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Arthur. Do you know, Freddy, that we are only made of dust?

Freddy. Are we? Then I'm sure we ought to be very careful how we pitch into each other so, for fear we might crumble each other all to pieces.

power; for as is the height so is the depth, as is the mirth so is the melancholy; Loch Lomond is deepest when Ben dips into it. Look at this. Mr. Merryman and his dead

"There's Airchie comin', he's got a bit." Airchie soon converted his dirt into a minister, who was made round, and put into his hole, the gallery repaired, and the "call" vociferously unanimous and "sustained." Would n't that jovial piece of professional "dirt" chew his cud of droll fancies as he walked off, from the fall of man to the Aberdeen Act, and the entire subject of dirt.

"Where did Adam fall?" said his kindly old minister to "Wee Peter" at the examination. "Last nicht, at the close-mooth, sir" (Adam, like his old namesake, was in the way of frequenting a certain forbidden tree, his was "The Lemon Tree," -it was in Aberdeen), "and he's a' glaur yet," (glaur being Scottice et Scotorum, wet dirt). "Ay, ay, my wee man," said the benevolent Calvinist, patting his head, "he's a' glaur yet, he's a' glaur yet."

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tragic and more true. It is a travelling circus; its business at its height; the dying woman has just made a glorious leap through the papered hoop; the house is still ringing with the applause; she fell and was hurt cruelly; but, saying nothing, crept into this caravan room; she has been prematurely delivered, and is now dead; she had been begging her Bill to come near her, and to hear her last words; Bill has kissed her, taken her to his heart, and she is gone. Look into this bit of misery and nature; look at her thin face, white as the waning


"Stranded on the pallid shore of morn";

the women's awe-stricken, pitiful looks (the great Gomersal, with his big blue-black unwhiskered cheek, his heavy mustache, his business-like, urgent thumb,

even he is

being solemnized and hushed); the trunk

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