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the anathema-rueful rather than enraged hour. And you are through for the day.

—from the tent opening. Then you will In the woods, as nowhere else, you will plunge boldly in and get wet. It is not earn your leisure only by forethought. pleasant, but it has to be done, and you Make no move until you know it follows will save much temper, not to speak of the line of greatest economy. To putter time.

is to wallow in endless desolation. If Dick and I earned our diplomas at this you cannot move directly and swiftly and sort of work. It rained twelve of the first certainly along the line of least resistance fourteen days we were out. Towards the in everything you do, take a guide with end of that two weeks I doubt if even an you; you are not of the woods people. Indian could have discovered a dry stick You will never enjoy doing for yourself, of wood in the entire country. The land for your days will be crammed with unendwas of Laurentian rock formation, running ing labor. in parallel ridges of bare stone separated It is but a little after seven. The long by hollows carpeted with a thin layer of crimson shadows of the north country are earth. The ridges were naturally ill lifting across the aisles of the forest. You adapted to camping, and the cup hollows sit on a log, or lie on your back, and blow speedily filled up with water until they contented clouds straight up into the air. became most creditable little marshes. Nothing can disturb you now. The wilOften we hunted for an hour or so before derness is yours, for you have taken from we could find any sort of a spot to pitch it the essentials of primitive civilization, our tent. As for a fire, it was a matter of shelter, warmth, and food. An hour ago chopping down dead trees large enough a rain-storm would have been a minor to have remained dry inside, of armfuls catastrophe. Now you do not care. of birch bark, and of the patient drying Blow high, blow low, you have made for out, by repeated ignition, of enough fuel yourself an abiding-place, so that the to cook very simple meals. Of course we signs of the sky are less important to you could have kept a big fire going easily than to the city dweller who wonders if enough, but we were traveling steadily he should take an umbrella. From your and had not the time for that. In these own doorstep you can look placidly out trying circumstances Dick showed that, no on the great unknown. The noises of matter how much of a tenderfoot he might the forest draw close about you their be, he was game enough under stress. circle of mystery, but the circle cannot

But to return to our pleasant afternoon. break upon you, for here you have conWhile you are consuming the supper you jured the homely sounds of kettle and will hang over some water to heat for the crackling flame to keep ward. Thronging dish-washing, and the dish-washing you will down through the twilight steal the jealattend to the moment you have finished ous woodland shadows, awful in the sub.eating. Do not commit the fallacy of limity of the silent places, but at the sentry sitting down for a little rest. Better outposts of your fire-lit trees they pause finish the job completely while you are like wild animals, hesitating to advance. about it. You will appreciate leisure so The wilderness, untamed, dreadful at much more later. In lack of a wash-rag night, is all about; but this one little spot you will find that a bunch of tall grass bent you have reclaimed. Here is something double makes an ideal swab.

before unknown to the eerie spirits of the Now brush the flies from your tent, woods. As you sleepily knock the ashes drop the mosquito-proof lining, and enjoy from the pipe, you look about on the yourself. The whole task, from first to familiar scene with accustomed satisfac- . last, has consumed but a little over an tion. You are at home.

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Mr. Heinrich Conried, who has just been elected Director of the Metropolitan OperaHouse, New York City, is one of the most prominent and picturesque personalities in the dramatic world. His genius for stage direction is so great that his own theater (the Irving Place, New York City) may be said to be the only American playhouse preserving the classic traditions of the Comédie Française at Paris or the Burg Theater at Vienna. The guiding principle of each of these three theaters is to seek for excellence in performance rather than of performer. At each, leading actors are often invited to assume minor rôles. Theater-goers thus have the comfortable assurance that every character will receive adequate representation, and that the resultant whole will be consistently artistic. The emphasis of this principle should be characteristic of next year's performances at the Metropolitan Opera House under Mr. Conried's direction. The audience will then have an opportunity to hear, not merely singers, but operas.

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PENNSYLVANIA INSTITUTION FOR THE INSTRUCTION OF THE BLIND, AT OVERBROOK, PA.

By R. Clipston Sturgis

Believing that the architect has a distinct place in the development of the higher civilization through æsthetics, and that the general good of a community receives a constant if silent stimulus by reason of rational and lofty ideas in building construction and ornamentation, we are glad to print this appreciation of one distinguished architect by another. Though young in years, Walter Cope achieved a genuine fame and a permanent place in the history of American architecture. He was a Philadelphia boy; he was born there in 1860, and there he died in 1902. He was the pupil of no particular school of architecture, nor had he other training than that of his own industry and enthusiasm. The happiest hours of his early boyhood were spent in a little workshop which his father gave him. Walter Cope was the kind of boy who generally had a finger tied up with a rag, and at least one black nail, but he was not long in mastering all kinds of carpenter's tools, even doing creditable metal work. He was, however, always drawing, and more and more as he grew older his love of beauty gained on his taste for practical mechanics. At nineteen years of age he became draughtsman to a builder, and later to an architect. At twenty-four he went abroad to study; he was all alone and worked very hard, drawing a great deal of detail, especially of French Gothic, which made a lasting impression on his mind., When he returned to Philadelphia he went into partnership with the late John Stewardson, and it was not long before the now well-known firm of Cope and Stewardson achieved enviable repute.—THE EDITORS.

T T is impossible for one who knew him pointed out the beauty of the bare-limbed

to write of the work of Walter Cope trees. Some day, he said, he wanted to

without having his judgment influ- make a collection of photographs of trees enced by the strong individuality of the in winter. I had never noticed what he man himself. It is right that it should called the Gothic structure of the tulipbe so, for all his work was imbued with his tree : when young, twelfth-century lancet own characteristic personality. At the lines, upspringing; when old, fourteenthtime of his death he was a young man, century, with the quick curves and cusps but he was at the head of a large office, of the later work. For the snow breaks was engaged in large undertakings, and the ends of the pendent lower branches, was. necessarily debarred from doing much with his own hand. Yet, notwithstanding this, the work executed by his office was as instinct with his spirit and thought as if his own hand had put on paper and his own mind had directed the execution of the buildings erected by the firm.

No one could come in contact with him without feeling the strong influence of a master mind; yet withal he was modest and unassuming, appreciative and sympathetic. His mind was always actively at work. There were no off days; but it was not always nor only architecture. The last time I was with him we tramped the woods one late autumn day, and he opened my eyes to so many unnoticed beauties of wood and meadow that I felt as if I must have often walked before blindfold. He gathered a winter bouquet-goldenrod and various grasses gone to seed-almost as lovely in their gray and silver feathers as in their

THE CUPPLES DOORWAY, WASHINGTON more gorgeous summer colors. He

UNIVERSITY

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DRAWN BY M. MAWLEY

BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE NEW WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY, ST. LOUIS

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