1895. 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER. 



129 



A SONG OF FATHERLAND. 



I've wandeivd east, I've wandered west, 



In gypsy wise a, random roair.or. 

 Of men and maids I've known Mie best, 



Like the far traveled king in Homer. 



But, oh, for the land that bovr sel 



Oh, for tlie stout old la;id 

 Of breezy Ben and windiiiTf glen 



And roaring flood and sounding strand. 



I've stood where stands in pillared pride 

 The shrine of Jove's spear shaking daiighter, 



And humbled Persia stained the tide 

 Of free Greek seas with heaps of slaughter. 



I've stood upon the rocky crest 



Where Jove's proud eagle spreads his pinion, 

 VOiere looked the god far east, far west, 



And all he saw was Rome's dominion. 



I've seen the domes of Moscow far, 

 In green and golden glory gleaming, 



And stood where sleeps the mighty czar, 

 By Neva's flood so grandly streaming. 



I've stood on many a famous spot 

 Where blood of heroes flowed hke rivers, 



Where Deutschland rose at Gravelotte, 

 And dashed the strength of Gaul to shivers. 



I've fed my eyes by land and sea. 

 With sights of grandeur streaming o'er me 



But still my heart remains with thee. 

 Dear Scottish land, that stoutly bore me. 



Oh, for the land that bore me! 



Oh, for the stout old land. 

 With mighty Een and winding glen. 



Stout Scottish land, my own dear land! 



—John Stuart Blackie. 



A DUOLOGUE. 



This is not a "problem story." 



Neither does it discuss the advantages 

 or disadvautages of having "new wo- 

 men" iu our midst. 



It is a true tale. 



And it coucerus a good man and a 

 bad womau. 



They would never have met if the 

 London couuty council had come into 

 existence a tew years earlier than it did, 

 because he saw her at the Empire. The 

 exact date was Aug. 25, and it was a 

 very hot uiaht. 



The curtain had fallen on the last 

 Bcene of the ballet. The man rose from 

 his seat and walked across the prom- 

 enade toward the bar. 



He passed several women, but he did 

 not pass her. He had no intention of 

 stopping, still less of speaking. 



Yet, when he saw her, he stopped, 

 and when she stopped he spoke. 



I do not remember what he said. 



Thev sat down together at a little 



table. A waiter brought them a cup of 

 black coffee and a whisky and soda. 

 He drank the coffee. 



They talked, but again I cannot re- 

 member what they said. 



A man on the stage sang a comic 

 song. A womau on the promenade faint- 

 ed and was carried away. 



Then she said, "Well, are you com- 

 iug?" 



"No," he replied. "I don't know 

 why I stopped or why I spoke to you. 

 I am not 'one of the crowd' here. I am 

 not a performer in the 'Comedy of 

 Life.' I am only an onlooker." 



She stared at him. "Then why"— 



"I have told you I do not know. 

 Perhaps I thought you looked out of 

 place — here. " 



"I have been here every evening for 

 1 2 mouths. T ought not to look 'out of 

 place. ' " 



"Why did you come?" 



"Do you expect me to answer that 

 question in this building, surrounded 

 by these people?" 



"I am sorry. Of course not. It would 

 resemble a performance by 'The Inde- 

 pendent Theater society,' I suppose?" 



"I had better go, then, if you do 

 not" — 



"No; stay and talk. Are you happy?" 



"Hardly." 



"Are you miserable?" 



"I am not sure. " 



"Did you ever love anything?" 



"Yes." 



"What?" 



"Life — the trees and fields; the wild 

 moorlands; the sea; the birds that 

 sing in the hedgerows; the cattle in 

 the fields; the horses and dogs at the 

 farms. Yes, I loved life. I loved to feel 

 the wind blowing in my face; I loved 

 to smell the scent of the heather; I loved 

 to hear the song of the mountain 

 streams. Ha, ha! I'm almost poetic! 

 I'm"— 



"Go on. " 



"That is all. Did you ever love any- 

 thing?" 



"Yes." 



"Who?" 



"No one — I mean only a dog." 



"Oh!" 



"But he is dead." 



"Of course. " 



"Why 'of course?' " 



"Because you loved bim." — - 



