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t r % A Bachelor’s Diary By MAX. Tennis and Golf by Night—An Autumn Fad a UOI’ST .10.—(Being In the form /•A of a supposititious dialogue be tween Sally Spencer and my* self. She is away off In Parle, ab- j sorbed in the vanities of this world, and I am a helpless invalid, confined to a cottage in the northernmost j woods of this country, with mijch time to reflect on the probabilities of my rewards or punishments in th•> next. The imaginary Sally is Hitting in the little low rocker that sways emptily with the wind, back nnJ forth, on the porch beside me in tha* tantallsingly suggestive way that empty rockers have.) SALLY. "i can stay only a short time. Max. I had to wait a few min utes in the Bon Marche for a fitting and thought I would make a mental visit with you while waiting. How are you, my dear? You look like i mummy with all tho«e blankets and rugs around you. but not as sick as I bad expected. Perhaps that pretty nurse you have written so much about is prolonging your illness with a motive.” MAX: "It is possible that the mo ire is on my side.” It Stops. SALLY: ‘ You don’t mean to sav, Max. that you have become such an imbecile that you condemn yourself to cushions and calomel and airbags for the pleasure you get in having some silly girl wipe your face and hands and look solicitous when you sigh, and comb your hair and tell you what a fine-shaped head you have, and hold your hands every time yon have an Imaginary pain? Max, I am ashamed of you!” MAX "You are losing your tact. The right wav to talk to a man when he is sick is to call him a martyr in i a hero Instead of an imbecile." SALLY: "I suppose that's the sort of soothing syrup that nurse hands t you? I see it is time I came home from Paris and took you in charge. How many, many times are you g >- ing to make it necessarv for me save you from other women'’ MAX "Save me for whom?" (The rocker, which had swayed rapidly when th* imaginary Sally w;c scolding me. stopped short. There Is s silence. Then it begins to sway again, but the Imaginary Sally has turned her head so that I can not «?♦» her face. «nd she changes the sub ject when she begins talking.) SALLY: "I supoose you know thu Jack is with me in Paris'* That meant I have something more to do than to match ribbons and laces. The widow is there, too." MAX "You did not say for whoa* you want to save me”" SALLY: "T am most cordial wltjj her. So cordial and so delighted when T hear Jack is with her that he Is growing suspicious. He asked me this morning when dressing for breakfast if I was growing tired of him and wanted to get rid of him." MAX: "Do you"’’ SALLY: "I hope you will be satis fied with the winter clothes I bought for Manette. They cost more than ever before, but the child is no longer a baby to be confined to the coir pan v of her nurse and governess, and must dress better You will laugh when I tall you there is a party dr* ^ ” MAX: "1 don’t care wnat you bought. 1 never care. It doesn’t in terest me and never has. and you know I never look at the bills. The nurse nays ” 3ALLY: "And 1 don’t care what the nurse says. I think it very un kind in you, Max, to quote that nurse j to me when I have such a short time to stay. I have a good notion to ; come back home and discharge her You are able to travel now. and can j be taken home where Richards ;in*l Tompkins and I can nurse you, or get i a man nurse for that matter.” MAX: "I don’t want a man nurse There would be none of that delight ful sense of danger with a man nurse and I refuse to have one. Dancy' nv* getting lonely in the long hours of th* ; night and calling for my nurse to come and sit beside me and smooth my forehead and hold my hand, and having a great big. ugly, whiskered man appear! I won’t have It! . I am sick, and ?*ick people? always hav* what they want, and I want my pret ty nurse i think you are very self ish, Sally, to begrudge me the only conpensation Hekness affords a mail —a sympathy that demands no chap- | eron.” (The rocker stopped swinging back and forth. The imaginary Sally is looking away off into the woods, but 1 1 fancy' she doesn’t sec* the royal color of scarlet and gold the trees have nut on w Perhaps ther r * are tears in her j eyes, and the colors she sees seen) raln-drnggled Hhe turns, and when she speaks again her voice is low, and ha» a note of helplessness in it that ; distresses me.) SALLY: "It !** all a tangle, my life i and Jack’s and yours I have tried so hard to be good, Max. but with a husband who strays after every new petticoat and whom I can’t love with- j out compelling myself to love him. ■ and w'ith the man I do love throwing | himself a wav on a woman W'ho can | never care for him as 1 have cared I for years why. Max. I—I don’t know what to do!” (It Is my turn to look at the trees without seeing their beauty. It seems to me now that all I saw was a little narrow path that wound In and out among the gold-flecked shadows of the woods, and that lost itself some where In their depths. It would be fine to take Sallv by the hand and lead her down that path and never know' Its ending! I am interrupted In my muslngs bv a wudden move ment by Sally. She has risen, and has come to me. and has thrown her arm« around mv neck, and is kissing me in the manner o* which I have often dreamed. Good men are good also In their dreams. But are there any ~ood men? He Wonders. SALLY "I won’t give you up! I kept the widow from marrying you. and I warn you I will keep the pretty nurse from getting you if T have to go to the limit 1 want you for myself. 1 have wanted you for years. Every hour of the day and night I have I thought only of you, though every- one believed I was such a devoted wife. 1 deceived even ^ou! I haven’t been good in nv thoughts, but no woman who doesn’t love her husband | is good in her thoughts. It is impos sible, Max! 1 don’t love my husband, and I do love you, and I know'!” A clock in Mrs. Allen’s dining room strikes, and even when a woman is j making love to a man she can’t keep 1 a dressmaker waiting. Evidently it , reminded mv dream visitor of the i garment waiting a fitting in the Bon Marche, for before it had ceased striking the hour Sally was gone. Rut I wonder if she Is that kind of 1 a Sally in her thoughts. T’-rrrv- Poor Mrs. Craig The Roses A TRAGEDY IN RUSSIAN LIFE T The tennis court and golf links at night. ■*r No longer are llie willfully unathletie to have the ex cuse that they cannot play outside games because of the pressure of business. Artificially lit lawn courts and a golf links have come into being, as these photographs bear witness. The courts and the “course” in question are at the Woodbury Country Club, at. Woodbury, N. J.,, and were designed and installed by Thomas ,). Little, Jr. The light is applied by the latest type of incandescent gas lamps, which, it is claimed, are better for the purpose than electric lights. There are four lawn tennis courts. The golf “course”—for putting only—is 80 feet long by 40 feet wide, and has nine holes. Household Suggestions M ISS BELINDA dropped with a tired High into a neat on her own porch and her brother Ben frowned at her with disapproval "Look here, young woman." he be gan sternly, "bow long are you going to keep this thing up? First thing you know I’ll have to send for a trained nurse for you or ai least pack you off to a rest cure at safe distance from the Craigs ’’Nonsense, Ben. I’m all right You creatly exaggerate whai I do for poor Mrs Craig “Well, 1 don’t exaggerate when I :ell you that you have passed forty-two "ours w'ith poor Mrs. Craig In the last week. 1 have kept time on you.” r^iCUloUS t** C" • •» idea, though, that I’d been at the farm *o much. Still, it would be simply orutal not to do what 1 can for Mrs 'raig when she is ill, and there’s no one hut the boys to wait on her or do any thing about the house. The boys are very busy in the fields just now. too." "Why in the name of all that’s sensi ble doesn’t she keep a girl?" "I think she would if she could find • *ne. Girls are scarce in this neighbor- hood." "What’s the matter with that little Molly Johnson you sometime* have to help Norah? Why couldn’t she work for Mrs Craig ° ‘'Wall," Miss Belinda laughed, "the matter with Molly is that her eyes ara much too blue and her checks quite too pink. Do you imagine Mrs, Craig is keen on offering that particular kind of temptation to her bachelor sons?" Not to Rest. “It’s an outrage that she should de- j»end upon her neighbors to take cars of her and run her house 1 hope you'll have sense enough to stay at home this aftej*noon and rest." "1 shall stay at home " "And rest ?" “Wall, i*art of the time, perhaps, but now I must make a cake. - ’ "Why not let Norah make the cake” If she can’t we can easily go without it." “Oh. this cake isn’r for us. To-mor row is Jimmie Craig's birthday and poor Mrs Craig is terribly disappointed be cause she isn’t abia to make angel's food for him. it seems that that great six- footer, who looks as if he had never lasted anything lees substantial than pork and beans, quite dotes on angel’s food " “You little woolly lamb! So you promised to make him one. Why don’t you crochet Lim a necktie, too"” "In order to reinstate myself In your good opinion let me tell you that J have persuaded Mrs Craig to get a woman with a child, who will be glad to have a country home 1 know there are p!en:y of them And l"w written to Fan nie Drayton to find one through her .aetUemem work. ‘ "That’s a good idea. Be sure to order one with dull eyes and sallow cheeks. By the way, here’s a letter from Fannie that came while you were gone." Miss Belinda’s face brightened as she read the letter “Fannie says she knows a good woman with a dear little girl that she would love to bring up in the country Oh, Ben, isn’t it splendid? Fannie,, had been hunting for just such a chance for the widow ami what a good thing it will he to poor Mrs Craig! I must write Fannie to send her at once.” "No. I’ll call her up on the long-dis tance and ask her to send them out to morrow Late the next afternoon Miss Belinda and her brother drove to the station and returned with a capable but sad* looking mother and child After giving them a comfortable supper Miss Be linda conveyed them to the Craig farm, where, through her offices, they were expected. Her Story. "lit will be a relief to know that poor Mrs. Craig has some one to look after her and the housekeeping." said Miss Belinda that night But when the next day came the woman and the child came also, with the tidings that Mrs. Craig had sent them away. "There must be some misunderstand ing,” sighed Miss Belinda "You rest here and I’ll run over to the farm and have a talk with Mrs. Craig.” When she returned, looking discour aged. her brother said, "Well, how about it?” "Ben. just think of it! That woman was actually wlHing to work for the board of herself and the little girl, hut Mrs. Craig was vexed because she washed out the child’s one little frock this morning She said she couldn't af ford to furnish laundry soap for the child’s washing' When 1 remonstrated against her losing good help for such a small matter, she said, very blandly, 'With such a good neighbor as you. Miss Belinda. 1 don’t see that I really need any hired help.’ “Well, I’ll be jiggered! But how about our overhasty importation? What’s to he don* with the woman and child?" “The> re to stay here and build up on country alt and good food for a while, and then I’ll try to find them a perma nent home. You don’t mind their staying here, do you, Ben?" “Oh, no. But 1 must make one re quest. Belinda, and that is that you won't talk to me any more about your poor Mrs Craig." Handsome Is—— ’ W hy, haven't 1 been good to you? Look at the handsome engagement ring I gave you." "Yes. I took it down to a pawnshop the other day to see what I could get on it. and he asked me what 1 wanted for it—marbles or skipping rope." Leather chairs often become greasy looking where the arms and head rest on the leather. To remove these marks try linseed oil. Boil half x pint of oil and let it stand until nearly cold, then pour In half a pint of vinegar. Btir till it is well mixed, and bottle, when it Is ready for use. Put a few drops on a flannel and polish with soft duster. This will thoroughly renovate all leather. In cases of emergency a kettle or saucepan can be heated over a candle by the following means: Stand two chairs (with rungs) fairly near to gether. Pin* e a lighted candle on the floor between the two. Then lay a pair of Are-tongs across the rungs of the two chairs and on the tongs place a small kettle or saucepan imme diately over the candle. The water does not take long to boil. Flatirons become rusty If left In a damp place or it put away flat when warm. Rub them first with beeswax, then w'ith dry. coarse salt, using a short, hard brush. When heating irons it is wise to remove them from a lighted gas-ring after a few min- utrs have elapsed, and to wipe away the tiny specks of moisture which will be found to have formed. To remove smoke-marks from ceil ings. mix a thick paste of starch ami water, and with a clean flannel spread it over the mark. Allow it to get thoroughly dry, then brush off with a soft brush and the marks will have disappeared. Before using table oilcloth, paste at each corner on the wrong side a square of rot ton. This prevents the corners from wearing out as soon as they otherwise would. To keep bread boards a beautiful color, rub them well with half a lemon: then wash them in cold water, and stand them in the wind or-in the sun to rir\ During hot weather .small bags of muslin tilled with charcoal should be hung in the pantr\ on either side of the meat Tills will keep it fresh in the hottest weather. When t ooking liver and bacon get a sour apple, slice it very finely, and add it to the gravy. This will im part a delicious flavor, which is a great improvement. To give potatoes a flavor add half a teaspoonful of sugar, as well as salt, when boiling. This does not make them too sweet, but gives a delicious flavor. Tactful. Kind words may be more than coronets, and simple faith may beat Norman blood to a frazzle; but. after all. tact is the posnes'sion most dear and most useful to the human race. Mr Daniels thought so, too. When he left the house he had left Mra. Daniels with a lady friend, whose abilities as a scandal-monger and mischief-maker are pre-eminent. When he returned he Just poked his head into the drawing room. "That old cat gone. I suppose'"* he said, with a sigh of relief. For Just an instant there was a dreadful silence, for as he uttered the last word he encountered the stony glare of the lady who had been in his mind. Then Mrs. Daniels spoke quite calmly. "The old cat?" she said. “Oh, yes, dear I sent It to the Cats’ Home in a basket first thing this morning!” His Love A CHARMING SHORT STORY I N the wild and inaccessible canyon of the Timok River, which forms the boundary line between Servia and Bulgaria, lies a little mountain hamlet. Vardak. In days of old, while the Christian Serbs were fighting their Turkish op pressors. Vardak was the refuge of hundreds from Turkish violence. From this village they renewed their fight with new vigor. Nowadays Var dak is a peaceful village seldom vis ited by strangers. The inhabitants know little or nothing of the out side world and many generations died I without knowing anything of the ! great national movement which swept | the country- Even when the great war of liberation set all Serbian hearts aflame the storm of enthusi asm hardly touched Vardak. Only old Ljuba and three other men, armed to the teeth, descended into the valley to fight the arch enemy, but none of I them ever returned and after a few years they were completely forgotten. It was taken for granted that they had lost their lives fighting the Turks. | for what Serbian peasant .would not j have hurried back to his house and hearth if ho went through the war i unharmed? In this quiet, remote village, i Mladen grew up. When his father. Ljuba, descended into the valley to | fight the Turks he was still a baby, j and now when be had grown into a tall and powerful young man, anl earned bis living herding the cat tle of the rich peasant. Arsen, did nor remember a single feature of ills father's. But when he looked at j the old rusty arms on the walls in the miserable hut he had inherited from his mother, or when he listened to old blind Jezdimir’s tales of the feats of his ancestors, the cruelties of the enemy and the desperate fights he saw before his inner eve an image of father, as a tall, broad-shouldered warrior, thirsting for adventure and revenge, and often while he was herd ing his cattle near the river he dreamed of himself fighting the Turks and returning home as a hero cov ered with glory. He saw Arson run ning to meet him. embracing him and crying: “You are a brave fellow, Miaden. and as a reward. I am happy to accept you ns my daughter Milit- za’s husband.” Mladen loved .Militza, though she did not know it. How should Milltza, the richest girl in the village, about whom all the young men were fight ing.. have suspected that her father’s humblest hireling dared raise his? eyes to her? His Secret. Mladen kept the secret of his love to himself, and did not even mention it to old Jezdlmir. Then the wonderful thing happened. One wintry day, when a terrible bliz zard was raging In the mountains and Vardak. was entirely cut off from the world, a etranger arrived In the vil lage. He went straight to the rich Areen’s farm and said that he was Sergeant Janko Vilutin. and that the King of Belgrade had declared war against Bulgaria and now called nil men to the colors. Every man capable of bearing arms must meet at Zijecar within 24 hours. This was the message of the King, and when Mladen heard it his heart began beating wildly and he began to think of all the stories Jesdfmir had told him of wild, cruel-looking men swinging their bloody scimitars and singing their pongs of war; but when he heard that he was to fight the Bulgarians, not the Turks, he shook his head. This seemed so un natural. The Bulgarians living on the other side of the Timok were good Christians, praying to the same sainis as the Serbs. But, of course, the mighty King in Belgrade must know what he is doing, and it is not for an ignorant peas ant to trouble his brain trying to understand his orders. The King had issued an order, and all the men of Vardak obeyed and hurried to ge f ready for their departure. He is Picked. There were tw'enty young men al together. and among these was Mladen. They were to leave for Zizecar at dawn the next day. Many a mother clasped her young son in her arms and many a young girl cried until her eyes* were red at the thought that she might never see her lover again, but nobody wept for Mladen, for he had neither parents nor sweet heart. But the rich Arsen supplied him well with provisions and Militza shook his hand cordially and present ed him with a holy ikon of the. Vir gin. When she felt how his hand tr«*rnbled in hers she asked in sur prise: "YVhy do you tremble so. Mladen ?” But Mladen did not answer. He let go her hand, and silently and with bowed head he joined his comrades. • • * Two brother nations that only a few years previous had been sighing under the same yoke were now at war, a senseless war of foolish am bition. Bloody battles were fought at Silvetza. Zarlnrod and Pirot. The Bulgarians were victorious and the Serbs fled demoralized and in wild disorder, an army of ragged and ex hausted creatures, thousands of whom found their deaths in the blizzard in the rabun tains near Pirot. When night fell, the fate of the Serb? was scaled. Among the thousands who re mained on the battlefield was Mladen. A shell had tom away his right leg and the wheel of an ammunition cart had crushed his chest. But Mladen did not want to die. He felt no pain, but was warm and comfortable now that the blizzard had stopped and the moon was making night almost as bright as day. He raised his head and across his pale lips came the sound of a name, and she whose name he called bent down over him with a tender smile, and asked: "Why do you tremble, Mladen ?’’ And he told her why, for now he felt us brave as never before: "I love you, Militza.” And she did not grow' angry at all. She smiled and looked at him Kindly with her big blue eyes and he felt her warm breath on his cheek. He could npt control himself any longer, lie threw ills arms passionately aroum her neck. And while his hot. fever ish hands caught hold of the frozen grass. Mladen fell back into the snow and with a happy smile on his lipe he gave up his young soul. EXCURSION TO BIR MINGHAM. $2.50 round trip, Septem ber 22. Special train leaves Old Depot 8:30 a. m. SEA BOARD. Do You Know— A novel use of compressed air is made by railway companies in the Southern States of America. When the loads of cotton are being taken to the coast there is always danger of their becoming damaged through sparks from the locomotives. To pre vent this, the locomotive boilers are filled with compressed air. .A train load of several thousand bales of cot ton can be hauled by these locomo tives at a rate of twelve miles an hour, although no fire Is used in working them. Following the proposal for a tax on bachelors in France, the society “La Race Francaise” suggests that every male citizen who either has no* three children alive or who has not reared three children to the age of 21 should be taxed $5.50 a year for each child below the number of three This would apply to both bachelors and married men. Such a tax, it is estimated, would produce about $100,- 000,000 a year. Doubtless the most unique spot in Europe is the little village of Alten- berg, on whose border three coun tries meet. It is ruled by no mon arch. has no soldiers, no police, and no taxes. Its inhabitants speak a cuiflous jargon of French and Ger man combined, and spend their days in cultivating tile land or working in the valuable calamine mine of which the village boasts. ('locks are now made to run five years with once winding up. In 1881 the Belgian Government placed one of these in a railway station and sealed it. It has kept capital time, having been six times wound—in 188(5. 1891, 1896, 1901, 1906 and 1911; and there is a clock in the Church of St. Quentin, in Mayence, which has only stopped once during a period of 500 years. "Aladdin’s lamp, in good working order, price 500.000 pounds.” is the inscription on a card attached to a curious-looking lamp exposed for sale in the shop-window of a Kingston antique dealer. A pen-nib is a little thing, yet there is more steel used in the manufac ture of nibs than in all the sword and gun factories in the world. A ton of steel produces about 1,500,000 pens. The cost of the navies of the world last year aggregated $725,000,000. Figures compiled by the Depart ment of Inland Revenue at Ottawa show’ that the people of Canada last year smoked 975,325,501 cigarettes, an increase of nearly 200,000,000 over the figures for 1911. HE season of the rose-sellers Is now at Its highest in the topsy-turvy ancient City of Moscow, which, In »pU«* of its stucco German buildings and miniature skyscrapers, still seems to recall the East at every corner of its tortuous streets. Even the rose-sellers here are differ ent from the pale-faced, tired-looking men and women who ply the same trade in-the great cities of Western Europe. Every morning when the dawn is Just beginning to break, and the sun, like a great ball of fire, is forcing its way up into the silver-gray sky, they taka their stand—a ragged, barefooted band of smiling urchins—on the new bridge be side the Brest station. This bridge is one of the finest struc tures in Moscow. At one end is the Arc DeTriomphe, guarding the way to the Tverskaia, the Piccadilly of Moscow. At the other is the boulevard which twines its way through the great beeches and sycamores of the Petrovsky Park, in which are situated Yar, Strell- na, Mauretania and the other boisterous pleasure gardens of Moscow nightlife. The bridge is thus the boundary be tween the prosaic, businesslike Teu tonic Moscow' of the daytime and the extravagantly riotous, nocturnal Moscow of the Slav. On its friendly parapet the little rose-sellers take their seats, dan gling their half-naked legs against the stone, singing snatches of Russian folk songs, and waiting patiently for the re turn of the belated pleasure-seekers to their dally task Suddenly a “lekhatch”—a swift vio- toria with large rubber tires—or a motor car, is heard afar off in the silent still ness of the early morning. Some twelve or thirteen ragamuffins spring from their places and race to the middle of the street. There Is a quiet patter of naked feet on the rough. Jagged cob bles. For a moment the little band keeps pace with the passing vehicle. The sellers jostle and push each other in their eagerness, and with little re gard for their own safety snatch a per ilous fpothold on the splashboard. And all the while a fire of pleading requests Is kept up incessantly. “Buy a rose, master!” “Fresh roses, my lady? A double for six.” “See, master, I am hungry. I have eaten nothing since yesterday morning. Buy a rose radee Christa." He Buys. And if the fat. pleasure-sated man in the carriage shows little sign of yield ing to these entreaties, the tired painted woman by his side is more sympathetic and compels her companion to open his purse. Besides she wants the flowers. They remind her of long-forgotten days and of the many things that might have been. In this way does the little army exact its toll from the passing stream of car riages and cars Life Is hard, and the bent, worn-out mother, who, as a “tender" in the cot ton mills, keeps the family alive on the princely wage of thirteen rubles a month, has need of all the copecks her fourteen-year-old son can collect. Rivalry is, therefore, keen in this children’s trade, but on the whole there is no bullying, no Jealousy, no ill feel ing. Occasionally, however, in the race for first place, “desire outruns perform ance,” an<j the movement of the thin, bony legs is unable to keep pace with the eagerness of the mind. Motor cars are comparatively rare in Moscow, and the rose sellers have not yet learned to judge their deceptive pace with the same nicety as their London prototypes. And so sometimes it happens that the bridge Is ft silent witness of a little tragedy Suddenly there is a startled shout of warning from the driver. The car takes a wide swerve to the side. A piercing shriek rings out in the cold morning air A sickening thud follows. The car stops, while a policeman comes forward with his notebook. The little fellow is taken into the car and driven off to the nearest police station. In a few minutes the street resumes its normal appearance, and the ragged little sellers return to their "beat" on the bridge. They are sorry, of course, as far as it lies in their power to be sorry, but the battle for bread knows no respite ar«»i the world of pleasure must still be fed. ****•• The Other Side. In a little by-street across the river, in the dirtiest part of the town, a frail, shriveled-up little woman is busily en gaged in cleaning out her room. She swears gently to herself every few min utes. The samovar has been ready for over an hour and her brat of a boy has not yet come home. Most likely he has gone off with the other lads to play pitch and toss. She is still meditating on the punishment she will certainly mete jut to him, when a knock at the door disturbs her, and the great, gruff voice of the door keeper rings out: “Maria Vasilyevna! # Maria Vasilyevna! You are wanted at the police station at once." A policeman pushes his way into ,the room. Wonderingly she wraps a shawl about her head and totters out into the street. The neighbors gaze at her lazily, curiously, and exchange guesses as to the exact nature of the crime Maria Vasilyevna has committed- At the ouchastok she is ushered into the superintendent's office He has a harab voice, but he looks at her not unkindly. "See. little mother,” he saya stam meringly, while he shuffles on the floor with his heavy topboots, "there has been an accident.” She bows her head resignedly. "It is my Pavel, is it not?” The officer nods assent. He take® her into another room and shows her the poor, emaciated body with the white, pinched face and the wide open, startled eyes. The little hand is clenched tight ly over a bunch of faded rosea, a* though the Instinct of self-preservation so keenly developed amongst the very poor had not left him even in death. "Is that your son?" he asks Identified. The answering "Yes" is swallowed up in the muttering of a prayer. As gently as he can the officer leads her back Into his office. The law must be carried out, and the body has to be identified He shows her where to make her mark in his book, for she can not write her name. For a moment she stands with clasped hands, her eyes fixed on the room which she has Just left. "Maye I take the roses with me?" she asks pleadingly. The reply is in the affirmative. She goes back to the hare, cold mor tuary. A bunch of faded roses is lying beside the corpse. Greedily, cunningly, as though afraid that the officer might change his mind, and without a thought for the body beside her, she gathers up the precious bundle. She counts them over once, twice, lest there by any mis take, then, with a quiet good-bye, she takes her leave. Once in her own home she puts the flowers in water, but the faded petals refuse to resume their appearance of freshness. “The devil takes Ihem," she mutters disgustedly. "They are not worth ten copeck—not even on the Tverskaia.” She takes a needle and pricks the long green stems in a last effort to re vive them, but the flowers are as dead as the child whom she has just left. Yet, though with a sense of grief Comes with the falling leaf, And memory makes the summei doubly pleasant, In all my autumn dreams A future summer gleams, Passing the fairest glories of the present. —George Arnold. Let the sweet heavens endure. Nor close and darken above me Before I am quite, quite sure That there is one to love me; Then let come what may To a life that has been so sad. I shall have my day. —From "Maud.** When I sail to the Fortunate Islands Over the violet sea, May one friend, my heart's friend. Be there, a-sai) with me. On the breast of the deep, sweet waters. In the arms of the white spray, Sailing, sailing, sailing, Till we come to Haven Bay. In the peace of the Fortunate Islands, By wood, and hill and shore, May one friend, my soul’s friend. Abide with me evermore. —Louis McQuilland. The world wants men, large-hearted, manly men; Men who shall join- the chorus and prolong The psalm of labor and the psalm ol love. —Selected. —LILIAN LAT7FERTY. Nothing In It. "i regard conversation as a g remarked the studious woman. "It usually is.” replied Miss C enne. “If people had to pay fo: there would be much les?i of it.” INDIGESTION? Stop it quickly; Have your grocer send you one doe. bottles of SHIVA R GINGER ALE Drink with meals, end if not prompt ly relieved, get your money back at our expense. Wholesome. deli cious. refreshing. Prepared with the •elebrated Shivar Mineral Water and the purest flavoring materials. SHIVAR SPRING, Manufactu SHELTON, 8. C. C. L. ADAMS CO., Distributors. A« A Weak Stomach? d. Have you indigestion or dys pepsia, a torpid liver or any other of the many ills com ing from a weak stomach ? DR. PIERCE’S Qolden Medical Discovery for forty years has done a “lion’s share’' in eliminating these distressing ailments. Order a Bottle from Your Druggist today Agnes Scott College The Session Will Open Wednesday, September 17th, 10 o'Gock A. M. The Committee on Admission of Students will meet at the College Monday and Tuesday, 9 o’clock to 12:30, for classification of new students. All desiring to apply for admission to College urged to meet the Committee Monday or Tuesday. Dor mitories will not be open until Tuesday.