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He held if uite close to my face, and, seeing that I di not move,took his revolver, and holding it as close to my temple u be “Catch me at it!" eneered the bnehranger. “ The white-faced, (muting sneak, he’d ruin the whole lot of us. I'd as soon shoot him 59 look at him. And, by , I will, too, if I find he's heard one word of this. I’ll soon see whether he's awake. Give me the candle, Strihgybark.” The others were hardly satiI-h‘ed. The stookman took up the tallow-candle which, stuck in a broken bottle, served to light the hut, and held it so that the light fell on my face. I managed to command my nerves and lay still, breathing as regularly as before. But I know, by the way the light flickered through my closed eyelids, that he gave a start of surprise, and heard his suppressed exclamation. Then he returned to the others, and there was a buzz of excited whispering, in which, more than once, 1 dis- tinguished the nameâ€"long unusedâ€"of "Devon Sandy." Gibson, with his instin- ctive kindness, always called me “Scott,"or. latterly. “Alec.” “WEy don't you let him into it 1" said the bun-keeper. “I reckon he‘d have a dog 09 the bogs any anal-+5" I was very tired, and not disposed to ap- preciate the hut-keeper’s conversation. part- ly, I must own, from a nervous dread of being recognised and claimed for an old ac- quaintance, for I could see at a glance that the man was a “ lag," thohgh thankful to find I did not now him. I asked him once, as carelessly as I could, whether he knew a stockman here called Donovan, whereon, having shaken out the inmost recesses of his memory, he declared, in the ornate style which characterised him, that he had never ‘heard of such a man, imparting incidentally much information, as that he had been at Mangana nearly six months, that it was a beastly place, and a great deal more, which I have forgotten, and only half attended to at the time. I pleaded fatiqne, and tumbled into my bunk as soon as I could, having pre- viously hobbled my horse outside and broughtin the sadle, which I used as a pil- low. In a little while I was asleep. (CONCLUDEDJ It was about the middle of March, 1 think that I rode off one morning to the nearest: eettler’e house, some twenty miles off, on the other side of the Craycroft, to ask for the loan of some bullocke to drag our timber down to the creekâ€"it was :00 low to work the mill just then, but; we expected a rise shortlyâ€"and also to inquire nicer a stray horse of our own. I reached “Thorni- croft’s” in good time, executed the first part of my commissionI but: could hear nothing of the lost animel- and, as it was still early in the afternoon, determined to take a longer vyay home and look for it myself. I saw before me a grassy valley, contain» ing the bed of a good-sized stream, though there was very little wsser in it jusb then Higher up, the dense forest came down close to the banks ; where I stood, in was more like an open glade, with great stringy-barks growing here and there on the slopes, far enough apart to give an unobstructed view of a slab-hut about fifty yards below me which I m‘de for at once “He waa fast; asleep, andI forgot all about him till just now. He won’t hear what you main dou'c wake him up. He’s close-up dead-beat. Got a good home outside, it you like to know that.” I though: myself well enough acquainted with the Bush to find my way, though I did not know the ground so well in this funicular direction, and old Thornicroft, us rode ofl', warned mu to be careful, and oven pressed me to wait: till one of the sta- tion hands could be spared to go with me, I was anxious to return the same night, and incredulous of any danger, so I insisted, and left. Some instinct, I cannot tell what», prompt- ed me, as three men entered the hut, to lie still and give no sign of be ing awake. It) could not) have been suspicion. for it was not till some minutes after that I knew I had heard one of the voices before. As I was quite in the shad- ow I did not attract atuennion at first, and I could see them without moving, Where I lay. The man whose voice I recognised had come out in the same ship with me ; he had escaped and taken to the Bush some three years ago, and his name was dreaded throughout Buskingham. Another was a convict stockman l rememberedâ€"the same who had run aWay and left: poor Donovan so his fate ; the third I did not: know. Mile after mile I rode, as I thought}. in the direction of “Gibson‘s” without find- ing a trace of the fugitive. ID was already near sunset when it struck me chat the look of the plate was unfamiliar, and that I seemed to be getting no nearer the station. Sbill I thought I con (1 not: miss it by [map- ing steadily to the westward, but the far- ther I wens the more completely I was at fault. I was "bashed," and nu: mistake. Salli, in would prob-xny involve no more than a nighs's camping outâ€"and I was used to thatâ€"for I could, I thought, find my way book to‘ Thornicroft’s next: morning. I had no idea where I was, exoeph for bhe conjecture that, in getting farther away from Gibson’s than I had ever been before, I must be approaching the Hnon aner, and seeing some rising ground before me, hastened up it, thinking that I might: get a more extended View from the top. They had gathered round the firs over their supper. conversaing in short, broken owls, of which I could distinguish noth- lng belligible, till the basin-anger asked, in a louder none, “It’s all ready, then?" "Look ofit, mate,” said. 'the But-keeper. "I forgot, there’s a cove from Gibson's thlfi's lost his way_, here,” I started at the name, and looked at the man again, but did not remember having seen him before. and he did not appear to recognize me. After all. I had never been up to this part: of the run while I was at Mangana. though it was not more than ten or eleven miles. from the head station, and the man might be a new band He was a repulsiverlooking fellow enough, but extend- ed to me the hoepltalily of tea and c‘amper, and told me I might sleep there if I want ed, pointing to one of the bed-places fixed against the wall. _ The man Btu-he'd up with an oath : “Why digit you tel} us, yo}: fool I" There was no one in it but: the hut:~ keeper, who told me, in answar to my in- quiries, that this was Murdoch's Creek, and that he was in the employ of Mr. Young. of Mangana. I always sleep lightly, and it .could not have been very long before I awoke, aroused. I guppoge. py th_e sound of voices outside. MINE ENEMY. I called him softly before raising my head. He did not hear. I rose up, looked in, and wujuab opening my lips to speak. again when he turned and saw me. In a. twinkling he had seized the pistol that lay beside him on the table and fired. I knew I was hisâ€"though, .l thought, not badlyâ€"but contrived not: to cry out; or lose my hold of the sill. “ Mr. Young," I said. “ Huh I take care; don’t make a noise. I waan speak to you. May I come in 2" onld without touching, clicked the trigger in my ear. I kept still, and never even twitched an eyelid, though I do not know to this day how I did it. And. besides this. is a. marvel so me that they took the trouble to see whether I was asleep or awake, instead of quietly Killing me at once, and so settling the question; they might have done it with out danger. .and they certainly were not plagued with scruples. But the met remains â€"-t_hey did not. The window was open, the blinds up, and I could see him, as he sat at a. table writing â€"the same handsome head with the curling brown locks, the same face, the same atti tude, only it seemed to me that he looked older, colder, and sterner. However, this was no time to think ; I must get over into the garden. All was perfectly still, The cook must have kept her promise as regards the dogs. I drew off my boobs again and crept up to the verandah, taking care to keep in the shadow, climbed up the corner poec. and work 3d my way noisele ssly along to _the open window. I found the way, forgetting all my former weariness in the excitement of the hour. Now and then I felt chilled with horror, as I thought what would happen if the horse threw me and I were stunned or killed, or if I lost the track and got to the station too late? But I simply told myself that I must not do either of these things, and went on. At lamb the rush of the Huon River was in my ears ; I saw the house out- lined ou the other side of the valley; and, tying my horse to a tree, and crossing by the fordâ€"the water was low, or I could. not have done itâ€"fonnd myself outside the veronice~hedge that bounded the garden. .n All was quiet in the house, but there was still light in one of the upper front windows. I saw, with a throb of joy, that it was one which Young used as a private study ; he kept his papers there, and often say in it alone, especially of evenings ; and it could be reached from the roof of the verandab. I had feared he would have gone to bed, and wondered all the way how I could get speech of 111m without alarming the house. They returned at their ease to the discussion of their plans, talking in an undertone, but still not too low for me to hear. and afterwards more loudly, as nbey gradually forgot their fears. Bill, {who “:33 noi: a nlan'of 'many words swore a concise and vigorous oath, and an incipient burst of laughter that: followed was suppressed by the encreating gestures of the hay 13_e:=.~pert "Sheâ€"’3 just such another as thatâ€"-“ (mysflfig suppose). i do not know that I felc any graat fas- cination of horror as I lay listening tolthia. The one idea that fillad my mind was that I might praveub it. and all my energies were actively engaged on the problemâ€"ho w. Only, for the moment, of course, my blood ran cold when I heard this: ‘ “And her; you won’t forget her, Tim?" "I’ll beâ€"â€"â€"if I do! I’ll bBâ€"â€"if I should have gone to Macquarie bus for her. What the devil business had she to go complain- ing of the hands? He was bad enough, but she set him on.” “ We'll take her to the Bush with us and see how she likes that," remarked Rourke. “ Now look sharp, mates: if you wan: to gen any sleep you'd better gen iv now, and, Stflugy-bark, you call us when it's time.” ThEy lay down in three of the remaining bed-places, wratped themselves in their blankets, and were soon asleep~st least so I concludedâ€"rind I did not see why they should have taken the trouble to snore so loudly if they were not, since they believed me to be unconscious of their presence. Stringy Dork, taking a bottle of spirits to cheer his lonely watch, sat dowu by the door â€"â€"I suppose for greater convenience in watch- ing the stars, since he had no other time- pieceâ€"with his legs across the threshold. I was just weighing a Wild idea of the posâ€" sibility of opening negotiations with him when I saw that he was beginning to look sleepy, and reflected that his frequent “nips” â€"he took one about every five minutesâ€" could not be conducive to wakefulness. Before very long I heard him joining in chorus with the rest; and, after waiting a short time to make sure, I sat up noiseless ly and drew off my boots, and then, taking them in one hand (perhaps I might have saved myself that trouble, but they were not thoroughly well seasoned, and I was mor~ tally afraid they would creek, though the floor was not even boarded), stepped as softly as I could across the hut, over Stringy- bsik's legs, and out into the’open air. “And that stuck-up piece, my lady's maid?" amid the hut-keeper. "She wouldn’t haxglguyghing to say to you, e_h. Bill?" Once round the corner, I .could put my boots on at my leisure, and started to find my horse. I had left m) saddle behind? the risk of taking it out was too great, and I was by this time quite able to ride without one, on occasion, though I preferred not doing so. It was now, if I could judge by the position of the Southern Cross, between ten and eleven. I had a good hour’s start, but it would be all I could do to get there in time. There was a sort of beaten track, and at about half the distance I knew the way quite well? still, I felt I Was under- taking a hazardous business against fearful odds. But there was no going back or hesitating possible? I might fail? all I could do now was to trust in God and go I strained e'veryvnorve not to lose a word. They were going to attack Mangana that very nightâ€"plunder partly, but mostly re- venge. Dick Youn was not beloved among his subordinates. tringy-bark, the hut- keeper, hated him, so did Bill, the stock man, so didâ€"and more violently than either â€"I‘im Rourke, who, Ilearnt for the 6rd: time, had been assigned to Young too. As for the fourth man, he was a. follower of Rourk’s, and probably took his chief’s word for it that Young was the most detestable cf the human species. I found that the ser- vants in the house, all but three, who were excepted by name. and all strangers to me. were either in the plot or assumed to be friendly ; that the cook whom Bill claimed as his sweetheart, had promised to poison the dogs and unfasten the door; that the attack was to be made about an hour after midnight ; that Mr. and Mrs. Young, and, ifnecessary, the three servants mentioned, were to be murdered and the house fired. He assented, but I hardly waited to hear his answer. I dashed on, as though the Bush were on fire behind me, along a path I could never have ridden in that reckless way by daylight. But then there was no time to think. I reached the turn of the valley where Mangana came in sight; my heart beat quickly, and then almost stood still, with the dread of seeing the flames against the sky ; but the stars were shining over it untroubled as before. As I came nearer I saw lights down below and heard the snapping of shots ; the upper rooms were darkâ€" no, stayâ€"from the turn in the road I had now reached I could see the back of the house, and from the corner window of the second floor light was visible through the closed venetian shutters. That must be the room they hedchosento barricade them- selves in, as it had only on widow, and that not accessible by the verandah like the front ones, I hitched my horse to the palinga at the back and again entered the garden. There was no one on the verandah, though the front door was open, and a confused noise to be heard from within. I climbed up, as before, by one of the postsâ€"one cannot be a convict for three years without learning some of the agility as well as the cunning of the serpentâ€"thence gained the roof by “ I done know,” I said. “ They’ll be there by now, and it will be at least another hour before we get: there at; this rate." For the second time that evening an impulseâ€"strong and distinct: as a suggestion from outsideâ€" flsahed through me, and I obeyed it. “ Let me ride on and tell them you're coming. I can get on faster, and in may make all the difference." “ Do you think they can hold out till we come?" asked Meonsmarn at last I had been riding beside him, and had answered his questions in detail as to what had happen- ed. He did not seem to recognise me, and I contented myself with telling him I was one of Gibson’s hands, and explaining how I had lost myself in the Bush and Loome to Mur- doch’s Creek. Captain Macnamara was there. I told him what I wanted, and entranced him to make haste; and sooner than I had dared to hope. the troop was ready, and started. They gave me a fresh horse and I rode with them, but the slow progress through the scrub,and along the narrow bush paths, was too much for my feverish impatience. Rourke and his gang must have reach- edV it by this time; perhaps they were even now breaking into the room where Young and those two stood fighting to the last, “ I'll call them quietly. If those were the only ones in the house we might hold it against all comers, but there are those other two rascals, and the cook, in league. you say, with Rourke. We mushjnat barricade ourselves in one of the upper rooms. We shall have five men against us, not counting that lot over at the quarters. I don’t trust hall of them. Still. I think we might hold out, unless they fire the house.” “ Wouldn’t it be best to send for the soldiers from the district station 2" “ Who’s to go ? Bmides. they‘re watch- ing, I don’t doubt, andâ€"" “ Lat me go. They didn't hear me coma, and I can get; out the same way. I know the way. If I can find my horse again I’ll get; there in half on hour; if you and those two can hold that room, say an hour and a. half, till they get here, it'll b63111 r_igh§."_ â€"" Why didn’t you say I’d hit you ?" he asked, in a. tone I had never heard from him before. “ Sit down here. You can't go hks that.” “ Labme think. It's a quarter to one; they'll be here directly. I must trust you, I suppose ; there’s nothing else to be done. Now a soul to be counted on but Doneld and the new fellow, Buckleyâ€"they're sleeping in the houseâ€"and the girl, Belle ; she's a plucky creature. and may be or use. Mrs. Young’s away.” “Well, if you can do it. You‘ll find a. horse in the out paddock. if yours isn't there. top a minute." He caught; me by the arm as I turned to go, and looked me right in the face. Ihad felt no iain‘anass as yot, at my bra-in reeled then, and I know nothing more till I saw him standing beside me with a glass of nine in his hand, and heard him say “ Drink this, _noAW,"A and a; I did so my strength came back. He bound up my arm with hiJ handkexchief, never speaking. but lifting his eyea to mine, when he had done, with a look that seemed to go down to my very heart. Then he grasp- ed my hand warmly, and I slipped out of thg window and went on my way. I found mv horse where “I ha'd left him, mounted, and set off on my ride of life and death. Somehow I felt firmly persuaded I should die that night. I had not thought about it particularly, but the conviction seemed to lie, like an undeniable herd fact, in the background of my consciousness. As I hast- ened throughlthe ghostly Bushâ€"through the silence broken by the movements and cries of weird nocturaul creatures, I felt as if I were already dead, so far-off and unreal did all my every-day life seem. I thought of Gibson, asleep in the but by the sawmill, or perhaps still up and waiting~ my return, as if he had been in some other world. There was something strange and uncanny, yet to me not at all unpleasant, about this lonely night-ride under the southern stars, with death at the other end of it. And ever and anon, through the pleasant, dreamy languor that was steal- ing over my brain, struck the sharp fear of coming too late; and I urged my horse on hill, with one more eflort and a last frantic rush, he staggered and fell under me in the courtyard of the police-station. I swung myself into the room, and be, seeing that I was unarmed, lowered his weapon and, going to the window, looked out and listened )or some minutes, but: all was still. I told him the story in as few words as I could. He Whistled thought- fully, and locked at me keenly once or twice, but did not interrupt me. When I had done he said : .1 “ Thank God for that 1" I said involuntar I y. “ Not if I know it.” He pointed his Der- ringer at me again. “ You move, I’ll fire." " I am unarmed. I cannot hurt you. I hsve come to tell you you are in danger." “ Who and what the demo are you 3" “ Mr. Young, don’t you remember me .?" He took up the lamp and came nearer. ” You, by all that’s sinful 1 You're here fox: n_o good !" “ It’E a matter of life and death. L31: me in, air; I can't tell who may be listening outside. If I lift: a finger to attack you, or signal to any one below, shoot me dead at once.” "Very well," he said. taking aim. “Come on.” Two Slack; away'another policeman stcp~ ped them. Then followed the name dialogue, another arrest, and the same scene at: the station. And so it went on until the young men had been arrested six times. They might have been arrested twelve times had not a general notice been sent out to the po- lice not: to moles: the party of young men pafading about Boston bearing B barber’s po 6. A party of Harvard students, anxious to get even with the Boston police for some undoubtedly good reason, bought a barber's pole, got a receipt, and started through the street bearing their prepertv. Of course they were soon stopped by a policeman. “Hello' there, what yer doin’ ‘ith that pole!‘ “ That’s our business." “ 0b, is it? Well, you come along ’ith me. So he marched them to the police station. “ What’s the trouble, officer?”asked the Sergeant. “ Steal- in’ a barber’s pole." Then the policeman gave a detailed account of the crime and the arrest of the criminals, who were about to be sent to their dungeon cells, when one of them handed the Sergeant the receipt. “ Oflicer, you ntay return to your beat,” said the Sergeant, and the students flied out hear ing_ the gale proudly. “I she-111d. always remember that: look you gave me when you were tying up my arm." “'3‘1 couldn’t: help it." It was 3111 could find _to spy. He looked straight at me this time, right into my eyes, without a word, and then before them all he took me in his arms and kissed me. " Forgive me 1“ I scarcely caught the faint whisper as his head lay on my shoul- der, and I answered, “ All right I" We understood each other, and it was no time for talk. Scarcely had I spoken the words when there was another furious rush at; the door, and Dmald. firing one more shot. turned back and said with white lips, "That’s the last / “Stand by me, Scott,” said Young. tak‘ ing his Derringer in his band, and I stood up beside him. filled wich a strange awe-struck joy. No, I would not; have changed lots that nighc with any one on earth. “I ellâ€"ppose it's a. matter of minutes now," he said quietly. “If " “Hark !" It was 25 thrilling woman’s cry, almost a. scream ; and Belle turn-3d round on us from the window with flaming dark eyes and outsvretcbed hands. “Don’t: you hear the‘m, sir? They‘re :oming." He giant one of the Derringera into my hand, and while I was looking at the 103i- ing, he laid his hand on my shoulder, as we stood together by ourselves in the middlu of the room, and naked in a low voice, with- out looking at me : I tuEned my face to his, and the answer rogefn Fay _1i_pal[ cannot tell 130w :A There were only three cartridges left: on the table, along with a small heap of bullets and some loose powder in apeper. Just. as he spoke, Donald turned rognd. “No'ne but these. Then you must try what you can do with these old bullets ; cut them in halves if they're too large for the bore. That’s all I have left. Save up your shots as much as you can, for as soon as they know we’ve done, they’ll make a rush and batter the door down. They cam do that if they like when Mecnamera comesâ€" not before. Here, you take this,” he said, turning to me; "keep it till the last.” “ Look here," he and an ddenly, nervo'usly playing with his weapon, as in lay on the table, “ how should you think of me if I were to die just now ‘2" We could hear nothing as yet ;hun, strainâ€" ing our ears, after awhile. we caught: the sound of advancing horses’ feet, and raised all our five voices in such & “coo-ea” as none of us had ever heard before. There was an answering cheer nearer than he had dared hope, and the horse I had ridden, tied to the palings below, neighed loudly, scouting the approach of his comrades. But at the same moment there was a. fresh onset from outside. The lock of the door was blown away with a. pistol, there was s wrenching at the hinges, and then a. great crash, and the piled-up furniture fell torward and the door over it, and over that Tim Rourke rushed straight ab Richard Young‘with uplifted knife. I had just' time to rush between. I tried to fire, but my pistol was dashed out of my hand. I felt: a heavy blow, and fellâ€"half- atunned. When Irecovered myself it: was too late ; the man I had hated so was lying bleeding to death on the floor, and Rourke abnuggling in the grasp of the soldiers. I knelt: beside him .aud lifted him in my arms. He opened his eyes and smiled up at me, but closed them again wearily. They came and asked him questions and tried to do when they could for him ; but it was no use. It would only have been needless bor- ture to move him, so they left; him lying where he Was, with his head on my breast. It yes only a few minutes. -“ He tried to save meâ€"heâ€"do you re- member, Mac ? He would hue died for me. Dop'ujorgeb T”, 7 And then his head sank back, and I thought he was gone; but he opened his eyes once more, end a. great light sprang in- to his face : “ God bless youâ€"â€"â€" 1” Those were his last words. means of the creepers on the front) of the house, and crossed it, till I was just over the venetian-shuttered window. Ilay stretched out along the edge and listened. Evidently the attacking force was concentrated on the stairs and in the cor- ridor, for there were no signs of them out- side. I seized the water-pipe and swung myself down, till my feet were on the sill, and grasping the shutters, looked in. The door was barred with a chest of drawers and a table ; Donald and Buckley, each with a rifle, stoorl firmg through loop-holes cut in the wall. while Belle, Mrs. Young‘s maidâ€"her black hair tied up in a handkerchiefâ€"pale as marble, but with steady fingers, handed therrvr the cartridges as they required them. loyng was standing by a table loading his Derring- are. I called to him. He came and opened the shutters. "7‘ fgey’re coming,” I gasped. as ldropped into the room. “ Hold out half an hour large}, and_ they‘ll be ‘here. ' n u .u “Tell m3, what made you come here to- night ?" _ Cnptnin Macnnmara came and knelt beside him and held his hand, and asked if he could do anything for him. He lifted his dying eyes £0 me again and said : ‘ i'Tfie cartridges are close-up done, sir. Hm}: you_m:§y more 2" 7 ~â€", V...â€" w‘E'Juat abéiiytime they were,” he said. “ Look here I” Harvard Students’ Spree. What next? A Montreal merchant has had the hardihood no throw a book agent out of his offi :e, and the law hlving been in- voked by the aggrieved party, the magistrate patted the offender on the back and decided that the vendor of literature had no right to intrude against the wishes of the proprietor of the ofliee. There is small comfort for the army of book agents in such a. reprealive de- oision. “'The evidence. submitted to your com. mibee points to the existence in the Abba. beam: and Mnkenzie valleys of the most: 6:. bensive petroleum, field in America, if not; in the world. The uses of petroleum, and consequently the demand for 19, are increas. ing at such a. rapid rate that it is probable that: this great petroleum field will assume an enormous value in the nenr future, and will rank among the chief assets comprised in the Crowu domain of the Dominion. For this reason your committee would suggest: that: a tract of about 40,000 aqua.“ mile, be for the present reserved from sale, and then as soon as possible its value may be more accurately tented by exploration and prac- tical tests. " Mr. Marvin has derived the greater portion of his information respecting the newly-discovered Canadian all field from the report of the Saleob Committee of the Senate appointed to enquire into the subject. This report says :‘ Such in its essence is the reasoning with which the most " realistic " of the modem writers of fiction justify their work. The not only write, but they defend their writ- ting, and when their arguments are closely examinedthey amountto this, that the moral quality at the product depends chiefly, if not altogether, on the artistic skilldisplaysd. What would be obscene if rudely done, he- comes legitimate, if not innocuous. when done artistically. Descriptions which in the “ Police Gazette ” would be condemned as immoral and prurient, are not to be reasonably objected to when they appear on the well .printed pages of by the well known and popular author or authoress Mr.- or Miss or Mrs.â€" It does not require great penetration to see that a more danger- ousl sophistical way of reasoning could hardyly be imagined. Ifthe end justifies the means in Art, the end may justify thh means in anything, and then what becomes of morality? If there is no standard of the “proper” and. the “moral” in Art apart from Art’s own opinions as to what it can do “artistically” then why should laborers in any department of effort be prc-ented from doing whatever they choose. The only thing for them to see to is that it be done “artistically.” So bold are these “ realistic" novel writers becoming that they are attracting the seri- ous attention of such newspapers as the “ New York Herald.” That journal recent- ly held a sort of symposium on the subject, iuiwhich a. number of leading people, some of them novel writers and some of them not, gave their views There was considerable diversity of opinion, but one fact was strong- ly emphasized by the most thoughtful among them, this, namely, that parents ought to make it a solemn duty to overlook their children’s reading. and see to it that they do not poison their minds with what older people might perhaps read with comparative immunity. However un- reasonable it may be, it was said, to tram- mel Art by the interests of the school girl, nevertheless somebody ought to make it a. duty to see to it that the school girl is not allowed to read everything, simply because it appears in print. That is perfectly true. There is much that persons of mature years may be justified in reading which would be very injurious to immature minds. And therefore it is that every father and mother should make a censor of himself or herself as to what their children shall read, not thoughtlessly issuing a ukase against all fiction indiscriminately, for much of the purest and noblest literature of the day is fiction, but by judicious supervision, guiding their children to refuse the evil and choose the good. It may be a little troublesome to do this, but certainly it is worth the cost. Public condemnation of a book by any set oi self-consti tuted censors generally does more harm than good, but the careful oversight ol what their children read is one of the most necessary duties of a conscientious parent, and one which the exercise of a little judg- ment and discretion will enable him or her to discharge with a large measure of benefi- cial result. In a lecture which he dellvered in Jann- nry last before the Royal Engineers at Uhatham, Eng., Mr. Charles Marvin, the well-known traveller and writer on Central Asian affairs and on the Russian oil indus- try, said: “Thanks to the Burmese oil- fields, we are in a position to light all Asia, lubricate all Asia, and fuel all Asia. In Canada we have a petroleum supply snfli- cient to illuminate all America when the United States’ wells run dry." The facts upon which he based these statements Mr. Marvin has now presented in concise form in a psmphlet entitled “ The “ Coming 0d Age," 21 large portion of which is devoted to the newly-discovered oil fields in the great Mackenzie basin: The “ realistic " novel writing of the day is this' but it is much more. It works on the principle apparently that everything that is “real,” that, iseverything which actu- ally exists, and is capable of Verbal descrlp~ tion. has some sort of a “right,”s‘oto speak, to such a description at the 1315113 of Are, In the opinion of the artists this school of thought the end justifies the means, and the self-gratification of Art is the only canon which has any business to determine whether Arbshould employ its delinestory powers in one way or in another. Art, so. cording to them is its own canon of taste, it; own canon of morality, its own conscience, its own religion. Whatever Art can do, and just in proportion as it can do it “ an. isticaliy," it has a. " right" to do it. “ The painters and the sculptors," say these art. ists "are not content with simply reproduc. ing the conventional ‘ Nature’ which they see around them. but in one very important particular, claim and exercise the right to depict nature, not only in the conventional way in which she appears from day to day, but as she appears when stripped of the cow. cringe which custom has superimposed. Just as they reproduce the human form in its nudity so do we claim the right to lay bare and expose in all its nakedness tne workings of human emotion and human passion, These things are ‘ facts ’ in existence. They can be described. They can be gm. phically, ‘ artistically ’ described. There. fore, we claim the ’ tight’ to describe them.” The Canadian Oil Field. Realistic.