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SPREADING THE FISH TO DRY merchants when they have money-but the and, with the town libraries, a source of company store must restrict this tendency.

local pride. The children are sturdy, rarely pretty, and For not a few years Gloucester has seem intelligent but unresponsive, wholly wanted a suitable breakwater built on a different in this last respect from the chil- bar to make her harbor more safe. At dren of the Portuguese. The Finnish present the unfinished breakwater is most women neither in clothes nor houses dangerous. At this writing a large seem as clean and tidy as the women of schooner is lying on top of the stones of the other Scandinavian races who have the breakwater, a complete wreck. It is come to us; at least their houses on Cape two years since any work has been done Ann would indicate a marked difference there. So with the fisheries question, in these particulars. It is rather signifi- beyond the few whose National pride is cant that the natives of Gloucester refer touched, and the fishermen dependent on to the Portuguese as citizens, to the Finns the decision of these questions to be freed as foreigners. The schools on the Cape from restrictions and annoyances, the are excellent and are well attended—the mass of the people of the country have usual record of Massachusetts. The high been bored by the discussion. To such school is a fine building, well equipped, communities as Gloucester these are the paramount questions, and the world is self- As one stands on any bluff far up on ish or cruel that does not respond to their the heights of the city, looking at her outer vital issues. Few realize that on Cape or inner harbor, or oùer on her northern Ann the fisheries question began in 1625, shore, one repeats Champlain's old name, when the Dorchester Company sought “Beauport;" and were it not for the to eject a company of Pilgrims and sent a sentiment “Gloucester” represents, one representative to accomplish it. Miles would wish that the name of the French Standish demanded a surrender of the chevalier had been retained. English, and had it not been for the The story-writer whose theme is the diplomacy of the gracious Roger Conant, fisherman and his environment must not blood would have been shed.

select a coast encircled by an electric car, There is one permanency in Gloucester, lighted by electricity, having churches of The sea still takes men and ships. Women every denomination and isms of the newest, are widowed, children are made fatherless. public and high schools, water supply that The records vary but little. Now and has been the theme of political discords. then a storm takes so many that the Cape Ann is not the stage for story-writers. world pauses and comments. One won- She still has nooks and crannies where ders how life can move on with this one may shut out the sight of shipping, of constant shadow descending or just pass- derrick, and of wharf. The water still ing away from the community. When dashes over her rocky shore, the lights one reads of the disasters which have still change and linger on headland and left scores of children, in some years ocean; sails still lie against the horizon in hundreds of children, fatherless, the ab- lazy angles, or rock on dimpled surface; sence of poverty from Gloucester cannot ships on the distant horizon, like great be understood. The cargoes pay one- giants, inspire the imagination; the waves fourth of one per cent. to the Widows' still murmur and laugh at one's feet, but Fund. A house has been built to secure the romance of fishing is gone. Its sorrow for the most needy comfortable tenement remains in broken hearts and homes. homes. “We always help them to get on But the men who go down to the sea in their feet, and they keep there afterward," ships have every provision made for their was the explanation. “ The summer safety on ship and shore. The market boarders make lots of work." There waits on them, and the day of uncertain are problems in Gloucester, as her daily return from the cargo is passed, for the papers clearly show, but degrading poverty science of the world and its inventions is not one of them.

have been turned to the fisherman's service.

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The New Attorner-General powier C. Kner, whose commission us.Attorner tieneral of the l'nited States was se? 51 Presalent NeKinler early in April, is a native of Pennsylvania, the son of a Peanulara banker, and a graduate of Mount l'hien cilegne at Alliance, Ohio; it was we wanneggiatshis place that he became ayuainted with President McKinley, * : e praticing Ohio lawyer. Mr. Knox has spent most of his life in Pittsburg, where he has bad a long and Renerale care as the bar and as Assistant l’nited States AYRI the Western Di Penninis Nr. Keer was President of the Pestra Bertonia has written and stoken ably on corporation law, na of the I'm legi lumen Gaboi Ver York, the Lawyers' GP strane studie wciations.


A Deception

By Edith R. Crosby Twas at the front, in South Africa, vagrant life into which I have drifted. It during a temporary lull in the hos- has its interests; but it is not exactly the

tilities. Dunscombe, the special war kind of life I should have chosen if I had correspondent of one of the London taken time to think about it. I've been dailies, and Russell, the special artist of a in China, and Abyssinia, and Cuba, and New York weekly, had struck up a friend- the Soudan, but they are not quite the ship, born partly of ennui, partly of the places in which to learn true love, or find attraction of opposites, a pleasurable in- true women. I have rarely been within the terfusion of nerves with no-nerves, of limits of our Western civilization for any sound common sense with imaginative length of time; never long enough to lose idealism.

the character of outsider and looker-on. They had been having dinner together- I tell you all this to excuse a little the such as it was—and were now smoking mistake into which I fell, and which I am their pipes in ruminative, after-dinner about to confess to you. mood.

“ It was in Florence. I had just come It was the American who first broke back from China, after the war, and had the silence.

a month or two of leisure before me. * Something has got on my nerves to- There was nothing to take me back to night, Dunscombe. I don't know how it America, and I decided to spend my holiis, but I feel lonely and confidential. I day in seeing pictures—nice, quiet, mediædon't suppose you understand that it's val pictures of Madonnas and angels, to an American mood, I ‘guess'! I have a rest my eyes, which felt all yellow and mind to make use of you as a father con- dislocated from a surfeit of Chinamen. fessor. You can look from a fresh stand- So I went to Florence, and haunted the point at a moral question which I have Uffizi. puzzled over until I have blurred all its “On my second or third visit my atten. outlines."

tion was unpleasantly arrested by a most He stopped and stretched his long legs painful copy of a most painful Saint of out in front of him, while he knocked the Carlo Dolce's. The blue was very blue ashes from his pipe.

and the pink very pink, the eyes were Dupscombe shook his head.

abnormally big and rolled up, and the * Don't ask me to judge any moral whole thing reeked with false sentiment problem for you, my dear fellow," he said. and false art, polished,' as Ruskin " It's too hot."

says somewhere, into inanity.' Working But Russell was not to be put off. patiently and ploddingly at the very pink Americans are like the Psalmist in that, fingers of the folded hands sat a little, when their heart is hot within them, they plain creature in a dull gray gown and must speak with their tongues.

spectacles. I have always felt a sort of “ Most men who knock about the world wondering pity for copyists, just as I have as we do can make little portable houses for stokers and stewardesses and ‘sandof their memories,” he began. “ They wich men’-a certain sad curiosity to know needn't stay in them when they don't how they ever were driven into such a want to, but they have them, and, by turn- hopeless existence. I stood still and ing a key and opening a door, they can watched this member of the dreary comstep into the familiar little place, all full pany at her work. Every stroke of her of household Lares and Penates, from the brush was a miracle of conscientious premost unfamiliar surroundings. I don't cision, given only after long scrutiny of say that I envy them. I have never the original. She matched her colors as thought myself a domestic man. I am I have seen women match ribbon in a simply stating a fact. I have never had country store, with much comparing and a home since I was a baby, and have never turning to the light; and, after satisfying loved a woman. I don't complain of this herself that she had succeeded in finding

just the right shade, she would apply it no illusions about herself or Carlo Dolce carefully, and then tilt her head to one with which to gild her work. side and contemplate the effect with a Something in her ways made me guess sigh of relief. She was very neat—a bad her to be a compatriot of my own, and, sign for an artist. Her little, thin, nerv- following a sudden impulse, I stepped to ous hands were innocent of paint; her her side and asked her if her picture were gray gown was immaculate. Her ash- already sold. blonde hair she seemed to have looked “She looked up at me with some surupon as something to be gotten out of the prise, but quite unaffectedly, and without way as expeditiously as possible; it was the least flutter of self-consciousness or neither crimped nor banged,' but drawn gratification, although I fancied that the back from her forehead without parting sound of my American voice caused a and twisted into a hard little knot. I certain friendliness in her answer. don't know what there was about her that “She told me that she had a permanent haunted me after I had gone into another order for her copies from a dealer who room, but I had to come back before leav- paid her well enough for such work. ing the Gallery just to see if she were still "• I'm not very fond of this kind of so busily at work, although I was quite picture myself,' she added, but it ansure that she would be.

swers the demands of the vox populi.' The next day I arrived early, deter- The little harmless attempt at pedantry mined to go directly to the little room on betrayed the New Englander. • Not the further corridor, where Botticelli's always the vox Dei, you think?' I asked, Venus was awaiting me; but, before I to show her that I was not an altogether knew it, I found myself again before the unworthy fellow-countryman, even though Carlo Dolce. The little copyist was very I did · hail’ from Philadelphia. She nodbusy. Her picture was nearly done, and ded a smiling approval at my erudition, she was adding the finishing touches- and showed no objection to my continuing playing ladies' maid to her Saint, arrang- the conversation and asking her all sorts ing the folds of her blue robe, smoothing of questions about her work and her interher sleek hair, and putting a little fresh ests. But while she answered me in little, rouge under her big eyes. I noticed the precise, unadorned sentences, she kept same precision as before; her painting punctiliously at work, patting her Saint had none of the freedom of enthusiasm ; gently here and there with her brush, and it was pitifully pathetic. She was so intent tilting her head like a sparrow to get the upon her work that I was able to study effect. her without attracting her attention. She " It was the story of a poor, colorless was no longer young, nor yet old—about little life which I got from her in this way forty, perhaps ; but her utter disregard of little by little. It made me wish that she personal adornment, her indifference to would stop polishing up that exasperating making the most of herself as other women Carlo Dolce and turn her attention to of her age would have done, made her putting some scarlet and purple and fine seem rather older than younger ; and yet linen upon her own neglected existence. there was something almost girlish in this She was the daughter of a Congregational very neglect, and there was a touching parson, in a little New England village, childlikeness in her dutiful earnestness. who had made no objection to her using Her features were not bad, only a little the few hundreds which she had inherited pinched and careworn; and her eyes from an aunt in coming abroad to study looked as if they might be pretty without art. Curiously unpractical views of life the disfiguring spectacles. Her gray some of those country parsons have! He dress was as simple as dress could be ; it was fond of his daughter in his way, and was evidently made for covering, not, like showed his fondness for her by letting Aaron's garments, .for glory and for her carry out the dream of her girlhood, beauty.' No bit of ribbon or of lace even although it involved her crossing the betrayed any latent vanity. But what ocean alone at twenty and making her touched me most was the expression of own way in a foreign land, with no knowljoyless determination, the patient do- edge of the language, and only a few your-duty ’ look on her face, as if she had little amateur landscape sketches as pass

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