LOVE SONG. Ea © come with me, my darling, We'll stroll upon the sand, And I'll quote verses to you, And lead you by the hand; ‘We'll gaze across the water . And see {t gleam, Janet, * . For Morgan hasn't gobled Up the ’ moonlight yet. The pathway through the meadow, Still leads down to the shore, And shadows fall across it E’en as they fell of yore; The wind sighs through the rushes, The tender grass is wet, And Morgan hasn't gobbled Up the moonlight yet. The busy day is ended, The city’s work is done, And over in the marshes Sweet revels have begun; 'Tis Love’s own happy hour, For let us not forget That Morgan hasn't gobbled Up the moonlight yet. O come with me, my sweetheart, And let us fare away To where the blithesome ripples Among the pebbles play; The world is still for lovers, My beautiful Janet, For Morgan hasn’t gobbled Up the \ moonlight b yet. --S. E. Kiser, in Chicago Record-Herald. RS. DUNN-WEST was a wom- an with theories—not purposes; t theories upon essentially femi- nine topics. She reasoned out every- thing which puzzled her, and she was more often right than wrong—as is the way of women. She akways held that the theory of counter-irritants was sound; and.now, having convinced herself that something was wrong with her friend Betty Clinton, she de- sired to set it right, for she loved to unravel the tangled skeins of love af- fairs. + “Have you seen Tom Renston late- '" she ‘asked the girl, who was sit- gr in her pretty boudoir. ately, replied her com- “I don’t see why one should speak disparagingly of anybne,” said Miss Clinton, trying to speak in a tone of indifference. “Certainly not,” said Mrs. Dunn West. “And I am not the one to speak ill of poor Tom Renston, in whom 1 tell you I feel quite a motherly in terest. Still it would interest me tc hear what other attributes, besides conceit, you think he possesses. Not brains, surely?” Betty Clinton's face flushed. Was there no escape from this subject, she wondered? Dut she had seen enough of the world to know that a studied avoidance of the subject is the surest way to move the surface interest in it—especially if there happens to be a man and a woman in the case—so she determined not to betray herself in this way. “Well,” she said, thoughtfully, “1 don’t know. I think a man who can write a book like “His Divinity” must have a small supply of that quality.” “Knack, my dear Betty,” replied Mrs. Dunn-West, scornfully. “Only knack, conceit and judicious plagiarism.” Miss Elizabeth Clinton blazed with wrath for a moment. “What a very uncharitable speech,” she said. “I am sure Mr. Renston would be incapable of such disgrace- ful methods.” “You never know what a man is ca- pable of until you are married tc him,” said Mrs. Dunn-West, who was well pleased with her success; “and then in nine cases out of every ten the woman is disillusioned.” “Of ‘course you know more about that than I do,” said Betty, spitefully. Jut. Mrs. Dunn-West liked her for her spite on this occasion. “She has a heart all right,” thought. “Of course, my dear, "she said, sadly. “But suppose we say Tom Renston has a little brains, what else do you claim for him?” “I really wish you wouldn't put things in this way,” replied Betty. “I have no ambition to pose as Mr. Ren- ston’s champion.” “Of course not, my dear Betty,” per- sisted Mrs. Dunn-West. ‘But just for the sake of argument. He has no money?” “He is none the worse for that,” said Betty. “Money is such a sordid stand- ard of worth. JF-Hhafie the very sound of the wordy and ev@rything connect- ed with It.” ; “You would hate the want of it more, my dear,” said Mrs. Dunn-West, with profound sagacity. While Mrs. Dunn-West had been con- ducting this campaign she had been she FOR Girl Clg Nig For : dark n her, M Haver “boo,’ Decaus t her farmer, mew o sound, anges. Parm five in old, and school year a her he girl fr passin{ discovd the op] shuflled] notice. Frigl ran af neares lawn. came the fro “Boo The ¢ tholom rated } Barth ened i1 time si tor's cl tion, s} neithep muscl becom paring shatte Parr the gi 2 lille