man and to him he appealed, and his every prayer was granted.

George F. Butler, M. D., author of "Love and Its Affinities, says: "It is true that many of the sweetest, most ideal alliances are childless. Fate, to them, while seeming pitiless, is benignant, and a profound heart breaking; though unuttered, sympathy of sorrow binds together husband and wife in indissoluble bonds of purest affection--possibly the most spiritualized known to mortals. Yet at the marriage altar rarely does love contemplate a failure like this. The thought of motherhood illumines the silent meditations of the bride; the dream of being father lifts into heroic attitude the happy groom. To feel the soft arms of infancy folded about the neck, to listen to the confiding, childish prattle from the lips of one whom we may call our own; to watch the fair unfolding of life's flower, and know that it is ours to tend and cherish; to stand by the little crib, shrine of our tenderest affection and mark the seal of Heaven upon the placid countenance, as though our darling communed with angels. Earth brings to us no vision of the beautiful like this; no bliss which so thrills the soul with the mute ecstacy of tears, for it is the incarnation of divinest love."

To the mother or father that tenderly puts their babe to sleep at night and sings to it a sweet lulaby as the the darling closes its eyes in gentle sleep, cannot know the sorrow of a mother or father that are less fortunate, that

have to part with the little one and see it wing it's way to worlds unknown.

Jean, in "Will Margory Come?" as per the following lines, echoes the feeling of many an aching heart, as they long to see beyond the realm of the "unseen:"

Tell me folk of the Spring

Of the flaunting gold and the tender green, You who return with insolent tread, Gladsome of mien.

"When will Margory come

Who folds her hands in the cool dark ground; Will she dance forth with a gay young smile From her lowly mound?

"Yield me your secret lore

How the dust can hold through the brumal night,

Fragrance and splashings of color that seem Born of the light?

"Emerald, amber and gold;

Silent you are neath the sun and the rain, The round of a year will your petals fling Wine-stained again.

"And I know she will come

After the winter of death, and its sleep,

With the blue veined flesh and the calm sweet

brow

My love to keep.

"Listen, beneath the sod

In a newer age and in a fairer clime,
Spring shall be yours, and self same eyes--
Dear Margory mine.'

Margory Fair.

There is no death-only a seeming.
Margory has gone to the golden Strand;
It is we that are left a dreaming,
Since her departure to a better land.

The clouds hang heavy and low,
Looking from valley to Astral sea;
But as higher up the mountain we go
The vision will much clearer be.

Margory will come to us no more-
To this place of darkness and night;
She calls us to the enchanted shore
To bask with her in golden light.

When we laid away our Margory fair,
In the casket in the cold clay,

It was only her shadow we placed there;
Her spirit had gone on its way.

Our Margory is not far away:
It is more a condition, than space,
Yet we are longing for the day
When we will meet her face to face.

We are counting the years as they go,
Waiting for body and spirit to blend,
In waiting the time passes so slow:
Wondering if the suspense will never end

CHAPTER VIII.

Reason or Instinct.

Life is a strange proposition. The most painstaking scientists cannot tell where reason leaves off instinct begins, or vice versa.

One contends that reason is every degree of intelligent action all along the scale of animal creation, from the worm to the most highly ed ucated man. There is a dividing line, it is con tended by many, that man alone possesses reason, while all below man possess only instinct. The orang is supposed to be closely related to man, and seems to possess all the elements of brain structure in man; yet the orang cannot kindle a fire or keep one going; cannot make his wants known by a language. The blood from the orang forms a reaction with the blood of man, and he alone is the only animal whose blood forms a reaction with man's blood.

A farmer told me that he caught a fox in a trap set at his hen house, and in the morning when he discovered the fox, it was, to all ap pearance, cold and dead. He took it out and threw it over the fence in the road. The fox got to its feet and ran to the woods in all possible haste.

It is a well known fact that foxes will not kill the farmer's fowls near his den. Dogs

that kill sheep, will go many miles from home to carry on their depredations.

DuChaillu, I believe it was, while hunting in Africa, tells of the cunning work of a gorilla. One day while hunting in the forest of Africa, he came upon a large male gorilla standing in an open place in the forest, intently watching in the distance across the open. Presently there came from the opposite side of the field a young and powerful gorilla, and with him a female gorilla. The two males met and fought the true Queensburry rules; and round after round they bit, tore, struck and clinched to break away, come again and get better advantages. They fought for some time, and the odds seemed to be in favor of the older male, who was battle scarred in many places. In one clinch and desperate struggle, the younger male placed his arm around the neck of the old gorilla, and by a supreme effort pushed his head back over his own arm and broke the neck of the old gorilla.

When the young gorilla loosened his grasp and the old gorilla fell dead at his feet, the female gorilla, who had been silent up to that time, danced and hopped about in great delight and hugged the young gorilla, as much as to say: "I wanted you to win the battle. I had a grievance against the old fellow." They then went away into the jungles-lost to view.

DuChaillu tells of another experience while hunting in Africa. A male gorilla stole and carried away from a village, a girl about eigh