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that we noticed sobe or the weeds and other said to myself that the ner per
growths which genezydenote deserton or you I would ask VOLVT FC
little use. By the best light of the moon we is. Cannot vou live content
could see that the arcatecture as simple, and and spheres, İTOWIE. 15 TIL E
of a characta highly serving to the IT E. II. DR
Al the buildings were of stone and of good mehr
size. We were great actei ani tese z...
and proposed to conde Gu Tais i IAD
moon should set, and D D D Deti
ing morning--to be here. I
Bentley. "What could be so come. Die
50 real? What could conducer
marriage of verse and philosoçov? 3
he said this we saw around the CEE E
CROSS-street some forms as of people
away.

- The specters," said my companien. his hand on my arm.

* Vagrants, more likely," I answaai. have taken advantage of the surge IME the region to appropriate this comiers beauty to themselves."

** If that be so," said Bentley, “we mus a care for our lives."

We proceeded cautiously, and MSI CHE forms fleeing before us and disamba 25€ supposed, around corners and ma De And now suddenly finding ourseve. IDIE edge of a wide, open pubhc spur. TEST the dim light- for a tall steepis cez moon—the forms of vehicles. iure HZ moving here and there. Burime IT astonishment, we could say a won. 1 * 7 other, the moon moved za tz in its bright light we could ever signs of life and traffic which 3 ished us.

Timidly, with hearts beat not one thought of turning of vagrams, - ibn we were we had een vu sot flet therefore larmies.-WECTE and earned a street dons shane dety. Here and figare, which quickly to

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console him. For some minutes I stood in con- below,“ do you know a book called Stellar
templation, gazing upon the stone pavement Studies,' by Arthur Bentley ? It is a book of
beneath my feet. “And this,” I ejaculated, poems.”
" is a city inhabited by the ghosts of the future, The figure gazed at him. “ No," it said pres-
who believe men and women to be phantoms ently; “ I never heard of it.”
and specters?”

I stood trembling. Had the youthful figure
She bowed her head.

before me been flesh and blood, had the book “But how is it,” I asked, “ that you discov- been a real one, I would have torn it from her. ered that you are spirits and we mortal men ? " “O) wise and lovely being!” I exclaimed,

“ There are so few of us who think of such falling on my knees before her, “ be also bethings,” she answered, “so few who study, pon- nign and generous. Let me but see the last der, and reflect. I am fond of study, and I love page of my book. If I have been of benefit to philosophy; and from the reading of many your world; more than all, if I have been of books I have learned much. From the book benefit to you, let me see, I implore you— let which I have here I have learned most; and me see how it is that I have done it." from its teachings I have gradually come to She rose with the book in her hand. “You the belief, which you tell me is the true one, have only to wait until you have one it," she that we are spirits and you men.”

said, " and then you will know all that you “And what book is that?" I asked. could see here." I started to my feet, and

“It is “The Philosophy of Relative Exis- stood alone upon the balcony. tences,' by Rupert Vance."

“Ye gods!” I exclaimed, springing upon the “I am sorry," said Bentley, as we walked balcony, " that is my book, and I am Rupert toward the pier where we had left our boat, Vance." I stepped toward the volume to seize “ that we talked only to that ghost girl, and it, but she raised her hand.

that the other spirits were all afraid of us. Per“You cannot touch it,” she said. “ It is the sons whose souls are choked up with philosghost of a book. And did you write it ? ” ophy are not apt to care much for poetry;

“Write it? Ņo," I said; “I am writing it. and even if my book is to be widely known, It is not yet finished.”

it is easy to see that she may not have heard “ But here it is,” she said, turning over the of it.” last pages. “As a spirit book it is finished. It I walked triumphant. The moon, almost is very successful; it is held in high estimation touching the horizon, beamed like red gold. by intelligent thinkers; it is a standard work.” “ My dear friend,” said I, “ I have always

told I stood trembling with emotion." High you that you should put more philosophy into

* estimation!” I said. “A standard work ! ” your poetry. That would make it live.”

"Oh, yes," she replied with animation; "and “And I have always told you," said he, it well deserves its great success, especially in “ that you should not put so much poetry into its conclusion. I have read it twice."

your philosophy. It misleads people.” 6 “But let me see these concluding pages," “It did n't mislead that ghost girl," said I. I exclaimed. “Let me look upon what I am “ How do you know?” said he. “Perhaps to write."

she is wrong, and the other inhabitants of the She smiled, and shook her head, and closed city are right, and we may be the ghosts after the book. “I would like to do that,” she said, all. Such things, you know, are only relative. “ but if you are really a man you must not Anyway,” he continued, after a little pause, “I know what you are going to do.”

wish I knew that those ghosts were now read“Oh, tell me, tell me.” cried Bentley from ing the poem I am going to begin to-morrow.”

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According to a superstitious observance among certain fisher-folk, the recovered boat of a drowned fisherman has ended its sphere of usefulness, and is beached, with curses and solemn imprecations by the assembled neighbors. A reference to the custom is made in “A Daughter of Fife," by Amelia E. Barr.

HEY have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun ;

They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done.
Only sunbeams lave her sides, as they float out to the west;
Only sand-drifts kiss the bow, where the sparkling wave has

pressed.
Even little children pause and grow silent, with great eyes,

To point their rosy hands in awe upon her where she lies.
The laden boats go by, with their snowy sails outspread;
The merry laughter echoes on the shore beside the dead;.
Not a thought from those who prized her, that she knew well, face to face;
Not a glance upon the sea-starved one, so lonely in disgrace.
They have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun;
They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done.
Throughout the long night, waves sob the tale unto the tide;
And she writhes in her anguish, and she moans in her pride.
And her strong heart-timbers shrink through the quivering summer day,
And the thirsty beams cry out for one touch of salty spray.
They have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun;
They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done.
Oh, the pity in the fisher's hut, where lights burn dim and low!
Oh, the great nets idly drying, as the swift tides come and go!
Oh, the empty platters waiting, when the oaken board is spread !
Oh, the rude hearts broken, breaking, with the breaking of the bread!
Back she came, with ragged mainsail, plowing through a veil of foam,
Like a frightened steed a-quiver, pressing for the gates of home;
In the roar and in the tempest, she had weathered through the gale,
But her humble sun-browned lovers came not back beneath her sail.
They have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun;
They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done.

Virginia Frazer Boyle.

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console him. For some minutes I stood in con- below,“ do you know a book called “Stellar templation, gazing upon the stone pavement Studies,' by Arthur Bentley ? It is a book of beneath my feet. “And this,” I ejaculated, poems.” “is a city inhabited by the ghosts of the future, The figure gazed at him. “No," it said preswho believe men and women to be phantoms ently; “ I never heard of it." and specters?”

I stood trembling. Had the youthful figure She bowed her head.

before me been flesh and blood, had the book " But how is it,” I asked, “ that you discov- been a real one, I would have torn it from her. ered that you are spirits and we mortal men ? O wise and lovely being!” I exclaimed,

“ There are so few of us who think of such falling on my knees before her, “be also bethings,” she answered, “so few who study, pon- nign and generous. Let me but see the last der, and reflect. I am fond of study, and I love page of my book. If I have been of benefit to philosophy; and from the reading of many your world; more than all, if I have been of books I have learned much. From the book benefit to you, let me see, I implore you— let which I have here I have learned most; and me see how it is that I have done it." from its teachings I have gradually come to She rose with the book in her hand. “ You the belief, which you tell me is the true one, have only to wait until you have done it," she that we are spirits and you men.”

said, " and then you will know all that you “ And what book is that?" I asked. could see here." I started to my feet, and

“It is “The Philosophy of Relative Exis- stood alone upon the balcony. tences,' by Rupert Vance.”

“Ye gods!” I exclaimed, springing upon the “I am sorry,” said Bentley, as we walked balcony, “that is my book, and I am Rupert toward the pier where we had left our boat, Vance." I stepped toward the volume to seize “ that we talked only to that ghost girl, and it, but she raised her hand.

that the other spirits were all afraid of us. Per“ You cannot touch it,” she said. “It is the sons whose souls are choked up with philosghost of a book. And did you write it ? " ophy are not apt to care much for poetry;

“ Write it? Ņo," I said; “ I am writing it. and even if my book is to be widely known, It is not yet finished.”

it is easy to see that she may not have heard “But here it is,” she said, turning over the of it." last pages. “As a spirit book it is finished. It I walked triumphant. The moon, almost is very successful; it is held in high estimation touching the horizon, beamed like red gold. by intelligent thinkers; it is a standard work." · My dear friend,” said I,“ I have always told

I stood trembling with emotion. “ High you that you should put more philosophy into estimation!” I said. “A standard work!” your poetry. That would make it live."

"Oh, yes," she replied with animation;" and “And I have always told you," said he, it well deserves its great success, especially in “that you should not put so much poetry into its conclusion. I have read it twice."

your philosophy. It misleads people.” “But let me see these concluding pages,” “It did n’t mislead that ghost girl,” said I. I exclaimed. “Let me look upon what I am “ How do you know ? ” said he.“ Perhaps to write."

she is wrong, and the other inhabitants of the She smiled, and shook her head, and closed city are right, and we may be the ghosts after the book. “I would like to do that,” she said, all. Such things, you know, are only relative. “ but if you are really a man you must not Anyway," he continued, after a little pause, “I know what you are going to do.”

wish I knew that those ghosts were now read“Oh, tell me, tell me.” cried Bentley from ing the poem I am going to begin to-morrow.”

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BEACHED.

According to a superstitious observance among certain fisher-folk, the recovered boat of a drowned fisherman has ended its sphere of usefulness, and is beached, with curses and solemn imprecations by the assembled neighbors. A reference to the custom is made in “A Daughter of Fife," by Amelia E. Barr.

HEY have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun ;

They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done.
Only sunbeams lave her sides, as they float out to the west;
Only sand-drifts kiss the bow, where the sparkling wave has

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pressed.

Even little children pause and grow silent, with great eyes,

To point their rosy hands in awe upon her where she lies. The laden boats go by, with their snowy sails outspread; The merry laughter echoes on the shore beside the dead;. Not a thought from those who prized her, that she knew well, face to face; Not a glance upon the sea-starved one, so lonely in disgrace. They have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun; They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done. Throughout the long night, waves sob the tale unto the tide; And she writhes in her anguish, and she moans in her pride. And her strong heart-timbers shrink through the quivering summer day, And the thirsty beams cry out for one touch of salty spray. They have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun; They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done. Oh, the pity in the fisher's hut, where lights burn dim and low! Oh, the great nets idly drying, as the swift tides come and go! Oh, the empty platters waiting, when the oaken board is spread ! Oh, the rude hearts broken, breaking, with the breaking of the bread! Back she came, with ragged mainsail, plowing through a veil of foam, Like a frightened steed a-quiver, pressing for the gates of home; In the roar and in the tempest, she had weathered through the gale, But her humble sun-browned lovers came not back beneath her sail. They have left her all alone, with her keel turned to the sun; They have left her, with a curse, for the deed that she has done.

Virginia Frazer Boyle.

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