatrical season in Boston was unusually bril

liant. At the Tremont Theatre Mr. Louis Mann's strong acting relieved the tameness of a not very strong play. It was followed by “The Candy Shop,” a musical comedy cast along popular lines. At the Majestic also musical comedy holds the boards. “Havana,” fresh from a six months' run at the Casino in New York, with Faith Decker as prima donna, will be very likely to repeat its success in Boston. At the Hollis Street Theatre Rcbert Edeson, in the “Noble Spaniard,” was well received, the houses being unusually large for so early in the season. “On the Eve,” which followed it, with the German actress, Hedwig Reicher, a woman of great beauty, as well as dramatic genius, in the leading part, is as strong a play as is likely to be seen in New England this season. It is interesting to note that in the unusually strong cast of this piece Miss Stella Hammerstein, whose dramatic career opens most auspiciously, will appear. At the Park Theatre, “A Gentleman from Mississippi,” a laughing comedy that is part of the fun of the day, is the attraction. Every one will want to see it. “Senator Langdon” is a character to be

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