THE LOTUS _is published every two weeks and is supplied to subscribers for One Dollar a year; foreign subscription, $1.25. Sample copy five cents. On sale at all news stands._ THE LOTUS, Kansas City, Mo. The Roycroft Quarterly: Being a Goodly collection of Literary Curiosities obtained from Sources not easily accessible to the average Book-Lover. Offered to the Discerning every three months for 25c. per number or one dollar per year. Contents for May: I. Glints of Wit and Wisdom: Being replies from sundry Great Men who missed a Good Thing. II. Some Historical Documents by W. Irving Way, Phillip Hale and Livy S. Richard. III. As to Stephen Crane. E. H. A preachment by an admiring friend. IV. Seven poems by Stephen Crane. 1—The Chatter of a Death Demon. 2—A Lantern Song. 3—A Slant of Sun on Dull Brown Walls. 4—I have heard the Sunset Song of the Birches. 5—What Says the Sea? 6—To the Maiden the Sea was Blue Meadow. 7—Fast Rode the Knight. V. A Great Mistake. Stephen Crane. Recording the venial sin of a mortal under sore temptation. VI. A Prologue. Stephen Crane. THE PHILISTINE. NO. 3. August, 1896. VOL. 3. MISERERE. Joy and sorrow, mirth and tears, Darkness, sunshine, kind words, jeers, The flitting moments, halting years— Strange contrasts these! Today the youth, tomorrow age; We read, and then we turn the page; The fool we honour, not the sage— Sad travesties! The dancers gay, the open grave— From foot-lights’ flare to solemn wave The sale of souls Christ came to save— Life’s tragedies! —HIRAM DRYER MCCASKEY. AN HOUR WITH MAECENAS. One, two, three—five men that call themselves my friends, all wishful to borrow money! Statilius, you will please to make a note of these five gentlemen, and give orders that on no account are they to pass my vestibule again. The settlement of society under our Prince has done much to stamp out the dangerous classes, but we have not yet got rid of the borrowers. I think it a little hard that after I have neglected my estate for half my life to expel roguery by the front door that it should creep in at the back. Did you inquire, Statilius, why my cook served white sauce with quails last night? Very well; I have made it a rule to deal with my people in person: send for him. It is not possible to maintain a household well regulated, unless the servants come personally into touch with the master. Plato, you served me last night a dish which, had any of my friends been present, would have shamed me forever. As it was, my dinner was ruined. It is incompetence such as yours whose ill effects Rome has struggled these eight lustrums to efface. You will be sold in the market tomorrow. Go.