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The stipendiary would have done it all very differently. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. I—I hurt myself. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. She caught the fact that it was something more than strong drink that laid you out.

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