When Old Hellinger entered the gable room he saw a sight which froze the blood in his veins. His son’s body lay stretched on the ground. As he fell he must have clutched the supports of the bier on which the dead girl had been placed, and dragged down the whole erection with him; for on the top of him, between the broken planks, lay the corpse, in its long, white shroud, its motionless face upon his face, its bared arms thrown over his head. At this moment he regained consciousness, and started up. The dead girl’s head sank down from his and bumped on the floor. This cheerful book is translated from the German by Lily Henkel and published by the Appletons. I commend it to Mr. Bliss Carman and his shroud washers. * * * * * Mr. Thomas B. Mosher, of Portland, Maine, deserves the thanks of the reading public for the issuing of _The Bibelot_. Each month this dainty periodical comes like a dash of salt water on a hot day, and is as refreshing. After reading the longings and the heartburnings of the various degenerates who inflict their stuff on us these days, Mr. Mosher’s “Sappho” comes and makes us really believe that there is a man up on the coast of Maine who has the salt of the sea and the breath of the pines in him, and is willing to think that there are other people who care for purity and sweetness, rather than such literature as “Vistas” and the plays of Maeterlinck. * * * * * When in five consecutive stories, printed in the same periodical, the hero or heroine has ended the narrative by shooting himself or herself, is it not about time to hire somebody to invent some other denouement? * * * * * Many a man’s reputation would not know his character if they met on the street. * * * * * To be stupid when inclined and dull when you wish is a boon that only goes with high friendship. * * * * * Every man has moments when he doubts his ability. So does every woman at times doubt her wit and beauty and long to see them mirrored in a masculine eye. This is why flattery is acceptable. A woman will doubt everything you say except it be compliments to herself—here she believes you truthful and mentally admires you for your discernment. * * * * * STIGMATA. “Behold the miracle!” he cried— The sombre priest who stood beside A figure on whose snowy breast The outlines of a cross expressed In ruddy life-drops ebbed and flowed; “Behold th’ imprimatur of God!” A kneeling woman raised her eyes; Lo! At the sight, in swift surprise, Ere awe-struck lips a prayer could speak Love’s stigma glowed on brow and cheek; And one in reverence bent his head— “Behold the miracle?” he said. WILLIAM MCINTOSH. * * * * *