way, a little surer than before of the fact which was
already so distinct a belief it needed no new foundations, that better
food will and must mean better living. Hard times are passing, but none
the less is there still the imperative demand for wider knowledge of
what food those hard-earned dollars shall buy. Philanthropists may urge
what reforms they will--less crowding, purer air, better sanitary
regulations--but this question of food underlies all. The knowledge
that is broad enough to ensure good food is broad enough to mean better
living in all ways; and not till such knowledge is the property of all
women can we look for the "emancipation" from some of the deepest evils
that curse the life of woman in the slums and out. Toward that end all
women who long to help, yet see no outlook, may work, and with its full
recognition will come the day for which we wait--a day whose faint dawn
even now flushes the east and gives promise, dim yet sure, of the
slowly-nearing light, holding even when most clouded the certainty of

Purer manners, nobler laws.
--HELEN CAMPBELL.

DELECTATIO PISCATORIA.

THE UPPER KENNEBEC.

From the great mere set round with sunbright mountains
Full born the river leaps,
Dashing the crystal of a thousand fountains
Down its romantic steeps.

'Tis now a torrent whose untamed endeavor
Is eager for the sea,
Angry that rock or reef should hinder ever
Its frantic liberty.

Then, for a space, a lake and river blended,
It sleeps with tranquil breast,
As if its haste and rage at last were ended,
And all it sought was rest.

In spicy woodpaths by its rapids straying,
I hear, with lingering feet,
Its liquid organ and the treetops playing
Te Deums strangely sweet.

I break the covert: pictured far emerges
On the enraptured sight
The arrowy flow, green isles, a cascade's surges,
Foam-flaked in rosy light,

Still pools, and purples of the sleepy sedges,
The skyward forest-wall,
Old sorrowing pines and hazy mountain-ledges,
And soft blue over all.

O golden hours of summer's precious leisure!
From care and toil apart
Fresh drawn, I taste the angler's gentle pleasure
With friend of equal heart.

Trout leap and glitter, and the wild duck flutters
Where beds of lilies blow:
A loon his long, weird lamentation utters,
And Echo feels his woe.

We see in hem