J. Quincy Burns has written a war article for the Century Magazine, regarding a battle where he was at. In this article he aims to describe the sensations of a man who is ignorant of physical fear and yet yearns to have the matter submitted to arbitration. He gives a thorough expose of his efforts in trying to find a suitable board of arbitration as soon as he saw that the enemy felt hostile and eager for the fray. The forthcoming number of the Century will be eagerly snapped up by Mr. Burns' friends who are familiar with his pleasing and graphic style of writing. He describes with wonderful power the sense of utter exhaustion which came over him and the feeling of bitter disappointment when he realized that he was too far away to participate in the battle and too fatigued to make a further search for suitable arbitrators. While Cigarettes to Ashes Turn I. "He smokes--and that's enough," says Ma-- "And cigarettes, at that!" says Pa. "He must not call again," says she-- "He _shall_ not call again!" says he. They both glare at me as before-- Then quit the room and bang the door,-- While I, their willful daughter, say, "I guess I'll love him, anyway!" II. At twilight, in his room, alone, His careless feet inertly thrown Across a chair, my fancy can But worship this most worthless man! I dream what joy it is to set His slow lips round a cigarette, With idle-humored whiff and puff-- Ah! this is innocent enough! To mark the slender fingers raise The waxen match's dainty blaze, Whose chastened light an instant glows On drooping lids and arching nose, Then, in the sudden gloom, instead, A tiny ember, dim and red, Blooms languidly to ripeness, then Fades slowly, and grows ripe again. [Illustration: "HE SMOKES--AND THAT'S ENOUGH," SAYS MA--] III. I lean back, in my own boudoir-- The door is fast, the sash ajar; And in the dark, I smiling stare At one window over there, Where some one, smoking, pinks the gloom, The darling darkness of his room! I push my shutters wider yet, And lo! I light a cigarette; And gleam for gleam, and glow for glow, Each pulse of light a word we know, We talk of love that still will burn While cigarettes to ashes turn. Says He [Illustration] "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- "Whatever the weather may be-- Its plaze, if ye will, an' I'll say me say-- Supposin' to-day was the winterest day, Wud the weather be changing because ye cried, Or the snow be grass were ye crucified? The best is to make your own summer," says he, "Whatever the weather may be," says he-- "Whatever the weather may be!"