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which the advertisement is hidden in such an insidious way as to be likely to escape the attention of editors, who go through them hurriedly. These articles are then sent to the papers and periodicals as free contributions. The impression is given that they are from the pens of regular subscribers. Every attempt is made to deceive the editors in this respect. The articles are written with pen and ink or pencil on cheap paper instead of being typewritten. Here and there words are deliberately misspelled and poor grammatical construction is used. They are gotten up in such a way as to make it appear they are written by literary amateurs and are mailed from small towns far distant from the office of the concern. The heads of these firms stealing their advertising space in this inanner are noted for their probity and business ethics. It never occurs to them that, in engineering schemes of this kind, they are literally making thieves of themselves. They would unmercifully punish a man who might sneak into their offices and steal money from them by picking their pockets, yet they make a regular business of slyly pilfering from editors that which represents their business capital, advertising space in their publications and complacently pat themselves on the back and consider that they have done a clever thing, never questioning the ethics of the proceeding, since they can do no business wrong. The writers of these advertisements are paid certain amounts by the firms, the sums being based upon the circulation of the publications in which the space is stolen. Besides this, the editors frequently pay space rates for the contributions, never dreaming that they are actually reimbursing a thief for stealing their property, and this honorarium represents a bonus to the writer over and above what is received from the firms whose wares they advertise. In the realm

of advertising in the United States, the motto appears to the writer to be: "Do"-an Americanism, which means "cheat"-and the exhortation is:-" 'Do' the other fellow before he gets a chance to 'do' you."

The genius of the ad-man can be seen in the fact that, in many instances, he is contented merely if the plot of a story is laid in a part of the country which he is advertising, and to which he is attracting immigration, and for this service he is wiling to pay the writer of the novel a handsome retainer. The society leaders employ social secretaries and pressagents who make a business of seeing that the names and photographs of their woman patrons are constantly kept before the public eye.

But it is not ad-writers who

IV.

only the professional show this propensity to be yellow. The notoriety hunters also adopt plans and employ methods fearfully wonderful in design and audacious in execution. During the early stage of the writer's residence in the States, he was requested by an acquaintance to show him how he tied the turban around his head. The request was gratified. The next day the acquaintance had ten yards of yellow cheesecloth ready and the request was made that the writer should tie the cloth around his head. Then the acquaintance insisted on his obliging him by putting on his own turban and going out for a walk with him. next day one of the newspapers contained a snapshot of the acquaintance with a half column write-up regarding his life and career and the man gleefully recounted that it was a clever manœuvre on his part to get the free "boost" from the newspaper.

The

A number of Americans have adopted Hindu names, styling themselves "Pandits," "Yogis" and "Swamis."

A

Several of them use the turban as their head-dress and a few enterprising ones clothe themselves in long flowing garb, sometimes even wearing dhotis. These people profess to teach Hindu religions and philosophies and tell fortunes. percentage of them, how large it is impossible to say, use these external symbols merely to enable them to live a life of ease, or have a following of credulous ones. Similarly, schools of hypnotism, mysticism and occultism are scattered all over the United States, and are conducted by men and women who profess to be learned in the Hindu branches of these sciences.

Environment such as this has an unwholesome effect upon Orientals bent upon achieving fame or amassing a competence without

The Hindustan Review.

conscientiously

earning it. Not long ago a Turk was to be seen walking the streets of the leading American cities, clad in full Turkish costume. It transpired that, in his native country, the man was constantly in the habit of using European dress, and he was using his native garb just for the sake of advertising. There is, however, no need of finding fault with Easterners who use the fact of their birth or their native costumes to advance their business interests; since Americans who do not have what may be regarded as legitimate claims, are using these devices to decoy their own countrymen. The American has a peculiar genius for "taking" and in this art no other people are his compeers.

HARDY-ON-THE-HILL.

CHAPTER VI.

BY M. E. FRANCIS
(Mrs. Francis Blundell.)

Kitty was walking slowly and somewhat disconsolately up the narrow lane which led past the farm on the hill and wound upwards over the great pasture field and by the copse through various tracts of arable land-all of which belonged to Farmer Hardy-to the downs. It was a glorious autumn afternoon, one of those golden days when the year seems to pause before consenting to decay. The leaves were still yellow and crimson, the berries on the spindlebushes still clove to their twigs, though each little rosy pod had burst, displaying an orange seed. The light, sinking low at this hour, transformed every insignificant bramble-vine to a trailingglory, burnished the thorny interlaced branches that took up so large a share of the hedgerow till they formed what seemed a fiery network amid the sparse leafage, and turned the more heavily

clad saplings of hazel and birches to golden sheaves. The place was very solitary. As Kitty plodded onwards no sound fell upon her ear except such as were caused by her own light footfalls and the occasional twitter of a bird or a rustle of its light wings. Now and then a hedge-sparrow or a linnet darted from its place of concealment and fluttered for a little way ahead of her, its wings becoming momentarily translucent, and, as seen thus against the glowing sky, appearing to assume the texture and transparency of those of a moth. Overhead a flock of peewits was sailing in evident enjoyment, wheeling hither and thither, now stretching itself out a long string of scarcely distinguishable dots across the sky, anon gathering into a compact

mass.

At length Kitty had reached a point of the hill, where the path ran along a

level tract of land before again dipping into a hollow. On her left was the copse pointed out by Bess some few days before through which ran the Lovers' Walk; on her right a clump of larger trees shadowed an immense wheatfield.

Half idly Kitty climbed the stile and turned into the Lovers' Walk.

Even at this time of year there was fascination and mystery in this wood. A stream tinkled somewhere out of sight; the ground was thickly covered with moss, and the trees through which the path wound were for the most part oaks, beeches, and birches, their straight young stems all steel and bronze in shadow, gold and silver where the ruddy light struck them. The lichens and mosses, which, even at this early stage of growth, had crept along many of their slender limbs, seemed to Kitty's fancy like gleaming emerald serpents twisting themselves amid the branches.

Though the white-stemmed trees were most prevalent, there were firs somewhere in the background which betrayed themselves by their aromatic scent; the ground, moist with early dew, gave forth its own indescribable fragrance; the ivy, the lately fallen leaves, the myriad small green growing things crowded together in that sheltered space-each and all added its own burden of spice to the sweet air.

Kitty paced ever more and more slowly. The Lovers' Walk! Doubtless many simple, happy souls had wandered here. Some, perhaps, had waited long, first hopefully, then anxiously, then with sickening doubt for the coming of the loved one; and all at once he or she had been seen hastening round the bend yonder with outstretched arms, with eager excuses. This was indeed a place to dream in, to make plans for a visionary future; a place of happy meetings and often-postponed partings, a place to which the thoughts of many

might well turn in anticipation or in loving memory.

Kitty sighed involuntarily.

It must

be nice to be able to look forward, she thought, to feel there was something coming somebody the wonderful somebody who would be the centre of one's life, the master of one's fate. Most girls could confidently count upon such experience, but what could the future hold in store for Bess and herself? They had now left childhood behind, yet, in all probability, life held no prizes for them.

Sighing again, Kitty began to picture to herself the imaginary Prince Charming who might, under happier circumstances, have ruled her destiny. She did not want anybody very rich or very grand in the world's estimation, but she would have liked him to be very refined and extremely clever. An artist probably-yes, she would have liked him to be an artist, with keen eyes accustomed to look out for and register effects, and long, slender, mobile hands. A man quick to divine and understand her own feelings and aspirations, who would help and encourage her to make the most of such talent as she possessed-for Kitty, too, had ambitions of her own and delighted in dabbling with color. Best of all, he would have the quickness of intuition, the delicate sympathies which accompany the artistic temperament. How delightful to converse with such a man, to rejoice together on the beauty of nature, to meet, each with a full heart, amid such surroundings as these!

Supposing yonder in the distance where the trees parted she were to see the outline of a tall figure he must certainly be tall-and he would throw his head a little back, watching and waiting for her, for, of course, he would be first at the rendezvous, and then, when he caught sight of her, or when she had announced herself by the rustling of her dress over the

leaves, how he would come striding to meet her!

Kitty closed her eyes and imagined to herself what it would be like to feel one's heart leap at the sound of the rapidly approaching footsteps, and then to see the tall figure come hastening onwards through the trees, and then to meet-to clasp hands!

All at once she opened her eyes with a start. Was she still dreaming, or were these really advancing footsteps which now broke the stillness? Firm and rapid footsteps, unaccompanied by any rustle of skirts. Now, was that indeed a man's form which came towards her, threading its way from tree to tree? A tall figure showing dark, almost gigantic, against the glowing background. Kitty again stood still, uncertain whether to advance or retreat, and another moment revealed the newcomer to be no other than Stephen Hardy. She began to walk onwards, thinking it would appear foolish to fly from his approach, and passed him with a murmured "Good day." He had slackened his pace a moment as though about to speak, but, finding she had no such intention, removed his hat and went on. As they crossed each other, however, he bent a glance upon her, a keen questioning glance-not even Kitty's imaginary Prince Charming could have had a more piercing gaze than that directed towards her by this young farmer.

Kitty vexed herself as she hurried on in her endeavors to account for it. She did not know how much of the ecstasy of her foolish dream still lingered in her flushed face, how much of the light in her dilated eyes, which caused Stephen to marvel as he approached, was due to the sunset which she faced and how much to her inward vision. She slackened her pace now and walked sedately to the further end of the wood, her thoughts still unwillingly taken up with Stephen Hardy. Why

had he looked at her thus? What had he been about to say when she hastened by? What was he doing there in the Lovers' Walk? Was he perchance keeping tryst with some one, and did he in consequence feel her presence an intrusion?

When she arrived at the extremity of the wood she paused a moment, won= dering if she could make her way home without again traversing Lovers' Walk. But she found that a deep ditch half full of water surrounded this portion of the copse, totally barring her advance. On the further side of this ditch was the large pasture before mentioned, and farther away to the right a turnip-field, a portion of which was hurdled off for sheep. Even as Kitty stood there a multitude of sounds broke suddenly upon her ear, the bleating of sheep, the tinkling of innumerable bells, dogs barking, men shouting, and presently she saw a white stream pour down the turnip-field from an adjacent slope, the sheep advancing at full speed either because they were driven or because of their eagerness for food. In the space of a moment the hurdled-off patch, till now a sober medley of brown and yellow and green, became a heaving, struggling, white mass, broken here and there by a dark figure of man or dog. Yonder was Stephen crossing the field on his way to the pens. He walked well for a rustic. Yes, at this distance he was a goodly figure of a man, one likely enough to captivate some fine young woman in his own sphere of life.

Kitty turned away with a little smile on her lips and suddenly started on perceiving that she was not alone; a tall girl standing a few paces away from her in the shadow of the wood was watching her furtively. As Kitty. surprised, returned her gaze, she ad vanced into the light without relaxing for a moment her close scrutiny; a handsome creature, with the flawless

skin of the Dorset peasant, tanned to gipsy brownness without losing its fineness of texture, a rich color in cheek and lip, flashing dark eyes, hair raven black by nature yet now ruddy in the sunset glow-a splendid type of rustic womanhood.

On looking more closely Kitty saw that the girl was poorly clad in a thin cotton dress that clung about a form goddess like in proportions. On one arm was slung a gathered sunbonnet such as only the older village women wore, no jacket or cloak protected her from the tart breeze.

her he did not even perceive her advance. When she arrived at the further end of the field in question, however, and when she had climbed the bank which separated it from the next, Kitty noticed that she paused and looked back, it seemed to her, in the direction where the farmer stood. moment she remained thus poised on the summit of the bank, her thin draperies fluttering in the breeze, the sunlight slanting across her face, then turning she jumped down on the further side and disappeared.

Α

"Perhaps they have already met,"

"Good evening," said Kitty, diffi- thought Kitty, as she too turned to dently.

The girl nodded without speaking, and then, stepping past her, swiftly descended the bank, and, supporting herself by the overhanging branch of a willow that grew on the other side of the ditch, swung herself across and continued her way without turning her head.

Kitty stood still and watched her, puzzled and curiously excited by this encounter. How oddly the girl had looked at her-as oddly as Stephen himself, but differently. Kitty, indeed, could not fathom the meaning of that gaze. She had seemed to read in it distrust, defiance-even a kind of reproach. Whence had she come, whither was she going? Though she walked straight across the pasture field she kept to the upper edge of it as though anxious to avoid detection, stepping along quickly, with a perfect ease and grace of carriage—the grace of the wild creature, the freedom of limb possessed by the colt as yet unbroken to the yoke, by the deer which roams the woods, a stranger to man and his ways.

Now she was crossing a hedge and making her way along the turnip-field. Could she be seeking for Stephen? No, she made no effort to approach him, and as his back was turned towards LIVING AGE.

VOL. XLI.

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make her way homewards. The remembrance flashed across her of the foolish words which Bess had jestingly spoken on their return from Mrs. Hardy's tea-party. "I wonder which

of us two Farmer Hardy means to fall in love with."

She had been sufficiently shocked by the suggestion then, but now, now that she had seen for herself the kind of girl who took Stephen's fancy, she felt even more humiliated. It seemed to her for some inexplicable reason that Stephen's thus voluntarily lowering himself was a kind of personal affront.

Perhaps it was to meet this girl Stephen had come striding down the Lovers' Walk, and it was, as she had already surmised, surprised displeasure at her own unlooked-for appearance which caused him to gaze so sharply at her.

The girl, too, might possibly have divined that it was on her, Kitty's, account that the tryst had been postponed; this no doubt would account for the resentment in her face.

What could she be? Not a gipsy. She looked too tidy and clean for that, besides her clothes were not ragged enough. Yet surely this was no mate for Stephen Hardy. Even Rebecca must disapprove of such an attachment; perhaps, thought Kitty, it was

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