BETWEEN THE LINES.

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A TWENTIETH CENTURY IDYLL.

Lazily, dreamily, we floated down the pellucid stream, Aspasia at the single thwart, I, her loved one, at the tiller. The last gleaner had left the fields. Over the grave of the dead sun I saw the eye of Hesperus, early and thoughtful. The words of the Poet Laureate came back to me; it seemed that "in yonder Orient star a hundred spirits whispered

[KEEP YOUR HAIR ON! Try our own Fertiliser. The Next-of-Kin-but-One to the Hohenpfefferkorn dynasty writes:—"I have tried your lotion for a vacancy in the crown, and should in all human probability have succeeded, but for the birth of an infant in the direct line. Make what use of this you like. It has been none to me."]

"Peace!" Now the light shallop trembled to the stroke of ASPASIA'S sculls, and the brawny muscles lifted beneath her flannel suiting. Myself so frail, I adore the pride and prowess of womanhood, that moves through the world conquering and to conquer. This life of the open air, so free, so expansive, that despises the thought of

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control or seclusion, how different from that of men, studiously repressed in a hothouse atmosphere of fashion and traditional proprieties. We only guess of their world from hearsay or from books. And most of these are by women for women, and Papa says they are not fit for innocent men to read. And so we have to be content to study dress and the lures that fascinate the other sex. But they—they go forth to fight our battles, make our laws, have their part in the stir and excitement of

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