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 F>R|CC IS CENTS 
 
The Book of Cranford tillage 
 
 (Published just once in the interests of Christopher House) 
 
 MRS. SELDEN F. WHITE MRS. EDWIN A. DAWSON \ »„„„.„„ ,?„„.„„„ MR. JOHN M. GLENN /. „ 
 
 Editor MRS. HARRY B. WHEELOCK , Ass0CIATE Editors mr j george m LUDLO w \ ^viso™ Committee 
 
 The Editors of The Book of Cranford Village are very proud of the character of their advertisements. Read them, and deal with the firms represented 
 
 (Honimte 
 
 v ' '" PAGE 
 
 Frontispiece Lucy Fitch Perkins 8 
 
 At the End of the Day — Poem S. E. Kiser 9 
 
 Dr. Butler's Lecture — Story Louise Ayres Garnett 10 
 
 A Song of the Sea — Poem Lucy Fitch Perkins 14 
 
 Golf Friendship David R. F organ 15 
 
 Indian Summer — Poem Helen Coale Crew 15 
 
 Titus — Story Robert H. Gault 16 
 
 Ye False Prophet — Verse Irene G. Wheelock 19 
 
 Military Preparedness Under Popular Government . . . Harrison B. Riley 18 
 
 To a Maple Tree — Poem Alice C. D. Riley 17 
 
 The Cuttergrass Man — Poem Wilbur D. Nesbit 20 
 
 Blessings in Disguise — One-act Comedy Anna Jane Harnwell 21 
 
 The Psychology of Efficiency Walter Dill Scott 25 
 
 The Roofless Nurseries — Poem Helen Coale Crew 25 
 
 Music in Evanston Peter Christian Lutkin 26 
 
 Wise Saws from Our Dominie's Sermons David Hugh Jones, D. D. 28 
 
 A Day at Christopher House Beatrice Green Morris 29 
 
 Bird Notes Irene G. Wheelock 30 
 
 Naming a Girl — Verse Louise Ayres Garnett 3 1 
 
 CHILDREN'S PAGE 
 
 The Goose that Laid the Golden Eggs — Fable . . . . , Lucy Fitch Perkins 32 
 
 Wireless — Poem Anna M. Scott 33 
 
 The Birds' Christmas Tree — Story Ellen Lee Wyman 33 
 
 Puzzles 34 
 
 LITERARY NOTES 
 
 Among the New Books Adelaide B. McCullough 35 
 
 Evanston Public Library Mary B. Lindsay and Nancy Corse 35 
 
 EDITORS' EASY CHAIR 
 
 Cranford Village — Christopher House — Evanston Hospital — Girls' League — 
 
 Roycemore — New Clubs — War Poems 36 
 
 Fashions and Chit-chat 39 
 
 Program Inside Back Cover 
 
 Cover Design — Mrs. Frank C. Dakin 
 Illustrative Headings — Sarah L. Coffin 
 
T h 
 
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T h 
 
 Book of C r a n f o 
 
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T h 
 
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"The goldsmith was so surprised that he fell over backwards." (Page 32) 
 
The Book of Cranford Village 
 
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 j| Men hurry past him in the street §1 
 
 m And pay him no respect at all; Wb 
 
 j| Where those whose pride is great compete 
 
 H He has a place obscure and small; ji 
 
 H He serves as wisely as he may & 
 
 H Where giants battle for success, H 
 
 fl And at the end of every day || 
 
 m He hastens home to happiness. §3 
 
 m . s 
 
 H Where traffic roars and walls are high jl 
 
 S He earns the pittance he receives, m 
 
 §§ And few men would be gladdened by 
 
 jl The little triumphs he achieves. 
 
 gjj Denied the talents of the great, 
 
 H He hurries home, when night arrives, 
 
 H To be a blissful potentate 
 
 Among the ones for whom he strives. 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 H Men wonder why his look is glad, |jj 
 
 10a Since he is poor and underpaid; m 
 
 H Obscure, hard-pressed and cheaply clad, H 
 
 H He goes to duty, undismayed; jpi 
 
 11 With common gifts, he envies none <m 
 
 H The prizes of supreme success, || 
 
 jl For when the day's hard work is done p 
 
 SS He hurries home to happiness. m 
 
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T h 
 
 Book 
 
 of C r a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a g e 
 
 JJr. jlttikr s ^lecture 
 
 By Louise Ayres Garnett 
 
 The two-thirty train arrived at a station 
 announcing Stillmore in frank black letters. 
 
 Norman Butler, a young physician who had 
 seized a few days' holiday from a practice not 
 too exacting, descended the steps alertly, 
 bearing a well-filled bag of clubs. His golfing 
 spirit appraised the day, and knew that con- 
 ditions were perfect for the game, cool enough 
 to be bracing, and with not sufficient wind to 
 divert a conscientiously directed ball. 
 
 He failed to notice that two women were 
 examining with interest the male passengers 
 who had left the train — himself and a sober- 
 looking man clad in a loose serge suit that 
 flapped as he moved. The latter was ap- 
 proached by the expectant women. 
 
 "Dr. Butler?" the older one asked affably. 
 
 "My name ain't Butler," responded the 
 loose-appareled individual, "but I'm Doc, all 
 right. I'm a thorough up-to-date A No. i Vet. 
 and I can shoo away spavins and patch up 
 broken-winded nags like a born wizard. I 
 can make all horse complaints look like two 
 cents. Have one of my cards. I'm a new- 
 comer." 
 
 Both women declined the card with reserve, 
 though it bore a cordial red horseshoe in one 
 corner. They turned toward the remaining 
 passenger. 
 
 This must be the one they sought, though he 
 looked very different from the conventional 
 Doctor of Learning. Golf clubs, a manner 
 that really was somewhat debonair, and the 
 carnation in his button-hole, all seemed a trifle 
 unscholastic. Still, of course, it must be he. 
 
 Again, the query, 
 
 "Are you Dr. Butler?" 
 
 "Yes," responded Dr. Butler, removing his 
 hat, and retaining it in his hand. His smile 
 was very pleasant. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Warlock. This is Mrs. Bulby. 
 We are here to see that you arrive safely at 
 the Club." 
 
 "That is extremely good of you — and Mrs. 
 Cumnock," Butler responded. "I was told 
 that someone would take the forlorn stranger 
 in tow. It's perfect weather for golf, isn't it ? " 
 
 Golf! — thought the bewildered ladies. And 
 Mrs. Cumnock! Mrs. Bulby found herself 
 replying vaguely: 
 
 "Yes, it is nice weather. We've had many 
 such days lately." 
 
 "You're to be envied," said Butler heartily. 
 "In town we have decent days, too, but we 
 can't display them and get their effects as 
 you do. You have a splendid course, haven't 
 you? I've heard of it." 
 
 Here both ladies experienced great relief. 
 At last he was approaching the topic near their 
 hearts: he was now comprehensible. 
 
 "We have what we feel to be an excellent 
 one." Mrs. Warlock, the President, spoke, 
 divided between modesty and triumph. "I 
 have done my best for the Club, and feel that 
 the course this year has repaid me for the 
 time I have devoted to it. Naturally I have 
 had the able support of all the ladies of the 
 Committee." 
 
 They had entered a comfortable surrey and 
 were being driven away. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Butler. "The Com- 
 mittee is entirely composed of ladies? I 
 never heard of such a thing!" 
 
 Mrs. Warlock and Mrs. Bulby felt some 
 surprise and looked it. 
 
 Butler hastily added: 
 
 "I think it's fine, you know. Especially 
 considering the reputation of the Club. I 
 understand you have established perfect links." 
 
 Mrs. Warlock was thrown in a gentle glow. 
 Dr. Butler was such a well-known scholar 
 that she could have wept because of the joy 
 his comment excited. Had they not devoted 
 themselves to the close study of Evolution for 
 many months? And he seemed to know of 
 their progress, and their application to the 
 discovery of truth! 
 
 Her voice was not quite steady as she replied: 
 
 "Yes, we have established the Links to satisfy 
 our most critical judgment. From Protoplasm 
 to Man," she finished in a hushed tone. 
 
 Dr. Butler threw back his head and laughed 
 heartily. 
 
 "By Jove!" he cried, "that's not half bad," 
 and he gazed with real interest at the woman 
 who could make a joke with so restrained a 
 countenance. The lady herself experienced 
 another shock of surprise. She found the 
 Doctor eccentric and disconcerting. 
 
 At this point the driver drew rein before a 
 red brick building that stood on the main 
 business street of Stillmore. The ladies 
 signified their wish to descend. Butler sprang 
 out to assist them. 
 
 [10] 
 
T h 
 
 Book 
 
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 I I a 
 
 "Shall I wait here?" he inquired, thinking 
 they were stopping to make a few purchases. 
 
 "By no means," replied Mrs. Bulby. "Come 
 with us." 
 
 Butler cast a long glance at the open. If 
 he were but free to go his way he would have 
 time for eighteen holes before nightfall. He 
 had understood it was a drive of only five or six 
 miles, but if he had to shadow the footsteps of 
 ladies bent on shopping — even though one of 
 them did have a sense of humor, the golden 
 afternoon would be wasted. 
 
 He followed with outward docility through 
 the doorway, up a flight of stairs, and, ere he 
 had a chance to make an inquiry or effect his 
 escape, found himself passing through another 
 doorway into a spacious room filled with 
 women. There were large women, petite 
 women, pretty women, plain women — Butler 
 thought desperately- — all kinds of women! 
 
 The opening of the door announced a busy 
 clatter of voices, which ceased with their 
 advent. Butler was gripped by a sensation 
 actually profane. Then he heard Mrs. Bulby 
 saying suavely: 
 
 "This is Dr. Butler, Mrs. Blander. Mrs. 
 Blander is our corresponding secretary and 
 one of our best-known representatives. She 
 is never discouraged and knows no handicap." 
 
 Dr. Butler bowed in response to Mrs. 
 Blander's flaccid droop of the head. He felt 
 astonished that this anaemic looking woman 
 played a game that placed her on the scratch 
 list. No handicap, and she looked as if she 
 must be given at least thirty! 
 
 Mrs. Blander was speaking. 
 
 "You must not think, Dr. Butler that I am 
 merely a practical exponent of the science we 
 both love. I woo the -poetic side as well. I 
 am a Symbolist." 
 
 "Indeed!" murmured Butler, thinking, 
 "Symbolism and Golf! What is she driving 
 at?" 
 
 Mrs. Warlock was mounting the platform 
 with the conscious dignity of Presidency and 
 Competency. Butler heard her say: 
 
 "Ladies, fellow members, honored zealots in 
 the Field of Progressive Research, I am filled 
 with a glow of justifiable pride when I confirm 
 the announcement of our town papers and 
 the club bulletins, that we have with us this 
 afternoon no less a personage than Dr. Butler 
 — the renowned Dr. Butler of New York." 
 
 Butler gave a crude, unmistakable start. 
 
 "Yes, he has consented to address us to-day; 
 and he said on our way from the station that 
 he had heard flattering reports of our club 
 and knew of the excellence of our course of 
 study. I tell you this, fellow members, that 
 
 you may be stimulated to even worthier effort. 
 Dr. Butler will announce to you the subject of 
 his lecture. I felt it unworthy to limit genius. 
 I take pleasure in resigning the platform to our 
 esteemed guest. Will he come forward?" 
 
 An enthusiastic clapping of hands assailed 
 the tortured ears of poor Butler. Dampness 
 covered his sunburned forehead. 
 
 "It's a mistake," he said eagerly, turning 
 to Mrs. Bulby. "Besides, I couldn't give a 
 lecture to save my life." 
 
 "For shame," pacified Mrs. Blander, wag- 
 ging a symbolic forefinger at him. "We have 
 heard all about your modesty!" 
 
 "I tell you," he said to Mrs. Bulby, "there's 
 a mistake here. I'm not the one you expect." 
 
 "Aren't you Dr. Butler of New York?" 
 
 "I am," guiltily admitted Butler. 
 
 "Then you can't withdraw," said Mrs. 
 Bulby in an inflexible manner. "We have 
 been in correspondence with you for several 
 weeks; your appearance has been advertised; 
 this audience expects to hear you — an au- 
 dience representing Culture and Intellect. 
 Besides, an admittance fee has been charged 
 that we may have sufficient in the exchequer 
 to cover our obligations to you. You simply 
 cannot disappoint us." 
 
 The lady so fused her Culture with Com- 
 mercialism that Butler felt as if he had threat- 
 ened to rob the pockets of the innocent. 
 
 A renewed burst of applause was heard. 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Butler," breathed a little woman 
 raising to him eyes actually swimming in 
 tears, "you can't have the heart to deny us 
 the happiness of listening to you! I have 
 thought of nothing else for weeks." 
 
 Butler was about to provide them with data 
 to convince them of his identity — that he was 
 Dr. Butler — no, that he wasn't Dr. Butler — 
 confound it all, he thought, what did he mean? 
 He knew who he was, at any rate, and could 
 prove to them in about five minutes that he 
 was on his way to the Morningside Golf 
 Club, to spend the week end with the Cum- 
 nocks. If he could get hold of Cumnock! 
 
 Here he encountered a shock in the form of 
 a mysterious challenge from the part of his 
 spirit that stood for adventure. It sent the 
 impulse of the dare-devil that lurks in each 
 of us scalding through his veins. Yes, he 
 felt that something within was waving a flag 
 at him, daring him! He turned to the little 
 woman who was trembling on the perilous 
 verge of tears and addressed her almost 
 tenderly. 
 
 "If you really wish so much to hear me, I 
 will overcome my feelings and address you." 
 
 The little woman clasped her hands, then 
 
 [n] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 C 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I 
 
 age 
 
 clapped them. That was the spark that ignited 
 another blaze of applause. It swept through 
 the room, fled to the calcimined ceiling, and 
 made its final escape through the open windows. 
 
 Butler, assuming a lofty look, mounted the 
 steps and bowed to the patient President. 
 
 She extended her plump hand and Butler 
 bending over it pressed upon it the Kiss of 
 Chivalry. Mrs. Warlock blushed as she with- 
 drew, and Butler, remembering in a grateful 
 flash of memory the sentiments of Mrs. Blander, 
 turned informally to the audience to say: 
 
 "Ladies, behold in me a Symbolist. You 
 observed the kiss imprinted upon the white 
 hand of your presiding officer. I was not a 
 man — I stood for Men. She was not a woman 
 — she stood for you, for Womankind. Such 
 an act expressed the deference, the devotion, 
 of my sex to yours." And he beamed upon 
 them as if to say, "I may seem abstract, but, 
 sweet creatures, I yearn to be both specific 
 and concrete." 
 
 It was a propitious beginning. Butler ob- 
 served that he had his audience with him. Every 
 feminine furbelow was aflutter, every heart felt 
 confiding and receptive. Butler continued: 
 
 "The subject of my lecture having been 
 generously left to me, I decided to select no 
 definite topic, but to talk, just talk, to you. 
 It is a great treat to me, ladies, a rare privilege. 
 Will you permit me to fly to you to-day from 
 the sometimes wearying chains of cold Science, 
 and reveal myself as I am? For know, dear 
 friends, I am not always as I appear to the 
 world, a delver in the mines of Proven Facts 
 and Matters Material; at times I indulge my 
 Soul and let it wing its flight up, up, past the 
 white-capped peaks; on, on, until it is in the 
 company of stars, and hymning heights, — and 
 Woman." 
 
 Each auditor fixed on him her responsive eyes, 
 each felt herself to be personally addressed. 
 
 "It has occurred to me to discuss a poem 
 with you — a poem that to the superficial mind 
 seems frivolous, nay, even ridiculous; but for 
 the mind that penetrates beneath the outer 
 crust, it holds revelations. It is a perfect 
 example of symbolism in art, an art that 
 disguises the truths contained in the poem so 
 that the seeking soul is radiant with reward 
 when he has discovered its hidden values. 
 Never before have I given it to a conclave of 
 people. Never before have I wished to. 
 Even now I hesitate — what if I have mistaken 
 — no, no, I can not have overestimated the 
 temperament of my charming auditors! You 
 shall know it." 
 
 A murmur expressing relief was heard. 
 
 The lecturer earnestly recited : 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 A Flapjack sat on the edge of a stove 
 
 And lifted his voice in song. 
 "I sigh for the grots of the mermaids' trove 
 Where the night is bright with the light o' love 
 
 And the days are twice as long." 
 
 In tears did the Flapjack freely abound 
 
 (His Soul was a sensitive plant), 
 And they fell in the fire with a sizzling sound 
 That made all the crockery juggle around 
 And leap in confusion from shelf to ground 
 As they sang a fanatical chant. 
 
 Now the Flapjack loved with the whole of 
 his heart 
 
 A bottle of Ginger Pop, 
 And he wooed his love with amorous art, 
 He laid at her feet a beneficent tart, 
 But dare not send speeding a scintillant dart 
 
 For fear she would shatter and drop. 
 
 The lady would never the right word say 
 Till she noticed her Jack in tears. 
 
 "My darling," she muttered, "O let us away 
 
 To the grots where the palpitant oysters 
 stay, 
 
 And gurgling girlie-girls twitter and play 
 And cut up their capers with shears." 
 
 Her lover in bold parabolic descent 
 
 Reached her whom he madly adored, 
 And together they fled till their strength was 
 
 near spent, 
 And at last found those very same grots 
 
 he had meant 
 (So fishy, 'twas easy to tell by the scent!) 
 And there they decided to board. 
 
 But life is a tragedy, I have been told. 
 
 Jack mooned at a mer-girl — why not? 
 Which caused faithful Ginger to chatter and 
 
 scold 
 And finally bubble and burst! 'Tis the old, 
 Old tale, for Jack captured to have and to 
 hold 
 The Mermaid who lived in the grot. 
 
 "That is all," said Butler simply. "I hope 
 you feel as I have expected." 
 
 He seemed to regard them with a wistful 
 eagerness. 
 
 "Beautiful!" whispered women on all sides. 
 
 "How mystical!" murmured others. "I 
 wonder whose it is?" 
 
 Then a cordial applause rang out, Butler 
 bowing gracefully, and with noticeable mod- 
 esty. 
 
 "Thank you," he kept saying. "Thank 
 
 [12] 
 
T h e 
 
 Boo 
 
 o f 
 
 C 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 g e 
 
 you. Thank you." Then he held up a hand 
 to insure quiet. 
 
 "Now that I see we are thoroughly en 
 rap-port let us study a few of the lines and dwell 
 upon their subtleties. Take the opening 
 stanza: 
 
 '"A Flapjack sat on the edge of a stove 
 And lifted his voice in song.' 
 
 "A Flapjack was selected because it is 
 circular in form, symbolizing the unbroken 
 universality of romantic emotion, and to set 
 forth the truth that emotion may freely 
 emanate from apparently humdrum sources. 
 
 "He — we will accord the Flapjack in this 
 discussion the dignity of gender — is seated 
 upon a stove. A stove represents heat, and 
 heat purifies, consuming all that is unworthy. 
 The Flapjack on the center of heat suggests 
 purified burning sentiment. 
 
 " 'He sighs for the grots of the mermaids' trove 
 Where the night is bright with the light o' love 
 And the days are twice as long.' 
 
 "You have the moving picture of this com- 
 monplace object yearning for the beautiful, 
 the poetic, the seemingly unattainable. What 
 a lesson to us, my friends! 
 
 "In the second stanza we learn that he was 
 objectifying the intensity of his yearning in 
 tears, manly, heartfelt tears; and so much 
 power have noble drops of woe that the sound 
 of their contact with the consuming fires 
 inspired the environing objects to levitate 
 themselves in a very ecstacy of motion, sing- 
 ing the while. And think of the line, His 
 Soul was a sensitive plant! That stirs the 
 very cellarage of my being — it represents the 
 heights of psychological democracy. No 
 object is too humble to be possessed of spirit- 
 ual delicacy. Mayhap his heart strings were 
 a lute! 
 
 "In the third stanza we reach the nucleus 
 of the whole situation. What caused a mere 
 flapjack to be assailed by such animating 
 sensation?" 
 
 He gazed questioningly at his hearers, 
 tossing, as it were, this golden query in their 
 midst. 
 
 His voice lowered and vibrated with feeling. 
 
 "It was Love," he said. "Love! Love!" 
 
 Sighs of content arose. How true it was! 
 
 "And who was it he loved with the whole of 
 his heart? Again we see a commonplace 
 object symbolizing human feeling. Note the 
 subcurrent of meaning. Ginger pop, though 
 superficially a beverage ordinaire, typifies 
 feminine efFervescence and sparkle; also the 
 fluidity of womanly instinct. He wooed her, 
 
 he laid the sweets of existence at her cherished 
 feet — 
 
 "Passing to the fourth stanza we find the 
 lady-love with alluring perversity turning deaf 
 ears to the importunings of Jack till — O dwell 
 upon the beauty of this! — she observed him in 
 tears. Those tears washed away the bar- 
 riers. Her heart flew to him; 'twas she who 
 suggested their romantic flight to the sea- 
 washed grottoes. 
 
 "In the fifth stanza we see the galvanizing 
 effect upon Jack. At her words he rushed to 
 her in one mad leap, and, inflamed by love's 
 frenzy, they fled on and on until they gained 
 their haven described by Jack's inamorata. 
 The poet has here introduced in the very 
 heart of poetry, a touch of realism that subtly 
 shadows forth disillusionment^ lying in the 
 path of the future. He speaks of the fish- 
 scented grots. And there, notwithstanding the 
 outrage to olfactory sensibilities, they deter- 
 mined to remain. Was it not the voice of Love 
 that had directed their flying steps? Was not 
 Love to be listened to and tried ? 
 
 "Now we pass to the closing lines of the 
 impassioned tale. Jack, in a moment of idle- 
 ness, cast tender glances at a willowy mer-girl 
 floating on waves celedon and gleaming. 
 Detecting one of these languishing looks the 
 stricken Ginger, not appreciating men are 
 ever thus, — that they feel the necessity of 
 deflecting occasional glances from the Center 
 of Home toward the Casual Highway — felt 
 the wildest ebullitions of jealous rage course 
 through her veins. Finally, unable to endure 
 the strain the Spiritual triumphed over the 
 Physical — in an instant the crystalline body 
 of Ginger lay shattered. Thus Woman 
 suffered for the folly of Man. 
 
 "Well might the tomb of the explosive Gin- 
 ger read: 
 
 " 'Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. 
 Men were deceivers ever.' 
 
 "Ah, beautiful woman, noble woman! Ah, 
 man, man, inconstant man ! " 
 
 Butler gazed at his auditors with a humid 
 eye. They knew he meant — 
 
 "Believe me, Fair Ones, I never, never 
 could treat you in that way." 
 
 Here his roving glance rested on a black- 
 board. With a piece of chalk he drew a line 
 and took another plunge. 
 
 "Ladies, let us learn of emotions as expressed 
 in the curve — the curve with its divergent 
 manifestations. Also let us touch on the 
 relativity of color. How subtle, how poetically 
 intertwined, are the Inner and the Outer!" 
 
 Whereupon he covered the board with 
 
 [13] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 curves that represented — according to his 
 exposition — everything from the spiral of 
 aspiration to the hyperbola of folly. His 
 demonstrations were so attended by rhetorical 
 analyses and mathematical technicalities, that 
 his audience passed through all the stages 
 from surprise to bewilderment. 
 
 "Now," he concluded, "I must discipline 
 my feelings by denying them further utterance. 
 It has been a relaxation to go with you to 
 the empyrean of Poetry and Symbolism. May 
 we meet again and may you occasionally 
 tender me a friendly thought." 
 
 He bowed and rosy palms were brought 
 together in clamorous appreciation. While 
 handkerchiefs fluttered like pennants of vic- 
 tory from all quarters of the clubroom. 
 
 As Butler descended the steps his hands 
 were seized and cordially pressed by various 
 admiring ladies, while the Treasurer deli- 
 cately offered him a check. 
 
 "Not that Art, and Spirit, can be recom- 
 pensed," she breathed. 
 
 "We feel the same," sighed Butler in an 
 undertone, returning the check to the sensitive- 
 minded lady, whose hand he pressed gently. 
 "I can not, no, I cannot be remunerated for 
 my charming afternoon. Really I am in 
 your debt." 
 
 The Treasurer clutched the piece of paper in 
 a hazy rapture. She was about to load him 
 with thanks when she was diverted by a sound 
 of confusion at the door, a group of women 
 separating to disclose a man flushed of face 
 and fluent of gesture and speech. 
 
 Mrs. Blander, who had an increase of rever- 
 ence for Dr. Butler because of his fealty to 
 Symbolic Idealism, accosted him with the 
 indignant question: 
 
 "What shall we do? This is the second time 
 this person has forced himself upon us and 
 
 made the most absurd pretensions. He insists 
 he is Dr. Butler, and it was all we could do to 
 prevent him interrupting your lecture." 
 
 Here the voice of the repudiated Butler was 
 heard. 
 
 "I protest, ladies, that you have been 
 hoodwinked by a clever impostor. I fell 
 into a doze and—" 
 
 But Butler, the Medical, waited for nothing 
 further. If he could reach that door way and 
 s-l-i-p through! Before he realized it the thing 
 was done. He was in the hallway — speeding 
 down the stairs on wary toes, — actually in 
 the open air, hatless and jubilant! 
 
 "Free!" he thought, swinging along in the 
 abandon of release. "Blue sky overhead, 
 solid ground beneath my feet, and not a woman 
 — bless her! — in sight. Which way shall I 
 turn?" 
 
 Benevolent Fortune settled the matter. A 
 trap drove up; a well-known voice hailed him. 
 
 "Cumnock!" exclaimed Butler. 
 
 "Hello, old man," said Cumnock heartily. 
 "Just missed the two-thirty, but as the sta- 
 tion agent said no one got off except a horse 
 doctor and a lecturer, I concluded you'd 
 taken the later train; was on my way to it 
 now. But what are you doing here? And 
 where's your hat? And I thought — who's 
 that coming down the street? It's a woman 
 and she appears to be signaling." 
 
 "Petticoats!" wailed Butler, seating himself 
 with a leap. "Drive on, drive as if the Old 
 Nick's after you! And Cumnock," as the 
 horse gallantly responded to the whip touch, 
 "as you love me, ask me no questions for five 
 blessed minutes. Let me look at you and 
 realize you're really here. Great Christopher! 
 Cumnock," he added solemnly, making another 
 dash for his host's hand and shaking it vigor- 
 ously, "how I do love Man!" 
 
 By Lucy Fitch Perkins 
 
 The white gulls are sailing, — away, away, — 
 Where the gray of the dawn meets the gold of the day. 
 The little waves break on the sands of the shore, — 
 They beat on my heart, — ever more, — ever more! 
 The gulls and the voice of the shimmering sea, 
 They are calling to me, — they are calling to me! 
 Come away; come away from thy sheltering isles! 
 Away with the west wind, — miles upon miles, — 
 Away where the stars their lonely watch keep, 
 Away to the sound of deep answering deep! 
 Sail out of the shallows, — past breaker and shoal, 
 Alone, — unafraid, — to the Port of thy Soul! 
 
 [14] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 n f o r d 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 S e 
 
 (Srrif Jfrtmftsljtps. 
 
 By David R. Forgan 
 
 Among the many blessings with which the 
 Royal and Ancient Game has enriched our 
 American life there is none greater than the 
 stimulus it has been to the growth of Friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Before the days of Country Clubs, it was a 
 standing criticism of our strenuous life that 
 there was little room in it for Friendship, and 
 that such as there was, was apt to be prompted 
 by business or selfish considerations. That, 
 of course, was not Friendship at all, for Friend- 
 ship cannot be bought or sold. Whatever 
 foundation there was for such criticism, it is 
 certain that Friendship, born of a common 
 interest in the grand old game, and cemented 
 by the opportunities for mutual understanding 
 and esteem which it afFords, is now a promi- 
 nent characteristic of American business and 
 professional life. 
 
 And what an addition to life it is! Without 
 it, life would hardly be worth living. Aristotle, 
 I think, made that same remark, and Friend- 
 ship has been the theme of essay, story, and 
 poem by the greatest writers, ancient and 
 modern, from Plato and King David to Milton 
 and Tennyson. The sentiment is, perhaps, 
 now less exalted, but it is far from being lost. 
 Hardheaded business men still find a place 
 in their lives for Friendship, and if all secrets 
 were known, many instances would be revealed 
 of unselfish devotion to their friends even after 
 these have passed beyond the confines of life. 
 
 Golf Friendships, like other Friendships, 
 are of different degrees of intimacy. Each 
 man has, as it were, concentric circles of golf- 
 friends. First, a wide circle including all 
 who love the game, — then another circle, still 
 large, including the members of his clubs with 
 whom he is glad to play when opportunity 
 offers, and finally, a small circle — a chosen 
 few — with whom, by reason of a fine affinity 
 of spirit, he loves to play as frequently as he 
 possibly can. 
 
 In referring to golfing affinities I am not 
 thinking of mixed foursomes, so called, I pre- 
 sume because a small proportion of poor golf 
 is mixed with large quantities of politeness 
 and apology. That is another matter! My 
 point is that even between men there are close 
 affinities of spirit and character, discovered 
 by playing the game. 
 
 Friendship includes mutual knowledge, un- 
 derstanding, admiration and confidence; and 
 
 in what better way do we get to know our 
 friends so as to love them than through the 
 character-revealing association of frequent 
 games? We soon get to know the players who 
 are always fair and chivalrous — keen to win, 
 yet good losers — scrupulous in applying the 
 strict rule to their own situation but generous 
 to that of their opponent — and we take them 
 to our hearts. And as the evening of life 
 draws on, and the shadows begin to lengthen, 
 and one by one our friends slip away from us, 
 is it not as golfers that we love to remember 
 them? Many of those who have gone were 
 well-known men in their various spheres, but 
 it is as Golf-Friends that their memories 
 are most frequently recalled, and it is when 
 we are tramping the green links that they still 
 seem very close to us. 
 
 So, Friends, here's to our Golf Friendships — 
 may they last as long as, and even longer than, 
 life itself! 
 
 By Helen Coale Crew 
 
 A sudden shock of silence and blue noon 
 
 Follows the summer's vital whir; 
 
 The leaf-strewn pool dreams deeply, scarce astir; 
 
 The softly-hazed air 
 
 Is quiet as a prayer; 
 
 And yellow-latticed woodways, warmly dim, 
 
 Murmur a drowsy hymn. 
 
 The mighty-thighed Ulysses of the grass 
 
 Has brought his myriad wanderings to pass, 
 
 And starkly meets his doom 
 
 In briar-scented gloom, 
 
 Or where the mullein, velvety and thick, 
 
 Uplifts its stately, flame-tipped candlestick. 
 
 Up pushes mildly from blue hidden deeps 
 
 The moon's slow-sailing prow; 
 
 And Life, a ruddy fruit on golden bough, 
 
 Hangs warm and ripe where lightly seeps 
 
 The mellow sun through glowing leaves. 
 
 None grieves, 
 
 Nor anywhere is sent 
 
 A sigh through all the tranced, sweet content. 
 
 Pan has passed on beyond the silent hills. 
 
 No more his swift pipe thrills 
 
 The restless dryad and the eager oread. 
 
 No more his wanton footstep passes 
 
 With urgent, dancing tread 
 
 Through lush young grasses. 
 
 Peace! For in quiet deeps 
 
 Demeter sleeps. 
 
 [15] 
 
T h 
 
 B o 
 
 of C r a n f 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 Wm 
 
 By Robert H. Gault 
 
 Titus' black face gleamed in the hot Balti- 
 more sun one summer day, and his two rows of 
 teeth scintillated in their hungry cavern as 
 the little eight-year-old African ran in pursuit 
 of a Virginia ham, in the neighborhood of the 
 Lexington Street Market. The ham, bounced 
 from its shelf by a sudden, hurricane-like gust, 
 rolled and tumbled across the street into the 
 gutter, whence Titus quickly rescued it and 
 hurried with it down the street. But the cop 
 was after him, and soon both he and the lad 
 were in a dingy, tumble-down shack, before 
 a grave and greasy old character known in 
 some quarters as the "Magistrate" — a term 
 suggesting majesty, and more specifically, in 
 this connection, the "majesty of the law." 
 All that good old Virginia smoking tobacco 
 could contribute to the scene was there — not in 
 any well defined locality — but it was there. 
 
 "Hear ye! Hear ye!" The court was in 
 session. The policeman was duly qualified 
 to tell the ungarnished truth. The Virginia 
 ham was there, mute, but full of promise to any 
 prospective purchaser. The owner of the 
 market from which the ham had rolled away 
 but a few hours before was there to identify 
 the aforesaid Virginia ham, and in due course 
 he was solemnly sworn. The charge was 
 read sonorously, the testimony was heard; 
 there was no defense, and there remained no 
 reason why sentence should not be pronounced 
 against Titus, the wondering little black boy. 
 
 "Fifteen days in jail." After such a period 
 behind the bars Titus should have made just 
 sufficient sacrifice q>f personal liberty to repair 
 the effect of his violence against the dignity of 
 the law, and the law could forget that it had 
 ever been offended by one Titus. Furthermore, 
 by such a time the lad should have learned a 
 wholesome lesson or two relating to personal 
 property rights; the hard ways of the trans- 
 gressor, etc., etc. He gave his trousers a 
 hitch when he heard the Magistrate say 
 something about the jail, and went out with 
 the officer. 
 
 In the jail he found some tough rascals, 
 little and big, but they were a jolly lot. Much 
 to the liking of most of them, there was nothing 
 to do but to sit around telling and hearing 
 ugly tales. 
 
 After fifteen days Titus, much wiser than 
 before in certain kinds of lore, was in the street 
 
 again. Before long he was away with some 
 bananas that were his only by dint of tem- 
 porary possession. Then he was in jail 
 again briefly and out again, and in again and 
 out again. Soon he became a shuttlecock 
 between the street on the one hand and the 
 jail, the reformatory, or the penitentiary on 
 the other. The offended dignity of the law 
 was periodically salved and satisfied by han- 
 dling the lad in the traditional manner as pro- 
 vided by the fathers of the constitution and 
 the good old English procedure. 
 
 And so Titus grew. A few good ladies, old 
 and young, with the best instincts in the 
 world, visited him and his fellow prisoners 
 occasionally, distributed tracts and testaments 
 among them, poured out their sacred souls in 
 prayer that Providence might be moved to 
 wean Titus and these others "bondaged to 
 sin" from their wicked ways, to lead them to 
 "forsake evil and do good," and to "flee 
 from the wrath to come." How happy if 
 these good women had been the only social 
 factor in the life of young Titus: if there had 
 been no scalawags at his elbow during all his 
 periods of retreat! 
 
 Titus was becoming well known to the 
 judicial fraternity in his native city and at 
 last he was promoted to a real penitentiary, 
 and because he was reasonably pliable in the 
 hands of his guards and not aggressively 
 disinclined to yield to their restrictions and 
 demands, Titus became a trusty — and a very 
 reliable trusty he was, too. 
 
 Shortly after this distinction came to him 
 a fire raged in the penitentiary which threat- 
 ened to destroy the whole concern. Wagons 
 were hastily laden with goods to be removed 
 to a place of safety. But one of these, standing 
 ready with horses attached in the yard, was 
 without a driver. "Here you, Titus; get up 
 there!" cried an officer of the prison. "Look 
 sharp now and drive this team up to X Street; 
 hitch your horses there and come back." 
 Something was doing now with Titus on the 
 box. The wagon rumbled out as the great 
 gates swung back, and up the street he drove. 
 In record time he was back at the gate, hot 
 foot. "Git out o' here, you nigger!" shouted 
 the brass-buttoned protector of the city's 
 peace, who had been detailed to guard the 
 gate. Titus retreated into the street. Once 
 
 [16] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 of Cranford 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 g e 
 
 more he approached, only to be thrown 
 back by the officer, who added a vocabulary 
 that the black boy — a man he is now — had not 
 found in the tracts. After a pause, he charged 
 yet again that well-defended door. But you 
 can't fool with a copper. A hard billy swished 
 through the air and Titus, like a drunken 
 jelly-fish, flopped into the gutter, which, in the 
 good old days (not so old, either) in the city 
 of Lord Baltimore, was a sewer. Then as 
 soon as he could gather together his fragments, 
 he propped himself upon his feet and splut- 
 tered to the guardian of the gate, "Ah belongs 
 in da." 
 
 This is near the final phrase in the last 
 chapter of Titus. He died in prison aged 38, 
 
 thirty years after he pursued the Virginia 
 ham that was making its escape from the 
 Lexington Street Market. Of these thirty 
 years almost twenty-five had been spent in 
 prison and reformatory. In his five years 
 outside he had not become adjusted to any 
 phase of normal productivity. His years 
 behind the bars were not inspired by his 
 guardians with those occupational and educa- 
 tional devices and ideals which make contri- 
 bution to such adjustment. He was, how- 
 ever, at the end of the chapter, admirably 
 fitted to live in a cage. In a very real sense he 
 "belongs in da." 
 
 "And much it grieved my heart to think 
 What man has made of man." 
 
 By Alice C. D. Riley 
 
 Oh, Maple-tree, thy buds with fringes gold 
 
 In joyous burgeoning of bloom appear 
 Along bare boughs, and all their sweets unfold 
 
 To tell the world that Spring, glad Spring, is here. 
 Thick-clust'ring bees their drunken revels hold 
 
 Within thy arms, mad with the banquet spread. 
 To deep satiety they drink them, overbold, 
 
 Each dizzy drinker couched on blossom bed. 
 So sing to all the all-abiding truth: 
 
 There is no death; — there is but love and youth. 
 
 Oh, heart o' me, why dream of death and cold? 
 
 Why let indifference, with icy hand, 
 The beauty of thy burgeoning withhold, — 
 
 Forbid thy fragrant blossoms to expand? 
 Let love, the force in every living thing, 
 
 Its bud and beauty to the world unfold! 
 And let the bees of hope on honeyed wing 
 
 Sing me the song that love is never old! 
 So sing to all the all-abiding truth: 
 
 There is no age; — there is but love and youth. 
 
 [17] 
 
T h 
 
 B o 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o r d 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 By Harrison B. Riley 
 
 The great weakness of our representative 
 government is that all movements for the 
 betterment of the nation must have their in- 
 ception with the people. 
 
 Our representatives do not lead; they follow. 
 
 They do not weigh problems, decide them, 
 and then ask confirmation of their judgment 
 by the voters, furnishing the evidence upon 
 which their decision was based, thus giving 
 the voter some basis upon which he may arrive 
 at a decision. 
 
 The politician in this country keeps his ear 
 to the ground, seeking early knowledge of the 
 tendency of public thought but does little to 
 enlighten the public mind. 
 
 It thus becomes necessary for the voters to 
 counsel together over the questions up for 
 solution and strive as best they may with 
 little knowledge and less skill to advise their 
 leaders. 
 
 It is with such necessary explanations that 
 the following comments upon military pre- 
 paredness are offered: 
 
 It seems obvious that this question should 
 neither be decided in haste nor made the mere 
 slogan of a political party as a vote-getting 
 device. Less danger of foreign invasion exists 
 to-day than ever before. The tide of battle 
 sweeps toward the east. The exhaustion of 
 the warring nations is proceeding so rapidly 
 that none of them will have any stomach for 
 further military adventures until the horrors 
 of the present war shall have been forgotten. 
 The oceans still sweep our shores and our north- 
 ern and southern boundaries are still devoid of 
 fortifications and of danger. 
 
 This does not mean inaction, but it does mean 
 that no measures conceived in panic, excite- 
 ment, or wrath should be hastily adopted. 
 
 Military preparation requires persistent 
 application to a carefully devised plan ex- 
 tending over all the years to come. 
 
 The knowledge we now have obtained 
 through the unhappy experience abroad proves 
 beyond doubt that a small standing army is not 
 of the slightest value except in the training of 
 officers. 
 
 Our own experience in the Civil War confirms 
 that conclusion. 
 
 It is also true that a standing army of such 
 proportions as would, without other aid, be 
 able to maintain a defense against any first- 
 
 class power could not be maintained at any 
 reasonable expense. 
 
 It follows therefore that the body of an 
 adequate army for our defense must be raised 
 from the people at the time danger of invasion 
 arises. 
 
 To be prepared then requires at least three 
 things, two of which are easy of accomplish- 
 ment: 
 
 First: A body of trained officers adequate 
 to command any army we are likely to raise. 
 
 Second: A supply of arms and ammunition 
 and other war material sufficient to carry the 
 country through the first six months of war 
 and until our manufactories can be readjusted 
 to produce our needs. 
 
 Third: A trained citizenry, not called out 
 over night, but prepared in advance for the 
 highest duty ever imposed upon mankind. 
 
 The first two proposals furnish no substantial 
 difficulty. The educational facilities of the 
 government are adequate in quality and can 
 be extended indefinitely by the addition of 
 other schools of similar grade with West 
 Point. 
 
 Many details would necessarily need con- 
 sideration, such as a reduction in required 
 term of graduates' service and the necessary 
 army enlistments to employ the additional 
 officers. These problems present no great 
 difficulties, however. 
 
 The present time is inopportune for laying 
 aside the proposed supply of munitions because 
 of the price. However, a time will come at 
 the end of the present war when facilities will 
 be at the maximum and price at the minimum, 
 when our requirements can be economically 
 met. 
 
 The proposal for a sufficient training of our 
 citizens to enable them in truth to rise over 
 night for the defense of our country and be at 
 all effective, presents a grave problem. 
 
 It is axiomatic that the citizen owes this 
 duty to the country. 
 
 A volunteer system is unfair and insufficient 
 in that it does not distribute the burden of 
 citizenship equally and frequently results in 
 sending the best of our sons to the front, leaving 
 the less desirable at home to wax fat on con- 
 tracts for supplies. 
 
 A system of compulsory service ending 
 before a man attains the age of twenty-one, 
 
 [18] 
 
T h 
 
 Boo 
 
 o f 
 
 C 
 
 a n f o r d 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 connected with his schooling, if possible, but 
 in any event performed as a condition pre- 
 cedent to voting as a citizen must be adopted. 
 Of course, exemptions for lack of physical 
 and mental qualifications must be made, but 
 the general principle should be adopted that 
 no one who is physically or mentally qualified 
 shall become a citizen until he has fitted him- 
 self for the duties of that state. 
 
 Much could be written as to our naval 
 program, but space forbids mention of more 
 
 than one point which applies as well to military 
 affairs. 
 
 An inferior force at the point of contact is 
 as bad as no force. A navy weaker by one 
 gun than any navy likely to attack us is no 
 defense whatsoever. 
 
 Military and naval preponderance at the 
 point of attack is the object to be attained. 
 We as a nation have the men and means at 
 hand. We should so adapt our resources as 
 to produce this result. 
 
 By Irene G. Wheelock 
 
 A fat little fluff of a frivolous bird 
 
 Sang gayly of sunshine and cheer, 
 
 And a woman who listened was sure that she heard 
 
 "Fair weather! Fair weather, my dear!" 
 
 So she wore her new bonnet, 
 
 Her very best bonnet, 
 
 With laces and ribbons so sheer; 
 
 But — it rained and it blew, 
 
 It froze and il snew 
 
 All over that bonnet so gay. 
 
 And the bad little bird, 
 
 Saying never a word, 
 
 Just whistled and fluttered away. 
 
 Now the moral is this, — 
 You who morals ne'er miss, — 
 It is truly absurd 
 To believe in a bird; 
 'Tis a much wiser plan 
 To put faith in a man 
 Who writes for the papers 
 About weather capers; 
 For when he says "Fair" 
 There'll be snow in the air, 
 And when he says "Rain" 
 'Twill be sunshine again; 
 And so, reading with care, 
 You always may know 
 Just which bonnet to wear. 
 
 [19] 
 
Wtyt (fttfttajra** ^Simi 
 
 By Wilbur D. Nesbit 
 
 The Cuttergrass Man, he 'tends our yard 
 An' chews tobacker awful hard, 
 An' hitches his suspender up 
 An' say he's go' bring me a pup 
 Because he knows a man 'at's got 
 More pups! — he's got an awful lot. 
 
 The Cuttergrass Man, he mops his head 
 
 An' his neck it gets awful red, 
 
 An' sometimes he say: "Bless me! Whoo 
 
 I wisht this job o' mine wuz through!" 
 
 An' then he sets down by a tree 
 
 An' spits an' kills a bummlebee. 
 
 The Cuttergrass Man he don't wear clo'es 
 
 Like you an' me — an' what d'you s'pose! — 
 
 He's got blue pants on that he calls 
 
 His ol' reli'ble overalls! 
 
 An' one suspender's all he's got 
 
 An' it's all tied up in a knot. 
 
 The Cuttergrass Man he say for me 
 
 To keep as still as I can be 
 
 An' not to fool with things, 'cause why 
 
 I'd cut my fingers off an' die! 
 
 So I set on our steps, an' he 
 
 Sometimes he helps me climb our tree. 
 
 The Cuttergrass Man he say for me 
 
 To study at my A, B, C, 
 
 An' go to school an' learn a lot 
 
 An' not do like him — he forgot! 
 
 I say I would an' I told him 
 
 I want my pup to be name' Jim. 
 
T h 
 
 Book 
 
 o 1 
 
 C r a n f o 
 
 V i I I a g 
 
 A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 
 By Anna Jane Harnwell 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Miss Dora Bennett, an inmate. 
 Miss Milly Jones, a would-be inmate. 
 Mrs. Carter, another inmate. 
 
 Miss Jordan, the matron. 
 Lorenzo Hines, the hero. 
 John, who says nothing. 
 
 Scene. — Interior of an Old Ladies' Home 
 on a winter afternoon. The scene is the bed- 
 room of Miss Dora Bennett, one of the inmates. 
 In middle of back is a closed single door. On 
 either side of the door are two wash-stands 
 with pitcher, bowl, and towels. Next to these 
 with heads against the back wall are two single 
 iron beds. On other side of beds near corner 
 of room are two small tables, with night lights 
 or candles and matches on them. Against 
 the side wall and opposite each other are two 
 bureaus with mirrors and drawers. Beside 
 these, nearer front, are two straight chairs. 
 A fireplace is supposed to be in middle of 
 stage in front of footlights. A hearth plate, 
 fire irons and coal scuttle indicate position 
 of fireplace. On either side of fireplace is a 
 comfortable rocking chair. The whole room 
 is comfortable with the bare furniture of a 
 boarding-house double room. An old engrav- 
 ing or two hangs on the walls. A chest 
 covered with dark denim is at the foot of each 
 bed. When the curtain rises Miss Bennett is 
 discovered sitting in the rocker at left of 
 fireplace. She has a crutch beside her, show- 
 ing she is lame, with which she pokes the fire 
 from time to time. She is a grim, raw-boned 
 woman, with hair parted smoothly on either 
 side of her forehead. Her hair is iron-grey and 
 her face is wrinkled. She wears spectacles. 
 After poking the fire she leans back in her chair, 
 a discontented expression on her face. A 
 knock is heard. 
 
 Miss Bennett: Come in. (Door opens and 
 Mrs. Carter, a thin little old woman, pops 
 her head in. She has snow-white hair, parted 
 as is Miss Bennett's and drawn into a tight 
 little knot at the back of her head.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Would you like for me to 
 bring my knittin' and set a while ? 
 
 Miss Bennett: Come in, Mrs. Carter, come 
 in; I should say I would. You're as welcome 
 as a bug to a chicken. I was just wishin' 
 that I had some one here to chat with. (Mrs. 
 Carter comes in, takes the other rocker, and 
 gets out her knitting.) I do wish I could knit. 
 
 But sewin' was all I ever did and now my 
 eyes have give out so I can't do that. Ex- 
 cept for glancin' at a book or paper I just 
 set here and hold my hands the whole day. 
 Land! I can remember when I was dressmakin' 
 for my livin' I thought it'd be a fine thing to set 
 and do nothin' but I tell you it ain't what it's 
 cracked up to be. I never did care much 
 for readin'. They use such long words that 
 by the time I've got 'em spelled out, I've sort 
 o' lost interest in what they're sayin'. How've 
 you been, Mrs. Carter? 
 
 Mrs. Carter {rocking) : Pretty good. I tell 
 you I feel mighty lucky when I hear old 
 Mis' Nelson, in the room next to mine, groanin' 
 there with her rheumatism. To think o' 
 all she's been through! Husband and two 
 children killed in a cyclone — blown to death, 
 you might say — then her eye bein' put out 
 en havin' to wear a glass one — it don't match 
 neither, I s'pose blue ones must be cheaper 
 than brown ones — -and then to be all doubled 
 up with rheumatism. Yesterday she says 
 she had the last straw when she dropped her 
 false teeth out the window, when she was 
 lookin' out to see the fire engine. She got 'em 
 back, but two teeth was broke off*. I told 
 her that if it was true that whom the Lord 
 loveth He chasteneth, He certainly had a crush 
 on her. 
 
 (A knock.) 
 
 Miss Bennett: I wonder who that is. Come 
 in! (Enter matron, a wholesome, good-look- 
 ing woman, neatly dressed in a black close- 
 fitting gown, with white collar and cuff's.) 
 
 Miss Jordan: Good afternoon! How cosy 
 you two look! Well, Miss Bennett, I'm afraid 
 I have some bad news for you. You'll not be 
 able to have this room to yourself any longer. 
 I admitted another guest this morning, and 
 this is the only extra bed we have in the house. 
 
 Miss Bennett {sourly) : Oh, I knew it'd come, 
 Miss Jordan, and I'm thankful for the comfort 
 I've had. (Brightening a little.) P'raps now 
 that I ain't in so much pain it'll not be so bad 
 to have some one else here. I do hope she's 
 not one o' your slovenly kind. 
 
 [21] 
 
T h 
 
 Boo 
 
 of C r a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 Miss Jordan: She comes with good recom- 
 mendations and she is a very nice-looking old 
 lady. I think you'll like her. 
 
 Miss Bennett: Well — I don't go much by 
 looks. It's deeds 's I judge folks by. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: 'Tain't so bad ef they ain't 
 crochety. The first one I ever had was 
 crochety. I had a terrible time with her, but 
 I really enjoy Mis' Beggs, when she ain't 
 cryin'. She's terrible mournful. 
 
 Miss Jordan: You can't accuse Miss Jones 
 of that. She seems like a very cheery soul. 
 She comes from a little town out in Iowa where 
 she has been living with a niece, I believe. 
 The niece died but left enough money to Miss 
 Jones so she could come here to live. 
 
 Miss Bennett {sharply): What did you 
 say her name was ? 
 
 Miss Jordan: Jones; I don't remember 
 the first name, but she is unmarried. I 
 remember she said Miss. 
 
 Miss Bennett: Humph! I ain't got any 
 pleasant recollections with that name, but 
 I suppose she ain't to blame for that. 'Tain't 
 likely it's any relation, for I never knew any 
 one from Iowy. 
 
 Miss Jordan: She's gone for her trunk, 
 and as soon as she comes I'll bring her up and 
 introduce you. (Exits.) 
 
 Miss Bennett {musingly): Jones, Jones; 
 I'm sorry she's named that. It'll all the 
 time remind me. Do you know if it hadn't 
 been for a woman named Jones, I'd never be 
 in any home for aged females! 
 
 Mrs. Carter: How's that? 
 
 Miss Bennett: It's a long story, but if it 
 warn't for Milly Jones I'd likely be in a 
 handsome home o' my own, with children and 
 money and a automobile. Yes, ma'm! She 
 was my best friend too. But I paid her back. 
 If I didn't get 'em, neither did she. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: You don't say? What hap- 
 pened ? Did she steal from you ? 
 
 Miss Bennett: Well, in a way, she tried 
 to, but I circumvented her. We was girls 
 together, Milly Jones and me, down in Wal- 
 tham Center where we was both born and raised, 
 and we was always as thick as three in a bed, 
 till Lorenzo Hines come to town. He was a 
 handsome fellow as you ever see, and as soon 
 as him and me laid eyes on one another we was 
 in love. He began to court me and of course 
 Milly came over when he was there and as 
 soon as she saw him she was crazy about him 
 too. So nothing would do but she must try 
 and get him away from me. How that girl 
 acted! She lived right across the street 
 from me and she used to watch when he was 
 coming and set on her gate and talk to him and 
 
 ask him in, till first thing I knew he was goin' 
 to see her and not me at all. We was almost 
 engaged when she began her flirtin' — the cat! — 
 and when I saw he didn't care any more for me 
 I was pretty nigh crazy. I never knew quite 
 how she got him but it must ha' been by lies 
 and flattery. You see, he was a city fellow; just 
 sent down by some rich firm in Chicago to 
 look after some oil wells or something, and he 
 was rich and mighty fascinatin'. I 'bout 
 cried my eyes out when I saw how things 
 were going, and I see him goin' to see her every 
 night. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: What did he say? 
 
 Miss Bennett: Say! He didn't say nothin'. 
 He just stopped comin'. When I met him 
 on the street, he was as polite as could be, but 
 just polite — which just breaks a girl's heart, 
 when a man's been tender like. Then one o' 
 the boys told me his firm had sent for him to 
 come back. The night before he went, I'll 
 never forget. I saw him goin' to Milly's and I 
 sat by my gate till midnight, when he come out, 
 and I saw him kissin' her— it was bright 
 moonlight— and saying soft things to her, and 
 I just wanted to go over and tear her eyes out. 
 I cried all night, I remember, and then I got 
 to thinkin' and thinkin' how I could get even. 
 Finally some one told me Milly had a new 
 ring; that settled me. I s'pose I did wrong, 
 but I determined if I didn't have him she 
 shouldn't. I got his address from one of the 
 boys who knew the name of his firm, and I 
 wrote him a letter and told him Milly was a 
 flirt, and she was carryin' on with two or three 
 fellows as soon as he left town, and I signed it 
 "Your well-wisher." 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Did he know who wrote it ? 
 
 Miss Bennett: No; I don't suppose so. 
 He hadn't ever seen my writin', so it might 
 'a' been any one in our town. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: What did he do? Did it 
 break it off"? 
 
 Miss Bennett: I never rightly knew just 
 what happened. Only I noticed the postman 
 stopped comin' to Milly's and she got to lookin' 
 pretty sad like. So I always thought that I 
 broke it up. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Did she ever say anything 
 about it? 
 
 Miss Bennett: Not likely. I'd be the last 
 person she'd speak to. You see, we hadn't 
 spoken for some time before he left. I told 
 her what I thought of her and after that 
 there weren't no more to say, so it was the end 
 so far as I was concerned. But one of the 
 other girls told me Hines stopped writin' to 
 her and that she was all broke up over it. Her 
 father sold his place soon after that and they 
 
 [22] 
 
T h 
 
 Book 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o r 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 g e 
 
 moved away, so I never heard any more of 
 her. But I heard that Hines was on the road 
 to bein' a rich man, and if she'd left him 
 alone I'd 'a' been his wife and not rottin' 
 out my days in an old people's home. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Of course it might ha' been 
 so in your case, but I didn't find that marriage 
 kept me out o' here. Carter was a trouble 
 from first to last, and I'd be blessin' any one 
 now who had got him away from me. I 
 wouldn't 'a' wished him on my worst enemy. 
 I tell you, Miss Bennett, there's more cases 
 where the woman 'd 'a' been happier if she'd 
 been left to be an old maid, than there is o' 
 old maids that'd 'a' been better off married. 
 You see, after all you're only speakin' o' what 
 you think would 'a' been. But I lived fifteen 
 years with Carter. 
 
 Miss Bennett: That may be, Mrs. Carter, but 
 Hines weren't no such man. I haven't seen him 
 since, but I know then he was rich. And he had 
 a fine disposition. Then I'd 'a' had children. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: You can't be certain o' that, 
 Miss Bennett, though I will say children do 
 help you to put up with a man. I got three 
 children, all boys, but I can't abide their 
 wives; so the boys pay for me livin' here, which 
 suits better all round. 
 
 Miss Bennett: I know my children'd never 
 been like that. They'd 'a' been like Hines, 
 and I'd 'a' had a home o' my own and asked 
 nothin' o' no one. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Maybe, maybe, Miss Bennett. 
 My three boys are mostly like their father 
 too, that's the trouble. They aren't so bad, 
 but they certainly were plum cracked when 
 it came to pickin' out wives, seems to me. 
 (A knock.) That's Miss Jordan now and the 
 new boarder, so I'll run along. 
 
 (Enter Miss Jordan and Miss Jones. The 
 latter is a dumpy little woman, with a shawl 
 on and a thick veil over her face and bonnet. 
 When she throws back the veil one sees traces 
 of beauty in her round wrinkled face framed 
 in white fuzzy hair.) 
 
 Miss Jordan: Don't let us hurry you, Mrs. 
 Carter. I want you to meet our new guest, 
 Miss Jones. (They shake hands and Mrs. 
 Carter goes toward door.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter: How'd do? Oh, I was just 
 startin'. Good afternoon, Miss Bennett. 
 
 Miss Jordan: Miss Jones, Miss Bennett. 
 (Miss Bennett grimly extends a bony hand 
 which Miss Jones comes and shakes gingerly.) 
 Miss Bennett will show you where to put your 
 things and which places belong to you. I'll 
 send your trunk up shortly. Our regular 
 second man is ill, so I've hired a new man to 
 help John. He was such a poor old thing and 
 
 needed the work so that I took him on tem- 
 porarily, but I'll have to ask you all to be 
 patient with him and show him just how you 
 like things done. The poor old fellow came 
 begging for work and he is a perfect wreck 
 from drink and dissipation, but he was so 
 needy that I hadn't the heart to refuse him a 
 chance. I wanted to explain about him so 
 you'd understand and overlook his appearance. 
 
 Miss Bennett: You're always doin' some- 
 thin' like that, Miss Jordan. Helpin' the 
 poor. I'll show him. 
 
 Miss Jordan: I knew you would, Miss 
 Bennett. I'll run along now. I'll be back 
 when they bring up the trunk. (Exits.) 
 
 Miss Bennett: You can have that chest 
 o' drawers, Miss Jones, and those are your 
 hooks. If there are any o' my things there, 
 I'll take 'em out when I get up. You see, 
 I'm lame and I can't get about much. (Dur- 
 ing this speech, Miss Jones, standing near the 
 right-hand bed, where she is laying off her 
 wraps, suddenly recognizes the voice, and 
 with her veil thrown back, turns and scruti- 
 nizes the speaker, who is unconscious of any 
 change; then she exclaims: 
 
 Miss Jones: For Heaven's sake! Dora 
 Bennett! 
 
 Miss Bennett {peering at her, then sinks back 
 aghast): Milly Jones! Humph! Well, you 
 needn't be in any hurry to put away your 
 things, for you and me ain't goin' to occupy no 
 room together if I have to sleep in the cellar! 
 
 Miss Jones: That's so! But it's not for 
 you to say, Dora Bennett. If you hadn't 
 separated me from my future husband with 
 your sneakin', lyin' letter, I'd 'a' been a com- 
 fortable rich woman and never seen the inside 
 o' such a place as this. I wonder you dare to 
 speak to me, whose life you ruined! 
 
 Miss Bennett: Hah! You! Whose was he 
 first, I'd like to know? If it hadn't 'a been for 
 your forward ways, Miss, I'd 'a' been the one 
 that wouldn't 'a' been here. You can put 
 your bonnet right on again. 
 
 Miss Jones: Yes, I will, but not because 
 you tell me to. When I tell that matron 
 what a sneak and underhand woman you are, 
 writin' unsigned letters and ruinin' honest 
 girls' characters, I guess you'll be the one to 
 be put out o' a respectable home. 
 
 Miss Bennett: You do, do you? Well, you've 
 got another think comin'. It ain't ten minutes 
 sence I finished tellin' all about you and how it's 
 all owin' to you that I ever came to this place. 
 
 Miss Jones {beginning to cry): You've no 
 right to blame me. I couldn't help it if he 
 fell in love with me. I didn't drag him away 
 by force. He come because he loved me — 
 
 [23] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 Miss Bennett: You cat, you underhanded — 
 (Just here the door opens and Miss Jordan 
 enters.) 
 
 Miss Jordan: Ladies! What's the matter? 
 
 Miss Bennett: The matter is, Miss Jordan, 
 that I'll sleep in the cellar before I'll room with 
 this woman. If it hadn't 'a' been for her behavior 
 I'd never 'a' been here. And she knows it. 
 
 Miss Jones {who is now sitting in the other 
 rocker and crying) : And I'll go to the poor- 
 house rather than room with her. I'd be 
 afraid for my life. 
 
 Miss Jordan: I'm very sorry. Don't feel 
 so badly, Miss Jones. Miss Bennett, I'll 
 try and adjust things so that Miss Jones can 
 be put in with some one else. I feel sure that 
 some of the others will exchange. (Two 
 men appear in hall at open door. One is the 
 regular man-of-all-work, the other is an old 
 blear-eyed individual, with a scrubby grey 
 beard. He shows plainly the marks of dissi- 
 pation as well as age. He is dressed in 
 ragged clothes, which he wears with a slight 
 swagger, however.) 
 
 Miss Jordan: Oh, here you are, John! 
 You needn't bring the trunk in here after all; 
 just set it down outside till we decide where 
 Miss Jones will stay. Hines, you may bring 
 in the coal, and when you are through in here, 
 go to room 21. (To the women): I'll be 
 back as soon as I can arrange things. (Exits. 
 Hines enters with scuttle of coal and approaches 
 the fire. Miss Bennett has regarded him 
 with interest ever since she caught his name.) 
 
 Miss Bennett: Did she call you Hines? 
 
 Hines (sets down his scuttle and kneels down 
 in front of the fireplace between the two women) : 
 Huh? Yes, lady; Hines is my name. There 
 was a time when I was proud of it, too. But 
 it hasn't brought me any luck. I've had my 
 troubles, I can tell you. Buried two wives, 
 fine women too, both of them, but awful 
 tempers. Bertha was the first; she died o' 
 twins. Children never seemed to agree with 
 her. Then I had Mary; we got along pretty 
 well till one day, when I'd a drop too much, 
 she irritated me so that I just tapped her on 
 the head, and she got in the police, and while 
 I was at the station she left me and refused 
 to come back. The children, four of them, 
 went with her. Bertha's children too. 
 
 Miss Bennett: You mean you were arrested 
 for beating your wife ? 
 
 Hines: Oh, that wasn't anything. I were 
 used to the law, so to speak. I'd done time 
 seven years for writing another man's name 
 to a check, when I was hard up. And now 
 I've come to this — fetchin' coal for a lot o' 
 fussy old females! 
 
 Miss Jones (who has stopped crying and 
 been listening with horror to his tale) : Hines — 
 what — what was your first name? 
 
 Hines: Lorenzo, ma'm; a fine name, too. 
 Could either o' you ladies — (They both recoil 
 from him in horror.) 
 
 Miss Bennett: Was you ever in Waltham 
 Center? 
 
 Hines: Hey? Waltham Center? Let me 
 see; I been so many places I forget. What 
 sort o' place was it? 
 
 Miss Jones (timidly) : Did you know Milly 
 Jones there? 
 
 Hines: Oh, yes, mighty pretty girl, Milly. 
 Crazy about me. I thought I'd never shake 
 her off". I remember, I got a letter o' some 
 sort and that gave me an excuse to get rid o' 
 her. There was a girl named Bennett there 
 too. She was mighty fond o' me. I always 
 had a way with the women. Is this all? As 
 I was sayin', if either o' you ladies could spare 
 a trifle — (Both draw away from him.) All 
 right; don't say I asked you. Only you 
 seemed so interested — I always had a way 
 with women — all right, so long. (Takes 
 scuttle, now empty, as he has emptied its con- 
 tents into the one that was in the room, and 
 backs out. The two women sit and look at 
 each other in silence for a moment; then Miss 
 Bennett leans forward.) 
 
 Miss Bennett: Milly, how did you know 
 I wrote that letter? 
 
 Miss Jones: Lorenzo sent it back to me, 
 with a line sayin' that that would explain 
 why I wouldn't hear from him again. I 
 recognized your handwritin' and I wrote and 
 told him you wrote it and you was just jealous, 
 but he sent it back unopened. The dreadful 
 creature! Suppose I'd 'a' married him! 
 
 Miss Bennett: Milly, I never thought to 
 say this, but I thank you for interferin' and 
 sparin' me a life with that — that — 
 
 Miss Jones: Dora, don't say no more. 
 That letter was an inspiration from Provi- 
 dence. Seven years in the penitentiary! 
 
 Miss Bennett: Bein' knocked down when 
 he was drunk! Milly, I think you'll find it real 
 pleasant here. There's worse places than an 
 old ladies' home. Take off your bonnet and 
 tell me about your folks. 
 
 Miss Jones: Thank you, Dora, you're real 
 kind. (Takes off bonnet.) It'll be just like 
 old times. (Sits again.) You see after we left 
 the Center we went to Montana — (As they 
 sit talking Miss Jordan opens the door and is 
 about to speak when she sees the two old ladies 
 in close conversation. She smiles, and softly 
 closes the door.) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 [24] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o 
 
 I I a 
 
 By Walter Dill Scott 
 
 The chief aim of mankind in America to- 
 day is not dollars but efficiency. But since the 
 acquisition of money is frequently the only 
 visible indication of efficiency, it is not strange 
 that the American is sometimes accused of 
 making wealth his single aim. 
 
 In the advance of the fine and the industrial 
 arts, theory occasionally precedes practice, but 
 ordinarily the practice keeps ahead of the 
 theory. The most rapid advance is attain- 
 able only when the two keep well abreast and 
 alternate in leadership. The efficiency move- 
 ment has, till the present time, been the 
 result of practice rather than of theory. 
 When a theoretical foundation is sought 
 which might explain the movement, the 
 search has usually led no farther than to a for- 
 mulation of the theory of standardization. 
 The search for efficiency and the search for 
 the one best method for accomplishing each 
 task are thought to be identical. The speed at 
 which the machine should be run, the se- 
 quence of movements in performing the task, 
 the scientific standardization of the minutest 
 parts of every process — these are the tasks 
 emphasized by most men who have attempted 
 to reduce efficiency to its theoretical basis. 
 There is no denying the benefit of standardiza- 
 tion; but its weakness is that, when men be- 
 come enamored of its benefits, the employees 
 are reduced to mere machines and individual 
 initiative is in danger of becoming dwarfed. 
 
 In the attempt to secure a theoretical founda- 
 tion for efficiency, certain intelligent people 
 confuse efficiency with system. But there is 
 always the danger that system will degenerate 
 into red tape and bureaucracy and that it will 
 have a deadening effect on personal initiative 
 and personal enthusiasm. 
 
 The theory of efficiency in some lands and in 
 some ages may be based largely on stan- 
 dardization and on system, but in America, 
 at the present time, the theory of efficiency 
 must include the factor of pleasure — pleasure 
 as the present condition of the worker. 
 
 The effects of extreme pleasure and of 
 extreme displeasure are readily observed. 
 When we are greatly pleased, the bodily 
 changes are immediate and are called "laugh- 
 ing"; the corresponding effect of displeasure 
 is "crying." In both laughing and weeping, 
 the bodily changes are by no means limited to 
 
 the facial changes and the audible sounds, but 
 equally striking changes take place in the dif- 
 ferent activities of the body. Most of the 
 bodily changes due to pleasure or displeasure 
 are never detected by the average man. But 
 various scientific instruments have discovered 
 numerous changes in the human organism as 
 accompaniments of these emotions, whether 
 mild or extreme. The changes are not limited 
 to the action of circulation, digestion, and 
 respiration, but extend as well even to the 
 action of the glands and tissues of the body. 
 The stimulating, invigorating effects of 
 pleasure and the depressing, exhausting effects 
 of displeasure have been observed not only in 
 the laboratory but in all places where people 
 exert themselves strenuously. The business 
 man finds that he is most exhausted not by 
 work, but by worry. It is the distractions, 
 the disappointments, the failures, that sap the 
 vitality. The accomplishments, the con- 
 tinuous application to the task, the successes 
 of the day, recuperate and stimulate him. 
 The distress of defeat exhausts and depletes; 
 the pleasure of success sustains and recuperates. 
 
 ©{p Roofless ffiwcstttez 
 
 By Helen Coale Crew 
 
 Christ's Mother's heart is bruised sore, and 
 torn. 
 
 cradle, crieth she, 
 
 That should of all things human sacred be! 
 nurseries broken through and riven, 
 Roofless, and lying bare to heaven! 
 How shall the stars look down and not despair 
 To see you living ravished there, 
 Ye treasure-houses of humanity! 
 How shall the moon, that nightly did explore 
 With silver fingers every pillow o'er, 
 Let fall white dreams where desolations lie! 
 tenant frail, unhoused in the brute night, 
 Piteous and inarticulate with fright, 
 Searching with timid hands to find thy bed, 
 Thou, too, . . . thou hast not where to lay thy 
 head! 
 
 Aye, Christ's Mother is war-worn. 
 
 [25l 
 
The Book 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a g e 
 
 By Peter Christian Lutkin 
 Dean of Music, Northwestern University. 
 
 It is a well-known fact in educational circles 
 that the relation of the study of music to higher 
 education has been more thoroughly worked 
 out at Northwestern University than in any 
 other similar institution in the land. Each 
 year an increasing number of music students 
 come to Evanston from the extreme East, as 
 they find advantages offered here that are not 
 duplicated elsewhere. This fact, however, is 
 not as well known in Evanston as it should be. 
 
 To the professional musicians who have been 
 brought here to build up the School of Music 
 of the University is due in large measure the 
 present enviable position that Evanston now 
 occupies upon the musical map of America. 
 Our greatest musical distinction in the public 
 eye is our great Spring Musical Festival, but 
 our School of Music, reaching not only to all 
 parts of the United States, but to foreign 
 countries as well, is a far more potent influence 
 in the upbuilding of real musical culture. 
 With the rehabilitation of music in the Uni- 
 versity in 1891, under the charge of the 
 writer, came an endeavor to establish choral 
 activities. The University Choral Society 
 was formed under the leadership of Professor 
 James Taft Hatfield. Its membership was con- 
 fined to students. On April 23, 1893, Haydn's 
 "Creation" was given with organ accompani- 
 ment and with local soloists and the public paid 
 but little attention to the effort. After two 
 years the attempt was abandoned, as the men 
 students were too young and inexperienced to 
 satisfactorily fill the tenor and bass parts. 
 
 In the fall of 1894 under the initiative of Mr. 
 John R. Lindgren a Maennerchor was formed 
 at the Evanston Country Club with Mr. 
 Albert McCarroll as musical director. On Mr. 
 McCarroll's resignation the writer became 
 conductor. The material in the Club was un- 
 usually fine and a most successful concert was 
 given November 30, 1894, at the Country Club. 
 On December 4th, following, the concert was 
 repeated at the Congregational Church for 
 the general public. In the meantime the 
 Maennerchor had been formally organized as 
 the Evanston Musical Club with Mr. Lindgren 
 as president. Soon after, a ladies' auxiliary 
 chorus was formed which, like the Maennerchor, 
 was composed of unusually fine voices. The 
 ladies gave their first concert at the Club 
 
 House February 12, 1895. On February 19th 
 they joined the Maennerchor in a concert at 
 the Congregational Church with a total force 
 of fifty-four singers. The season closed on 
 May 6th, giving Sullivan's "The Prodigal 
 Son" with home singers as soloists and with 
 organ accompaniment. The next season the first 
 performance of Handel's "Messiah" was given 
 in December, and Mendelssohn's "Elijah" in 
 April. In addition the Maennerchor gave 
 a concert at the church and the Ladies' 
 Auxiliary Chorus one at the Country Club. 
 
 The following season the men's and women's 
 choruses as separate entities were given up as 
 an oratorio society of mixed voices and a 
 regular scheme of concerts was permanently 
 adopted. This scheme consisted of the Mes- 
 siah with orchestra in December, a miscellane- 
 ous program in February, and a second oratorio 
 concert with orchestra in April. As the Club 
 had considerably increased in active members 
 the concerts were transferred to the First 
 Methodist Church, where they were continued 
 until the old edifice was torn down. 
 
 The Evanston Musical Club is now in its 
 twenty-second year and has a long list of no- 
 table works performed to its credit. It has 
 been particularly enterprising in giving new 
 works, either being the first or among the first to 
 introduce the choral compositions of Elgar, 
 Coleridge-Taylor, Cesar Franck, Hubert Bath, 
 and C. F. Clutsam. It has also resurrected 
 fine but comparatively unknown works by 
 Beethoven, Mozart, Handel, and Mendelssohn. 
 
 But this notable list of attainments has only 
 been accomplished under stress of hard work 
 and self-sacrificing devotion to the cause. 
 The American public has not yet risen to a 
 proper appreciation of choral music. The 
 successive presidents of the Club, Messrs. J. R. 
 Lindgren, W. F. Hypes, F. W. Smith, C. L. 
 Jenks, C. N. Stevens, H. B. Wyeth, W. B. 
 Smith, and G. I. Montgomery, together with a 
 few other ardent music lovers, have worked 
 against many discouragements, principally 
 financial. Without their perseverance and 
 persistence the festivals would not have been 
 possible. The Club was in a fairly prosperous 
 condition prior to the inception of the Festival, 
 but the larger event has overshadowed the 
 smaller. Nevertheless the active members of 
 
 [26] 
 
T h e 
 
 B 
 
 of C r a n f o 
 
 Villa 
 
 the Evanston Musical Club continue to be the 
 backbone of the Festival chorus, and their efforts 
 should be supported generously if for no other 
 reason than to make our Festivals more effective. 
 
 In the fall of 1908 a group of about twenty 
 interested people at the call of Mr. John R. 
 Lindgren and Mrs. James A. Patten met at 
 the residence of the latter to discuss the 
 feasibility of great Festivals being given in 
 Evanston, the possibility of which was sug- 
 gested to Mr. Lindgren by the erection of the 
 University Gymnasium. A second meeting 
 resulted in a call for guarantors for such an 
 ambitious scheme, and some 120 citizens 
 pledged each one hundred dollars in its support. 
 The success of the seven Festivals since given 
 is so well known that it needs no amplification 
 here. They have given to Evanston a wide- 
 spread prominence and they rank in impor- 
 tance with the long-established festivals of 
 Worcester and Cincinnati. In picturesqueness 
 and charm of setting they are quite unrivaled. 
 The fact that some two thousand of our young 
 people are brought in contact with music in a 
 large way each year is alone a sufficient war- 
 rant for their maintenance. It is worthy of 
 note that all the ex-presidents of the Evanston 
 Musical Club with one exception are on the 
 directorate of the North Shore Festival Asso- 
 ciation. Two of them, Mrs. W. F. Hypes and 
 Mr. C. L. Jenks, have been presidents of the 
 Festival Association and their sound and suc- 
 cessful policies have been most ably continued 
 by the present incumbent, Mr. Frank S. Shaw. 
 
 Since the beginning of the Symphony 
 Orchestra Concerts in Chicago twenty-five 
 years ago, a coterie of devoted music lovers 
 have assembled every Thursday morning to 
 study the programs of the approaching con- 
 cert. This analytical study has been done in a 
 very systematic and thorough way and has 
 developed in our midst among a limited cir- 
 cle of gifted amateurs, a quite extraordinary 
 knowledge of orchestral music. It is safe to say 
 that out of the vast number who attend the sym- 
 phony concerts there are none more musically ap- 
 preciative than the Evanston contingent who 
 comprise this "Thomas Class," as it is known. 
 
 Unique in its work and in its aims is the 
 A Cappella Choir of the University. Its mis- 
 sion is to bring to public knowledge the wealth 
 of choral music which is intended to be per- 
 formed without accompaniment of any kind. 
 Music dating from the fifth to the twentieth 
 centuries is on the repertoire of the Choir. 
 Attention is divided about equally between 
 sacred and secular music and the endeavor is 
 to perform the same with the greatest possible 
 purity of tone and intonation and to adequately 
 
 interpret the intentions of the various com- 
 posers. Every year the Choir gives concerts 
 at Mandel Hall, University of Chicago, at Lake 
 Forest College, at Hull House, and before vari- 
 ous private clubs and associations. The Choir 
 consists of thirty selected voices and it is the 
 ambition of every vocal student in the School 
 of Music to "make A Cappella." 
 
 The School of Music Symphony Orchestra 
 of seventy-five members has developed in 
 recent years into an institution in which the 
 community may take a just pride. About 
 one half of the members are students, while the 
 remaining half draws upon talented amateurs 
 all along the North Shore. Three free concerts 
 are given to the Evanston public each season 
 and the programs are made up of the finest 
 examples of orchestral music. Under the guid- 
 ing and compelling hand of Professor Harold 
 Knapp the orchestra has attained an astonish- 
 ing degree of ability for an amateur organiza- 
 tion and its equal can only be found in New 
 York or Boston. 
 
 To Professor Knapp is also due the credit for 
 giving us chamber music concerts uninter- 
 ruptedly for nearly twenty-five years. This 
 refined art, however, only appeals to the cul- 
 tured few. Upwards of one hundred and 
 twenty-five string duos, trios, quartettes, 
 quintettes, sextettes, piano duos, trios, quar- 
 tettes, and quintettes, as well as compositions 
 for various wind instruments with and without 
 piano have been given. It is doubtful if this 
 record can be duplicated elsewhere in America. 
 
 The Festival, the Evanston Music Club, 
 Miss Kinsolving's Morning Musicales, the 
 Alumni Association, and the Artist's Series of 
 the School of Music have all brought to Evan- 
 ston a long list of famous artists. Notable 
 private teachers, some of whom have country- 
 wide reputations, have most materially aided 
 the musical development of our community. 
 Evanston churches have been the nurseries for 
 many a young organist or singer who has since 
 become far-famed. Their choirs vie with the 
 best in Chicago or any other metropolis. 
 
 Evanston also has its composers, the most 
 noted of whom is Professor Arne Oldberg. 
 Twice has he won prizes from the Federation of 
 Musical Clubs, on the last occasion conducting 
 his own symphony at the biennial meeting of 
 the Federation at Los Angeles, California, last 
 June. He is the only American composer 
 whose works appear year after year on the 
 program of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. 
 Evanston certainly has much that it well may 
 be proud of in a musical way but it sadly needs 
 a suitable concert hall for ordinary occasions 
 and a worthy building for its school of music. 
 
 [27] 
 
WISE SAWS FROM OUKDOMINIE'S SERMON 
 
 By David Hugh Jones, D.D. 
 
 Almost every day brings a surprise and with 
 the surprise a promise of something greater to 
 follow. 
 
 It is pleasant to speculate about the future; 
 it will be more so to witness its unfolding and 
 better still to have a share in its achievements. 
 
 As a rule, ambition and opportunity are 
 proportional, and in this land of ours about the 
 only person who has no chance is the person 
 who has no aim. 
 
 To underestimate one's capabilities will 
 prove in the long run more mischievous than 
 to overrate them. Conceit is likely to accom- 
 plish what cowardice will not attempt. 
 
 Doubt and fear are serious disadvantages, 
 faith and courage are powerful assets. 
 
 Education is a good deal more than mere 
 information. 
 
 Death is easy, life is hard; stagnation is 
 simple, progress is difficult. 
 
 No virtue grows wild, no excellence springs 
 up of itself. 
 
 The dynamic of human progress is the divine 
 energy. 
 
 To the wise and good of every land God has 
 spoken — - spoken in their own tongues. 
 
 Sum up the lesson which the long experience 
 of the race teaches and it comes to this: 
 strength through struggle, power through 
 strife, patience through endurance, perfection 
 through pain. 
 
 It is the Gethsemanes, the Golgothas of life, 
 that have given the world its poets, its prophets, 
 and its redeemers. 
 
 Take out of literature the pathos of the 
 struggle, out of art the shading of pain, out of 
 music the tremolo of anguish and the echo of 
 falling tears, and how much of their beauty and 
 power would be lost. 
 
 Hero worship tends to hero making. 
 
 To test a man's blood, to prove the stuff of 
 his nature, let him rise in the world and see how 
 he behaves toward the comrades of his humbler 
 days. 
 
 What does the church of our generation 
 need ? Men of valor as well as virtue, men of 
 courage as well as conviction, positive and 
 aggressive men who will not hesitate to speak 
 and are not afraid to act. 
 
 There are women still in the world who serve 
 to make men strong and steadfast, women who 
 
 nerve and tone men to meet the difficulties 
 and to stand the strain of life, women who are 
 to men a constant inspiration to brave and 
 high endeavor. 
 
 Christianity came into the world as a little 
 child and unto time's end of such is the King- 
 dom of heaven. 
 
 The key to the problem of the New Testa- 
 ment miracles is the personality of Christ. 
 
 Three things are indispensable to success of 
 any source: a mark, a method, and a motive. 
 
 Memory is a faculty which may be de- 
 veloped; forgetting is an art which may be 
 cultivated. 
 
 A vacant brain becomes the haunt of ghosts 
 and goblins; the active intellect a shrine where 
 angels meet. 
 
 Heredity puts into a man's hands the 
 potentialities of personality, the raw material 
 of character. 
 
 Strange things would happen if men and 
 women quarreled as much with their heathen- 
 ish habits as they do with the doctrines of their 
 faith. 
 
 When Christianity painted its divinity with 
 tears on His face, and blood about His brow, 
 in that moment its capture and conquest of the 
 world was assured. 
 
 Life is a graded school — and the task 
 assigned is ever on the level of the grade — 
 adjusted to the attainments of the scholar. 
 
 There are pearls in common-looking shells, 
 and many a jewel has been, found in the most 
 unlikely places. 
 
 Some of the pioneers of civilization came out 
 of the college of hardship and some of the high 
 priests of religion were consecrated with their 
 own blood. 
 
 In all great music there is a minor chord and 
 in all great poetry there is a sound of tears. 
 
 In the same block of marble lie the possi- 
 bility of a' cherub and a fiend and out of the 
 same lump of clay may be wrought vessels of 
 honor and dishonor. 
 
 Insincerity and hypocrisy are worse in the 
 pulpit than in the pew. Sin in the suburbs is 
 worse than sin in the slums. Sabbath break- 
 ing on the golf links is worse than Sabbath 
 breaking in the alleys. 
 
 Truth is divine and eternal; creeds and con- 
 fessions are human and temporal. 
 
 [28] 
 
T h e 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 g e 
 
 By Beatrice Green Morris 
 
 A high building, common as its surroundings, 
 an old frame cottage, rather out of plumb, near 
 a noisy corner where street cars clang and rumble 
 on a street paved with granite and serving as a 
 playground for swarms of boys and girls,— such 
 is one's first impression of Christopher House. 
 
 The dull gray building, designed for a store, 
 has two flats above and on the street level two 
 show windows with a door between, through 
 which we enter the kindergarten and main 
 assembly room of the settlement. It is a nar- 
 row room about forty feet long, and the only 
 real light in it comes from the door and win- 
 dows in front. The children's circle and piano 
 are well toward the back to keep them away 
 from the draughty door. After our eyes 
 have become accustomed to the gloom we look 
 at the kindergarten children many of whom are 
 foreign born. Most of them look healthful and 
 happy, a few excite our sympathy by their 
 drawn faces, but they are all intent on learning 
 the little songs and games. The strain upon 
 one's heartstrings grows almost unbearable as 
 we gaze from face to face of these little ones 
 and think that perhaps this dark and dreary 
 room with its impossibilities for comfort or 
 adornment is perhaps typical of their chance 
 in life; a child, like a flower, seeks sunlight and 
 who knows how dark are the walls around the 
 children of the city streets? 
 
 But the summons to the second floor comes 
 and we are ushered up a long straight flight 
 of stairs to another large room, the office; the 
 rugs, furniture and good pictures here were 
 chosen by our dear Mrs. Boyd ten years ago. 
 At the back is a dining room (used for classes, 
 however), which boasts of a bay window giving 
 light but no prospect; at the back are pantries 
 and small kitchen. One glance at the latter is 
 sufficient to show that it might be vastly more 
 adequate for the classes in domestic science 
 which are trained there. 
 
 The top floor is reached after another long 
 climb which excites our sympathy for the knees 
 of those who climb them daily! This floor, 
 comprising a sitting-room a few small bed- 
 rooms, a rather grimy dining-room and 
 kitchen are "all the comforts of a home" to 
 those noble women who are devoting their 
 lives to the building up of the homes of the 
 people about them. Last year Miss Edmonds 
 alone saved forty homes by her work in the 
 
 court of Domestic Relations; the husbands and 
 fathers being compelled to support their 
 families instead of the saloons. 
 
 From this third floor we are conducted down 
 some outside back stairs to the so-called 
 "gymnasium." It is well hidden from the 
 street, and it is well that it is hidden, for while 
 it leans like the tower of Pisa it lacks its 
 picturesqueness. It was once a small barn 
 but now is barely a shelter for small boys' in- 
 door games. Christopher House has a great 
 baseball team in summer but cannot hold the 
 young men in winter because no winter 
 athletics are possible there. 
 
 We are then led back to the little cottage. 
 On the lower floor some of our Evanston girls 
 are passing out the books of the circulating 
 library in a room eight by ten feet, so dark and 
 poorly ventilated that we leave with added 
 respect for the Christian fortitude of those 
 girls. At times the line of applicants for books 
 numbers one hundred a day. 
 
 The upper floor is devoted to the creche for 
 the little children and babies, whose mothers 
 leave them here while working during the day- 
 time. They are bathed and fed and put to 
 sleep in little white iron beds by a nurse and 
 her assistant. Three small rooms, one of 
 which is a kitchen, on some days contain 
 forty babies and the nurse is obliged to put as 
 many as four in one bed. 
 
 Christopher House was so named by Dr. 
 Boyd, who founded it and dreamed that we, 
 his people, might "bear Christ," as the name 
 signifies, to the people of that congested district 
 of Chicago, even as good St. Christopher bore one 
 across the raging river and found on reaching 
 the farther shore the Christ-child in his arms. 
 
 Our eyes tell us that these rented buildings 
 never could be adapted to the needs of the 
 forty-five or more classes which work there, and 
 they certainly never were designed to promote 
 social intercourse or neighborliness among 
 these people whose homes are so limited and 
 whose greatest need is some place to go to for 
 wholesome recreation and sympathy. Chris- 
 topher House has a possible parish of thirty 
 thousand souls! 
 
 May God bless our labors in "Cranford 
 Village" and grant us from the proceeds a sub- 
 stantial fund towards a new and suitable home 
 for our settlement work there. 
 
 [29] 
 
T h e 
 
 B 
 
 of C r a n f o 
 
 Villa 
 
 g e 
 
 By Irene G. Wheelock 
 
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 c5am Feci- bo- dy Pea-bo-dv Peo-bo-dv 
 
 This is what the white-throated sparrow 
 whistles to our New England cousins; but 
 just across the border in Canada he sings 
 "De-ar Canada, Canada, Canada" — while 
 in the North Carolina mountains he calls 
 "Sweet Miss Marjorie, Marjorie, Marjorie." 
 It was down there in the Blue Ridge country 
 that a small boy asked me, "What's that yere 
 bird what keeps a-hollerin', 'O Pa: I'll be 
 good: I'll be good: I'll be good.'" 
 
 This particular bird song is a melody to 
 which one unconsciously fits words as to the 
 robin's gay "Cheer up" or the bluebird's 
 tender "Tru-a-ly tru-a-ly" or the vireo's 
 "You see me? You hear me? You know it?" 
 or the ovenbird's call of "Teacher, teacher, 
 teacher," or the brown thrasher's "Plant it 
 deep, cover it up, cover it up!" But as to 
 setting down the notes themselves according 
 to melodic scale, — well, to me that is always 
 a failure. It is the elusive quality of tone 
 rather than the intervals of the scale that 
 renders it so impossible to record by any human 
 laws of music. 
 
 In fact it is this quality of tone more than 
 anything by which we recognize the particular 
 singer. For instance, compare the high, clear 
 notes of the oriole with the carol of the robin. 
 The oriole, whistling carelessly as he hunts 
 for food, makes his music a side issue and his 
 tone is brilliant but cold; the robin, oblivious 
 to all else, sings for the pure joy of it as 
 perched on the high tree top he pours out his 
 soul in music. His appeal is emotional, never 
 intellectual like that of the oriole; his tones are 
 full, rich, tender, and although he has twenty- 
 five different notes you never mistake his voice. 
 If you have never heard his "sotto voce" 
 cradle song uttered with closed bill you have 
 missed much. 
 
 It is true, the songs and call notes of some 
 wild birds are so simple, so pure of tone, and so 
 
 slowly delivered as to be easily imitated by any 
 one who can whistle. One may even deceive 
 the bird himself into an answering note, and 
 coax him from his leafy hiding place into the 
 range of the photographer. The writer has 
 called young waxwings until they lit on her hat 
 and shoulders and allowed themselves to be 
 caught by the man with the camera. It is 
 especially easy to whistle a "Bob White" from 
 his cover or entice chickadees, nut hatches, and 
 titmice to investigate the queer bird-call so 
 like their own and yet so different. But to 
 catch a bird song by ear or even to mimic it is 
 not to write it, and after all what satisfaction 
 would it be to write it? Cold type, whether 
 notes on a staff or words on a page, can convey 
 but small idea of the ravishing melody that 
 comes from a wild bird's throat. 
 
 Whether the birds themselves learn the song 
 of their species by imitation or inheritance 
 may never be fully determined. Probably 
 both are factors to be reckoned with in study- 
 ing the result. No one who has heard a young 
 bird "practicing" over and over the phrases 
 he hears his father sing can doubt that imita- 
 tion plays a large part; but a young cardinal 
 grosbeak which I brought from the South 
 when it was a week old never heard the song 
 of its kind, was surrounded by English spar- 
 rows and robins, yet developed the charac- 
 teristic, unmistakable cardinal's whistle with 
 all its phrases. On the other hand a blue-jay 
 brought up in my aviary mimicked domestic 
 sounds and never developed the true blue-jay 
 call. 
 
 Year after year on Sheridan Road, Ev- 
 anston, near the Northwestern University 
 observatory there was a most remarkable 
 meadow lark who for a long time fooled us 
 into believing that a Kentucky cardinal 
 had come to live among us, so perfectly 
 did he whistle the cardinal's glorious song. 
 
 [30] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 C 
 
 a n f o 
 
 Village 
 
 Tone, accent, and delivery were faultless 
 and it was only after watching him sing 
 not thirty feet away that we reluctantly con- 
 ceded him to be a meadow lark. Now how and 
 where had he learned the cardinal's whistle? 
 My theory is that he was one of a belated 
 brood, hatching too late in the year to hear 
 the song of his kind; but migrating southward 
 for the winter, his learning-to-sing days were 
 spent in the land of the cardinals. To hear 
 was to imitate. Hard at first it must have been 
 for his little meadow-lark throat but he cer- 
 tainly attained perfect mastery of the mar- 
 velous melody. Lucky meadow lark! After 
 his second season he added to his repertoire 
 the familiar meadow-lark whistle and used the 
 
 two songs indiscriminately, but never combined 
 them. These are but three examples from the 
 many that might be given and there are al- 
 most endless individual variations. 
 
 We recognize the powers of mimicry pos- 
 sessed by the "mocking bird," the thrasher, 
 and that clown of the woods, the yellow- 
 breasted chat; but it is a talent or an ambition 
 common to most species of song bird in a 
 greater or less degree. I have heard a cat- 
 bird try to imitate the marvelous antiphonal 
 singing of a wood thrush, and seem to realize 
 the grotesqueness of the result, for every effort 
 ended with an impatient jerk of the tail and 
 harsh "Miaow" as much as to say, "Shucks: 
 what a dunce I am!" 
 
 By Louise Ayers Garnett 
 
 O who could name a baby so 
 
 Exceptional as ours? 
 A Girl, too, with a copper mane, 
 
 And eyes like gentian flowers. 
 
 If she had a been a boy, or twins, 
 A name were quickly found, 
 
 For tags for boys and pairs of girls 
 Will more than go around. 
 
 But when there's just one precious Girl, 
 And copper-crowned at that, 
 
 'Tis plain to see the obstacles 
 Are fearful to combat. 
 
 Our friends despise us for our sloth 
 And, putting forth their claims, 
 
 With unremitting industry 
 Suggest all kinds of names. 
 
 The children in the neighborhood 
 
 Decide it as they please 
 And out of compliment to me 
 
 Salute her as Louise. 
 
 Her father favors Patience for 
 
 His mother; as for me 
 I'd call her Sallie after mine, 
 
 But mother won't agree. 
 
 Eugenia for her father would 
 
 Resolve the situation, 
 But he declares two Genes would make 
 
 A trying complication. 
 
 Her brother likes Louise the best, 
 
 With Dorothy next choice. 
 As he controls a voting third 
 
 We gravely heed his voice. 
 
 For grandpapa and uncle we 
 Would gladly call her Gwynn, 
 
 But two small cousins own it and 
 We'd doubtless raise a din. 
 
 There's Shelley, Daphne, Cynthia, 
 
 Rowena, Jane and Joan, 
 Roxana and Penelope, 
 
 Patricia and lone, 
 
 Raptura and Ecstatica, 
 
 Serena and Romaine, 
 Tranquilla and Hepatica, 
 
 Phyllida and Lorraine. 
 
 In fact, names overcrowd the earth 
 As sweethearts swarm a fair, 
 
 But 0, there's but one Girl for us 
 With copper-colored hair! 
 
 Some day, when we make up our minds, 
 How stale the hours will seem 
 
 Without our long discussions on 
 The all-absorbing theme! 
 
 Just now, when people ask us, "Have 
 
 You named the baby yet?" 
 We say, "Of course! How does it come 
 
 You haven't heard? Garnett." 
 
 We've given her the family name 
 
 But when she's fully grown 
 She's quite at liberty to change 
 
 And choose one of her own." 
 
 Yes, laugh at us, if you so wish, 
 Let fall your jests in showers, 
 
 But there's no name half good enough 
 For such a Girl as ours. 
 
 [31] 
 
T h e 
 
 B 
 
 ok of 
 
 a n f 
 
 Villa 
 
 By Lucy Fitch Perkins 
 
 Once upon a time when the world was quite 
 young a farmer and his wife lived together in 
 a little cottage in the country. 
 
 They had no children, but they lived very 
 well with a cat and a dog for company, and 
 an old horse which they used to drive to town. 
 They also had a faithful goose which laid an 
 egg every morning before breakfast, in a nest 
 in the poultry house. 
 
 When the farmer rose in the morning he 
 would go the very first thing to the poultry 
 house to get the egg. Then he would take it 
 to his wife and she would make an omelet for 
 breakfast. 
 
 One morning when the old man went to get 
 the egg, there was no egg there. He did not 
 know what to make of it. "I think a weasel 
 must have stolen it," he said to his wife. 
 
 That morning they had no omelet. The next 
 morning the same thing happened. The third 
 morning when he found no egg, the farmer 
 and his wife agreed that the old goose must 
 have hidden the nest. 
 
 "We must hunt until we find it," said the 
 wife, "for going without breakfasts is making 
 me hungry and cross." 
 
 So they hunted and hunted for the nest. 
 They looked under the poultry house, and 
 beside the wood-pile, and in the hay-loft. 
 But there was no nest in any of these places. 
 They hunted in the garden and in the front 
 yard by the lilac bush — but they could not 
 find it. Finally they went down to the straw- 
 rick, on the edge of the salt meadow, and felt 
 all around it. On the north side of the rick 
 the old woman put her hand on three hard 
 lumps under the straw. 
 
 "Peter, Peter," she called to the old man, 
 "come quick!" 
 
 The old man came, and when they had 
 pushed aside the straw there lay three eggs of 
 shining gold ! 
 
 "Well-a-day! Who ever saw the like of 
 that!" cried the old woman. 
 
 "It's magic, if you want my opinion," said 
 the farmer. "The old goose is bewitched." 
 
 "A very good kind of magic, then," said 
 the wife. "We will take the eggs to town and 
 show them to the goldsmith. If they really 
 are gold we will buy a great many things at 
 the shops." 
 
 She put the eggs into her apron and ran 
 
 back to the house as fast as she could go. 
 She put on her best bonnet and her cloak with 
 the yellow lining, while the old man got the 
 horse ready, and very soon they were on the 
 road to town, the old woman holding tight to 
 the eggs in her apron. 
 
 They found the goldsmith sitting tipped 
 back in his chair beside his shop door. 
 
 The old woman opened her apron. 
 
 When the goldsmith saw the eggs of shining 
 gold he was so surprised that he fell right over 
 backward, chair and all. 
 
 "Wherever did you find such eggs as those?" 
 he said when he was right side up again. 
 
 "Our old goose laid them," said the farmer 
 and his wife, both together. 
 
 "Magic!" said the goldsmith. 
 
 "So I say," said the old man. 
 
 "Are they really gold?" said the old woman. 
 
 The goldsmith examined them very care- 
 fully. At last he said: "They are certainly 
 pure gold." 
 
 Then he weighed them and gave them coins 
 in exchange. 
 
 The old farmer and his wife hurried away 
 to the shops, leaving the goldsmith with his 
 eyes almost popping out of his head with 
 surprise. 
 
 They bought a silk dress and a new bonnet 
 for the wife. They bought a fine new suit of 
 clothes for the old man, and silver buckles for 
 his shoes. And they bought all sorts of good 
 things to eat. 
 
 The whole town turned out to see them, for 
 the goldsmith did nothing all day long but 
 tell the story of the golden eggs to every 
 passer-by. 
 
 At night when they reached home, the old 
 woman cooked a fine supper. They had 
 fresh meat and rice seasoned with onion. 
 They had green peppers and fruit, and a large 
 cake which they had bought at the baker's. 
 They ate sitting one on each side of their 
 kitchen table, with their fine clothes on. 
 
 "Now we know how it feels to be rich," 
 they said. 
 
 You may be sure they kept careful watch of 
 the old goose. Each day they took away the 
 egg as soon as it was laid. Each day they 
 bought more things with the gold, and each 
 night thought of nothing but what they would 
 buy the next day. 
 
 [32] 
 
T h 
 
 Book 
 
 f C r a n f o 
 
 d 
 
 V 
 
 I I a g e 
 
 But as they grew richer, they grew more 
 and more greedy and quite, quite proud. 
 
 At last one day the farmer said to his wife: 
 
 "Nancy, the old goose must be full of gold. 
 Who knows but she may have diamonds and 
 precious stones in her too? If we could get 
 it all at once we could build a fine cottage and 
 live better than any of our neighbors, without 
 working at all! This getting a little each day 
 is not to my taste. I should like enough gold 
 all at once to last for the rest of my life." 
 
 His wife thought this would be very fine 
 indeed. 
 
 So the next morning when the old goose went 
 to the straw-rick by the salt meadow, the old 
 man followed with an axe. 
 
 As soon as her golden egg was laid, he 
 seized and killed the old goose. 
 
 He took the body to the kitchen, and there 
 he and his wife eagerly opened it, expecting to 
 find her stuffed with gold and jewels. Instead 
 they found that she was made just like all 
 other geese, and that in their greed they had 
 cut off" the source of all their wealth — they 
 had killed the goose that laid the golden egg. 
 
 So they had to go back to their old way of 
 living, only instead of a golden egg each 
 morning they got nothing at all — not even 
 an omelet! 
 
 By Anna M. Scott 
 
 When you see a twinkling star 
 High in heaven above you, 
 
 Just merry winks those twinkles are 
 That mean, "My child, I love you.' 
 
 When a lilting lark you hear 
 High in heaven above you, 
 
 The song he sings is for your ear, 
 'Tis this, "My child, I love you." 
 
 And when you feel a good-night kiss 
 As mother bends above you, 
 
 Like star and lark she too means this, 
 "My little one, I love you." 
 
 By Ellen Lee Wyman 
 
 It was the day before Christmas, and every- 
 body was more than busy. You know how 
 busy that is, for you have memories of such 
 days. Mother was flying about like a big 
 mother-bird with a big new brood in the nest; 
 Father was in and out attending to all sorts 
 of things. Martha and Wilhelmina, or 
 "Billie" as everyone called her, were hopping 
 about like two young birds, Martha like a 
 dove in her quiet way, and Billie like a robin 
 redbreast, never still, cocking her head on 
 one side, asking more questions than a cate- 
 chism, or "kittie-chasm" as she called it. 
 
 Elsie had just cleaned the fireplace in the 
 sun parlor ready to put in the Christmas logs, 
 and Billie was standing between the bright 
 andirons peering up the chimney until the 
 tip of her little nose was all sooty. 
 
 "Yes, Martha," she cried, "I can see the 
 hole. It goes up to the sky all right, and 
 Santa Claus can come clear down fru, but my 
 sakes, he'll get dirty!" 
 
 "No, he won't," replied Martha demurely, 
 stooping to look up the dark hole. "He is 
 one of the story-people that slip through 
 cracks, fly through the air, whisper in the trees, 
 and do just as they please." 
 
 "Like a bird?" asked Billie. 
 
 "Well, something, — not exactly— you know 
 — story-people — the elves, brownies, fairies — 
 they live in books and come out to visit us. 
 The sandman is one, and Santa Claus is the 
 king of them all." 
 
 "Y-e-s," said Billie vaguely, "but I like 
 birds best 'cause I can feel them. Will they 
 have a Christmas tree? Will Santa Claus 
 come to them? They are awful good." 
 
 Martha laughed at the idea suggested by 
 Billie's question, and exclaimed: 
 
 "Let us be the animal Santa Claus and fix 
 them a tree." 
 
 "All right, let's. There's Kathleen, she'll 
 help too!" 
 
 Now you must know that Martha and Billie 
 lived away out west where the sunshine makes 
 the days so bright that people forget it is 
 winter until the nights come with a chill that 
 makes a cozy fire very comfortable. Once in 
 a while the snow comes, just a flurry, and for 
 a few days the hills and the woods are dazzling 
 in their white coat, which is quickly stripped 
 off" by a warm wind. 
 
 This is a grand country for the little birds. 
 Here they can stay all the year and do not 
 
 t33l 
 
T h 
 
 B o 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 have to move or change as they do in so many- 
 places. 
 
 Martha and Billie were very fond of the 
 birds, and had a large circle of friends among 
 them, the little Finches being especially 
 intimate. They came to the door and the 
 windows every morning for the good crumb 
 lunches which were scattered for them. They 
 always seemed to know when a storm was 
 coming, and at such times would gather in 
 whole families and flocks for the treat. 
 
 At this Christmas there had been a little 
 fall of snow, so the girls knew their little 
 feathered guests would gather, and they had 
 a busy time of their own all day getting ready 
 for them and all the animals they could think of. 
 
 They scattered corn and nuts over the lawn 
 for the squirrels and gophers; they tied big 
 bunches of hay for the cow and the goats. 
 They decorated a basket of special titbits for 
 the chickens, and pasted gay stickers on bones 
 for the dogs, and promised puss a big saucer 
 of cream. They made gay little baskets filled 
 with crumbs and seeds, and hung them on the 
 bushes and low branches for the birds. 
 
 What a wonderful Christmas morning they 
 had — a gay big party of their little friends on 
 the trees outside the big sun porch, and a gay, 
 happy party about their own beautiful tree 
 inside, opposite the big fireplace. 
 
 Such a picture as it all was! Can you see 
 it? The tree was lighted with dozens of tiny 
 electric bulbs of different colors which could 
 all be turned on and off with a single turn. 
 There were loads of presents for everybody, 
 and such a grand time all the morning that 
 the family could hardly break up to get ready 
 for the big Christmas dinner at Grandpa's. 
 
 As they all started away from the house, 
 Papa said: 
 
 "It is so warm we will leave the porch- 
 windows open until we come home." So off 
 they went, never thinking anyone would come 
 in while they were gone. 
 
 Well, they had such a big party of relations, 
 such a delicious dinner, such a good time 
 altogether that they did not reach home until 
 after dark. There had been another snow 
 flurry, and it was quite cold. 
 
 After they had taken off their wraps Martha 
 and Billie wanted another view of their own tree 
 before going to bed, so they ran out to the porch 
 door. As they opened it they heard a strange 
 rustling sound in the dark that made them feel 
 as though there were something alive in the cor- 
 ner. Running back to their father and mother, 
 their eyes big with wonder, Billie exclaimed : 
 
 "There is something the matter out there; 
 I heard a noise." 
 
 "Oh, I guess not," said the father, who 
 wanted the children not to be afraid of any- 
 thing. "It is probably only the wind rattling 
 some paper. Run back, turn on the light and 
 see. There is no danger." 
 
 So they bravely went back, opened the door, 
 turned the button that instantly set the whole 
 tree alight — "Wheel whirr! whizz! whirr- rr!" 
 Out from the branches, peeping, calling, 
 sputtering with fright, fluttered and flew the 
 whole family of finches and their cousins and 
 all their relations who had come for a Christ- 
 mas party of their own, and had settled in 
 the branches of the cozy tree for the night. 
 
 Well you can imagine what a surprise party 
 it was all around. The birds flew to all parts 
 of the room, bumping their heads, striking their 
 wings — too dazed to see where they were. 
 Billie shouted in gleeful delight. The father 
 and mother came hurrying to see what all the 
 commotion was. 
 
 "It's a pity to drive them out into the cold 
 night," said the father. So they told the 
 party to stay, and bidding the little guests a 
 "sweet good night," turned out the lights, 
 shut the door, and soon all was quiet. 
 
 Waking early the next morning, the little 
 girls peeped through the porch windows just 
 as the birdies were beginning to stir. They 
 flew about a little and then found their way 
 out the windows and were off. 
 
 Later they came back to breakfast, and 
 Martha and Billie were sure they peeped — 
 
 "Thank you, thank you! We'll come 
 again; so ho!" 
 
 JV puzzle 
 
 I am composed of five syllables: 
 My ist is a part of the human body. 
 My 2d, the name of a river in Italy. 
 My 3d, the name of a cooking utensil. 
 My 4th, a verb. 
 My 5th, a pronoun. 
 
 My whole the name of an animal found in 
 the Nile. 
 
 My ist is the first in a kind of good sauce we 
 
 all like at Thanksgiving time. 
 My 2d, a car, a joke for you all, but found in 
 
 almost every clime. 
 My 3d and my 4th are a very small town, a 
 
 hamlet, a bit of a place. 
 
 And my whole you can see if you just look 
 around, its name on this page you will face. 
 
 [34] 
 
T h 
 
 Book of C r a n f o 
 
 V i I I a g 
 
 ^tterarg Jfete 
 
 By Adelaide Boyden McCullough 
 
 "Except a living man, there is nothing more 
 wonderful than a book"; they bring to us the 
 men and women of long ago, with all their 
 loves and hopes and fears poignant as those 
 of to-day. They charm away our cares and 
 multiply our joys, speak to us, amuse us, teach 
 us, and may we never be without them. 
 Among the late books we want to first com- 
 mend the "Little House on the Marne"; it 
 holds a charm past all description. An 
 American woman, Miss Mildred Aldrich, is 
 the author; and it is written in a series of letters 
 covering a period of three months, during her 
 residence in Huiry, on the "Marne," where 
 she had retired to the peaceful hamlet for 
 calm and quiet — when into her beautiful 
 calm comes the crash of gun and cannon, and 
 the battle of the "Marne" is on. The story is 
 told in such an exquisitely simple style you feel 
 the beauty of the earth and sky, and the horror 
 of the battle seems a jar; and while you know 
 the waters of God's beautiful river run crimson 
 with the blood of His creatures, maimed and 
 killed by man's mistake, over it all the peace to 
 come seems brooding; and while you read 
 with breathless interest you feel with the little 
 hostess of the house that, out of it all peace 
 must return, and the charm of her home nest 
 be as it was before. 
 
 The most notable American biography for 
 several years, and of great interest to the Amer- 
 ican reader, is the recently issued "Life and 
 Letters of John Hay," embracing the political 
 life of our nation from Lincoln to Roosevelt. 
 It is written by Roscoe Thayer; and he has 
 made exceptional use of the quantity of in- 
 teresting material at his command. 
 
 Among the American novelists' contributions 
 Hopkinson Smith's "Felix O'Day," and Willa 
 Sibert Cather's "Song of the Lark" are, while 
 widely different, distinctively American and 
 most readable. Hopkinson Smith's picture is 
 of an alienated English couple's trials and 
 adventures in old New York and the final 
 happy conclusion, aided materially by various 
 entertaining characters, all typical of the gifted 
 author, whom we all love. We regret that this 
 is the last story from his genial pen. 
 
 The "Song of the Lark" is a story strong in 
 purpose, vibrant with the pulsating personality 
 
 of genius and temperament. The story of a 
 Western girl with a wonderful voice, who gives 
 up all for ambition — or shall we name it that, 
 when the desire comes to give to the world the 
 best God had given her instead of being a 
 "home-keeping heart" in a life made up of small 
 but really vital things? The "finis" is not all 
 "rosy"; but what real "finis" ever is? 
 
 From England we have H. G. Well's "Re- 
 search Magnificent," a notable novel, crown- 
 ing evidence of the author's versatility, and the 
 characterization of a man who sacrificed all for 
 an ideal. The critics differ widely in their 
 criticisms of Well's last book; some praise, some 
 blame, but while they do we are enjoying a 
 most unusually entertaining story. 
 
 From Sweden we have Selma Lagerlof's 
 "Jerusalem," a wonderful story of a pilgrim- 
 age, religious, made by a group of peasants of 
 her home province. 
 
 l&tmn&tan public |Eibra:r|j 
 
 Some recent fiction at the library 
 By Mary B. Lindsay and Nancy Corse 
 
 Sawyer, Ruth. The Primrose Ring. It is well for even 
 the oldest and wisest of us occasionally to wander back 
 into fairyland, and let it give us back again the heart of 
 a child which we may have lost somewhere along the 
 road of " Growing-Old-and-Wise." The words quoted 
 are from Ruth Sawyer's preface to "The Primrose Ring" 
 — not a child's book, but a love story, whose author has 
 "let Fancy and a fairy or two slip in between the covers." 
 
 Deland, Margaret. Around Old Chester. In these six 
 new tales many of the well-known Chester folk reappear. 
 
 Galsworthy, John. The Freelands. A really fine love 
 story intertwined with the events of the day. 
 
 Grayson, David. Hempfield. The first novel from the 
 pen of the man who has charmed so many readers with 
 his little adventures in contented country life. 
 
 Locke, William. Jaffery. A real and most enjoyable 
 novel, without a dull page, and each character a per- 
 sonality. 
 
 Norris, Kathleen. Story of Julia Page. A story of San 
 Francisco dealing with a fine character study in Julia 
 Page. 
 
 Parker, Gilbert. Money Master. A Canadian story of 
 modern life with a background of old French customs. 
 
 Porter, Gene S. Michael O'Halloran. The story fairly 
 radiates sunshine and an exuberant faith in the innate 
 goodness of humanity. 
 
 Rinehart, Mary K. " K." Intensely readable from the 
 first page to the last. 
 
 Walpole, Horace. Golden Scarecrow. The fact that child- 
 hood is not a mere prelude to adult life, but worth while 
 for its own sake has seldom been more beautifully 
 expressed. 
 
 Ward, Mrs. Humphrey. Eltham House. A swift moving 
 story of present-day social and political life in England; 
 an intellectual treat. 
 
 [3Sl 
 
Can you imagine anything more marvelous 
 than a dream village; a village of the fancy 
 come true? Wonderful and incredible as it 
 seems, however, this thing has really happened. 
 Cranford has come to life, and if dear old Mrs. 
 Gaskell were in Evanston she could walk up 
 and down the village street, dip into the tiny 
 shops and meet again all of her old friends. 
 We are privileged to journey to this quaint, 
 little old time English town, for Cranford will 
 be on the map at the Country Club on Novem- 
 ber fifth and we shall all see Captain Brown and 
 Miss Jessie, Doctor Hoggins and Mrs. Jamie- 
 son and all the other characters who have 
 charmed us so many times with their simple 
 living, big hearts, neighborly kindnesses and 
 petty gossip. We may meet Mr. Aga Jenkins 
 who can tell us such marvelous tales of his 
 Indian journeys, and we can tell Miss Matty 
 how sorry we are that she did not get the gay 
 turban that she loved. It seems particularly 
 fitting that Cranford is to furnish us the means 
 to make happy our neighbors at Christopher 
 House, for don't you remember how generously 
 the kindly souls gave of their small store to 
 help Miss Matty when her fortune was lost. 
 One of our young townsmen, Russell Walcott, 
 has produced most successfully the old time 
 hamlet and Mrs. Dakin, with all the executive 
 ability of a Miss Deborah, has worked out 
 elaborate plans to beautify the town, to stock 
 the shops, and to give you a cordial welcome 
 in Cranford. 
 
 For ten years Christopher House has been 
 an active center in a foreign community, main- 
 taining many and varied activities, and has 
 been a great blessing to many people who need 
 what Christopher House has to give in the way 
 of ministering to the needs of the people in the 
 community. 
 
 The educational work maintained gives to 
 the boys in the community classes in manual 
 training, carpentering, cobbling, mechanical 
 drawing, and other helpful classes, and to the 
 girls classes in sewing, cooking, millinery, 
 dancing, gymnastics, dramatics, and many 
 others classes that are useful and instructive. 
 With these activities the social life of the boys 
 and girls is also emphasized. 
 
 Also many foreign-speaking men and women 
 are learning English and becoming better 
 citizens because of the work that is being done 
 for them at the settlement. 
 
 Other activities include a well conducted 
 kindergarten for the benefit of the children in 
 the community who need it, also a day 
 nursery where many children receive the best 
 of care and training under the direction of a 
 trained nurse, while the mothers are at work 
 helping to earn the living for the family. 
 
 Religious work forms a very vital activity. 
 Regular religious services are held every Sun- 
 day and a well organized and well attended 
 Sunday school is maintained for the benefit of 
 the children in the community. 
 
 The demand for athletics increases constant- 
 ly and many boys are benefited by the privilege 
 of playing baseball, basket-ball, and other 
 indoor and outdoor games. The Boy Scouts 
 and Girl Scouts also have their part in the 
 activities of the settlement. 
 
 There are other activities that are an impor- 
 tant part of the work that is being done among 
 them: a splendid library that is circulating 
 many helpful books, also the summer outing 
 work that is sending many mothers and chil- 
 dren out into the country for a much needed 
 vacation. 
 
 A large part of the work at Christopher 
 House is the neighborhood service which it is 
 the privilege of the resident and volunteer 
 workers to give. This includes calls on sick, 
 needy, and discouraged, responding to emer- 
 gency calls, settling family difficulties, securing 
 legal advice, and many other kinds of service 
 for which there is a constant demand. In 
 these and many other ways Christopher House 
 is proving the need of its existence not only to 
 the five or six thousand who come under its 
 definite influence every month, but also to 
 those who give of time, service, or money and 
 make its existence possible. 
 
 While the editors realize how fully the 
 people of Evanston appreciate the Evanston 
 Hospital we want to call attention to two 
 notable new features of the institution, — its 
 laboratory and its X-ray equipment. These 
 
 [36] 
 
T h e 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 C 
 
 a n f o 
 
 I I a 
 
 departments are second to none in the United 
 States and enable the patients to secure 
 promptly the best results in chemical analyses, 
 X-ray negatives, and fluoroscopic examinations 
 that science can give. 
 
 It goes without saying that there is a con- 
 stantly increasing number of patients and a 
 correspondingly increasing demand for more 
 space. No charity cases have been turned away; 
 but during the past year, because of lack of 
 room, quite a number of patients anxious and 
 able to pay have had to be denied admission. 
 
 The Girls' League of Evanston, a non- 
 sectarian association, filling the place that 
 the Y. W. C. A. does in other cities, is a very 
 important factor for good in the industrial life 
 of our town. The rooms are comfortably fur- 
 nished with easy chairs, lounges, writing desk, 
 piano, pianola, victrola, sewing machines, good 
 books, magazines, etc. There is a dining-room 
 and kitchen at the disposal of members and 
 very much put to use by them. 
 
 The rooms are used at all hours, by different 
 groups of people, individually and collectively. 
 At noon the members who work on Davis 
 Street spend the hour allotted them, in cooking 
 their luncheons, resting, and playing the 
 pianola. In the mornings and afternoons 
 people drop into the League for help, of various 
 natures. Perhaps they want advice, perhaps 
 they want work, perhaps they are hungry, 
 occasionally they are all three of these, with no 
 place to go. In that event those hungry out- 
 of work persons have come to the right place, 
 for at the League there is always food, opportu- 
 nities to find work, and a place to sleep. 
 
 Again our "City of Homes" has been 
 honored. To our already broad educational 
 resources, including Northwestern University 
 with its many departments, the Evanston 
 Township High School, almost one thousand 
 strong, and our model public schools, has been 
 added "Roycemore," a day school for girls and 
 boys. 
 
 The building is most complete and attractive 
 and the site chosen for its location is ideal. It 
 is near the lake, north of the University and 
 opposite a large athletic field where the pupils 
 are privileged to enjoy all forms of athletic 
 sports. 
 
 Two new clubs have arisen in Evanston, both 
 of which make for outdoor life. One, the 
 newly formed "Garden Club," has ambitious 
 plans for the future, in many of which the 
 Evanston public are to share. 
 
 First on their program is the Shakespeare 
 garden which they propose to create in co- 
 operation with the Drama League of America 
 in its Tricentennial Shakespeare celebration 
 next June. Prof. C. B. Atwell, representing 
 Northwestern University, has promised hearty 
 support for this plan. 
 
 The club numbers about forty members, all 
 earnest home-loving women of Evanston, who 
 desire to make their serious study of garden 
 topics benefit their neighbors, as well as 
 themselves, — particularly those neighbors who 
 suffer most from the high cost of living. 
 
 To this end they have used their influence in 
 obtaining for Father Seldhelm, the Polish 
 priest, permission from the State government 
 to use the land lying along the drainage canal 
 west of Evanston for kitchen gardens for his 
 parishioners. On this tract the Russian-Poles 
 who live in the southwestern part of our city 
 have been able to raise vegetables, both for 
 their own needs and to sell. This is a very 
 practical way to help those who need it and 
 well worth the efforts of any club. All honor 
 to the Garden Club for this, say we. 
 
 The aim of the club is first, last and fore- 
 most "To help everybody to find Health, 
 Wealth and Happiness in a garden." 
 
 The other club, calling itself "The Hikers," 
 has no organization and no altruistic purpose. 
 It is composed of some Evanston women who 
 love long walks through country by-ways, in 
 fair or stormy weather and its slogan is the 
 following song by Thomas Tinker. 
 
 When the cares of earth oppress you, 
 When the ills of life distress you, 
 When futilities impress you, 
 Walk it off! 
 
 When the future's grave and graver, 
 When the past has lost its savor, 
 When the present finds no favor, 
 Walk it off! 
 
 That's the sport that legs were made for, 
 That's the purpose roads were laid for, 
 Well or ill, in debt or paid for, 
 Walk it off! 
 
 [371 
 
The Book of Cranford 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 The horrible conflict across the waters has 
 plunged all thinking people into serious con- 
 templation which finds expression in various 
 ways. 
 
 Some thirty of our fellow-townsmen, among 
 whom is his Honor the Mayor, aroused to the 
 realization of their ignorance of technical war- 
 fare, have spent their vacation in the Military 
 Training Camp at Fort Sheridan. 
 
 The object of the camp was to instill into the 
 minds of American men the necessity for early 
 military training and to give to those deprived 
 of such training an opportunity to see the 
 actual workings of military life. 
 
 On the other hand several of our talented 
 women have joined the army of war poets. I 
 quote below two poems which come from the 
 pens of our own contributors. 
 
 "(SforitsBtmt J^tmi pelgae" 
 
 By Helen Crew 
 
 See how great Julius Caesar's hand hath writ 
 
 Of a young nation struggling to arise. 
 
 Long centuries pass; still, while she bleeds 
 
 - and dies, 
 His judgment stands. Time dims no word 
 of it. 
 
 — The Outlook, January 27, 1915. 
 
 Wqz prager of ih,c Rations 
 
 By Anna Jane Harnwell 
 
 "Great God, lend us Thine aid!" 
 The Slav cries in his might; 
 Then forth upon the battle field 
 His children go to fight. 
 
 "Great God, lend us Thine aid!" 
 The Frank lifts up his voice; 
 And countless legions forward go, 
 Nor dream of other choice. 
 
 "Great God, lend us Thine aid!" 
 The Saxon calls in prayer; 
 Then goes to fight with smiling lips, 
 Feeling his God goes there. 
 
 "Great God, lend us Thine aid!" 
 The sturdy Teuton calls; 
 It is his slogan when he fights, 
 His prayer when he falls. 
 
 Then speaks God from His throne: 
 "I do not heed your cry; 
 Ye all implore the God of War, 
 The Prince of Peace am I!" 
 — New York Times Magazine, July 25, 1915. 
 
 present 
 
 In the Style of Godty's Magazine and Lady's Book 
 
 By A. Mantua Maker 
 The two great necessities of humanity are 
 food and raiment. If the requisitions of strict 
 necessity alone were 
 considered the matter 
 would be easily settled, 
 but in consequence of 
 our passion for making 
 complex what was 
 simple, new necessities 
 of toilet and table have 
 been created and re- 
 course has been had to 
 the products of every 
 region of the earth to 
 gain these. 
 
 r Adam never knew 
 what it was to taste a 
 pate de foie gras. Eve's 
 first dress was of green leaves. How vast has 
 been woman's progress from that day to the 
 invention of the court train! Vestment has 
 ceased to be the subject of consideration and its 
 place has been occupied by decoration. 
 
 To regulate, however, all the diversities and 
 perversities of individual taste a new power has 
 arisen variable as the April cloud, fugitive as 
 the wind. Its name is Fashion. It was this 
 despot which decreed the huge ruffs, long, 
 straight stomachers, puff sleeves, and stiff 
 voluminous skirts of Elizabeth's reign. 
 
 It was Fashion, which in the early part of 
 the eighteenth century forced all females to 
 encumber themselves with hoops of enormous 
 size and at the commencement of the nine- 
 teenth century to wear soft muslin gowns of 
 almost classic lines. 
 
 Now once more following its whim we are 
 encasing ourselves in cages of steel or whale- 
 bone. A generation of matrons is succeeding 
 one of nymphs. Plaids, checks and bars in 
 cashmeres, merinos, and poplins are very good. 
 In the fashion plate we see a walking dress 
 of palest drab cashmere, an entirely new cos- 
 tume. The skirt is composed of gored 
 breadths, made to fit the form without plaits. 
 The front of the dress is in a single piece, 
 narrow at the waist. This is ornamented by 
 narrow folds of the same, tacked on with three 
 rather large silk buttons, the same color as the 
 dress. A small cape reaches a little below the 
 shoulder. Sleeves tight and plain. A rich 
 India scarf is thrown carelessly around the 
 form. 
 
 [38] 
 
T h 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f o 
 
 V 
 
 I I a 
 
 ©tjtt-ffijaf of fomforn $fflage 
 
 A. W. S. 
 
 All shops will be closed during performances, 
 both Friday evening at 8:15 and Saturday 
 afternoon at 2 o'clock. 
 
 Every gentleman is invited to call on charm- 
 ing Postmistress Mary and her assistants at 
 the Post Office. 
 
 Have you ever eaten Bara Brith, Welsh 
 bread? You can buy it and try it at the 
 Muffin Shop, and take home the recipe trans- 
 lated by Dr. Jones. 
 
 The Goose is waiting for the children. Feed 
 her a dime and she will lay a golden egg, or 
 something just as nice. 
 
 STOP AND SHOP at the "Shop of the 
 Housekeeper's Delight." Aprons, fancy 
 and plain; maid's aprons; and the novelty of 
 the season: the pretty flowered garden aprons 
 for service among the flower beds. Ironing 
 boards to travel with you, and kitchen utility 
 boards to leave at home, and warm comforters, 
 and everything else imaginable. If you don't 
 see what you want, ask for it. They are sure 
 to have it. 
 
 Will you stay for supper? Make your 
 reservation early. Supper 75c. 
 
 Don't forget to call at the Post Office. 
 There is a package for you. Charges 25c. 
 
 Ice cream for the children on Saturday 
 afternoon. 
 
 Call at the Children's Bazaar early. A 
 limited number of Cranford babies to be dis- 
 posed of. Everything for babies at prices 
 ranging from 35c up; and right here may be 
 found baby's dolly and dolly babies; grown-up 
 dollies with their fashionable furs, hats, boudoir 
 caps, and negligees. Call and inspect our 
 Parisian models. 
 
 Dr. Dakin will be allowed the use of his 
 telephone after November 6th. 
 
 The children are especially invited to the 
 Gift Shop. There will be found, for 50c and 
 less, lovely things for Christmas presents; all 
 tied up and directed, if you wish, and they 
 promise to keep all secrets. 
 
 Sweet Lavender for sale. 
 
 When you are tired, seek rest in Cranford 
 Tea Garden. Bring your friend, and among 
 the beautiful hollyhocks enjoy afternoon tea 
 with its accompanying buttered bread and 
 marmalade, tarts, and pound cake, all for 25 
 cents. 
 
 Christmas cards and stationery, new fiction, 
 which is first class but second hand, will be 
 sold by our Westminster Guild. 
 
 You are invited to a musical evening in the 
 Honorable Mrs. Jameison's drawing-room. 
 
 We hope some time our young bachelor 
 architect, Mr. Russell Walcott, may design a 
 home of his own as successfully as he has our 
 village. 
 
 Any future playwright in search of knowledge 
 of the Arts of the Stage will do well to consult 
 Mrs. John W. Meaker whose artistic produc- 
 tions excel even Signor Brunoni's magic. 
 
 Sandwiches and coffee in the Tea Garden by 
 the light of the moon after performance. 
 
 We've always learned in Mother Goose lore 
 that "Tom, Tom, the Piper's son, stole a pig 
 and away he run," but such was really not the 
 case. Come to Cranford at 2 p. m. Saturday, 
 November 6th, and find out the real truth of 
 the matter. A pleasant play for people from 
 seven to seventy, written by Alice C. D. Riley, 
 will be presented by a cast which will outcast 
 all other companies. 
 
 Be sure and visit The Novelty Shop, a land- 
 mark in our village, as the home of our much 
 admired artist, Mistress Dakin. 
 
 If you have anything of public importance 
 to communicate consult Mrs. Ball as to the 
 best way to present it. 
 
 Mistress Webster, formerly of Hubbard 
 Woods, but now of Cranford Village, has con- 
 tributed much to the artistic success of this 
 gala occasion. 
 
 Admittance to the village will be 25c. No 
 extra charge for performances. 
 
 (UJajlumjujm. VumS, 0Mj.'%1tuL " faxKTWiA-' 
 kAj^f&jcmji^s> " for My 
 
 (IfN/tAJtlJu^ 
 
 ~&MtS!P& (viMfih~ 
 
 [39] 
 
T h e 
 
 B 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f 
 
 Villa 
 
 g e 
 
 Our National Banks are peculiarly for the service 
 of the people. They are incorporated under the 
 banking laws of the United States — and are subject 
 to direct Federal supervision. 
 
 We invite you to open an account of $1.00 or more 
 in our Savings Department — receive all the protection 
 afforded by the Federal Banking Laws — and interest 
 at 3 per cent per annum. 
 
 Savings Department Open Mondays Until 6 p. m. 
 
 THE NATIONAL CITY BANK 
 
 OF CHICAGO 
 
 S. E. Corner 
 Dearborn and Monroe 
 
 Streets 
 
 "J3e a AStional GiiySov&r' 
 
 David R. Forgan, 
 President 
 
 Have You Seen 
 
 Our New 
 
 Store? 
 
 Corner Michigan Boulevard 
 and Washington Street 
 
 For Fifty Years 
 Chicago's Leading Grocers 
 
 Engraving 
 Announcement 
 
 All goods in our Gold, Silver, 
 Leather and Stationery departments 
 to be marked, if ordered now, 
 will be held for Christmas delivery. 
 
 No extra charge for engraving 
 
 CHARLES E. GRAVES & 
 COMPANY 
 
 Jewelers and Silversmiths 
 Madison and Wabash CHICAGO 
 
T h 
 
 Book 
 
 o f 
 
 a n ford Village 
 
 The Corn Exchange National Bank 
 
 OF CHICAGO 
 
 Capital 
 
 Surplus and Profits 
 
 OFFICERS 
 
 Ernest A. Hamill, President 
 Charles L. Hutchinson, Vice-Pres. 
 Chauncey J. Blair, Vice-President 
 D. A. Moulton, Vice-President 
 B. C. Sammons, Vice-President 
 Frank W. Smith, Secretary 
 J. Edward Maass, Cashier 
 James G. Wakefield, Asst. Cashier 
 Lewis E. Gary, Asst. Cashier 
 Edward F. Schoeneck, Asst. Cashier 
 
 $3,000,000 
 6,500,000 
 
 DIRECTORS 
 
 Charles H. Wacker 
 Martin A. Ryerson 
 Chauncey J. Blair 
 Edward B. Butler 
 Charles H. Hulburd 
 Benjamin Carpenter 
 Clyde M. Can- 
 Watson F. Blair 
 Charles L. Hutchinson 
 Edward A. Shedd 
 Ernest A. Hamill 
 
 Foreign Exchange 
 
 Letters of Credit Cable Transfers 
 
 Savings Department 
 
 NORTHWESTERN GARAGE 
 
 Sherland & Williams 
 
 Distributors for 
 The Hudson and Overland Cars 
 Also the Scripps- Booth Car 
 
 Cars sold on deferred payments. If you buy 
 an automobile of Sherland & Williams you 
 derive the benefit of their service department 
 in Evanston. 
 
 Telephones, 275 and 276 1624 Maple Avenue 
 
The Book of Cranford Villa 
 
 First Presbyterian Church 
 
 Evanston 
 
 REV. DAVID HUGH JONES, D. D., Minister 
 
 The First Presbyterian Division of the Evanston 
 Section of the association of people whose pur- 
 pose is to secure for themselves and all mankind 
 the greatest moral and spiritual benefits which 
 may come from right thinking and right living. 
 
 If you are not identified with any other organi- 
 zation of Christian workers, "Come with us and 
 we will do you good." 
 
 Strangers will be attractively seated if in attend- 
 ance promptly at 11 o'clock each Sunday morn- 
 ing or at 7:45 in the evening. 
 
 Prayer service every Wednesday evening 
 at 8 o'clock 
 
 This Space Donated 
 
T h 
 
 Book 
 
 o f 
 
 a n f 
 
 Fill 
 
 ROYAL PORCELAIN ENAMELED IRON TOPS 
 
 Made for Kitchen Ta- 
 bles or Cabinets. Sizes: 
 27 n x40" and 25 n x41^" 
 Top alone - - $4. 00 
 Table complete 7.85 
 
 ROYAL 
 
 En ameling and 
 
 Manufacturing Co. 
 
 326 West Madison St. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 'Piersen Clothes are being worn by 
 Evanston's most exclusive dressers 
 
 JOSEPH F. PIERSEN 
 
 619 Davis Street Telephone 287 
 
 RE yo Murdoch & compaN y 
 
 AR K STREET BBI° G 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
The Book of Cranfo-rd Village 
 
 State Bank of Evanston 
 
 Oldest and Largest on the North Shore 
 
 This bank invites you to make every 
 use of its complete facilities and assures you 
 efficient, confidential and courteous attention 
 to any business you may entrust to it. 
 
 Resources over three and one-half millions 
 
 FISCHER BROS. 
 
 HATS AND GOWNS MADE TO ORDER 
 
 HEMSTITCHING AND PLEATING PROMPTLY DONE 
 
 'hone 1797 527 Main St., Evanston, 111. 
 
 SlKl 
 
 mpooing, Hair Dressing, Manicuring, Facial Treatments, 
 Marcel Waving Electrolysis 
 TELEPHONE 967 
 
 
 ANDERSON 
 
 INSTITUTE 
 
 
 Hoyburn Bldg 
 
 , Evanston, 111. 
 
 Ha 
 
 i Goods, Creams and Lotions 
 of Our Own Manufacture 
 
 Hot Oil and Electric Scalp 
 Treatments a Specialty 
 
 THEOBOLD'S 
 
program 
 
 Friday Evening at 8:15 O'Clock 
 "AN EVENING IN CRANFORD, 1827" 
 
 Arranged by Mrs. Raymond Cook 
 
 Persons in the Play in the Order of Their Speaking 
 
 Miss Pole Miss Gertrude Cleveland 
 
 Mary Smith Miss Adelaide Neilson 
 
 Mrs. Forrester Miss Ruth Hypes 
 
 Miss Matty Miss Dorothy Thoman 
 
 Betty Barker Jane Frederick Kinney 
 
 Jessie Brown Miss Louise Kimbark 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. Jamieson . . Mrs. John W. Douglass 
 Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns, her Grandson 
 
 Master Hal Dewar 
 
 Captain Brown Mr. Elias Bredin 
 
 Lady Glenmire Miss Claire Livingston 
 
 Mr. Hoggins Mr. Burton Thatcher 
 
 MUSICAL SELECTIONS 
 Piano, "Maiden's Prayer" . Miss Adelaide Neilson 
 
 Song, "'T is the Last Rose of Summer" 
 
 . . . . Master Hal Dewar 
 
 Song, with violin obligato, "Meet Me by Moonlight 
 
 Alone" . Mr. Elias Bredin 
 
 Duet, "Whispering Hope" . { }£■ g^f C1 -eland 
 
 Dance, "Varsovienne" . . {^feS*'* 
 Duet, "Oh! That We Two Were Maying" .... 
 
 Miss Ruth Hypes and Mr. Elias Bredin 
 Song, " 'T was Within a Mile of Edinboro Town" . 
 
 Miss Claire Livingston 
 
 Song, " Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes" 
 
 Mr. Burton Thatcher 
 
 Song, "Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young 
 
 Charms" Mr. Elias Bredin 
 
 Duet, "Oh Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast" .... 
 
 . Miss Claire Livingston and Mr. Burton Thatcher 
 Minuet — 
 
 Miss Louise Kimbark Miss Lucile Howard 
 
 Miss Margaret Childs Miss Nancy Palmer 
 
 Miss Dorothy Pank Miss Helen Walrath 
 
 Miss Camille Rolland Miss Marguerite Pank 
 
 Accompanist, Miss Adelaide Neilson 
 
 Violinist, Miss Edna Macdonald 
 Stage Director, Mr. Henry C. Tilden 
 The musical portion of the program has been under the 
 direction of Prof. G. E. Grant-Schaefer of Northwestern 
 University. 
 
 Committee on Arrangements 
 Mrs. Raymond Cook 
 Mrs. John W. Meaker 
 Miss Lois Wilder 
 
 Saturday Afternoon at 3:00 O'Clock 
 "TOM PIPER AND THE PIG" 
 
 A Farce in Two Acts 
 By Alice C. D. Riley 
 
 Written for Cranford Village) 
 
 Mrs. John G. Houston at the Piano 
 Miss Edna Macdonald, Violinist 
 
 Cast of Characters 
 
 Tom Piper . James Macdonald 
 
 Polly Flinders Elizabeth Lee 
 
 Dame Flinders (mother of Polly) . . . Helen Williams 
 The Piper (father of Tom) .... Meredith Beyers 
 
 Old King Cole William Parkes 
 
 Knave of Hearts Russell Vinnedge 
 
 Peddler Mr. Henry Tilden 
 
 Mother Goose Katherine Moore 
 
 Clerk of the Court Melvin Hambaugh 
 
 MOTHER GOOSE'S CHILDREN 
 
 Miss Muffit Betty Cook 
 
 Bo Peep Mary Elizabeth Couch 
 
 Simple Simon Walter Dow 
 
 Dr. Foster Henry Noble 
 
 Mary Contrary Katherine Buchannan 
 
 Red Riding Hood Gwendolen Jones 
 
 Mother Hubbard Theresa Reed 
 
 Mr. Jack Sprat Sherman Armour 
 
 Mrs. Jack Sprat Mary Valentine 
 
 Heralds to King Cole < i, , , T 
 
 s \ Sheldon Lee 
 
 MAYPOLE DANCE 
 
 Virginia- Phillips Mary Tilden 
 
 Mary Dawes Barbara Cook 
 
 Eleanor Griffin Alice Fuller 
 
 Margaret Lee Eleanor Roberts 
 
 Elsa Hall Mary Claire Eastman 
 
 Suzanne Lewis Helen Baird 
 
 COMMITTEE 
 
 Mrs. John H. S. Lee 
 Mrs. Irwin Reed Mrs. Lucius Fuller 
 
 Mrs. Ira Couch Mrs. R. W. McKinnon 
 
 Mrs. Henry Tilden Mrs. H. W. Griswold 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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 017 165 462 2 » 
 
 Hollinger Corp. 
 
 P H 8.5