dly weaving in and out and round about through
scenes of hidden but undoubted beauty.

Over rocks and grass the army charged towards bliss unutterable,
strewing their path with overturned and howling babies of prosperity
who, clumsy from many nurses and much pampering, failed to make way.
Past all barriers, accidental or official, they pressed, nor halted to
draw rein or breath until they were established, beatified, upon the
waiting swan-boat.

Three minutes later they were standing outside the railings of the
landing and regarding, through welling tears, the placid lake, the sunny
slopes of grass and tree, the brilliant sky and the gleaming
rubber-neck-boat-bird which, as Ikey described, "made go its legs," but
only, as he had omitted to mention, for money. So there they stood,
seven sorrowful little figures engulfed in the rayless despair of
childhood and the bitterness of poverty. For these were the children of
the poor, and full well they knew that money was not to be diverted from
its mission: that car-fare could not be squandered on bliss.

Becky's woe was so strong and loud that the bitter wailings of the
others served merely as its background. But Patrick cared not at all for
the general despair. His remorseful eyes never strayed from the bowed
figure of Eva Gonorowsky, for whose pleasure and honor he had striven so
long and vainly. Slowly she conquered her sobs, slowly she raised her
daisy-decked head, deliberately she blew her small pink nose, softly she
approached her conquered knight, gently and all untruthfully she
faltered, with yearning eyes on the majestic swans:

"Don't you have no sad feelings, Patrick. I ain't got none. Ain't I told
you from long, how I don't need no rubber-neck-boat-bird rides? I don't
need 'em! I don't need 'em! I"--with a sob of passionate longing--"I'm
got all times a awful scare over 'em. Let's go home, Patrick. Becky
needs she should see her mamma, und I guess I needs my mamma too."

MYRA KELLY

Is it necessary to say that she was Irish? The humor, the sympathy, the
quick understanding, the tenderness, that play through all her stories
are the birthright of the children of Erin. Myra Kelly was born in
Dublin, Ireland. Her father was Dr. John E. Kelly, a well-known surgeon.
When Myra was little more than a baby, the family came to New York City.
Here she was educated at the Horace Mann High School, and afterwards at
Teachers College, a department of Columbia Univer