was all over," or desert Bally, as they suggested I might have done; but also to this day I do wonder whether I did display much courage in this little experience? As I said then, I was in it, and I could not get out. I borrowed some dry clothes in Camp Verde and went home after the dark had fallen. It was barely light enough, I remember, for me to see white foam and floating hailstones in the water at the first crossing. I was a little afraid, but I reminded myself that I was now a rural school-teacher and that I'd better get over some of my weaknesses. A GROUP OF SEASON POEMS CANDLEMAS BY ARTHUR KETCHUM THE hedgerows cast a shallow shade Upon the frozen grass, And comes the Candlemas. Each day a little later now Lingers the westering sun; Far out of sight the miracles O barren bough! O frozen field! AN APRIL MORNING BY BLISS CARMAN ONCE more in misted April Beyond the sweeping meadows The looming mountains rise, Like battlements of dreamland Against the brooding skies. In every wooded valley The buds are breaking through, As though the heart of all things No languor ever knew. The goldenwings and bluebirds Call to their heavenly choirs. The pines are blued and drifted With smoke of brushwood fires. And in my sister's garden, APRIL'S RETURN BY GRACE RICHARDSON A FLUSH is on the woodland, A thrill with every heartbeat, A rapture touched with sighs, New lustre on the soul of Life, Tears in my happy eyes. A DAY IN JUNE BY ALICE CHOATE PERKINS SOFT breezes through the apple orchards blow. Where peace and beauty hand in hand will go. Lost is all bitterness, and hate, and wrong. Concealed within the dusky wood's deep heart The quiet hours seem lingering as they go, And all the perfect day is one glad song. AUTUMN BY BLISS CARMAN Now when the time of fruit and grain is come, Moving slow-footed through the dreamy hills. JONAS AND MATILDA THE CONTRIBUTORS' CLUB THEY were English, and their names were Jonas and Matilda; not their real names, of course, for though one often writes of real individuals, it is the custom to give them fictitious names. In this case I am obliged to use fictitious names, for though this couple lived next door to me for two seasons, I never found out their true names; so, in order to discuss their affairs in the privacy of my family, I christened them Jonas and Matilda. Their dwelling was not over twenty feet from my sittingroom window. It was quite old, but had never before, to my knowledge, been occupied; and when, one April morning, I saw a couple inspecting it with the evident intention of making it their residence if it proved satisfactory, I became much interested in the prospect of new neighbors. I was somewhat of an invalid that spring, or thought I was, which is much the same thing, as all physicians can testify, and as I could neither read nor work long at a time, I welcomed the advent of the newcomers as a pleasant break in watching the clock for medicine hours. Several visits were made before the couple decided to make the place their local habitation, and I had my couch drawn close to the window, where, behind the friendly screen of the muslin curtains, I could see with |