They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. . Perhaps marriage hurt. Profoundly. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. Even the children jeer. ” “You are very good, Mr.
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