LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE OF _POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE_. Vol XII, No. 29. AUGUST, 1873. TABLE OF CONTENTS THE NEW HYPERION [Illustrated] By EDWARD STRAHAN. II.--The Two Chickens. OUR HOME IN THE TYROL [Illustrated] By MARGARET HOWITT. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. ON THE CHURCH STEPS By SARAH C. HALLOWELL. CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. INSIDE JAPAN By W.E. GRIFFIS. JASON'S QUEST By CHARLES WARREN STODDARD. I. II. III. IV. FOREBODINGS. DEER-PARKS By REGINALD WYNFORD. RAMBLES AMONG THE FRUITS AND FLOWERS OF THE TROPICS By FANNIE R. FEUDGE. TWO PAPERS.--I. A PRINCESS OF THULE By WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER XII.--Transformation. CHAPTER XIII.--By The Waters Of Babylon. GOLD By ITA ANIOL PROKOP. GLIMPSES OF GHOST-LAND By LUCY H. HOOPER. AFTERNOON</a> By EMMA LAZARUS. OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. Washington's Birthplace In 1873 By R.B.E. Vicissitudes In High Life. A Glass Of Old Madeira. At A Matinée: A Monologue. By C.A.D. NOTES. LITERATURE OF THE DAY. Books Received. ILLUSTRATIONS THE FLOWERS OF WAR. THE INVADERS OF ROMIAINVILLE. STORY OF AN OLD MAN AND AN ELDER. MERCHANDISE IN THE TEMPLE. FATHER JOLIET. THE TWO CHICKENS. LOVE LEFT ALONE. "FOND OF CHICKEN." THE WIFE. THE LONE CRUSADE. TENDER CHARITY. NECESSITY KNOWING LAW. THE FERRY. JOVE'S THUNDER. SCHOOL. ON WITH THE DANCE! ENDYMION. HOW THE MODERN DOG TREATS LAZARUS. THE LAUGHING LACKEY. THE PRESENT. THE CONVALESCENT. THE DIVIDED BURDEN. SHARE MY CUP. BREAKING STONES. SICKNESS AND COURTSHIP. THE WAGON. DINNER-TIME! FIDELITY. A LITTLE VISITOR. FRANCINE. "DON'T WRING MY HEART!" VIEW OF TAUFERS VALLEY. SCHLOSS TAUFERS. HAPPY SOULS IN PARADISE. CROSSING THE TORRENT. THE NEW HYPERION. FROM PARIS TO MARLY BY WAY OF THE RHINE. II.--THE TWO CHICKENS. [Illustration: THE FLOWERS OF WAR.] "Thou art no less a man because thou wearest no hauberk nor mail sark, and goest not on horseback after foolish adventures." So I said, reassuring myself, thirty years ago, when, as Paul Flemming the Blond, I was meditating the courageous change of cutting off my soap-locks, burning my edition of Bulwer and giving my satin stocks to my shoemaker: I mean, when I was growing up--or, in the more beauteous language of that day, when Flemming was passing into the age of bronze, and the flowers of Paradise were turning to a sword in his hands. Well, I say it again, and I say it with boldness, you can wear a tin botany-box as bravely as a hauberk, and foolish adventures can be pursued equally well on foot.