Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 131: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE PRISONER. the wall. The deputies drove them back. The strike is over, Jim. Everything is all right now—you must hurry and get well to take charge again.” Very feebly James shook his head; then, with a sigh, he closed his eyes and slept. Summer came and went, and in Septem- ber Elinor and Walter were married. James gave her to his brother at the altar, but when they returned from their wedding trip he had disappeared. His property he had placed in trust, the income, with the exception of a small amount, to be paid to Walter and his wife. No one but his lawyer knew where he had gone, and he was bound to silence. U 7o7 But to the warden of the county jail at Newfane had come one day a prematurely white-haired, white-bearded man, with a strange story. He was, he said, a criminal in intent, although his plan had failed; and he felt that in the eyes of God he was still a criminal and must be punished, therefore he had sentenced himself to life imprison- ment, and he prayed the warden to become his jailer. He seemed a harmless character, and the warden had a good heart, besides which, the old man was willing to pay for his board and do such work as was requested as well. And that is how The Prisoner came to the Newfane jail. U U THE SPIRIT-BOATS ITHIN the many-chambered tomb For Tut-ankh-Amen built, Among the alabaster jars, The faience and the gilt, Were placed the spirit-boats designed To bear his soul away To happy shores by Horus blest With everlasting day. Pink shallops far more fit to hold Young Loves perfumed and curled Than navigate the dreary dark And haunted underworld, Light fairy vessels that should rock On waters laced with foam, By sunny isles or emerald woods Where Pan was wont to roam. No doubt the ancient monarch hoped On blue Egyptian nights To steer his bark to mundane parts And taste of old delights, Between the lotus-lilies drift Along the star-lit Nile, And play the sistrum for his queen While basking in her smile. Behold! above the dusky hills The new moon’s silver boat Upon its bright celestial way Serenely certain float. Who knows? Marc Antony its course From sky to earth may guide, To visit once again the scene Where Cleopatra died. Minna Irving. COnNICLOOol< (C@