VOL. 37. NO. 7. WEEKLY.DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING CO., ELGIN, ILLINOIS.GEORGE E. COOK, EDITOR.FEBRUARY 15, 1914.   Arthur had a box of paints given him for Christmas, and he had learned to color pictures very prettily; so just as he was finishing the dress of a gorgeous Japanese lady such a happy thought came to him that he nearly spilled some yellow paint all over Miss Matsuki's gay pink dress, in... more...

Kitty was eight years old, and Ted was seven. They had always lived on a large farm, and knew all about birds and squirrels, and the different kinds of trees, and how to make bonfires and little stone ovens; and they could shoot with bows and arrows, and swim, and climb trees, and split kindlings, and take care of chickens and ducks and turkeys, and do a great many jolly and useful things which city... more...

"SAVE ME FROM MY FRIENDS!" SCENE—A Place of Meeting. Enter Parliamentary Leader and his Subordinate. They greet one another effusively. Leader (cordially). And now, my dear fellow, how are my interests? Sub. (with much heartiness). Getting on capitally! Just been writing to all the papers to say that it is stupid to call you "Old Dot-and-go-one," because it is inapplicable to either... more...

REPORT. On the 13th of February, A.D. 1851, one John Caphart, of Norfolk, Va., came to Boston, in pursuit of one Shadrach, alleged to be a fugitive slave and the property of John Debree, a purser in the navy, and attended by Seth J. Thomas, Esq., as counsel, made his complaint, as agent and attorney of the said owner, before George T. Curtis, Esq., U. S. Commissioner. On the evening of the 14th, the... more...

OUR FUTURE. In these exciting times, when our country is enduring the throes of political convulsion, and every time-honored institution, every well-regulated law of society seems tottering from the broad foundation of the past, how few are there who ask themselves the question, What is to be our future? For the past two years we have lived in a state of extraordinary and unnatural excitement, beside... more...

INTRODUCTION. In England, as elsewhere, criticism was a late birth of the literary spirit. English poets had sung and literary prose been written for centuries before it struck men to ask themselves, What is the secret of the power that these things have on our mind, and by what principles are they to be judged? And it could hardly have been otherwise. Criticism is a self-conscious art, and could not... more...

I. "Lord, but English people are funny!" This was the perplexed mental ejaculation that young Lieutenant Skipworth Cary, of Virginia, found his thoughts constantly reiterating during his stay in Devonshire. Had he been, he wondered, a confiding fool, to accept so trustingly Chev Sherwood's suggestion that he spend a part of his leave, at least, at Bishopsthorpe, where Chev's people... more...

STORICULES. I.—THE SUICIDE-ADVERTISEMENT. As you stood before the automatic machine on the station platform, making an imbecile choice between a packet of gooseberry nougat and a slab of the gum caramel, you could not help seeing on the level of your eye this notice:—"BLACKING-CREAM. ASK FOR HIGLINSON'S, AND TAKE NO OTHER." Similar announcements met you on every hoarding, in almost... more...

TIGER AND TOM The day was pleasant, in that particularly pleasant part of summer time, which the boys call "vacation," when Tiger and Tom walked slowly down the street together. You may think it strange that I mention Tiger first, but I assure you, Tom would not have been in the least offended by the preference. Indeed, he would have told you that Tiger was a most wonderful dog, and knew as... more...

L ilac hazes veil the skies. Languid sighs Breathes the mild, caressing air. Pink as coral's branching sprays, Orchard ways With the blossomed peach are fair. Sunshine, cordial as a kiss, Poureth bliss In this craving soul of mine, And my heart her flower-cup Lifteth up, Thirsting for the draught divine. Swift the liquid golden flame Through my frame Sets my throbbing veins afire. Bright, alluring... more...