the soft empurpled Orient,
At mention of thy name
Doff all the hats of Heathendom!
And all combined in one vast aggregation,
Cry out hail, hail, thrice hail to thee,
Who after years, and centuries, and cycles e'en,
Hast made the winds incarnate!
To thee
The visible expression in the flesh,
Material and tangible,
Of all that goes to make the element
That rages, blusters, blasts, and blows!
And if the poet's mind speaks true,
If he can penetrate their purposes at all,
It is not far from their intent
To lift thee on their broad November wings
So high
That none but gods can ever hope
Again to gaze upon thy face!
_SOME ARE AMATEURS_
SHAKESPEARE was partly wrong--the world's a stage,
This is admitted by the bard's detractors.
Had William seen some Hamlets of this age
He'd not have called _all_ men upon it actors.
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EPISODES IN VAN BIBBER'S LIFE
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GOOD FOR THE SOUL
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EVELINA'S GARDEN
_By Mary E. Wilkins_
COBWEBS FROM A LIBRARY CORNER (Verses)
_By John Kendrick Bangs_
THE WOMAN'S EXCHANGE
_By Ruth McEnery Stuart_
THE CAPTURED DREAM
_By Octave Thanet_
STORIES OF PEACE AND WAR
_By Frederic Remington_
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Transcriber's note: Words originally in Greek are
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