in the morning," Myra put in almost as an apology.

"She sees to that," came from Oliver, with a humorous inflection.

Frances Maury playfully shuddered. "Wives have too many duties for me. I shall never marry."

"Don't," said Oliver, and realized his blunder. He glanced quickly at Myra, and was relieved to observe that she did not seem troubled.

It was David, at last, who insisted on going home. Frances obeyed him with a laughing apology.

"You 've given me such a good time, I forgot the hour. May I come again?" "Indeed you must," Myra answered hospitably.

She would not leave, however, until they had promised to come to her concert. She would send them tickets. And they must have tea with her soon. Would they chaperon her once in a while? Oliver eagerly promised to be at her beck and call. He followed her out into the hall, unmindful of David's vile temper.

Myra turned slowly back into the room, noting with jaded eyes the empty beer-bottles, crusts of sandwiches, ashes on the rugs, chairs pulled crazily about. The place still resounded with chatter and song. It no longer seemed her home.

Presently Oliver joined her.

"Well, I enjoyed that," he said with a boyish ring. "Come, now, was n't it jolly to see people again? Every one had a wonderful time." He hummed as he walked lightly over to the table and helped himself to a cigarette. She drooped on the couch. "I'm a little tired."

He lit his cigarette, staring at her over the tiny flame of the match before he blew it out.

"Why, I never noticed. You do look all in."

She straightened with an effort, put a hand to her hair.

"I'm afraid I 've lost the habit." "You'll have to get it again," he said happily. "We 're going to give lots of parties. It's good for my business, too. Walter Mason brought a man here tonight who is thinking of building a

house on Long Island. Walter tells me he went away quite won over."

She was all interest at once.

"Why did n't you tell me? I might have made a special effort to be nice to him."

"Oh, he had a good time," he said carelessly. "I say, Myra, your friend Miss Maury is fascinating. Sings divinely." He moved over to the couch and sat on the edge of it, absentmindedly toying with her hand.

"She 's very lovely," Myra agreed. "Why did n't you sing?" he suddenly asked.

"I did n't need to." The little smile was back, fastened to her lips. A certain unfamiliar embarrassment fell between them. She made no effort to dissipate it.

He yawned.

"Well, you should have. Heavens ! it 's late! Two o'clock. I 'm off to bed." He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"I'll be along in a moment," she said.

She heard him humming in the next room, heard him moving about, heard the bump of his shoes on the floor. She lay, her eyes closed. Presently she got up, went to the piano and let her fingers wander over the keys. Then she began to sing softly. Her fine critical faculties were awake. She listened while she sang-listened as if some one else would rise or fall on her verdict. There was a curious lack of vibrancy in her notes. They did not come from the heart.

Suddenly she stopped. Oliver was calling "Myra."

She thrilled with a swift hope that brought her to her feet, flushed and tremulous.

"Are n't you coming to bed soon? It's too late for music," drifted faintly querulous down the hall.

The light went out of her face.

"I'm coming." A leaden weariness was over her. Slowly she closed the piano.

He was already asleep when she tiptoed into the room. She stood a moment staring down at him.

"The worst of it is that I shall sleep, too," she thought.

T

O an African of the bush there is nothing remarkable about a white man killing wild creatures, but he does not sympathize with the naturalist who captures or purchases animals and seeks to bring them up by hand in order that he can take them to a land where the captives may serve to interest and instruct. A native boy often tires of the task of keeping clean the cage of some animal or bird, and, seeking a short way out of his dilemma, poisons the pet. It never seems to occur to the boy that he may give up his job or that, if his charge is removed, his own removal follows as a matter of course. He simply obeys the native instinct to do away with a living annoyance, beast or man, by the easiest means, and to a Congo native that is poison.

It may be stated almost as a rule that the Congo native will poison without compunction any man or beast that he wishes to get rid of. The sole exception to this rule lies in the white man, who is not to be poisoned with impunity, since a white man inspires a black with fear.

But this fear does not extend to a white man's pets, and many a promising specimen for zoological parks lies buried in the bush because some native has tired of caring for its cage.

Nowhere does nature lend itself more kindly to the practice of the black art than in the African jungle, where

poisonous herbs abound. Most common among those used by the natives are mbundo and ogandga, which are efficacious in ridding one of annoyances, while still more common among them is the drug ebaca, which they take for its stimulating effect.

And if the unlearned denizens of the bush know how to concoct deadly poisons and injurious drugs, they also understand how to distil from palms a wine that has no superior in its convivial and inebriating effects. Had I not known his abstemious habits, I might have suspected one of my party of over-indulgence in this wine when he reported to me that he had killed a distended snake that proved to have swallowed another reptile longer and thicker than itself. Naturally, I demanded to see this anomaly. The two creatures were laid before me, the shorter one slit open, and its victim intact. The latter was thicker and three inches longer than the snake that had swallowed it.

Farmers in the country know that reptiles are fond of a diet of chicken and eggs, and I attributed the loss of many of my hens to these silent thieves. At all events, I had little success in my attempts to raise chickens. In this respect I perhaps had the sympathy of my cat on an occasion when I happened to have both a cat and dog with me. happened that two birds built a nest near my door, and in the second year of my stay four birds settled there, to be

It

followed, in succession, by a whole family colony. It was about this time that I had the cat, and she exhibited an earnest interest in the domestic habits of birds. Every now and then a young bird would drop from the nest, when the cat would instantly seize it. Just as quickly my dog, which would be close by, doing voluntary police duty, would pounce upon the cat, snatch the fledgling, and bring it to me.

A very interesting creature is the giant lizard, sometimes called the monitor lizard, which grows to a length of more than five feet. Its appearance is that of a slenderly built crocodile, and it is very active especially in the use of its powerful tail, which it uses as a weapon. With one slap of this tail it will instantly kill a fullgrown chicken, and it occasionally strikes a human being. This reptile is an inveterate chicken thief, and has a method of waylaying fowls in the woods and grass, where they always manage to get a little more than their share. With such bon-vivant habits, the flesh of this lizard is naturally very good eating, and I myself have partaken of it.

If the hunting of wild life for museum purposes is serious work, there is a lighter side to the experiences of a naturalist in the jungle. One learns to catch words and phrases in the calls of feathered neighbors, and I was often entertained by the cries of a bird which resembled our mocking-bird of the South and uttered sounds like human words. One call that I entered in my note-book was: "Oh, my! Oh, my! Are you a stickler for this particular fritter?" To which this appropriate response came: "Quick! quick! There's a nigger in the kitchen!" My colony at the door introduced themselves continually with "My name is Dicky Flickerty."

When one realizes that the wild things about me knew they were safe in my dooryard and that food was plentiful thereabouts, small wonder they sought its hospitality, although many ventured only at night to feast on mangos. This fruit always ripens in the early rainy season, being at its best in November and December and most fruitful in the latter month. Up on the west coast two

crops of mangos are produced, where different varieties bear fruit about three months apart.

Africa is kind to its wild things; liberal of its fruits and generous in its gifts of roots and herbage, so that no beast or bird, whether it be vegetarian or carnivora, need ever lack for sustenance in the mysterious jungle.

Africa is the land of insect pests, and the endless numbers and varieties of these make existence on the Dark Continent a source of misery and danger at times, even when one has all the protection which human ingenuity can devise. Traveling is made difficult, and explorations are carried on only under great hardship largely because of the tiny winged demons of the jungle.

When traveling by canoe, which is one of the main means of transportation in central Africa, a human being is the object of attack from every side by numbers of tropical flies more vicious than any known to inhabitants of the temperate zones. One of these, iboko, bears a strong resemblance to the common horse-fly. There are several species, some of which are brilliantly colored and beautiful, but, as the saying in Africa goes, "they bite like a dog." As a carrier of disease it has yet to be accused of spreading germs; but as the enemy of passengers and crew of canoes it is almost as cordially hated and avoided as if its sting carried danger of sickness or death.

.

The dreaded tsetse-fly, called by the natives obawli, which carries the fatal sleeping sickness, prevails in countless numbers in the Congo. As a result of its bite, many natives and an occasional European have suffered and died from this insidious disease of the tropics. This fly is apparently increasing in numbers. Along the lower levels of the far interior thousands of people have died from the sickness, and here the tsetse abounds in the greatest proportion. Its victims are often infected for months before they know it. Local physicians, where there are any, which is rare, and some of the missionaries scattered throughout the Congo have been taught by physicians especially sent out by the French Government to

make a blood test by a simple method which definitely determines whether or not one has fallen victim to the disease.

Not every bite of the tsetse-fly, however, brings on the sleeping sickness, as is commonly believed outside of Africa. If this were the case, with the tsetse prevailing in such numbers, there would not be a human being left alive in central Africa, and new-comers would shortly perish. As a matter of fact, only once in a number of timesI might say a great number of timesdoes the bite of the tsetse prove to be infected with the virus of the sickness. No one in the Congo can escape being bitten occasionally, no matter how closely he may guard himself against it; and any one with a purpose such as study. of jungle life is doubly exposed to its bites, and must trust to luck or Providence in the outcome.

The tsetse-fly is of a dark brown color, though it looks black. Its wings overlap on its back, and with its peculiarly formed body, it appears to have the shape of a catfish, only it is shorter in proportion to its width. It is, therefore, a villain that looks its part. It is very stealthy in attack; and almost as if it had a knowledge of human anatomy, it nearly always attacks a part of the body which one cannot conveniently reach. On the back and shoulders, and on the legs under the deck of the canoe, where it is able to ply its proboscis un

disturbed and for a brief moment unnoticed, it attacks. The daylight variety of tsetse stealthily sinks its proboscis into the skin, causing no pain, and therefore seldom attracting the attention of the victim until too late. It fills up with the blood, and withdraws its proboscis. Then its victim feels the sting for the first time. The proboscis is shaped like a barbed spear, which tears the sides of the tiny wound, and the stinging and itching sensation continues for an hour afterward. When it has drunk its fill of blood, it is inclined to be a bit drowsy and slow of movement, and its human victim seeks vengeance by frantic blows about its line of flight. But the tsetse seems as tough as leather. One can strike it hard, and even roll it up in one's fingers, and it will fly away without injury, though, I fancy, a bit ruffled by its experience. This variety is the dreaded enemy of canoe-travelers, as it hangs about the rivers in the daytime, seeking whom it may devour.

Another and rarer variety of tsetse is a fiend of the night, differing somewhat from its river cousin. Instead of a noiseless method of attack, it comes with a headlong rush, buzzing like the monster that it is. One can sometimes hear it buzzing thirty feet away. It flies with such violence that it often hits a solid object and knocks itself almost senseless.

But it never does itself much

Turkish straits that Russia sent seventy-four per cent. of her grain, eighty-eight per cent. of her oil, sixtyone per cent. of her iron ore, and ninety-three per cent. of her manga

nese.

Second, Russia is interested in Constantinople and the Turkish straits because they are the key to the defense of her Black Sea coast territory. Her Southern territory involves her vast grain-fields and certain industrial centers. This coast territory has cities that will again hum with industry, commerce, and export activities. These demand protection from attacks from the open sea. Before the war, Russia had to worry about Turkish attacks only, for the straits were closed to foreign war-ships. This meant that Russia did not feel obliged to maintain costly fortifications and a large fleet in this quarter. Plainly, unless a League of Nations ushers in the reign of lasting peace, Russia cannot view without concern any settlement that will open the straits and the Black Sea to the war-ships of any nation, although the settlement be couched in the most righteous terms.

We have in Russia, despite its revolutionary régime, the normal nationalistic interests that will sooner or later assert themselves. Any settlement of the problem of Constantinople and the Turkish straits, therefore, that does not take into adequate account Russia's security and access to the sea will be only a temporary settlement awaiting the time when a strong and stabilized Russia will be able to challenge it.

executive branch of the American Government is subject to the well-nigh irresistible temptations of isolation and autocracy. It is not simply a question of Mr. Wilson's temperament or of the strength or weakness of any particular secretary of state. It is a question of fundamental political organization. Our governmental system inevitably works toward personal government, and the abler the President, the more likely he is to become autocratic.

Our Government is more rigid and less responsive to the current state of the national mind than is the government of almost any other self-governing nation. In countries like England, where ministerial or cabinet governments are in theory dependent upon a "vote of confidence" from the country for their existence, whenever a vital issue is before the people, the rigidity of our Government is a matter of wonder. It is said that Lloyd George and Clemenceau, during the peace conference, frequently referred to Mr. Wilson's asking the country for a Democratic Congress in 1918 and his meeting with a popular refusal. The vote of the November, 1918, elections would have meant a new government in France or in England. Here it meant only a widening breach between the executive and legislative branches of our Government, and a consequent clogging of the channels of public business.

Under our system, it matters not what changes of sentiment may sweep the national mind, it is impossible, barring the difficult feat of impeachment, to change Presidents save at the end of the stated four-year periods. It would require two years to change the present political character of the House of Representatives and four years to make a like change in the Senate, regardless of the changes that might occur in public. opinion. The President is in no wise responsible to our popular house in the sense of the British premier's responsibility. There are advantages as well as weaknesses in our more rigid forms, but we are clearly facing the time when we must examine and frankly reform those features of our system that involve essentially undemocratic tendencies.