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Mountains the far western outcropping of the Blue Ridge range which finds expression not only in the hills of Kentucky and Tennessee, but in the Ozarks of Missouri and Arkansas, before being apparent here. In these mountains are minerals, hunting parks, and considerable forest growths.

While the total amount of land to be opened is practically as large as the original Oklahoma, the reduction by reason of the rough, untillable section reduces it fully one-third.

The reservation lies, all of it, west of a line drawn north and south a little east of the center of Kansas and Nebraska. Now there is a pretty well accepted sentiment in those States that this line is about as far west as successful agriculture-meaning grain-raising as distinguished from stock-raising or mixed farming-can be carried on, one year with another. But the rainfall seems to be better distributed and more generous in the same longitude as one goes south, so that this section has promise of good crop returns. Then it is held by those experienced in prospecting these new lands that the mountains turn back and temper the dreaded "hot winds" which make the settler's summer anxious, and so allow the crops to come to fruitage in greater protection on the prairies north of the range than elsewhere in the prairie region. The lands are well watered by small streams, and the soil is very fertile along the valleys-not notably so elsewhere. In the Indian pastures will be 480,000 acres of land, for which the tribes have been offered by the cattlemen a rental of twenty cents an acre-a sum that will give the Indians a good income. In addition there will also be the income from the lands taken in severalty, most of which will also be rented.

That the people of the West are eager for the new lands is evidenced by the fact that men have been camped along the line since the spring of 1900. They support themselves by working at times and by hunting, meanwhile getting ready for the run. White canvas-topped wagons are drifting southward here and there in Oklahoma and the States to the north, bearing more settlers. Many of the old Oklahomans who are selling out expect to secure new homes at the opening, believing that their other experience will assist them materially. About every other

man in the Territory is apparently planning to try for a claim. There is everything to gain and nothing to lose in this lottery of Uncle Sam's.

The prospect that the opening would come next spring seems doomed to disappointment. The progress of the allotment and survey is so slow that it is probable that the date will not be earlier than August or September, 1901. When it comes, there will be a sight worth seeing, as it will be the last of the openings on so extensive a scale.

One fond dream animates the people who have accomplished so much in a single decade-Statehood. They cannot understand why they should be denied entrance into the sisterhood of commonwealths when the doors have been opened to so many less fitted in the essentials of material welfare. The new census shows that Oklahoma now has a population greater than eight of the States of the Union, and only a few thousand less than five others. Even should the enabling act be passed at once and immediate Statehood be secured for Oklahoma alone, it would, with its present rate of growth, have at the time of securing it a greater population than a dozen other States, some of which entered the Union at the Nation's birth. Here are some comparisons:

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On the east of Oklahoma is another section also desirous of becoming a Statethe Indian Territory. There also are being held Statehood conventions. Two parties exist in both Territories; one advocating separate Statehood, the other favoring a union into one commonwealth. The double Statehood idea is most popular in the Indian Territory, where it is argued that Oklahoma, with its experience and organization in politics and its public buildings, would probably secure the capital as well as control the offices of the new State. Oklahoma naturally inclines toward single Statehood, and points to the influence that

would accrue to a powerful commonwealth such as the consolidation of the two would form. The census gives the Indian Territory a population of 391,960, so that the single State formed of both would have not only an area of about seventy thousand square miles (a territory as large as New York and West Virginia, or as all the New England States with Delaware and New Jersey added), but a population of eight hundred thousand, which is exceeded by only twenty-nine of the forty-five States of the Union. So strong a commonwealth, with the low taxes sure to attend its management, would attract capital and receive an advertisement that would lift it rapidly upward in every department of business and social development. But whether Statehood be

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single or double, it must soon come, and will add to the already substantial conditions prevailing.

Not often may a land little more than a decade from bare prairie present so marvelous a showing as does Oklahoma. Gifted with a fertile soil, with varied riches beneath the surface and a favoring climate above it; touching the tropics on the one hand and the colder belt on the other; settled by people who prefer pluck to display and exalt industry above heroics, how can it fail to fulfill a glorious destiny! That it has a marvelous future its people believe, and they await in confidence the coming years. They have certainly laid good foundations, and richly deserve all the prosperity and progress that can come to them.

A Unique Collection

By Coggeshall Macy

HERE is in Florence a little trattoria the advantages of whose location and the excellences of whose cookery are guarded secrets of its patrons. The coziest seat is open to the afternoon sun—and there is a keen chill to the shadow at this season-and commands a prospect of the Bell Tower. is but a step to a busy thoroughfare, although a world removed from the rush and restlessness of the crowd. And the coffee is very good.

It

I had come there one afternoon from the neighborhood of Santa Maria Novella, the region where the malign sprite that besets spendthrifts spreads his most subtle lures. Niellos, inlays, enamels, carved woods, brass sanctuary lamps, old tapestries, brocades, were laid alike in vain before me. I even shut my heart to a most fascinating old watch, with an elaborately chased hunting-case, a painted dial, and, in the back, a sweet-toned gong whereon a manikin of silver struck the hours with a tiny silver hammer. And, avoiding Scylla in the Via del Giglio, I fell into Charybdis opposite to San Lo

renzo.

The trap for my ensnaring was a torn, battered, vellum-bound manuscript. The title-page and a good fourth part of the text gone, the pages stained here and

there as by a wine-pot carelessly set down, the writing faded almost to vanishing by years-what book lover could deny shelter to so forlorn a tome? I counted out the few soldi that the hag at the stall demanded, tucked the volume under my arm, and, shamefaced for my weakness, set off for my caffè at such a pace that, for the only time in my life, I omitted to stop in passing and gaze at the Gate Beautiful that glorifies il mio bel San Giovanni. Slinking into my accustomed place like a school-boy caught in a truancy, I read in the volume leisurely.

It was part verse, part prose. I turned the pages haphazard, conning the lines not without a sense of dim reminiscence, and presently skipped along to the prose. The crabbed and well-nigh obliterated character puzzled me at first. With neither title, punctuation, nor division into parts, the faint letters but slowly spelled a sense. At length the import of the words dawned on me. I caught my breath and turned the leaf quickly as if needful of further proof of what I had just read. The confirming words swam before my eyes. I let the book drop open

upon the table and strove to collect my dazed wits. I had found the letters of Boccaccio to Fiammetta!

I cannot tell how long I remained thus

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He nodded recognition of the quotation and went on in his low, well-modulated voice:

"But you read something of interest?" "Only a fragmentary manuscript that I picked up near the Medicean Palace," I said, with as careless a tone as I could command; "I have not yet examined it carefully."

The old man sipped his cappuccino silently, and after a few moments looked up again. He must have had an eye compelling as the Ancient Mariner's, forknowing that I hoped vainly for a refusal. -I felt obliged to ask:

"Would it interest you to look at it?" At the first glimpse of the shriveled binding his expression softened as though he looked on a familiar sight, and he took the book in his lank hand and caressed the pages with loving touch.

"Ah, yes," he said; "you will count this a fortunate day. I also have not been without good luck in my time; and if you delight in such things, I have some trifles at home-nella casa-that I can at some time show you. Or if you have now a little leisure . . . ?"

I could not choose but hear, and I followed him out into the broad Cathedral Square.

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with the street paving, and led me up long flights of ill-lighted stairs. At the top of the house he ushered me into a room spacious even for an Italian apartment. The long wall opposite the doorway was covered with a magnificent tapestry. The other walls were lined with book-shelves to half their height. Above were pictures, framed drawings and autographs, and a miscellany of literary curios. The light streamed straight through the deepembrasured windows-the sun was now sunk so low-and fell on a fountain in the middle of the room that plashed with soothing murmur on a small rockery.

"It is fed from a running brook in Arden," said my guide. And taking up a stone from the rockery, he continued: "Such were the volumes of sermons the good duke found there."

I glanced up at the old man. His hair was grizzled but by no means white, his beard of patriarchal length, and his compiexion browned from exposure to wind and weather. His features were Oriental and his expression one of fine intelligence. In his carriage, to be sure, there was a slight stoop, but his step was vigorous and swift. His speech and manner were those of an accomplished man of the world. Feature, accent, nor address afforded a certain indication of either race or age.

"On these shelves," he said, going toward the window wall," are the volumes I alluded to. These are Raphael's hundred sonnets; this is the essay of the initial canti of the Divina Commedia which the poet made in Latin before he trusted his genius to the vital Tuscan. And this, since you speak English, may interest you even more. It is Pepys's romance Love a Cheate.' I pieced it together from the scraps he made of the manuscript. It was delicate work, for, you see, he has written on both sides of the paper."

I handled the volume with eagerness, trying to imagine how the lively Clerk of the Acts persuaded himself to mutilate it that January night when he made all things even and clear in the world. He read it over first, and found he "liked it well, and wondered a little at myself at the vein at the time I wrote it, doubting I cannot do so well now if I would try." Bound into the volume were the songs Beauty

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Retire," "It is Decreed," "Gaze not on Swans," and "Great, Good, and Just." The first two, my guide explained, were probably early copies of the originals in the Pepysian Library; but the others, the only copies extant.

"All the books on this wall," said the venerable collector, "are reputed lost. Those on the adjoining shelves are interesting for a different reason."

He put into my hands another manuscript, written in Latin, in a delicate seventeenth-century hand on the finest paper. It was entitled: Utraque manus in benedicendo clericus inferioribus necessaria est.

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"The thesis of Aramis !" I exclaimed. "Even so," answered the librarian. "These are the books not written themselves but written about in other books. Here, for example, are some choice specimens of English divinity. The sermons of Parson Adam and those of the Rev. Charles Honeyman, published at the request of his congregation. And that sweet tract, The Washerwoman of Finchley Common,' by Lady Emily Sheepshanks, sister-in-law to Sir Pitt Crawley, the younger. This is a monograph on monogamy by the Rev. Dr. Primrose; and these, Ned Softley's poems with an introduction by Addison, charming for its veiled irony. Here, also, are the verses of Reginald Bunthorne and the lyrics of Archibald Grosvenor.

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"Here are the novels of David Copperfield, and beside them The Cantatrice' and The Man of Two Minds,' by Diana Warwick. Of Walter Lorraine,' Pendennis's first novel, I was fortunate to get the copy that belonged to his uncle the Major. Calf elegant, and the pages not all cut, you observe. This is The Pilgrim's Scrip,' by Sir Austin Feveral, a presentation copy to Diaper Sandoe. The brochure at your hand is the famous paper entitled 'Speculations on the Sources of Hampstead Ponds, with Some Observations on the Theory of Tittlebats,' communicated by the immortal Pickwick at an early meeting of the club that bears his name. These are the poems of Miles Coverdale, and these the collected works of Miss Bunion, Heartstrings,' The Deadly Nightshade,' Passion Flowers,' and The Orphan of Gozo,' cut up by Mr. Rigby in the Quarterly with his usual

kindness. From this work some extracts have been printed, but the volume itself is still in the manuscript. It is:

BLOSSOMS OF THE SOUL.
A Wreath of Verse; Original.
By GIFTED HOPKINS.

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.-Gray.

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I keep Thoughts on the Universe,' by his friend Byles Gridley, near to it.

"These are principally dramatic works. This, 'The Faithful Fool, A Comedy, as it was performed by Her Majesty's Servants. By a Person of Quality. London, 1712,' is blotted with ink, as you see, and has many era ures and interpolations, stage directions for the most part, in the author's autograph. There were nine copies sold, I believe, before Colonel Esmond had the rest of the impression burned.

This prompt copy he took with him to Virginia. And with it is 'Carpezan,' a tragedy by his American grandson, George Warrington. In the same volume is the drama adapted from the French by Nicholas Nickleby, and the pamphlet of sixty-four pages on the character of the Nurse's deceased husband in 'Romeo and Juliet' by Mr. Curdle, containing on the fly-leaf the invitation to Nicholas to read Shakespeare with him for three hours every morning before breakfast.

"Around the corner are books whose associations give them an added value. This little gem, On the Malleability of Fire,' is the treatise Dr. Gulliver picked up in the Academy of Lagoda. And the quarto yonder on the second shelf is Shallow's Book of Songs and Sonnets.' It cost me only four shillings, although he valued it at more than forty. Next to the right is the Book of Riddles' he lent to Mistress Shortcake upon Allhallowmas, a fortnight afore Michaelmas. The collection of tales of chivalry below was made by the Knight of La Mancha.

"Over this book Mrs. Battle sometimes unbent her mind after a hand at whist. And this book of verses is said to be so excellent that, in addition to its charm, a jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and One singing in the Wilderness were enough to transform it into Paradise for the Astronomer-Poet. Brutus read in this book the night before Philippi. The leaf is turned down where he left reading. And this ancient jest-book is that Polonius

gave his daughter to read, that show of such an exercise might color her loneliness. It contains the original version of Squire Hardcastle's story, The Old Grouse in the Gunroom.'

"The set in uniform binding is Colonel Newcome's traveling library: Boswell's Johnson, Cæsar and Tacitus, both with translations, the Spectator, Don Quixote, and Sir Charles Grandison.

"Just to your right-there-the waterstained volume. It is Prospero's Book of Magic, the only volume remaining of the library he thought dukedom large enough. The next folio, in Nostradamus's handwriting, is the work on necromancy that once belonged to the learned Dr. Faust; and the third is the Book of Michael Scott. The cover is still stained with the blood of William of Deloraine.

"The Gibbon, in eight volumes, red and gold, purple ribbon in every volume to keep the place where you left off, is (of course) the copy read aloud to Mr. Boffin by Silas Wegg.

"Here is an odd work, inspired equally by Apollo and by Ceres: Le Poète-Rotisseur.'

"Tis written by one Ragueneau, at one time candle-snuffer of Molière's theater. The critical preface by Cyrano de Bergerac is a masterpiece. The adjacent volumes are the poems of Lucien de Rubempré.

"In this corner are mostly modern works. Sardonyx,' Josslyn's clever tale; Sherlock Holmes on Tobacco-Ashes, a typical recent scientific monograph, compact, concise, and comprehensive. For the contrast, I have put it beside an oldfashioned bit of historical writing, The History of the Punjaub,' by Colonel Sir William Dobbin, C.B.1

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"These legal commentaries are the ones turned over by Bellario and Portia. The bond that involved the famous suit is inserted in the first of those volumes. For that little book, which then lay in his chamber window, Benedict sent a boy to fetch it to the orchard. That is a copy of the works of Walther von der Vogelweide, long owned by the family Von Sto!zing, a noble Franconian house. The last of the race settled in Nuremberg, where he married Fräulein Evchen Pogner, a

The collector has doubtless added by this time T. Sandys's books "On Women" and "The Wandering Child," which had not yet been written when I saw this strange library.

goldsmith's daughter and a protegée of Hans Sachs. The file of the Gazette de Hollande' was given me by the Flying Dutchman.

"Pray give a moment's attention to the pictures. The angel in the style of Giotto was drawn by Dante on the first anniversary of Beatrice's death. I had it from the poet's last patron, Guido da Polenta, the uncle of Francesca da Rimini. That is her Galleotto' just below; beside Dante's Æneid.'

"The architectural drawing is the design for the façade of the Duomo here in Florence that Andrea del Sarto erected during the fêtes upon the arrival of Leo X. in 1515. The other drawings have merely a personal interest. I sometimes sit as model to my friends. That sketch of me is by Titian-simply a study for the more finished work opposite.

"The bust that so resembles Praxiteles's Faun is by an American who some time since lived at Rome-Kenyon. It is a portrait of the then Count of Monte Beni.

"These are principally modern English paintings. This, a charming Oberon and Titania,' by J. J. Ridley; it comes from the Earl of Kew's collection. This is Bagot's Moon Dial,' and these, soldiersketches by Heldar. He unfortunately became blind, you know, just as he began to do better work.

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"Will the light allow you to examine this autograph? It is almost faded out, and never was more than a scribbled memorandum. If I bring it nearer to the window-so. A man can smile and smile and be a villain.' Most interesting, is it not? It lay hidden in the Danish archives for years, and then passed to the University Council at Wittenberg, where I found it when I studied there.

"This goblet, parcel-gilt, comes from the Dolphin chamber of the Boar's Head

Tavern in Eastcheap. 'Twas upon it Falstaff swore upon Wednesday in Whitsun week, when the Prince broke Sir John's head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor, as Mistress Quickly was washing the wound, to marry her and make her my lady his wife. The salver, by the Florentine, Benvenuto Cellini, is that whereon Rowena's muffins were served by a kneeling page, she having chosen this breakfast cate since roya Alfred baked these cakes; at least so it

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