Aunt Jennifer.

Evening Post, Volume LXXV, Issue 33, 8 February 1908, Page 10

Aunt Jennifer.

LT By JOBWH HockiNo, Author of " The Man Who Eose igaia/'eto. »i~ (All Eights Eesetrod.)

J- . I wanted to refnso . Aunt Jennifer's -. invitation to Trewithen Grange for the t "'Christmas holidays very badly; but try /',' as I might, I could not. make up my •*"mind to do so. For ouo thing I loved •'••'the oldi vlftdy" very "<le«rly,. and for an- ■ -othe' I owecl everything to her.' My ■ "parents died when I was a child, and! Ib -*■; was Aunt Jennifer who took mo under care, and who mad© it possible for ' .'one to go to^a. jiubhV school and the uniT as well as to qualify for the t ; -Bar. But for her, I, Gilbert Dacre, ii 4 Would- possibly have been a hardworking instead of a fairly prosperous bftiristei-," with "Parliamentary j-^ipossibilj^ie*.!' .rT|iexefoße I ■jjould not r ' -fcay no when she asked . me to 6pend .• Christmas -with her, even although. J. had tJ'to refuse an invitation to a country house- ** "party, wh.ere Kitty Goldly, only daughter 11-ot old Judge Goldly, and whom I had t "admired. from. afar, was to shsd her radi*J Hujce. r" I did not think I should have wanted c £to refuse- her -request so much if I hadn't vjhad an idea that she wanted to make a ■-match between mo and a Miss, Molly .CHresire, wno had been described to me X jps a "lean, lank, -blue-stocking," and who - --1 feared she would also invits.^ ■ , ,{"J,. However, I could not refuse her, and ; "Bmoerolj hoping that she had given up " -fell thrriights' of my y failingr in love with v~*uch C "creature i>s Molly Tresize, I ac'"Jtepteii her invitation. Remembering * + lonely place Trewithen. Grange Z~<"Was, however, 1 . looked forward tt>, ai X J3wary tijrie. , Stilt I •determiriwl- to'make, *• the 'best of;-it ? and tried comfort my-; '-'self with^'the tbmiglit tkat-.^he jjLa'narthV i -golf links' Welte the best loathe west of > '"■' On tho morning of • Christmas Eve I. »•"' 'made ready for my departure. A thick "\black, fog.hung over London, and tho air ~ -was -.very teen and, cold. * The sight 'of " tlie fog {lepTsssed me. WEafc if the wi&a.^.iheu. wpre bad in Cornwall!. ((Still, I. re--"Effected -that rthere would W,e» f ogs, th4ro,v while ' the 'coast* hear where/ my aunt's ~ liouse was situated, was among tha finest x oh Europe. - Tt was late in tho afte'rnooia.Whun the « train cvossadi Saltash Bridge; but in '/ spite of myself I began to feel «shilarat- / cd. There was not a suggestion of fog in '1 Cornwall, the moon had trison in a cloud- ; less sky, and the .ico crystals hung on the • trees. ; "It will be a cold 1 ' drive from Porth--fullon to Trewithen Grange," I reflected^ t but as I heard the portei-s chaffing one , another in the dear old Cornish diakct, \- r I rather enjoyed the thought of it. It T was not for a healthy young fellow of twenty-eight- to fear a drive on a clear P cold frosty night. There* waa no wind, 1 \ remember, but th eground was frozen as t haxA a2i k bone, and*aJthdu'gh there was * no snoW, the weathet was Jnst what 1 one f desires at Christnias time-. "- "Mester Gilbert; sir," said a man to / mo, as' the train -stopped at Porthfullon • .-fct^io'ri.; - ." : '■ r ' j ■ "Ahi 'John Beel,- is that -you?" - - ;*- "Glad "to zee^ee, sur. . , Is this oal yer " luggage, sur?" Yes, I was glad! I had come. There t wore but? few passengers alighting afc '* Porthfnlloai, and the slationmaster cam© "up to 4ne With- a wora t>f Velcc-m'e. Viva t Cornwall ! - i yiv»"tls'&lfl-?ashiohed Christ- ". xnaS',: J,l' sh'csfld" at IJeasV tenable to Jrest and be quiefL I had had a buny time, - and th© quiet- would, do trie gbod. - .' "Teh days with,. A^nfc I « thought. "Never mind? I'll'Mbe the old " lady happy." ■ _ t Yes, Trewithen Grange looked very 7 picturesque on that moonlit • night. A "^ low-ceiled .famblin'g building ; ■ a stoiie; " built lichen-covered mulli6n- window ed .'.jold^Tjntry, house,. .Tha $lace suggested. „ «>mfojrt<- Ever-y shrub \ ana every iree---seemfeavr-to^'.^id, mA^velconie. . I hstd **lcnown them asa boy, and they seemed v like old friends. "Gilbert, I am glad to see you. Ife 2. mstk^s Hay ol'd J boites"feel young to kiss || you again. It is good of you to »' come. You are sure you will not « be lonely, alone with an old woman?" £ "Not a bit, Aunt Jennifer. Ah, f there's a £i©-» for you I'! . t Yes, th' 6 Ytdejog svas burning me-r- " rily in tjie v great fireplace* db the hall. •■* It was a' isight to wa^m "any- mail's ' heart. '" / ' My aunt conducted me to my bed- : - iroom herself. She seemed, to be jealous Z. even of the servants. "Not that" tfe&re' was any need of a guide. I knew the V. bedroom ,well - -enough, • nevertheless? ; I lit could "not help seeing that the old la*dy" £ had bestowed much thought upon it " to make me comfortable^ Her& t was '}; warmth and light I—-'A-brighV'-^ftre1 — -'A-brighV'-^ftre r glowed, in the grate, while at least a dozen candles burnt. ' - !; "Dinner in half an hour, Gilbert. lYou'U not mind dining alone with your old aunt?" . ', v . ■ / "Mind! It will be a joy!" I kissed her again and again, and ■ although she had nursed ma as a baby ° she blushed like .a girl. j "Blesa her old heart!" I thought. k "I am' glad I came after all." ' "Be l causs,'" ' said Aunt Jennifer, ;, lingering in the doorway, "the truth • ' is, Gilbert, I have been very lonely " this winter, and ,1 have had to engage ■^ a companion." "A very sensible thing to do. Aunt," I replied. "I hope she's bright and \ cheerful." "She's rather a quiet girl," sho answered, "and I am afraid she has not ' muchlo make her, happy. You sac our >' life is very uneventful here. I was * Wondering" — she went on after a '" second's hesitation — <A whe'iher you ' would mind her dining with us? She is quite, a lady, o£ course, and I thought ■* your company might bring the. poor 1 girl a little brightness." "'Do you really wish it, Aunt?" "' "Oh, of course, I don't mind," she r- answered hastily. "Then let us dine alone," I replied. I felt sorry the. Moment I had spoken. ; I had no reason for wishing to be alone, ; and it was only a sudden impulse which led me to speak as I did. "Of course," I went on hurriedly, •'if you wish this Miss — Miss — did you ■ tell me her name or have I forgotten ■ it?" - "Het name, .is Mal'iette, Mademokelld Mariette Delincourt." "Oh, a French girl." "Of French extraction. But although she has spent so much of her time in France, I always think of her as an English girl." "Delincourt is a good name," I said. "Yes, in the old days it was De Lincourt, and she belongs to a good old family. Of course onr name is French", too. D'Arcv .it used to be, but the names have got Anglicanised." I wished I had not asked aunt Jennifer to dine with me alone. I don't know how it was, but I had associated my aunt's companion with Molly Tresize, the "lean, lank bluestocking," who had been so great at Mathematics in the Cambridge University. "Let her dine with us, AAuntt t Jennifer," I said. "I daresay she's all right, but I thought it would be nicer for us to be alone. And— and — "• "What, Gilbert?" "Well, I was afraid this companion t& yours might be^pi the Miss Molly - JTrwize; t>rder t^ " : ~- ' " '

"Well, supposing sho had been." "Oh, you know I don't like girls of that sort." "But you've never seen her." "No, but I have heard enough about her. Prim,' Puritanical, gaunt ' and gawky." : • 1 My -aunt laughed merrily. l • "ill tell Mademoiselle Mariette . that we'll dine alone to-night," she £aid. "Don't do that, , aunt. It is only my whim, and — and — ", "Yes, I quite, .understand." ' She left the room then, and I was not sure whether Mademoiselle Mariette ! was to dine with us or not. On- the Avhole I rather hoped she would. There was something attractive in the thought of a French girl bearing the distinguished name of Dc Lincourt. -, , We dined alone, however. Evidently my aunt did not think it best to ask j her companion to join us, and if tho truth must be told I was disappointed. But I did not ehow r it. I told the old lady all the gossip I could think; of, I related to her the history of my cases, and quoted with much pride what certain judges had said about me. v Shs seemed mightily pleased at this, and in her simplicity, doubtless thought I was one of. f the leading men at the W". We sat long into the night, and as I saw the pleasure my aunt had in my company, 1 could not help being glad that I hod conio. After all, the party she had arranged for the next evening promised some pleasure, and in all probability I should be invitnd to take part in the festivities of the fatnilies my stunt had invited. Presently -aunt gave n. 1 start. "Twelve 4 p'clbckiV ehe ' cried. "It,. is time to 'gb to bed. 'A happy blessed Christriias^fo-yeu^my dear. AncTlhank you for coming to see me." „ , l *I Jed her <into. tho hall. '<."'. "A happy Christmas to you, -\Auiit. There, .the bells are ringing Christmas in, and£4u)ft. <I ,say, , Aunt, oyrdu' ; Aave fiottio mistletoe here." - ' | 1 drew the old lady under a large •bunch ftmt' hmig-'frbm the ceiling-,- and ■kisge"d 'Mf." '"" '"""", ' I| --"-~\. • , "Shame on you, Gilbert," she laughed as she smoothed her white hair;, "but, my dear ; hfiy, -when are * you going lo I kiss some <one else-under the mistletoe?" "Pfo'biibl^-j-befijre 'the.. season isjover," I lau^h^Ai -'-jOne-.lias special privileges at GhVistWt'as^ time, you • know., ' , "Yes^-b'ufc-whAA— you .know— wb,en am I to welcome- youi\'i#v'if&?" •'; < "Don't know, Axmt." ' "You've not settled on any one?" i "No, I am fancy free,-" I made a certain mental reservation in saying this, although I spoke the truth, 'for I was not Toally in love with Kitty Goldly- ; "It's time you got married, Gilbert — and — and — " "And' what?" •\\lolly Tresize is such a nice girl." "Don't, Aunt — to be 'perfectly .'frank, I am not fon3 of hearing about Molly Tresize. I couldn't stand a lean," gaunt blue-stocking;" "How" do you' know- I—she's1 — she's what you say?" * ••- '"''••; "Oh, I've heard about her. Let's say no more about it, Aunt.'' The old lady sighed, and went to bed, while John Beel came to bolt the halldoor. • ; • '>.')' "Don't, John, i'tn going" to]? a "stroll around. tihe grounds betdre 1 -turn in." I put on my overcoat," and want out into the night. How ,'quiet .it was.! The sky was cloudless, and the wind barely stirred. The place' was a dream of Keauty". Evenf "plant and tree was hung with a rimy frost which gleamed in tho moonlight ; the ripple of the sea was drowned by the clash of the bells vrhieh ■rang from t the village church. The inwardness of the' "thought of Christmas possessed, me, and I thought of the song ,of the angels b'u ( the plains' b$ Bethlehem. Presftnlly^ when J,he bells .^topped , I fancied that 'l fob 'could' hear that song, the song of Divine Love, of human brotherhood. > 4 As I walkeoT basck-to'lho house, I saw a light in ono of the windows. It did not come from my aunt's room. . As I- looked I saw a face, which was plainly visible in the light of tho room. 'My feet crunched the loose gravel of the drive, "anc^ the face was withdrawn. "Mademoiselle Mariette,'.* > I reflected. "I hope she's a pleasant cdmpanion for my aunt." And then I went to bed. The Christmas bells were the last sounds- 1; heard before I fell asleep, they were ihe" first I heard in the mornhig. Yes, it was a joyful Christmas mtorn- v ing.^Thecauswßs keen anij^sharp. .<On 'the windows was much beautiful tracery which. Jack Frost had put there duVing the night. I got up, and looked out of the TsWffiW. ''•"/ • "A happy. Christmas to everybody!" I cried, 'quoting Scrooge, and then I hastily dressed. The breakfast,' gong was resounding through the hbusp as I went- downstairs, for my aunt persisted in the ' old-fash-ioned idea that "breakfast should be as formal a meal as dinner. "No coffee and rolls in the. bedroom for me," she always Eaid. "Come down and make a good meal, and then yqu are fit for whatever may happen through the day," • Sho was seated at the head '.of the table as J entered tho breakfast room, and by her side I saw some one dressed, as it seemed to me, in a Quakerish kind of garb. ''Mademoiselle -Mariette Deliucourt," she said, "but you must forgive me if I call her Mariette. lam an old woman, and I cannot always be pronouncing such a long name." I was much interested in my aunt's companion, and I mentally congratulated her upon securing such a companion. As far as I could judge, she was about twenty-three years of age, and there could be no doubt that she was a lady. Her dress, Quakerish as it was, seenicd to me to add to her charm, and it certainly set off a finely-moulded form. But what 'struck me most about her, was the wondrousness of her eyes. They were large, and lustrous, and of the most glorious gray I had ever seen. "There is a great deal behind those eyes, 1 ' I reflected. "She has more than ordinary intelligence, and she is capable of anything fine and noble." This may seem extravagant on my part, but I would defy any one who saw her as I did without being led to that conclusion. I enteied into conversation with her during breakfast, and I was surprised at her knowledge, not only of her own literature, but the writings of French and German and Italian authors. Not that she paraded her knowledge; it dropped out, as it were, inadvertently. Her French accent, too, was perfect, and although she was reared in England, she had that perfect mastery of the letter "R" which we English people so rarely master. Before the day was over I was deeply interested in my aunt's companion, and I almost wished that the party she had arranged for was not going to take place. I was perfectly content to talk with Mnriette. I did not think, however, that she favoured my society. She took good care never to be alone with me, and when once or twice we happened to be in a room together, she quickly found an excuse for leaving me. The party was a great success Tlie dinner was arranged for at a very early hoar, so that jye might ha_vg a long

evening, -and' the Bassetts and tho Bohthos came in all their finery, but truth to tell I took but little notice of them. i My eyes were constantly turnod towards Mariette. It is true her attire, though a little less severe than in the morning, was perfectly plain as compared with that of tho Misses Bassett, and yet the iMissess Bassett looked positively dowdy beside her. This in spite of the fact that the Missess Bassett weie regarded as among the beauties of the county, a county noted for beautiful women. We played old-fashioned Christmas games, and although Mariette always kept in the background, she was tho person most 'in demand. It was she who guessed all the riddles, it was sho who found out the proverbs, and who solved the mysteries of "subject and object." During the evening, I saw George Trewithen talking with her. I saw the admiration in his eyes, I saw how eager he was -to be near her. "The-young cub," I said, "as though such a girl as she would think twice about such a country bumpkin." It will be .easily seen from this which way my thoughts were turning, and if the truth-, must be told I made up my mind to have a chat with her after the guests had departed. But in this I was disappointed." • While I was saying goodriu'ght to them, she had gone to her • I'ootu, * and I was left feeling disconsolate. • • " Thus ended Christmas Day. Nothing had happened, 'and yet it seemed to me that a great deal had happened. There was no thought of loneliness in- my heart, when the house beep.me quiet. Indeed I began to plan how I could extend the ten days for which I 'had promised to tome into a fortnight or thre? weeks. . The next day an invitation came from the Bolithos to a dance -that same evening. "Are you going, Aunt Jennifer?" I said. "I've given up dancing," was her Ply"ThenPlv"Then is Mor — , that is, Mademoiselle 'DelincOurt going?" • "Gilbert, you ought' to know that the Bolithos would not ,be likely to ask my companion to such a function," she replied. "Then I'm' not going," I said. ' "Pat, _Gilber(rrr > " "The Bolithos aro nothing to me," I urged, "and I'd a. great dfeal rather stay at home with you. -We can play three-handed whist." "I must not offehd the Bolithos," replied my Aunt Jennifer. "I believe they arranged this impromptu dance on your account. Did you not notice how Miss Matilda Bulibho admired you?" I made seme remarks about Miss Matilda Bolitho which were more expressive than polite; but my aunt talked me over. .3he even insisted on going herself, so that I might accept the invitation. I, had to yield, of course; but it was with no good grace, and as- 1 -stood in the hall that night, and waited for my Aunt Jennifer to come down, I was not in the best 'of humours. To my surpriso and joy, however, I saw pot only my aunt but, Mariette, and I saw too that sho was to accompany us. "I have arranged with the Bolifchos,* 1 she whispered to mo. "Of course Ma- 1 ! riette is quite equal to the Bolithos ;n; n I every respect, and so — " "That' 3 all right," I said gaily. Tha,! explanation v/as nothing to me — 'Mariette was going, arid that was enough, j '"I'll have nfc least three dances with . her,'* I resolved-, "peihnps more." Moreover, I asked her to piomi.se. me some on qur way to the Bolithos's house- j but she replied that she did not expect to dpnee at all,. "Oh, you must," I urged. "I shall took you up a>3 soon as the programmes ! nre given .'to vs." j 3ome fool of a fellow, however, kept | me' a long time in the dressing- room, and by an ugly set of coincidences I had to ask Miss .Matilda Bolitho for the fast dance. Directly it was over, I hastened to Marietta's side. "Now," I said, "how many are you goinrj to give me?" "1 am afraid I can't manage any," she said,, passing me her programme. Then I saw that every one wa3 engagsd. Well, I had lo make the best of it, although I wished I had never come to the place ; especially when I noticed ihat G?oigc Tre-.vithcn \vas constantly at her side. "The -fellow is in love with her, and I verily believe she is fond of him," ,1 rcflecttd, my hearl beating as heavy as lead. During our drive home that night, 1 believe I sulked. I know I wa3 very quiet : and in tha main spoko in monosyllables.. A Week passed quietly away. I never went once to Lanarlh golf-links. My aunt insisted on my going to other festivities, and so I- perforce went, but .Mariette did not accompany us, at least she did net go to the Bassett's, nor the I Trewiiits, nor the Trelawneys; but she did go lo tho Trewithens, and it was this affair that really opened my eyes. Not only Was Mariette invited to t'ha Trewiuhans' house, but young George Trewithen was dancing attendance on her during fhd whole evening. Indeed, I once saw them in the conservatory together, where' he was .talking very earnestly to her. "If over a than means business, that man is George Trewithsn," I said and then I knew that Kitty Goldly was nothing to me f nay more, >I • knew that Marielte was .everything, and that ifI did not win her as my wife life would be a great blank. | "I am afraid lam soina to lose Mariette," eaicl my' Aunt., Jennifer to mo after j wo had reached home that night, i "Indeed," I said, und my heart became cold, "Yes, yqu saw — " I "You mean George Trewithen? Well ; has. she accepted him?" [ My aunt looked at me steadily. "I only know that 113 has asked her,'" she said. "Perhaps it ja not right for me to have told you to- much. Mariette is n very attractive girl, and— and' it will be a terrible pain for me to part with her." "Is she gone to bed?" I said presently. "I don't know," said my Aunf; Jennifer, looking at me strangely. "I am going back to London to-mor-tow," I burst out after a few minutes silence. "No, stay as long as you can, Gilbert. I fehtill be a lonely old woman without you. lour visit has made me feel teu years younger." • She was standing at the foot of the hall stairs as she spoke, and J felt my heart thumping at the rp&clution which had come into my head. "Would you mind asking Mademoiselle Delincourt if die could spare me ' five minutes," I said. "I shall be waiting here in the hull." Aunt Jennifer gave me another search- ! ing glance, and then went slowly up- i stairs. j How long I waited I don't know. I went to the fire, and stirred it, until it burst into a flame. Then I noticed that tho Christmas decorations wero not yet taken down. "It was a mad request," I reflected. "Of course she will not come down.' The thought hnd scarcely passed through my mind when I heard a rustling noise, looking I ,mw Muriette coming downstairs. She. still wore tlie half-Quakeiisli costume wbnh she had worn at the Trcwithens, and never as 1 thought had I seen her look co lovely. The pcrfnol oval of her features, the red parted lips, nnd the great gray c^cs woie a revelation to me Here was the one woman in all the world for mci What if she had already—

"Mademoiselle," I said going towards ' her, "will you forgive me for asking you to come down" "Your aunt ■wished it," she said, "that wab why I came." "J urged her to ask you," I cried. "I did so because I can't pass the night in suspense. 1 want to know if I must go back to London to-morrow.'' "What do you mean?" §ho asked with wide-open eyes. "I mean that I love you, and I want you to be my wife," I said. "If you say no, I must go back to London to-mor-row." She looked vey serious, and yet I thought I saw a, roguish smile wreaths her lips. "Say you will t give me some hope,' 1 I went on. "Don't urge that I have only known you a week. I seem to have known you all my life. I love you, love you. Giva me a word of hope. It is to get that wore! that I begged Aunt Jennifer to ask you to come down. "I am your aunt's companion, and of course I had to do as she told me," she said demurely. "That's all nonsense," I said. "My aunt treats you as if you were her own child, and thinks of you> as such. But give me some hope, won't you?" She shook her head solemnly, and yet I am sure I saw laughter in her great gray eyes. "What you ask is impossible," she said. Why?" I asked, and my heart becamo cold. "If you Tcn'ew who I was, you would not ask," she said. "You are you, that is all I care about," I cried. 'You are all the world to me.' • "You are mistaken," rite said solemnly. "If you knew who I was, you would — well, you'd catch the first train to London to-morrow morning. If I—l,I — I, that is if I said Yes to your request — you — you would find some excuse to get out of— our engagement," and she cast her eyes on the floor. i "Who are you, then?" I gasped. "I am Molly Tresize," she said., I "Molly Tresize !" ■ "Yes, Molly Tresize, prim, puritanical, gaunt, lean, and gawky. Thtisc are your own words." I caught the^ humour of the situation, althought I did not altogether understand it. "Then,", I said, "Molly Tresize, prim, puritanical, and all the rest of it, 1 love you, will you be my wife?" She looked up x into' my eyes, and I think she must have seen the love- that was burning in' them,' for I uaw her lips tremble. "If — if you think you could be happy with 6uch a creature,,. she said. „- * I caught- her in ,my arms and kissed her, and as I. did' so 1 saw -my aunt coming downstairs. J "I asked you when you were going to kiss some one else under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve, Gilbert," she ?aid, "but I did not think it would bo 'as soon as this." Before I went to v bed that night I knew everything. It was all owing to Aunt Jennifer, bless her 'heart. She had determined to bring, Molly Tresize and me together, so she" asked her to come and spend Christmas, suggesting at the same time that the, Molly, should pose as Mariette , Delincourt, which was her mother's name, As she, was utterly unknown in the di&trict, ' she caught the humour of the situation and consented. Of course I had not been there more than a day or so, before my aunt saw how blatters -stood, and then sho told Marietta of my -aversion to tire name' of Molly Tresize. , j Years have passed *away since then, but Molly and I always spend Christmas j at Trewithen Grange. 'Lust year we took the bonniest bafty in the \vo'rtd with us. We call the 'baby Mariette Delincourt. "MOTHER 'OF MEN." The Hea'.d prize- for an .original Yale song has been awaided for the fhst timo since the offer was mado seveTal years ago. The song which lecejved tlfe award is called "Mother of Men." The words to the- song were written by W. Brian Hooker, 1902, instructor in ihetoric, 'and the music by Seth D. Bmgham, 1904, as- ! sistant in organ playing. Mr. Hooker's bong i$ as follows : — Mother of Men, grown strong in giving Hor.om to them thy lights hsue led— lUcU In the. toil of thousands living,, l s ioud of the deed? of thousands ttc?d, We who lin ve felt thy power, anil known thee, We in Whoso tvoilc tiiy gif'iS aVaul — H'k'j in our hearts' ctus'-'niied tnthioue th€c, Mother of Men— Old Yale ' Spirit of Youth, alive, unchanging, Uidor v.inse feet the ypius aie cast— Heir to an ageless empae, tar.g.ng Over 'the futuie niKi the pnst — ' Thee, whom -our fathers lnvpj V>cfoie uc, lhee> whom our sons unbi:n 9lu!l hail, Praise wo to-day in stuuli- chuuts, Moiher of Men— Old Yule ! 1 After the original offer by John 0 ' Heald, 11373, of lilty dolhus for an mi- j ginal Yale song of the type of "Bright College Years," "Old Nassau" or "Fair Harvard" had been outstanding for a number of years without bringing any song which was considered worthy "pf an I award, the offered prize was increased i last year by the co-operation of two graduates to three hundred dollars in all effort to call forth a song of merit and ' permanent value. A committee of selcc- | tion was unpointed, retaining as in previous years the right to withhold the* award if no, song of sufficient merit was produced. From a number of sohgs submitted, "Mother of ' Men" was unanimously awarded the prize by the committee, and the composers were heartily commended for their success in producing so spirited j and successful a aong. - . ! William Brian Hooker, the author of tuo words, wa ? while a student specialised ' m English and composition. During his ! college couise he was active and remarkA//u EUCC , et3sful in amateur dramatics. After graduating h$ studied at the Yale graduate school, receiving an M.A. degree tor work in English in 1904. For the nekt two years he was at Columbia UniVcrsrty as instructor, in rhetoric and in the autumn of 1906 fvas wiled to fill the same position at Yale. He has written continuously and successfully for ma engines, especially in verse, since gradiiaSeth D. Binghani, who composed the music, was, during his college comse, organist at St. Paul's Church, New Haven "Umncuhfcut, and substituted for Professor H B. Jepson, 1893, as or^uii&t at D.ittell chapel. After graduating he studied .at the Yale music school, where- he took high honours as, an exccptiona'ly gif Led composer and organist, and spent last year in the study of music in P.uis under Widor. He letUTned to Yala tins autumn to accept, the position as assistant in organ playing. In college he was a member of the univeisity glee club". Springfield Republican. Ob.idiah : "Looks as though this here man Hughes wuz toh dark hoss in the prpserdenlial campaign."' Hezikiah : "Dark ho'ss notlun' . Ho's the niU auttymobile, b'gosh!"