THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



Which volume would you choose 

 on entering a book store. 



The plain pointed text of "The 

 Absent-Minded Beggar by Rud- 

 yard Kipiing. Or the handsome 

 booklet with uncut edges, margin 

 and chapter heads illuminated, the 

 thought clearly defined by artistic 

 illustrating. 



Who would not rather see 

 "Duke's son, Cook's son, son of a 

 hundred kings. (Fifty thousand 

 horse and foot going to table Bay" 

 in a praphic picture, thrilling and 

 pulsating with life, than in cold 

 print. 



Or who would care to read James 

 Lane Allen's "The Reign of Law," 

 without the beautiful interpre- 

 tation by the facile pencil of 

 Harry Fenn, who gives us glimpses 

 of the flowering heads of the wav- 

 ing hemp fields, n The cutting 

 March winds and quiet sheep 

 pastures the swaying, elastic 

 figures cutting the hemp. 



Or the vision of Gabriella as the 

 shadowy twilight played around 

 her while mourning at the hemp 

 brake. 



Or the broad expanse of Ken- 

 tucky landscape, "masses of liv- 

 ing emerald, saturated with blaz- 

 ing sunlight." 



The ideas of Mr. Allen so vividly 

 wrought' out, kindles the heart 

 with adimiration for both author 

 and artist alike, and makes one 

 acknowledge illustrations is a 

 unique field for the uniniatated to 

 enter. 



The Bull in a ^ ever a man ^ 



China shop, to regret his existance it 



is in the experience of masculine 

 shopping not the purchase of 

 a lawn-mower or a load of hay, 

 with which the descendant of the 

 Lord's first-born is comfortably 

 familiar, bub the business to be 

 transacted over the dry-goods 

 counter and the awful presence of 

 the "saleslady" chilling him to the 

 core. I have a humorous friend 

 thatis, he fancies he is humorous 

 who endeavors to wring pleasure 

 from these solemn rites, actually 

 attempting badinage now and then. 

 Lately he wished to purchase a 

 pair of small gloves, adapted to his 

 limited anatomy, and after some 

 confusion sidled up to the "youth's 

 counter," perfectly conscious of 

 some impending danger. "Them's 

 boy's gloves" suddenly broke upon 

 the affrighted silence, as a languid 

 damsel paring her nails looked up- 

 on him superciliously. "Well won't 

 they do for an old boy," he feebly 

 asked whereat the animated phe- 

 nomenon refulgent in kaleidoscopic 

 raiment looked savage and turned 

 away in withering dudgeon. My 

 friend, in obedience to a principle 

 never to encourage fatal deficiency 

 Of humor, sought another estab- 

 lishment. Here he found the ideal 

 goddess of the counter, pretty as a 

 picture, radiant with bonhomie and 

 graciously attentive. "Will you 

 give me your hand, please?" "Oh, 

 this is really so sudden! (it hap- 

 pened to be leap-year) I must ask 

 mamma." This woman was human, 

 and the brief yet merry interview 

 which followed amply atoned for 



