im 



THE A^[FAiI<'AN JU-.K- KKKPER. 



June 



BEAUTIFUL HANDS. 



As I rememt-er the first fair touch 

 Of those beautiful hands tliat I love so much 

 I seem to thrill as I then vras thrilled, 

 Kissing the glove tliat I found unfilled 

 When I met your gaze and the queenly bow 

 As 3'ou said to me laughinglj', "Keep it now I" 

 And dazed and alone in a dream I stand 

 Kissing the ghost of your beautiful hand. 



When first I loved in the long ago 

 And held your hand as I told you so. 

 Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss 

 And Slid, "I could die for a hand like thisl" 

 Little I dreamed love's fullness yet 

 Had to ripen when eyes were wet, 

 And prayers were vain in their wild demands 

 For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. 



Beautiful hands I O beautiful hands ! 



Could you reach out of the alien lands 



Where you are lingering and give me tonight 



Only a touch— were it ever so light— 



Mj' heart were soothed and my weary brain 



Would lull itself into rest again. 



For there is no solace the world commands 



Like the caress of your beautiful hands. 



—James Whitcomb Eiley. 



DIANA'S SPIDER, 



The Band, Gusset and Seam is a so- 

 ciety recruited from an exclusive circle 

 of Nob Hill's youtliful matrons. It 

 meets through the winter, with aggra- 

 vated activity during Lent, at houses of 

 the membe- s ; its motto, ' 'First flannels 

 to the indigent;" its symbol, a thimble 

 crossed by a pair of scissors argent 

 on a backgrcuud of flannel gules sur- 

 mounted by a spool of thread couchaut. 



The demure maid who serves bouil- 

 lon, tea and chocolate to the society's 

 fair Dorcases hears tales from every 

 quarter of the globe— of life in the sum- 

 mer colonies along the New England 

 coast, of yachting cruises through Nor- 

 wegian fiords in the yellow wake of the 

 midnight sun, of walking tours in the 

 Landes and camping trips in the north 

 woods. She knows her planet better 

 than many whose orbits are less cir- 

 cumscribed and can safely be relied up- 

 on for information regarding elk in Ore- 

 gon or salmon in the Columbia, the 

 proper time to hunt the grizzly in As- 

 siniboia and the relative merits of the 

 Andalusian donkey and his twin broth- 

 er, the Rocky mountain burro. 



After serving the Bradamante of the 

 society with a cup of tea and a caviare 

 sandwich, she retii'es to a dusky corner 



of i:he rocni, refills the lamp under the 

 brazen kettle and rearranges the Dres- 

 den cups and saucers and the jewel 

 mounted spoons upon the teakw^ood ta- 

 ble. 



When the fluffy haired Mrs. Jack, 

 the society's president and the hostess 

 of the occasion, begins her story, there 

 is a lull in the talk, Which the wind 

 fills in with a neatly executed arpeggio. 



Mrs. Jack's mouth droops in wistful 

 curves, and beside her eyes an infant's 

 would .^eem sophisticated. 



"Jack says I must go with him to 

 Africa, but I shall never dare to look a 

 tiger in the f.^ce after my experience on 

 the Big Mud d>." 



Mrs. Jack r- adventures have familiar- 

 ized the society with Tin Cup, Big Bug, 

 Bumb ■ • Lee and Medicine Hat. But the 

 Big Muddy offers delightful fields for 

 speculation, for it has not yet fomid a 

 place on any map, and its only high 

 roads are the half obliterated trails left 

 by the Utes when they unwillingly de- 

 parted for new hunting grounds. 



"You remember the bighorn I shot 

 after Jack and the guides had tracked 

 him for ten days over the Rattlesnake 

 range in Wyoming?" Mrs. Jack contin- 

 ues plaintively. 



The society remembers the big-i:orn 

 as ^^'ell as the giant shark in the Mexi- 

 can gulf, the mountain lion and the cin- 

 namon bear with amber eyes picked off 

 by Mrs. Jack's rifle in the San Francis- 

 quito mountains. The idea cf her not 

 daring to look a tiger in the face under 

 any circumstances taxes the credulity of 

 the society. Has she ever known fear, 

 ever quailed before beast, bird or fish — 

 this modern Artemis? 



When she accompanies her husband 

 on his hunting expedition, she wears the 

 woods' autumn livery — leaf brown and 

 scarlet — an abbreviated skirt and leg- 

 gings of brown corduroy, a scarlet leath- 

 er shirt with elk's teeth for buttons, a 

 hat festooned with trout and salmon 

 flies and shining leaders. A cartridge 

 belt girdles her slender waist, with its 

 depending revolver and hunting knife. 



It is remarkable that Mrs. Jack has 

 escaped the cinnamon's embrace, and 

 bruin might well be pardoned such an 

 indiscretion. 



"Jack has always said that my phys- 

 ical coiirage first attracted him. But I 

 had never confessed to him that there 



