Genre Fiction. Page - 200

n air.In the grill-room of the Mena House we meet the poet Shakib, who was then drawing his inspiration from a glass of whiskey and soda. Nay, he was drowning his sorrows therein, for his Master, alas! has mysteriously disappeared. "I have not seen him for ten days," said the Poet; "and I know not where he is.--If I did? Ah, my friend, you would not then see me here. Indeed, I should be with him, and though he be in the trap of the Young Turks." And some real tears flowed

eave the farm! Rose. } Rose. If he leaves it, he dies. Edmunds. This base act, proud man, you shall rue. Young Benson. Turn him from the farm! From his home will you cast, The old man who has tilled it for years? Ev'ry tree, ev'ry flower, is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears! Squire. Yes, yes, leave the farm! From his home I will cast The old man who has tilled it for years; Though each tree and flower is linked with the past, And a friend of his childhood appears.

edwells rather oftener in alleys and by-ways than she does in courtsand palaces, and that it is good, and pleasant, and profitable totrack her out, and follow her. I believe that to lay one's handupon some of those rejected ones whom the world has too longforgotten, and too often misused, and to say to the proudest andmost thoughtless--"These creatures have the same elements andcapacities of goodness as yourselves, they are moulded in the sameform, and made of the same clay; and though ten

ey wouldn't," she objected. "You don'tknow how noisy I am."The lawyer stirred restlessly and pondered. "But, surely, my dear, isn't there some relative, somewhere?" hedemanded. "How about your mother's people?" Billy shook her head. Her eyes filled again with tears. There was only Aunt Ella, ever, that I knew anything about. Sheand mother were the only children there were, and mother died whenI was a year old, you know." "But your father's

ceiving that it is something unusually lively, kicksand crows most lustily, to the unspeakable delight of all thechildren and both the parents: and the dinner is borne into thehouse amidst a shouting of small voices, and jumping of fat legs,which would fill Sir Andrew Agnew with astonishment; as well itmight, seeing that Baronets, generally speaking, eat prettycomfortable dinners all the week through, and cannot be expected tounderstand what people feel, who only have a meat dinner on one

d after exchanging his rough coat forsome more suitable attire (in which however he loses nothing of theout-and-outer), gets into the coach and grumbles all the way at hisown good nature: his bitter reflections aggravated by therecollection, that Tom Smith has taken the chair at a littleimpromptu dinner at a fighting man's, and that a set-to was to takeplace on a dining-table, between the fighting man and his brother-in-law, which is probably 'coming off' at that very instant.As the out-and-out

by the presence of certain immovable facts. Just what he wanted, Presley hardly knew. On one hand, it was his ambition to portray life as he saw it--directly, frankly, and through no medium of personality or temperament. But, on the other hand, as well, he wished to see everything through a rose-coloured mist--a mist that dulled all harsh outlines, all crude and violent colours. He told himself that, as a part of the people, he loved the people and sympathised with their hopes and fears, and

one a lot of squirmin'. Been followin' us--you reckon?"They descended the slope of the hill, still talking. Evidently,Sanderson's silence had completely convinced them that they had killedhim. But halfway down the hill, one of the men, watching the rock nearSanderson as he walked, saw the muzzle of Sanderson's rifle projectingfrom between the two rocks. For the second time since the appearance of Sanderson on the scene theman discharged his rifle from the hip, and for the second time