... Precisely. When he lets you in, you will know him because he has a reddish beard that is turning white on the left side. He cultivates the vineyard, and the owner takes half the nroduce hilt for a con ...

... Candles in the Wind. liv Maud Diver. \B lack-wood.) is, Miss Maud Diver tells us, the last volume of a trilogy of novels dealing with the life and work of the Indian frontier. It is a painstaking piece of work, in which any student of frontier affairs may recognise a score of incidents. Whether the courageous actions of a real person should be appropriated on behalf of a fictitious hero is ...

... By ALFRED E. SNODGRASS IT is the little things in life that tell. Every mole hill of circumstance is a mountain of consequence. If Ralph Merton had not stopped at a certain sheltered corner to light his pipe, his life would have been another story altogether. 1 here was a strong wind blowing along the sea front, and it required several matches to get the tobacco properly aglow. When at last ...

... By EMERIC HULME BEAM AN. NO, remarked his Grace firmly, under the circumstances, the thing is impossible-- quite impossible. The Dowager shook her ringlets at him in playful reproach. Pray, she asked, do you include me among the circum stances The Duke looked at his boots. The minuet, he explained, settling himself more comfortably in the low arm-chair. I really could not attempt a ...

... . By EDWARD CECIL. IN June 1870 the town of St. Denis stood in the extreme east of France, close to the German frontier. It stands to-day in the extreme west of Germany, close to the French frontier. It still stands on the hill on which it has always stood; it is still the same old-world town, with its ancient houses in walled gardens, its ancient churches, and its ancient narrow by-streets ...

... By FLORENCE M. BAILEY. ALBERT CHARLES CURTIS stared fixedly at the receding beauties of the Royal Albert Docks, the uppermost thought being, as it has been in many thousand other minds, when he would next see them. Only in his case there was none of that regret which tinges the reflections of most Anglo-Indians, even when it concerns the murk of the London Docks. Albert Charles was, in fact, ...

... ■'P^' . ^^n: ^ry^t' By V. H. FRIEDLAENDER. THE man turned to his wife. Penelope, he said, I suppose they've told you I'm dying? She gave him a startled glance she had not guessed, that he knew. Don't be scared, he said. His voice was rather weak, but it had lost none of its characteristic dry humour. I don't think I shall die fussily. I 've always hated doing anything that way, and I ...

... By EMERIC HULME BEAMAN. THE sky, said the Major, with a profound meteorological air, is cloudless-- quite cloudless. A most unusual thing, he added, for July. i ne remark cud not seem to call tor contradiction, and tne gin by his side remained silent, prodding the gravel at her feet thoughtfully with the ferrule of her parasol. The Major coughed. I agree with you, he said, regarding her ...

... . S^^WKW: i f^tir^W y|M JU i^v/f By WALTER WOOD. ''THERE! exclaimed the skipper of the Glory, who had been reciting some doggerel, what d'you think o' that? I wrote it all myself, an' it 's beautiful. If any other man thinks different let him say so, an' I 'll give him a chance of dodgin' a fish-trunk; not because it would be a reflection on my verses, but because I should reckon it an ...

... By J. S. FLETCHER. UCt. 21, I0Q5. 1. THEY have told me to-day, with obvious reluctance, and in the kindest fashion, that I am to go to-morrow to the house of a Dr. Schreiber, in whose care I am to remain until I am restored to health. Restored to health!-- my God! I am as healthy a lad of nineteen (I believe) as anyone would wish to meet; cer tainly, I have no recollection of any illness ...

... THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL J And Some Other Novels The Shadow of the Cathedral-- namely, of Toledo (translated from the Spanish of Vincent Blasco Ibañez by Mrs. W. A. Gillespie: Constable and Co.) ...

... '°pt . By LOUISE HEILGERS. I LOVE you,' said the man. And I you, said the woman. Their lips met. A little stream laughed softly to itself as it hurried by. A wakeful sparrow in the ivy giggled tersely. Even the big white moon peeping over the tree-tops smiled placidly. For ever, said the man. For ever, said the woman. Alas sighed the river. Such nonsense muttered the sparrow, and went to ...