Many of the states of the Union are represented by individual buildings erected at a cost of from $10,000 to $90,000 each. In many instances, particularly in the case of the western states, there has been a departure from the old-time policy which restricted the function of a state building at a world's fair to service as a rest parlor and social rendezvous for the natives of the commonwealth and their friends. Thus we find at the present exposition states, such Washington, California, Idaho and Utah, presenting pretentious structures which are primarily exhibit palaces, crowded with the agricultural, mineral and manufactured products of the respective sections of the country.

The state of Massachusetts is represented by a building which is a combination of a headquarters and an exhibit palace. The structure,

vantageous locations in the exposition grounds, is a study from the second story of the Bulfinch front of the State House on Beacon Hill, and it is assuredly quite appropriate that the edifice should thus in a measure constitute a memorial to that Bulfinch who, having impaired his fortune in that very trading enterprise which sent the ship "Columbia" to the northwest coast, turned his attention to architecture and designed some of the most notable buildings. in New England.

The architect of the Massachusetts building was Mr. C. Howard Walker of Boston, who took so prominent a part in preparing the plans for the St. Louis exposition. The building, which is placed upon a terrace in a charming setting of old-fashioned shrubs and flowers, is one hundred feet in length by eighty feet wide, with spacious verandas. Much of the appropriation of $15,000

made by the Massachusetts legislature for a representation at the Portland fair went into the building, it having been found that a large share of the state exhibit at St. Louis could be transferred to the west coast, thus allowing for other uses a considerable portion of the funds which would needs have been employed in preparing exhibits.

The interior of the Massachusetts building is in the Colonial style-an immense hall, open to the rafters, with an artistic staircase leading to a gallery which extends entirely around the interior, and from which all the rooms on the second floor

open. Every foot of available space. on the ground floor of the building and much of that on the second floor has been given over to exhibits which illustrate the workings and development of the state prisons, reformatories, libraries, colleges and other educational institutions. These exhibits are principally in the form of photographs, drawings and specimens of the the products of the manual training departments. The metropolitan park system and the metropolitan water system have interesting displays, and there is an instructive exhibit bearing upon the matchless highway system of Massachusetts.

In the building are comfortable. rest and retiring rooms for the use of visitors and these are furnished in great part with handsome mahogany furniture from the State House, much of it of historic interest. On

the second floor is a suite of rooms occupied as offices and living apartments by Mr. Wilson H. Fairbank of Warren, Massachusetts, who is in charge of the building as executive commissioner, and, inasmuch as Mr. Fairbank has furnished his temporary home with many pieces of old mahogany brought from Massachusetts, these apartments have aroused the admiration of every visitor.

Maine, which is the only other New England state represented by a special building, has reproduced the house at Portland, Maine, in which the poet Longfellow was born. This was done wholly by private subscription, the Maine legislature merely sanctioning the appointment of a commission but making no appropriation. The contributions came from the churches and schools of Maine as well as from private individuals, and some aid was rendered by the 27,000 residents of the Pacific coast who were born in the state of Maine.

On the ground floor of the building there is an Evangeline room and a Hiawatha room, the walls of which are adorned with handsomely engrossed copies of the poems symbolized, and with portraits of Longfellow and his literary friends. These apartments are primarily rest and writing rooms for the use of visitors, all of whom are invited to register. The importance and achievements of the churches and schools of Maine, which were so largely instrumental in providing this memorial state building, are emphasized in the structure by a comprehensive photographic exhibit of church and school buildings, educational and religious institutions. Aside from this display, however, the purpose of the building is merely to serve as headquarters for natives. and residents of Maine and their friends. Mr. Arthur C. Jackson, president president and executive commissioner of the Maine State Commission, is in charge, with Mrs. Jackson as hostess.

T

EN years have elapsed since the happenings I am about to record; ten years, in which I— James Boyd-have lived the retired life of a southern cotton planter on this little island that was my father's before me. And it may be that a solitary existence, in which the mind. necessarily feeds much upon the past, has caused me to attribute an undue significance to what others may regard as trifles light as airthe hallucinations of a delicate girl, and the vagaries of a man like David Carew. Dreamer, the world called him-the world on which he turned his back. I, who knew him as did no one else, saw in him the stuff of which poets and philosophers are made; and being altogether commonplace myself, reverenced him and loved him beyond all living

men.

Our friendship began at college, where my course was that of the inconspicuous plodder; his, plodder; his, the career of an erratic genius, full of brilliant promise, yet crowned by little achievement. Shortly after our graduation, my father sent me abroad; for although it was his intention and my wish that I should eventually devote myself to agriculture, he was determined that I should have as broad an education as his purse would permit. island planters," said my father, "live very close to nature, but very much aloof from our fellows. Our minds, instead of brightening by attrition with other men of brains

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and energy, are apt to grow dull and rusty. It behooves us, therefore, to put on a good polish at the outset." So, by way of final preparation for the life of a quiet country gentleman, I set forth upon my Wanderjahre.

It was in a French café that I unexpectedly ran across David Carew, and from that hour, I left to him the making of my itinerary, for it was a matter of little moment to me whither I went, so long as I had David for my guide and companion. While we were in Switzerland, I met with the accident which has probably lamed me for life; and during the illness that followed, Carew nursed me like a brother. As I look backward now, I can recall, amid a cloud of fever-visions, the unchanging calmness of his mild face bending over me. His features were almost feminine in outline, but his soft brown beard and high brow added a grave dignity, while in his eyes-wine-brown, and capable of infinite expression-there was a strange, irresistible charm. Those were the days in which it came to pass that-like Jonathan's-my soul was knit with David's, till I loved him even as my own soul.

The tidings of my father's death. reached us during my convalescence, and Carew accompanied me home. Nor could I bear to part with him even then. So my sister Agnes-who is my senior by one year-added her entreaties to mine, and for several months he was an

inmate of our house. When he left us, it was with the promise of a speedy return; but for three years. we never saw him. At the end of that time he appeared, unheralded, and demanded that I should sell him an acre or two of the wooded land on the seaward side of the island, where he could build himself a home within sound of the booming surf. I entreated him to come back to his old quarters; I assured him that our big plantation house, built in ante-bellum days, was over large for a family of two, so he might set up his bachelor establishment in one whole wing, if it pleased him.

But Carew, with all his gentleness of manner, was the least compliant of mortals where one of his pet theories was involved. "When a man lies down to sleep at night," he maintained, "the roof overhead should be his own, and its foundations should rest upon soil that is his.

He should have a clear title to the air he breathes and to an outlook straight up to heaven!" In the end, he carried his point, and the Hermitage was builded.

That very year Nathalie came to the Big House. She was the only child of my mother's favorite brother-who had settled in New Orleans and married into a Creole family. Left an orphan, like ourselves, though not wholly unprovided for, she consented to make her home for a time with us. I was very willing-as Agnes seemed determined to sacrifice herself for me that she should have some womanly companionship; but my cousin's arrival defeated one of my cherished schemes, which was that David should some day become my brother-in-law. Now I can see that it would never have done, but at the time I was much disappointed when

it became evident that Carew's hopes were directed elsewhere.

To describe my cousin Nathalie is not an easy task. In the first place, there was little sympathy between us; and but for the attraction of kinship, I doubt very much if my sister, either, would have singled her out for a companion. Agnes has always been my ideal of wholesome, lovable womanhood. She is formed, both mentally and physically, in a generous mold; she moves with the free carriage of one who from her infancy has trod the springy earth and breasted the salt winds; her grey eyes have the clear, direct gaze of those who are used to wide horizon lines; she has that simple majesty of mien that is natural to all women who have to play the Lady Bountiful in their little world-even if it be only a narrow island inhabited by negro cotton-pickers. How any man could look at the two women and prefer Nathalie passes my comprehension. My cousin was small and slender, with a mass of lustreless black hair piled over a pale face, and, but for a certain pathos in her soft, red mouth and the wistfulness of a dumb animal in her wide, dark eyes. there was nothing in her appearance to invite a second glance. Her mind, when she first came to us, was

undeveloped but impressionable; she spoke French with fluency and a pure accent, and she sang very prettily to the guitar. What other gifts or attractions she possessed were apparent only to Carew. It may be that his love gave him a deeper insight into her character— or blinded him for a time to her deficiencies. It is still a problem whose estimate was the truest; indeed, I have sometimes wondered