the adventure proved unfortunate. "No, of course not. Six is much too late. Anybody can get up at six."

five?"

"Five," I meditated. "No, it's quite light at five. We ought to be out there at daylight, you said.”

He real

I

Jonathan visibly expanded. ized that I was behaving very well. thought so myself, and it made us both very amiable.

"Yes," he admitted, "we ought to be, of course. And it will take three-quarters of an hour to drive out there. Add fifteen minutes to that for breakfast, and fifteen minutes to dress—would a quarter to four be too outrageous ?"

“Oh, make it half-past three," I rejoined recklessly, in a burst of self-sacrifice. At least I would not spoke our wheels by slothfulness. The clock was set accordingly, and I went to sleep enveloped in virtue as in a garment, the sound of the sea in my ears.

Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! What has happened? Oh, the alarm clock! But there must be some mistake. It can't be more than twelve o'clock. I hear the spit of a match, then "Half-past three," from Jonathan. "No!" I protest. "Yes," he persists, and though his voice is still veiled in sleep, I detect in it a firmness to which I foresee I shall yield. My virtue of last night has faded completely, but his zeal is fast. colors. I am ready to back out, but, dimly remembering my Spartan attitude of the night before, I don't dare. . Thus are we enslaved by our virtues. I submit, with only one word of comment"And we call this pleasure!" To which Jonathan wisely makes no response.

We groped our way downstairs, lighted another candle, and sleepily devoured some sandwiches and milk-a necessary but cheerless process, with all the coziness of the night before conspicuously left out. We heard the carriage being brought up outside, we snatched up our wrapssweaters, shawls, coats-Jonathan picked up the valise with the hunting equipment, we blew out the candles, and went out into the chilly darkness. As our eyes became accustomed to the change, we perceived that the sky was not quite black,

horse's steps sounded very loud, and echoed curiously against the silent houses as we passed. As we went on the sky grew paler, here and there in the houses a candle gleamed, in the barnyards a lantern flashed the farmer was astir. Yes, dawn was really coming.

After a few miles we turned off the main highway to take the rut road through the great marsh. The smell of the salt flats was about us, and the sound of the sea was growing more clear again. A big bird whirred off from the marsh close beside us. Meadow-lark," murmured Jonathan. Another little one, with silent, low flight, then more. "Sandpipers," he commented; "we don't want them." The patient horse plodded along, now in damp marsh soil, now in dry, deep sand, to the hitching-place by an old barn on the cliff.

me.

As we pulled up, Jonathan took a little bottle out of his pocket and handed it to "Better put it on now," he said. "What is it?" I asked. "Tar and sweet oil-for the mosquitoes." I smelled of it with suspicion. It was a dark, gummy liquid. "I think I prefer the mosquitoes.

"You do!" said Jonathan. "You'll think again pretty soon. Here, let me have it." He had tied the horse and blanketed him, and now proceeded to smear himself with the stuff—face, neck, hands. "You needn't look at me that way!" he remarked genially; "you'll be doing it yourself soon. Just wait."

We took our guns and cartridges, and plunged down from the cliff to the marsh. As we did so there rose about me a brown cloud, which in a moment I realized was composed of mosquitoes-a crazy, savage, bloodthirsty mob. They beset me on all sides-they were in my hair, my eyes, nose, ears, mouth, neck. I brushed frantically at them, but a drowning man might as well try to brush back the water as it closes in. "Where's the bottle?" I gasped.

"What bottle ?" said Jonathan, innocently. Jonathan is human.

"The tar and sweet oil. Quick!" "Oh! I thought you preferred the mosquitoes." Yes, Jonathan is human.

Never mind what you thought " and I snatched greedily at the blessed little bute. I pored the horrid stuff on my fare, my neck, my hands, I out Jona thaned Tomathan: then I took a deep breath of relief as the mosquito mob withdow ma respectful distance. Jonathan hahed for the bottle.

aph I can just as well carry it." I sand, and uncled it into one of my hunting

Jonathan chuckled gently, but I did not care. Nothing should part me from that little bottle of ill smelling ༢༑ད།།

We started on agam, out across the marsh Tonough light had come to show is the gray green level, full of mists and hule gimmers of water, and dotted with for havowks, their dull, tawny yellow *owing softly in the faint dawn light.

Mark said Jonathan. We paused. Though the fog came a faint, whistling eal”, in descending hait tones, indescriba Be, coming out of now here, sounding now plore Povide us, now yon far away.

Lewdogs," said Jonathan. "We ayta by mOO MOOD

"

call, circling back again out of the mist at incredible speed.

Probably it would have made no difference if I had been prepared. A new kind of game always leaves me dazed, and now I watched them, spellbound, until I heard Jonathan shoot. Then I made a great effort, pulled at my trigger, and rolled backwards from my haycock into the spongy swamp, inches deep with water just there. Jonathan called across softly, "Shot both barrels, didn't you?" I rose slowly, wishing there were some way of wringing out my entire back. "Of course not!" I gasped indignantly.

"Think not?" very benevolently from the other cock. ""Twouldn't have kicked like that if you hadn't. Look at your gun and see.” I reseated myself damply upon the haycock. "I tell you I didn't. Why should I shoot both at once, I'd like to know! I never-" Here I stopped, for as I broke open my gun I saw two dented cartridges, and as I pulled them out white smoke rolled from both barrels. There seemed nothing further to be said, at least by a woman, so I said nothing. Jonathan also, though human, said nothing. It is crises like these that test character. I turned my cool back to the cast, that the rising sun, if it ever really got thoroughly risen, might warm it, and grimb reloaded. Jonathan continued his cal to the birds, and when they returned agam 1 behaved better.

By seven o'clock the birds had scattered, and we left our places to go back to the borse. On the way we enouus tered two hunters wandering rather th consolatey over the marsh. They stopped us to ask what look, and we thed but to jook too self-satisfied, but probzby ther *eat our success or angat tas streaked with tar and sweet of as ther

FUSSON The bugt x ou baznycoat pockets hoped a tel De S.CT. LOS SERE TE Deet out here then astet esTUSTE

I

The

it make one feel so immeasurably superior to get up a few hours before other people?

We drove home along the sunny road, where the bakers' carts and meat wagons were already astir. Could it be the same road that a few hours before had been so cold and gray and still? Were these bare white houses the same that had nestled so cozily into the dark of the roadside? We reached our own plain little white house and went in. In the dining-room our In the dining-room our candles and the remains of our midnight breakfast on the table seemed like relics of some previous state of existence. Sleepily I set things in order for a real

breakfast, a hot breakfast, a breakfast that should be cozy. Drowsily we ate, but contentedly. Everything since the night before seemed like a dream.

It still seems so. But of all the dream the most vivid part-more vivid even than the alarm clock, more real than my tumble into wetness-is the vision that remains with me of mist-swept marsh, all gray and green and yellow, with tawnyhaycocks and glimmerings of water and whirrings of wings and whistling birdnotes and the salt smell of the sea.

Yes, Jonathan was right. Dawn-hunting on the marshes is different, quite different.

"The Way Up,” by Mrs. M. B. Willcocks, will maintain the reputation gained by her earlier novel, "Wingless Victory." It deals with large questions of social development, and it also brings before the reader men and women who are alive and individual. The main situation is the drawing apart of husband and wife who love one another but are absolutely opposite in purpose and views of life-the man is bound to make his contribution toward solving the labor problem by founding a great factory which shall be owned in whole or in part by the workmen, and all his energy of mind and body is absorbed in his work: the wife is artistic, brilliant, instinct with love for admiration and society. In the end the woman goes on the stage, and not even the death of their son in early manhood can bring the two together. There with this situation, and it is also true that are faults of taste and judgment in dealing

the book is deficient in fiction-art in that it is prolonged and lumbering in action. But the ability shown is great enough to make the reader overlook such defects and to place the story distinctly above the average of recent fiction. (John Lane, New York. $1.50.)

Mr. Charles Marriott's "The Column" attracted attention and praise by its breadth of treatment and original force. His new story, "Now," has rather more of charm, but less definiteness. A loosely associated group of people who are called Morrisonians, after their leader, enter into a cheerful compact to protest against the wrongs of the present social order in a negative sort of way, by no austerity or violent propaganda, but by quietly ignoring and abstaining from that which is conventional and selfish, by eschewing that which is not simple and natural, by

living their own lives free from humbug and from worldly pressure. Thus, they think, they will overpower with a sort of commonsense idealism the social element which is grasping, oppressive, selfish. All this is vague and does not sound very promising as the background of a novel, but there are some extremely interesting men and women here, not the least so being the stolid and honest Philistine Brown; and talk and incidents are both set forth in an engaging manner. (The John Lane Company, New York. $1.50.)

and jovial, and they have original turns and odd happenings. The Depot Master " has been built out of and round about two or three good short stories, and accordingly the and the characters have life and the twinkle construction of the book, as a whole, is clumsy. But the incidents are remarkable, of fun. (D. Appleton & Co., New York. $1.50.)

Joseph C. Lincoln's stories are harmless

We do not recall any book, either history or fiction, which gives the atmosphere of what Signor Ferrero has well called Roman Puritanism, more effectively than "Marius the Epicurean," by Walter Pater. It gives an admirable picture of the best life and aspirations in the older and purer religion of Rome, as "Quo Vadis" gives a graphic picture of the sensuality and cruelty of the Roman Empire in the first and second centuries. Probably the one book over-accentuates the good, as the other over-accentuates the evil. Walter Pater is pre-eminently an artist with the pen. His thoughts are always artistically robed. So artistic an author ought always to be read from an artistically printed edition. The new edition of his works, to which this volume belongs, is in

paper and press worthy of the author's style. (The Macmillan Company, New York. $2.)

The seventh volume of the "History for Ready Reference," in its enlarged edition, covers the decade now ending, and is therefore of special value to readers in quest of up to date and accurate information. It has been judiciously remarked that the history of our own time is the part of history of which many who are well read in the history of former times not to speak of others--are most hable to be imperfectly informed. The world has been making history fast in this period of transition, and the history made in the past ten years exhibits pregnant movements, evolutionary and revolutionary, that touch all the phases and interests of life. The text of this record of it presents a literature of history drawn from the best writers and special students. It exhibits the yearby year historical evolution of change and progress All the great social problems now in process of solution are here presented in their gradual advancement from stage to stage, such as the trust problem, the railway problem, the municipal government problem, the various race problems, with lexts of laws, judicial decisions, notable agreements and incidents. Science and invention, education, public health, war both as prepared for and as protested against, Dreadnoughts and Hague Conferences, appear among other salient subjects. A record of disturbance and conflict in national and international affairs has to do with Russia and Japan, the awakening of China, the revolu tions in Turkey and Persia, the unrest in ladia, the friction of class interests in England, the separation of Church and State in France,

No stronger appeal to living interests than is here found is made by any portion of the long record of human lite and struggle. Fine five courses of study in history, ancient, mediaval, and modern, with good bibliographies, form a valuable appendix to the seven Volumes The editor is Mr. J. N. Larned. The C. A. Nichols Company, Springheid,

Massachusetts. À

Two recent books about Theodore Roose vet arc, teresting for un' ke reasons. One, Caled & mply " Theodore Roosevelt," and published by Messrs. Hodder & Stoughton, o: 1 andon, consists of a reprint of articles from the pen of Mr. Sydney Brooks, who is known both n England and America as an acute and thoughttä oe mmentator on current PO DA. ADE SOCIA &WATS These nupers originalh adoeared in the London * Chron

They take up the more importart Cvisions of Mr. Roosevelts jubile career, not with historic claboration or detail but with a top-minded intASDOT 20 TE.. ke clear miching purposes and personal tra

a union of practicality with enthusiasm, so quick an eye for the essential thing, so much humanity as he possesses, so inspiriting an broad-gauged, infectious, supremely virile example as he has set of courage, intensity, and common sense." The other volume, called "The Real Roosevelt," is a compilation of extracts from Mr. Roosevelt's writ

ings and speeches. The compiler, Alan Warner, states that the proof has been revised by Mr. Roosevelt. The endeavor is to give a large variety of important utterand indexing are admirable. In an intro ances in a compact form. The arrangement duction Dr. Lyman Abbott says: "For an understanding of the political or ethical ideals of such a man one must read his completer utterances. But for a more intimate acquaintance with the man himself, one delieu of these, such fragmentary utterances as sires correspondence, conversation, or, in have been here brought together by one who understands and admires him." (G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York. $1.)

The eighth volume of the Catholic Encyclopædia contains a number of articles which arrest attention. Chief among these is the essentially apologetic article on the Inquisition. The case seems abandoned by the admission at the outset that, until the union of Church and State in the fourth century, the great teachers of the Church insisted on complete religious liberty, which did not lack some advocates for four centuries more. But by the thirteenth century its repression became "a political necessity." The evils of the Inquisition are minimized, and largely charged to the rude temper of the times-for the savagery of which the Church can, in fairness, not be held irresponsible. Mr. H. C. Lea's classic work on the Inquisition is criticised for unfairness, but it will not suffer in comparison with the apology presented in this article. The three pages given to Know-nothingism, the proscriptive political movement directed especially against American Catholics in 1851-1858, has a special interest for fair-minded non-Cath:es, with its history of the political disabilities that have now been removed Among other and jehly valuable articles those which gwe reary seventy pages to Ireland and the Irish, and to Italy forty-six pages, with maps and numerous illustrations, are specially attractive. The immovable conservatism cá Cathelle sch Cars on points of Biblical criti Csm appears in their insistence upon the single authorship of the book of Isalah, and the strictly historical character of the book et Jonah, despite the verdict to the, contrary given by the rest of the leatbed word. Kubert Appleton, New York St

We may now place another book along81. e. Mrs. var Ret-seller's work on the Enncathedruis-Heen Marshan Fras Catbecra Churches of England The present volume is noteworthy die tour In the first place the 212T Wsty separates the thing-two cathedraus

into clearly defined classes, the old, new, and modern foundations. In the second place, she corrects some prevailing prejudices. Take that concerning a cathedral church. When we use that term we think of size. Yet a cathedral church is not necessarily large; it is simply a church containing the cathedra, or bishop's chair. Then there is the prevailing misconception as to a bishop's authority. We may see him enthroned ́in his cathedral and think him master there. In his diocese outside he is, but not in the cathedral. There the dean and chapter rule. The present volume is notable in the third place because the author does more than merely explain styles in architecture and stained glass, more than merely describe the antiquities of each cathedral; in the telling of the story of each building she gives

much interesting information concerning the bishops, deans, abbots, priors, canons, kings and queens, lords and ladies, and others of those the history of whose lives is interwoven with that of this or that cathedral fabric. Finally, the volume is notable because of its ample glossary and bibliography. In these aids to understanding, as in the text, there seems provision for any necessary query, but at the same time an absence of mere "padding." The fruit of the author's years of study, as the seeker for knowledge will doubtless note, is arranged in concise as well as in convenient form. We would make one suggestion, however. For the benefit of the intending tourist there might well be a pocket edition in slightly smaller type, unillustrated, printed on thin paper and bound in flexible covers. (Duffield & Co., New York. $2.50.)

It is a struggle which has become as clearly defined and the issues as clear cut as was the old question of slavery and antislavery. Yet Lincoln was elected on a platform, not of abolition, but on a platform pledged to protect slavery where it was, but to permit no further advances. It was a "stand-pat" policy. As subsequent events proved, it was not the policy so much as the individual which made for better things.

We have the issue, then, before the people, but not clearly defined in our party platforms. Both parties are at fault in this respect. In the North the representatives of the special interests are high in the councils of the Republican party. In the South the representatives are high in the councils of the Democratic party.

We find the special interests in National, State, county, and municipal councils clogging reform legislation and trying for special privileges by any and all means, fair or foul. We find jokers inserted in our tariff laws and even in laws relating to the lands of the dependent Indians who are the wards of the Government and to whom we owe the utmost good faith in our dealings.

Why do not the people break away from the parties which misrepresent them and form a new party which does truly represent them?

Here is where we realize and find out the power of a name, and ask, "What's in a name?" The average Democrat will vote the Democratic ticket even though he knows it will not represent him. He feels displeased

at the progressive declarations if he is a reactionary, or if he is a progressive he dislikes the reactionary planks, but he votes the ticket just the same. The same is true of the Republican voter. And as long as we have on the fence platforms we will have a misrepresentation of the will of the people.

The writer believes, with Senator Cummins, that the Republican party cannot live half" insurgent" and half "stand pat," and he believes that the same is true of the Democratic party; but as long as the two parties do survive in a condition of half and half, just so long will the special interests thrive and continue to grow and to prey upon the wealth of the people in the same predatory manner as at present.

The writer believes that there is a group of men in the United States to-day who are great enough to unite the progressives of both parties, and to lead the way to victory for the people.

It will require great courage on their part to face the power of "What's in a name?" and in a sense defy it, but they are great men and I feel certain will not hesitate to do the work, sooner or later.

The writer does not think the time is ripe just yet, but it is coming fast, and we should be prepared for it. Perhaps the new party will be named Democratic or Republican as a development from one or the other of the parties coming under the influence of the progressives, but, no matter what its name may be, it will be a new party, and will carry with it the reforms we so earnestly desire, and usher in a new standard of morality in American politics in which the integrity of officials will be their first requisite, and which will, in addition to our other National resources, conserve our American manhood. F. E. MCCURDY.

Bismarck, North Dakota.