Bemorraif aca,
LOVE TIME AND DREAM
—
Love time and dream time—
Apple blossom blow, —
Down among the daffodils,
Whispers come and g0;
Honey steeps in cupping flowers,
Butterflies flit through the hours,
And the gentle hand that dowers,
Bids all giad things grow.
Love time and dream time, —
Cherry petals drift;
Musie held in (rozes hush,
Finds a voesl rift;
All afield, shy, gray wings whir;
Mocking-bird and tansger
In love's braveries call to her,
Aad bees their droning lift.
Love time and dream time,
Making hearts akin ;
Mending broken symphonies,
Where the frost has veen,
Beaming like a maiden vain, —
Turning into driving raio,—
Peeping out, to shine again,
Where the spiders spin.
Love time and dream time,—
‘Tis thy guerdon, heart!
Outof all this largess, thou
Too hast thine own part,
For thy cheer “nis music rings,
Brother to the happy things, —
Sister to the bee's glad wings, —
Part of all, thou art !
TINE.
—By Virginia Frazer Boyle,
WHERE THERE IS NO TURNING
In all the ride from Legovia along the
beach Hazlitt mes only shree living things,
three women, staring at him ont of the
folds of dingy calico which shielded their
faces from the glare of sun and sea. One
was young and very graceful, another was
not so young, a comely ex-like thing, laden
with comfortable fas. The shird was old
sod bens, with a hideously wrinkied, hope. | puffed
less face, the mask of that impatiens death
which shrivels away the women of the hot
Eastern world, outside and in. For a
moment they startled him. They were like
toms risen to comfrot bim oo the | ed
lifeless beach, for the youngest was but a
memory of what the eldest had been a lis-
tle time before, and the eldess only a
eoy of what the youngest soon would
As they stood and watched him
ing by, shifting their worn fees uneasily on | '¥
the blistering sand, Hazlitt felt a mild
stirring of pity as she familiar sight.
*‘Hoy, friends,”’ be bailed them, ‘‘can
suy one tell me she way to the plantation
of Don Raymaundoe?”’
The irl looked at him shyly under
lowered lide, the grandmother, squatting
on her baunches, puffed as » ragged frag:
ment of cigar she carried and gazed out to
sea, bus the mother olutohed volubly at
the chance of speech.
*‘Go on till yon come to the mango which
blew down in the syphoon of ten years
ago,” she said, ‘‘and the road is there.
is called the Trail that has no Tarning.
Don Raymundo is a Castilian of the no-
blest, and he is the richest baciendero in
the world, Each year he loads a hun-
dred ships with sugar. The plantation is
called the Hacienda without a Name. Don
Raymundo has a danghter whose name is
Senorita Dolores. She is the most heanti-
ful woman in the world. His wife is Dona
Celerina.’’ For a moment a look of dislike
orossed the broad, good-natured face.
“Dona Ceferiun is very proud, bat, after
all, she ia just a mestiza, almost a Filipiva
like us. She—"'
Hazlist broke into the chatter with his
thanks, flipped a coin in the air,and jogged
on sill be bad lefs them far behind, three
moving dots on the waste, plodding the
way of Malay womenlolk.
Hidden in the green-shronded willer-
ness of the lower hills, the Hacienda with-
out a Name lay under the sunset enchanting
as a loss fragment o [ some old world
where labor next the scil was the happiest
the
great house on the hill the mistress of the
thing in life. And up in the sala
hacienda stared at Hazlitt over ber cup.
She bad been beautiful, but uvoder the
Caucasian mold of ber leatares another face
nning to show dimly, the face of a
race whose very beat and strength of life
overtaken by the unrelenting advance of
middle age.
“You say my husband is a prince, Se
nor?’ Dona Ceferina echoed doubsiully
over her onp, and her cols forebead wrin-
kled in bewilderment. This strange young
visitor had puzzling notions of whas con-
stitntes conversation—a diversicn of which
Doua Ceferina was extremely fond, ‘With-
oat doubt,’ she said,
mistake.”
Hazlitt looked at her in mingled amuse-
mens and vexation. Io all his wonderful
day of discovery this talkative, common.
place woman bad teen the sole jarring
note. Bas Dona Ceferina, oblivious to
bis emotions, sas in the cool swilighs of the
big room and poised ber cup,
hybrid goddess of jostice about to render a
decision.
“Beyond doubt, it is a mistake,’ said
Doua Ceferina. ‘‘Don Raymuaodo’s family
is one of the oldest in Spain, but it has
pever married with royalty. There are
few princes in Spain not of the royal
blood; is is not like Ruossia.’’ The word
gave her a clue to a topic of live arent,
and she brightened. ‘When I was a gir
back at school I met a Russian prince one
summer at Biarritz—''
Over his cup Don Raymundo's tiny
Mephistophelian mustache lifted slightly
io the mooking smile which was his ex-
tremest
rushed to she righting of his false lead.
“Of course, I did not mean that Don Ray-
isundo was a prince in name,’’ he explain-
ed, ‘‘but, in fact, you know.”
Celerina raised her cup and si the choe-
olate r edly, bus Hazlitt did not heed
ber. ‘‘The startling, the wonderful thing
to an American like me is that he’s not
ouly a prince in power, but a prince aut
e
another age. These
Plastic
y.
e here on
are his, belong $0 him personal-
Take that thing we saw just vow, for
instance, all those hundreds of people com-
ing in to the plantation kitchen for their
elaine rose to her
rice it takes to feed five peo-
tanta APS HAA 0-08
Is
hapelessness
of flesh. A part of Dona Ceferina bad been
“‘f think that isa
expression of emotion, and Hazlitt
réanity. | i
“It you only knew,” she said, ‘bow much
an IE —
i¥'s positively fendal, yoo koow. That's!
\be holy word; it deesns belong to oar day |
at all. Aud yet they tay there ie no ro
left in trade.
i
ii
school, and
things,” sbe explained to Hazlitt.
learned them once, hut ove forgets
here. And so you think we're fendal ? I
don’s know, I'm sure. Of course, there
local
the Philippines.
No one minded her much.
sat with half closed eyes and puffed at his
cigareste, Seuorita Dolores turned to her
window aod gazed down on her little
world as it wens to sleep, and Haslitt's
eyes persisted in wandering to the girlish
i figure, glowing in a belated, roddy shalt of
light. Decidedly, the talkative woman on
the heach bad wn some disorimination
in placing Senorita Dolores on the pinnacle
of beauty. Suddenly he became aware that
Dona Celerina’s tale was told, and that
her talk bad taken a more personal torn.
“It's 80 good to have one from our own
world to talk to again,’ she said enthosias-
tially. ‘‘One gets lonely here, with only
patives about. I tremble to think what
existence would have been when I came
back from school, it Don Raymundo bad
not been bere to rescue me.’ She smiled
radiantly a8 ber black and white spouse,
as if to include him in the conversation,
but he only drew long at his cigarette
the smoke very deliberately toward
the ceiling. Hazlitt’s eyes wandered to
the window once more, and Dona Celeri-
pa’s followed shem.
*'Isn’s Dolores beautiful ?"’ she whisper-
“She's like a Madonna,” said Hazliss,
balf to himeell, *‘a Madonna whom some
great man dreamed of painting and gave
up in despair.”
“Exactly,” Dona Ceferina agreed hasti-
. ‘“That’s just is. She's beautiful as
the Virgin berself—and ! Poor child,
after three years of and Madrid, to
come hack to this !'” She swept an over-
jeweled band at the greas dignified, simple
room. ‘‘No wonder ehe’s lonely, poor lit-
So ————— a ———"
fo dear. Go and talk to her, Senor Has-
ees,
Haglits accepted bis permission with
slacrity. Aes he a proashied, Senorita
Dolores glanced timidly at him across the
gull of sex which tradition and training
bad fixed between her and all male shings
not of ber blood, and retreated into her-
sell. Her shyness was an attraction in
itself, and Hazlitt did not find the silence
awkward as he stood heside her and locked
down on the hacienda.
Iu she shaggy village clustered about
the squat stoue chimney of the mill groups
of girle and young men were and
splashing about the wells ; from the little
groves which embowered the houses the
evening fires glowed red, and the light
breeze carried even to thut distance a hing
of the pungent wood-smoke. As Haszlitt
watcbed the peaceful scene all the love of
the open which had led him a wandering
through lifs rolled over him in one wave.
“Jove it's a mood old world after all,”
he said. i
The girl glanced up at him quickly.
‘After all ?'’ she echoed plaintively. **Tell
me, Senor. The Sisters always smd thas
ths world was ond, and we must be afraid
of it. When yon speak go I wonder if youn
also do not think it is had. Why isn’s it
good, if we are happy io it?"
Hagzlist smiled down into her pozzled
eyes. Decidedly, they were matter-of-fact,
oe women of the bacienda. *‘I¢ is good,”
he reassured her, with the calm philosophy
of his thirsy years. *‘Of course, it's good.”
Sill she looked up at him, forgetting ber
shyness in her interest, and a gust of pro-
teotiveness and elder-brotherly affect!
for this tender, budding woman-thing took
bold of kim. *‘It's good,” he urged, “‘and
you will always be bappy in is.”
And back in the dimness Dona Celerina
sipped her third oup of chocolate, while
Don Raymondo smoked with ball shas
eyes and smiled insorutably.
Like Doreas or Abigail, or whoever she |
was of old, Dona Ceferina sat among ber
maidens. There were ball a dozen of them
on the floor, sewing amd spinning and obat-
tering in sabdued voices, while the mis-
tress or the hacienda sat enthroned in the
midst of them. Unlike whoever she was
of old, Dona Ceferina had a oard-table be-
fore her, and on the other side of the table
Hazlitt sat, and the two smiled across com-
panionably at each other as they corted fat
bundles of sards. : ‘omii. 0
ey were playing pavguinguni. One
plays panguingni with six packs of cards
and much patience. Don Ceferina and
Hazlitt bad played a good deal of it since
they first met, six months before, and Haz-
list’s patience had never wearied. Neither
had Senorita Dolores’s, whioh is more sur-
prising, for she bad to stand behind Haz-
litt’s obair and help him with the unfamil-
iar cards. She was standing there now.
““Hagzlees, it is your ,"? said Dona
Caferina, gaibeting B. ber hand. It was
asign of the fel ip established be-
tween them that she called him Hazlitt, in
BE as ar tert
nes over es. was a
that sbe sat with her feet tucked up in ber
obhair opative fashion. ‘‘One used to
is,” she explained, the first time she ven-
sured it in bis presence,
Dona | more comfortable.”
“‘Hasleet, I shall beat you again,’ said
Doge ons iyi
oD a
ward aq looked a — ron der,
where a pair of interested eyes signaled ap-
proval. Saddenly be ed a forgotten
card down in Dy he oa fistful, Sen-
orita Dolores gave a small wail of disma,
as he played is, and Dooa Celerina smil
in pleasant derision. :
1 missook is for a king,” said Hazlitt
"oh mistake,” said Dona Ceferina
A ‘which ooste you a media
o—"" peseta. Now
Hazlitt, brimming with the enthusissm | Hazlitt played and again, and lost
the day bad ¢ him, swept on. |eaoh time, and enjoyed Dona Celferina’s
“Think of having a jail of your own and Bittle iriumpb. She wasa’s hall bad, if she
ig le in it when you 1 and | was not fig, $iis plows good-natur-
tr rlaw. Why, I say 'd | ed, contented - her
follow him to war if sold them to, | eternal and ber cards or novel
and —and sack the next plantation. It's— | or conversation. Hazlitt smiled whimsical
ee.
“and it’s much | Ray
ly at that lass thought. ““What are
at, Hazlees ?” his a.
2
E
comber, an adventurer without a country,
and now, perhaps, a man whom man
listle prince might envy. Fanoy ruling
undisputed with Senorita Dolores the
pus bis fortune to the test.
The cards ran ont, and Dona Ceferina
glowed trinmpbans. ‘‘Avotber game, Has-
leet 2"! she asked.
Hazlitt langhingly surned his pocket ont
to show that the modest som allotted for
the stakes of the day was exhausted, and
Dona Ceferina swept up her little heap of
silver. “You play worse than ever, I
think,” she said.
“I may learn panguingui before I die,”
said Hazlist, A sudden impulse seized
him. He leaned forward and fixed she
mistress of she hacienda with his eye. *'I
rather think, Doua Celerina,” he said,
with slow emphasis, ‘‘that I #hall bave to
stay ous here till I die. There seems to be
no escape. Isball have to stay—aud learn
so Pa panguingai. What do you shink?"’
on the heavy eyes of Dona Celeriva a
small glow kindled, as of the surviving
remnants of a very tiny fire. Hazlitt bad
seen them light thas way when Dooa Cele-
rina reached the climax of a novel. The
glow deepened, and Dona Celerina looked
at him understandiogly. Her baod trem-
bled a little on the e. ‘‘Why not Has-
leet?’ she said. *“‘Is—it would be very
pleasant for all of us. I—'' she rose has-
sily. “I shall have to leave you for a min-
ute. I hope you and Dolores can amuse
yourselves till luncheon,” she raid, with
elaborate innocence and went away.
Haszlist followed poor unsuspecting
Dolores over to the window, and stood
looking down with her, while the ball
dozen maidens les needle and spindle fall
and exchanged kuowing smiles.
The rains had come and gone, and the
tropical world was thrilling with the swifs
rash of ite springtime. e black fields
were mistily green with the new-set spikes
of cave, the sky was fleeoy with white
banks of cloud, the very air was sweet and
full of life. Hazlitt drew a deep breath of
it. ‘God I" he said, ‘‘theold world isa
good place to live in.”
Dolores glanced upat him. No one
would have called her a Madonna now.
The springtide bad entered into her, and
she was vibrant with a life of which no
monkish painter ever dreamed. ‘‘Wby do
you talk like that?’ she asked. ‘Of
coarse, is’s a good world.”
Hazlist gazed down into the upturned
eves. ‘And you are happy in it, Dolores?"
he asked. .
At his tone Dolores flushed rosy and
tarned away, and her band gripped the
edge of the broad sill with ita little help-
less, useless fingers, Hazlits laid his hand
over it protectingly, aod it did not draw
sway. “You are bappy, Dolores?’ he re-
“Of course,” said Dolores faintly. “Why
shouldn's I he when everything is—so
beautiful and—and good ?"’
“Happy little Dolores,” said Hazlitt.
And then Don Raymundo rode round the
torn in the shrubbery below, aud swung
from the saddle. Dolores shrank back,
bat Don Raymundo only smiled inscruta-
bly. “I'll join you in a winate,’’ be called
up to them.
A flash of anger swept over Hazlitt at
this man whose mere a took all the
witohery from life. He pressed Dolores's
hand before he released is. ‘‘She shall be
happy,’”’ he mattered deflansly tc Don
Raymundo and the world. ‘‘She shall be
happy always.”
“There seems to be a great deal of un-
necessary sime,”” Don Raymando observed
with his perveree triviality. He and Haz.
litt bad run across each other in the sala
alter their siesta, and were sisting with
their long cbaire drawn up before a win-
dow, waiting for the end of the day.
“Perbaps there 1s,” Hazlitt agreed slow-
ly, st for the resolution he
lim ia Lb eg
panionship, and per a wife— y-
mondo, we Americans are blunt. I want
to marry Senorita Dolores.”
Don mondo smoked placidly fora
moment. ‘‘I have been expecting this,”
be said as last. “I bave—shall I be blant?
been fearing this.”
Haglist flashed. *‘I know it seems pre-
samptuous,’” he said. ‘‘People will eall
it olimbing for me. And yet--we have no
aristooracy as home, as perbaps yon know,
bus of such families as we have, mice isa
one. For five generations—"'
“+I care little about families,’ said Don
mundo.
e tone was courtenns, but she words
“I am not a rich maa,”
—not the wealth, bus she power and ro-
mance of the life. That was what I cared
but now it’s Dolores herself.
boped that
the company of another white man pleas-
aut, that we might be friends, but—That
doesn’t matter. It isn’t the hacienda I
of is,” he said, ‘‘that if the burden of it
could be lifted from me I should be almost
happy, Link.” Any while scorn for the
eternal Josiug man was setting
Hazlitt's lip, be went on. friend—
and I call you friend because I feel that
way,’’ said Don Raymundo—*'I am going
to tell you a story I never thought to tell.
His momentary from him.
“Go on, please,’’ said Hazlitt impatient-
“It is a story of a yo man in n,’
said Don Raymundo, ‘‘a do Spain a
4 Don Ray-
mundo, with a mocking lightness bitter as
it well could be, “I am falling into the
his en-
toward the window and the world thas lay
outside, the fields stretching away in the
hurning light to the dim of the for:
. | eat, she endless sweep of the jungle, and
the distant glow of the sleeping
ootamable world that
Hacienda without a Name.
h “Like this,"” Hazlitt assented reinotant-
y.
“Like this,” Don Raymundo agreed.
“People say that he said that proper com-
panionship. and perhaps a wile—but Dios
mio, I grow stapid. His nearest neighbor
who was ball a native, was—hlessed, let
ns oall it—with a daoghter. A most
charming young woman, so they ray, very
gay, Sery cutie, very affectionate, most
accomplished—ahe had spent many years
on the Continent, I believe. In short, she
was a heautiful and attractive young wom-
an, very like—"'
“Like—,!" Hazlitt began and stopped.
“Like Dolores,” Don Raymundo assent-
ed for him. ‘‘Aod this interesting young
woman oaturally felt ill at ease among ber
sea, all the
aronnd the
home-staying onantrymen, and naturally |
bad much in common—bat I grow even
more tiresome. They were married. And
that,” said Don Raymundo, with languid
brutality, ‘‘seems to have been the ending
of the second dream.”
Hazlitt felt a twinge of shame come
over him at listening. After all, the law
which establiehes a neutral strip of silence
between men is based on something deeper
than mete convention.
“Don’t you think,” Hazlitt asked at
last, ‘that this Hose man took himself
too seriously? If be bad given more to life,
had gone about amnong people—"’
“I understand,” Don Raymundo inter-
rupted him, ‘‘thas hie soon declined to go
out among his countrymen, where his wife
wha received only as a favor to himself and
his family. He was a somewhat chivalrous
oung man, you see. And his Filipino
riends, thongh worthy people doubtless,
were somewhat unattractive aod dall to
both the young man and his wife. They
were jealous, too. So in the end be was
restricted to the joys of home. And his
wife, I understand, grew old more rapidly
than he. There seemed to be something in
ig blood that made her grow old guick-
y-
For a moment Hazlitt felt a gleam of
pisy tor the lonely man beside him. Then
his back stiffened. No matter what one
suffers, self-pity makes him mean. ‘‘I do
pos think,” said Hazlits, and for his life
could not keep the vibration of scorn from
his voice, ‘‘that I fear that. It isn’
Dolores’s heanty that I love. What I want
is to make ker bappy. We can grow old
ether.”
Raymundo emiled, and for once his
smile was patient instead of mooking.
““When you are older you will judge less
quickly,” he said gentiy. ‘‘Aren’t you
overlooking something? Is it my bappi-
uess shat onunte, or yours, or even Dolore’s
—though it’s hard that she should suffer
for the mistake ber father made.” He
drew * p in his chair and looked at Hazlitt
with a new light in his eyes.
‘““What of your children ?'’ he asked, al-
most sternly. ‘And their children ? Have
we any right to baud our trouble down to
them. The children a bundied years from
sou—wil the} | he ie or mu
go on forever, belonging nowhere,
by ball the brothers of sheir blood, and
themselves despising the other hall? Where
will it end.
Enlightenment burst oo Hazlitt in a
flash. This was no lover's obstacle, to be
surmounted by theatrical leaps and bounds.
He bad come face to face with oue of the
sruths of life, Nature’s unochangiog law of
blood. He daw them coming, the slow
generations, men of no race and country.
“My God!" he said, and gripped the arms
of bis chair till the cane splintered.
A door at the other end of the
room. ‘‘Our companions are coming,”
ssid Don Raymundo quietly and rose.
After the greetings Dona Ceferina went
directly to the gleaming which bore
the chocolate and biscuits that buoy one
from the dead languor of the siesta to the
toll tide of evening life. Haslitt sank
back in his chair again. Suddenly a soft
voioe asked over his shoulder: ‘Yom
haven't to save this day week for
our baile, have you? You must come,
you know, because then—"" Dolores hesi-
ted as ber boldness bus rattled on—*‘be-
cause then I shan’ bave to dance so often
with these stupid native boys.”
Hazlitt gripped the arms of his chair
. The moment for decision had come,
and all those unborn generations were
waiting his answer. Dolores was waiting,
too, poor, helpless, innocent Dolores. He
lovked to Don mundo for relief, bus
Don Raymundo his back tarned ata
window, and was smoking furiously. The
pause grew long. Then slowly Haslitt | eighty
straightened in his chair, and as he looked
up at the wondering face behind him the
law and the prophets were swept away in
a gush of pitying affection. *Yes,” he
said very firmly, “yes, I will come.’
““Lalala!” Dona Ceferina laughed from
ther place behind the cups. ‘‘He speaks as
segiously as if he made a vow to Our Lady.
It’s only a ball, you know, Hasleet. Give
She itieh 4 their sotlate, Dolorcita.” She
raised oup and supped happily. After
all,” she said in a tone of content,
‘there are few things more delightful than
one’s chocolate and cigareste.””
Don Raymusie was gazing {rom his
window into the distance, where the
satbaring shadows were blending cave-field
forest.
“Chocolate is very good,” he said
thoughtlully.
Three women were tramping in the glare
of endless Segovia Beach. One was young
and graceful, another was a ox-like
thing of middle age, and the LO
the end of life. They halted for a
ment, and the grandmother squatted
her haunches and gazed, uaseeing,
over the water,
i
2%
next . gi v r—
“Yes,” said her mother, “the you No less so authority . .
Ametrapy wil Seoorita Dolores. | Piof. Frederick Star, of Chicago Uoiversi-
They say he is very rich—ricber than Don | 7, is quoted as endorsing the show
Raymundo. i y fot wm shuostions) At
handsom "” same pays warm
the vl inet oad | cot 'to the industry. The eminent edo-
rest of us.”
And then, baving halted a moment, they
tramped vn along the beach. —By Howland
Thomas, in Collier's.
-
mr
—Do you know where 10 get the finest
canned goods and dried fruits, Sechler &
Co.
‘| Birds that are Sacrificed for Fashion.
Ever since the first woman in the world
took she tail feathers out of the bird which
ber husband killed for dinuer and stuck
them in ber bair and heard bis exclama-
sion of ‘How lovely that makes you look,
my dear,” the of earth have heen
adorning their with plumes.
And no matter bow tender hearted the
women are, nor how much they exclaim,
“0, the thing,” as the sight of the
dead birds, they are ready to follow the
fashion. They are sorry for the slaugbter-
ed birds, but they must have plames for
passed by Parliaments
and Legislatures, Audubon societies have
framed resolutions, but still the birds are
being killed. Qaeen Alexandra of Eog-
land is the latest great personage to protest
against the slaughter of birds. The mil-
liners and society women of Eogland are
excited over the position she has taken, bat
it isn’s at all likely that they will follow
her sugge<tion.
Every sort and size of feathered creature,
from the ostrich to the humming-bird, has
fallen a victim to woman’s love of adorn:
ment—to her vanity, as some say—while
others call it a commendable desire to en-
hance her beauty.
Those stately and interesting birds, the
herons, have been araong the worst soffer-
ers, because their plamage is beautiful and
easily made into commercial hat trimming.
The aigrette is made from the feathers
taken from the back of the white egret,
which is one of the heisn family. These
feathers, common to both sexes, grow only
at the time of year when the egrets are
pesting and breeding. To obtain them,
therefore, the birds must be killed when
they are breedivg. Tbe egret is shot, the
few coveted feathers are taken from its
baok, and the yonngsters are left without
parental care. Since there are no orphan
asylnms in birdland, the little egrets in-
evitably perish of starvation.
Thus for each aigrette, many egrets are
massacred, or left to perish miserably. One
bird produces only one-sixth of an ounce of
plume feathers.
Mr. Job, an American ornithologist, de-
soribes a visit to the egret heronries of
Florida, whiob is one of the few where
the birds have sarvived, He finds that the
traffic in millinery has almost exterminated
the two plume bearing species in America,
and no doubs the hunters will soon invade
the morasees of Florida to get the remnant
of the species found there.
The purple heron is sometimes found in
England, though the colors usually are
either white, brown, or black, with slate
colors predominating. The snowy egret of
Aweriea Sun probably the most beautiful of
es .
The kingfisher is a prize to the plumage
hunter, Its brilliant blue and green feath-
ers are most beautifal. Is was the ‘‘hal-
oyon’’ of old,and Socrates said of it : “The
bird is not great, but it has received great
honor from the gods because of its loveli-
ness.’”’ I$ mav be honored of the gods, yet
it is slaughtered for woman-kind.
The terns and gulls, the bullfinches, and
even the little homming-birds are slaogh-
tered by thousands so meet the demand of
fashion. The smaller hirde, sometimes even
the larger ones like the galls, are pnt on
the hats entire.
Lately the millinere, especially in Amer-
ics, have been getting good effects from
the feathers and plumes of the common do-
mestio fowls, The feathers are worked
over and dyed until they make a satisfac:
tory imitation of the rarer plumes from
gong birds and wild fowl.
All she efforts to have women substitute
some other adornment for the plumes of
birds in their hats have proved fatile. And
there is a reason for this on the woman's
side of she case. The delicate pampas
grass and other vegetable plumes are love.
ly, but perishable. The wind tears Shem
to .
moet darable things. Is lasts for a long
time and its beanty may be restored by
cleaning and recurliog.
Perbaps the hest solation for the ques:
tion is that offered by a prominent milli-
per. He that egrets, herons, and
other birde of beautiful plumage he raised
as ostriches now are raised. At the seascn
of greatest beauty the feathers mighs be
plucked, and the bird allowed to live for
another season and a new orop of feathers.
The wings and breasts of the brilliantly
colored song birds, he thinks, might be
abandoned, and suitable substitutes wad
from feathers of the barn
voring
is called a cruel fashion her example may
be more effective than laws.
——————————————
The Earth is Stopping.
es,
y Jrorking
for six years in a shamber out inside a we
feet below the surface of the ground,
has estimated the movement of the
earth, in corres ence with the tides, is
about one-third as great. It rises and falls
with she that would be expeoted
— You miss a good thing if you don’t
take the WATOHMAN.
cator is quoted as i
“I bave seen Nisgara thunder over ber
gorge in the noblest lrenzv ever bebeld by
man ; | bave watched a river
vuder the white light of an Australasian
go swirl
draw into a station,
below, Nu ough which a yokel drove his
owns ; [ have been to the
gazed at the watersellers and
beggars and dervishes ; I have beheld fat
old Rajabs with the of a thousand
lives bejeweled in r monster turbans,
Italian village, whose sireets bad nos
known so much commotion since the sail-
ing of Columbus ; I know how the China-
man lives, and I bave been through the
homes of the Sapaness ; § have marveled at
the daring of Alpine tob iste and ad-
mired the wonderful! skill of Norwegian
ski jompers ; I have seen armies upon the
battlefield and their retorn in érinmph ; I
have looked upon weird dances out-
landish frolics in every quarter of the
globe, and I didn’t bave to leave Chicago
for a moment.
“No books have taught me all these
wonderfal things—no lecturer bas pictured
them—I simply dropped into a moving-
picture theatre at various moments of
sure, and at the total cost for all the visite
of perhaps two performances of a foolish
musical show I have learned more than a
traveler could see at cost of thousands
of dollars and years of journey.
‘Neither you nor I fully realize what
the moving picture has meant to us, and
what is is goivg to mean. As children we
used to dream of a journey on a magician’s
carpet to the legendary lands, but we can
rub oar own eyes now and witness more
tremendous miracles than Aladdin could
have by rubbing bis fairy lamp. Buns we
are so matter-of-fact thas we never think
of it that way. We are living at a mile-a-
second gait in the swiltess epoch of the
world's progress—in the age of icoredibili-
ties come true. We fly through the air—
chat with our friends in Paris by tguinting
a little spark from a pole on one side,
so we fake as a matter of course thas
which our great-grandfathers would have
declared a miracle.
“The talking machine bas canned the
great voices and master melodies of our
time, but the moving-picture machine bas
done more—it is making for us volumes of
history and action; is is not only the great-
est impulse of entertainment, but the
mightiest foroe of instruction. We do not
analyze the facs that when we read of an
lish wreck we at once see an English
n belore ue, or when we learn of a bat-
tle that an altogether different panorama is
visualized than our former erroneous im-
De we
wi geography arope ; we
are well acquainted with how the on
man dresses, in what sort of a home he
lives, and from what sort of a shop he buye
his meat and greens.
‘We take so wach for granted ; we are so
thoroughly spoiled by onr muluple luxu-
ries that we do nos bestow more than a
passing thought wpon our advantages, be-
cause the moving piotare machine is an ad-
vantage—a tremendoas vital force of oul-
tare as well as amusement. Ap economy
not only of money, but of experiences ; it
brings she world to us, it delivers the oni-
verse to our theatre seat. The moving pio-
sare is nos a makeshifs for the playhouse ;
its dignity is greater, its importance far
beyond she puny function of comedy and
tragedy. It is aclean entertainmens, leo-
tare and amusement all rolled io one : in
in its less ambitions phase is ranks above
the tawdry show house. It teaches noth-
iog harmful, and it usoally teaches much
that is belplal.
“Today the moving pictare industry is
developed to a high degree of in
Amerioa and in Earope. Millions of dol-
lars are invested in the production of mov-
ing-pictnre Alms; entire companies of train-
ed and practiced actors are carried to every
interested bn on the continent and ocare-
folly drilled to enact tomimes which
will concentrate within of
a few minutes the most entertain and
instructive incidents of the world.
type of dramatist bas arisen—men who
search the literature of the ages
and construct tableaux in action which will
render vividly the entire contents of fa-
moans works of the drama, of the novel and
of his history.
““The moving pictare is not a makeshils,
bat the highest type of entertainment in
the history of the world. Is stands fora
better Amerioaniem, because it is attracting
millions of the masses to an upliftivg,draw-
1 as an amus-