h "nut,"
but with the lawless word Harmony seemed to pass away forever. The
Vortex had her. She belonged to Bohemia for evermore. And never would
Beriah--

The door opened and Beriah walked in.

"'Dory," said he, "what's all that chalk and pink stuff on your face,
honey?"

Medora extended an arm.

"Too late," she said, solemnly. "The die is cast. I belong in another
world. Curse me if you will--it is your right. Go, and leave me in
the path I have chosen. Bid them all at home never to mention my name
again. And sometimes, Beriah, pray for me when I am revelling in the
gaudy, but hollow, pleasures of Bohemia."

"Get a towel, 'Dory," said Beriah, "and wipe that paint off your
face. I came as soon as I got your letter. Them pictures of yours
ain't amounting to anything. I've got tickets for both of us back on
the evening train. Hurry and get your things in your trunk."

"Fate was too strong for me, Beriah. Go while I am strong to bear
it."

"How do you fold this easel, 'Dory?--now begin to pack, so we have
time to eat before train time. The maples is all out in full-grown
leaves, 'Dory--you just ought to see 'em!

"Not this early, Beriah?

"You ought to see 'em, 'Dory; they're like an ocean of green in the
morning sunlight."

"Oh, Beriah!"

On the train she said to him suddenly:

"I wonder why you came when you got my letter."

"Oh, shucks!" said Beriah. "Did you think you could fool me? How
could you be run away to that Bohemia country like you said when
your letter was postmarked New York as plain as day?"

XXIII

A PHILISTINE IN BOHEMIA

George Washington, with his right arm upraised, sits his iron horse
at the lower corner of Union Square, forever signaling the Broadway
cars to stop as they round the curve into Fourteenth Street. But the
cars buzz on, heedless, as they do at the beck of a private citizen,
and the great General must feel, unless his nerves are iron, that
rapid transit gloria mundi.

Should the General raise his left hand as he has raised his right
it would point to a quarter of the city that forms a haven for the
oppressed and suppressed of foreign lands. In the cause of national
or personal freedom they have found a refuge here, and the patriot
who made it for them sits his steed, overlooking their district,
while he listens through his left ear to vaudeville that caricatures
the posterity of his proteges. Italy, Poland, the former Spanish
possessions and the polyglot