Then came Mr. Cary, who found it difficult not to speak over their heads with his simple language and big ideas. The audience whispered and began to show the tips of countless yellow-feathers. They could stand horrible pictures; but this talk was too much. It was too sane and calm and cutting. Yellow feathers showed, full length. Women left in twos and threes, although the first person to go out was a male. Cary’s short, admirable paragraphs were divided in this manner:—three ladies on the right of the hall would balance their departure under cover, as it were, of the departure of three sisters on the left. This mental cowardice was worse than the pictures. An intolerable discussion followed. A huge wave of ancient yet ever-modern philistinism raised itself among the majority of those who remained, and surged across the hall to drown Mr. Cary and Mrs. Henderson. Major Funkhouser found his feet again, and assumed the big-brother-protector attitude, to repeated grand-stand advantages. As long as they had seen the pictures, what matter if the public didn’t? Evolution lost the day. Stagnation was an immediate success. Your reporter left, grinning. Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and not that thou hast escaped from a yoke.—_Nietzsche._ Dawn in the Hills FLORENCE KIPER FRANK Out of the vast, Flooding and flowering the cool, skyey vast, Day, day at last! Squandering, spilling, pouring white-flecked fire, Higher and higher The light of the sun mounts into the dim of the sky. And all the little fields that lie At the foot of the hills that hold them in mothering tender, Sweet with translucent, shimmering green, Lay themselves bare to the sun, and the hill-trees slender, Upward reaching thin arms of prayer, A-shiver with ecstasy, tipped with sheen, Sway to the quivering call of the fresh-stirring air. Through the night have I waited Thy summons, through the night have I lain Racked with unutterable, ancient, blackening pain. And the soul of me touched not Thy presence nor felt Thee about me, And the soul of me, sick with its hate and dismay, was minded to rout Thee, Yea, from itself to tear Thee, enduring without Thee. But now have I found Thee again, O my Comrade, again! In the light of the morning and white of the dawn I behold Thee. See, with my arms outstretched, I enclose and enfold Thee. With a shout that the darkness is light, I enclose and enfold Thee.