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Your hopes, every one,

May surely lie sweet,-happed in such wise-
While the grasses grow and the waters run.

Then, lift your eyes!

Not cobwebs, but clouds of dew are up there,
Serenely hung over burning skies,

To keep off the glare

That else had drunk up your freshness, Sweet,
And left you the less desirably fair.

For this Morn and Me. But perfect, complete,
Sombre mouth, shining eyes, shadow and gleam-
You come! My heart is there at your feet.
O Woman of my heart's dream!

ALICE FURLONG.

OCTOBER TRIOLET

The rose crown of your well said beads
Lay every day at Mary's feet;

Each fragment leaf with Mary pleads.
The rose crown of your well said beads
Bedew with tears for your misdeeds;
Such sorrow adds a perfume sweet.
The rose crown of your well said beads
Lay every day at Mary's feet.

B. R..

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS

A MANX STORY

T

HE pale blue sky melted into the deeper blue of the sea that broke in foam-edged waves at the base of the cliff below old Callow's garden.

The strong blue colour was repeated in the masses of hyacinths that grew in profusion in the hedges in a perfect riot, and along the borders of the gravelled walks in neat orderly rows. Old Callow, leaning on his spade in azure cotton overalls, harmonised well with his surroundings.

Lilacs and thyme perfumed the air and here and there in the hedge great clumps of gorse lent vivid yellow patches to the colour scheme of the glorious old garden.

A diligent worker, as a rule, for once old Callow stood idle. There was justification for his lapse, however, for his eyes and his thoughts were taken up with one object.

This was a young apple tree, which was a thing of beauty in its masses of pink and white flowers. Evan Callow saw not the blossoms however. Apple blossom beauty was rather lost on his accustomed eye. All these flowers stood for apples in his mind. It had taken a "power of money" to restock his orchard, but in spite of the ungrateful conduct of some of the new trees (notably Wellington and Napoleon, which, having been planted too close together pined and died) that resolutely refused to flourish, he had had some triumphs.

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The Beauty" had been the wonder and admiration of the neighbourhood last spring and autumn. He remembered how flattered he felt when the neighbours had asked to be allowed into the garden to examine more closely the display of blossoms. In the autumn the yellow and red apples were so big and juicy that the heavily-laden branches had to be

propped up. The money those apples realised was always a cheerful recollection to Evan. Every rosy apple had been carefully picked and duly packed in dry moss in a new wooden box. Some of the neighbours had been privileged to see the apples before the lids were nailed down. "It was almost like havin' a las' look at the dead!" one old woman had declared.

Old Callow smiled at the blossom laden tree as he leaned restfully on his spade.

It had always been his desire to have a green-house-not an ambitious one, of course, but just a medium-sized lean-to, where he could experiment and raise early seedlings. From the proceeds of last year's apple crop (thanks to the prolificness of the Beauty"!) he had cleared a little more than half of what he would require to buy the green-house. After making all allowances for a less profitable crop, he made sure of having the full amount in hand by the end of this season.

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66 "Tis every second year with apples, of course!" he murmured, his eye resting lovingly on the flower-decked beauty. "But it looks as if there was goin' to be a good crop this year as well as las'! My word, how the neighbours have been talkin' about yandar lil' tree! Peepin' through the hedge, an' wonderin' out loud, an' sayin' they never saw the like in their lives, an' declarin' that Evan Callow is a smart gardener for all he is a bit old gettin'."

"That's a good day's work done!" he cried, sticking his spade firmly into the ground and spitting on the palms of his hands. Whistling cheerfully, he went homewards. Everything about the little one-man house was neat and clean; everything shone, including Evan's freshly-washed face.

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""Tis a bit lonesome like though for all! The neighbours are awful good for runnin' in to put a lil' sight on me now an' then, but they are busy gettin' their teas now, jus' at this time when I'm havin' mine. "Twould be nice to have. some one of me own to be talkin' about the apple tree to-it wouldn't be like boastin' then! Some people thinks I'm not able to sleep at night for thinkin' of that Beauty' an' all the blossoms she is bearin'."

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Evan's thoughts ran on to his projected green-house, and

in the interesting visions he conjured up he forgot all about his loneliness and the unneighbourly things some of the neighbours were reported to be saying.

Spring advanced apace and then summer came with its profusion of foliage, and drouthy dust. The "Beauty" had shed all its blossoms--those petals so suggestive of pinktipped snowflakes had fluttered down to earth in the fulnessof time. It was a source of endless delight to old Callow to count afresh the tiny green apples on the graceful young tree. As the fruit swelled and ripened Evan grew keener than ever on his green-house. He pointed out to the neighbours the very spot where it was to be built, and to make the thing more vivid to their minds he drew a sort of diagram on the wall. It was a very crude drawing, yet it served its purpose and called forth expressions of unstinted approval from the onlookers.

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Oh, yes, Master Callow, we see now what you mean! 'Tis like it will be a grand green-house when you have it put up," cried one, interestedly.

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He's going to get it from London in pieces!" exclaimed a little boy admiringly.

"Then 'tis likely 'twill come by post, for the las' bit of china me sister in London sent me came in pieces, an' I never got a spark of satisfaction from that stuck up man in the post office when I went to complain," cried a woman aggrievedly.

Old Callow explained patiently that the little boy was right; the green-house was to come in pieces or sections, arranged so that it could be put together with very little trouble.

Everybody was looking out for the day when the structure was to arise in all the glory of new glass and clean white paint.

When the day for sending off the apples came and the privileged few viewed them in their nests of dry moss in their new boxes, one and all pronounced them the best crop the "Beauty" had ever produced.

It was with great pride and ceremony that Evan nailed down the lids on the big mellow apples.

"This will be the apple money, Master Callow; the postmark is London, you see!" Johnny the postman remarked

one morning after this, as he handed Evan a well-scrutinised letter.

It was the money sure enough.

The high quality and the careful packing of the fruit had not been lost on the London fruiterer as the value of the money order showed.

That night Evan thoroughly enjoyed his solitude. By his fireside he sat for many an hour looking over a catalogue of green-houses.

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That one on the front page is the one I had a notion of first af all, but seein' this year's apples paid so well, I believe I can afford this here large green-house on the next page. A green-house is like a weddin' ring--a man generally buys but one in his life. Yes, I think I'll send for the biggest one; my time will be well filled then even in wet weather!" he thought, enjoying the good prospect to the full. The winds were gentle and mild and everything was prosperous in the countryside. On a night not long after this Evan, still undecided on the size of his green-house, was walking on the beach below his garden. The silver beauty of the harvest moon on the sea was inspiring in its ethereal charm.-Evan went into a cave in the cliffs to see if he could find corks or a few bits of drift wood to light his fire with next morning. He sat down at the entrance of the cave and fell into a reverie.

The tide which was to be a high one on account of the full moon was coming in strongly and rapidly. At first Evan thought he must be dreaming when he caught sight of a drifting boat out there on the moonlit sea. It was about the size of a pleasure boat, but to Evan's trained eye it did not suggest a pleasure boat. Like nearly all Manx men, Evan had been to sea at one time or another, and so had an eye trained to distinguish all manner of craft.

"Looks as if she drifted away from somewhere," he opined vaguely, "I wonder where she'll be from at all?"

He came out of the cave and tried to get a better view. "Looks as if there was someone aboard of her after all. Why the deuce doesn't the fella row? Likin' better to float in with the tide. How lazy some folks is!"

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