last night, what a drift in front of your front door,' and Hugh added 'I never saw anything like it.'

'No, nor yet no one else, and tain't altogether the hand o' the Almighty, I don't reckon,' ejaculated Mrs. Pikey.

We ignored the remark and turned to the keeper: 'We'll get some shovels, Pikey, and 'll soon shift this; you see what willing hands can do in about ten minutes.'

"Thank you wery much,' he began, but from the adjacent window Mrs. Pikey's voice interrupted: 'Yes, the same willen hands as helped put it there can take it away again, I reckon.'

'Yer mus n't pay no regards ter what she say, she be naturally a little upset over this ere wisitation,' spoke Pikey. 'She could n't get out ter ha' a look round this mornen, me being laid up and all, and I could n't clear the owd doorway, but if yer'd kindly lend a hand, for that there boy Albert he don't kind o' make no hand on it at all.'

'Certainly, Pikey, we'll borrow some malt shovels and we'll soon dig you out. Lucky we came over with some more picture papers for you,' and so saying we fetched the shovels and started work. The job took longer than we anticipated, for Mrs. Pikey was exacting in her demands:

'Dew yer take it out o' the garden gate and hull it onter quay. I don't want all the slush apouren inter my house when the thaw come. Dew yer hull it over fence, I say.'

We hulled it, and very soon we had to take off our coats, for the drift was solid and the work heavy.

The last word was always with Mrs. Pikey: "There be fules and fules, big and little, in the world. If them tew did n't have a hand in this there drift my suspicions be wholly wrong uns and I never knowed 'em fail yet not as regards them young war

men. They wor up ter some o' their pranks, I knows. The Almighty don't half bury up housen in snow drifts, tain't likely. And what's more,' and here her voice rose shrill and carried across the quay, 'if the gentleman. don't catch that 'ere big pike I shall put tew and tew together and know the reason why.'

Only the other day Hugh and I were fishing for pike in those same waters. In my pocket was a letter which ran thus:

By all means have a day's fishing or a week if you like. I will instruct my keeper to wait on you and to do all he can to ensure good sport. If you want lunch, or tea, or a drink, come up to the Hall. I shall be delighted to see you. . . .'

As we passed through the chains, Hugh examined the key. 'It's the same,' he said. 'I remember the little nick at the end of it,' and he passed it back to the keeper with a sigh. We had excellent sport, several fish up to ten pounds. But, somehow,' said my companion, putting on the bait, ‘fishing is not nearly as exciting as it used to be when we were boys. It's not half the fun being given permission to fish.'

Later, he remarked: 'If I get into a really good one, I think I shall walk over with it to Panxworth where Mrs. Pikey is laid to rest.'

'What on earth for?' I asked.

'I'll make a wreath of it, curl it like they do whiting, and lay it on her grave.'

'And do you think her spirit would appreciate the act?' I asked.

'I wonder,' said Hugh, thoughtfully. 'I'm afraid not,' he added presently, for though I should do it with all reverence and in love of her, I fear even such an act would once more raise her suspicions.'

IF the autumn ended

Ere the birds flew southward,

If in the cold with weary throats
They vainly strove to sing,
Winter would be eternal;
Leaf and bush and blossom
Would never once more riot
In the spring.

If remembrance ended
When life and love are gathered,
If the world were not living
Long after one is gone,
Song would not ring, nor sorrow
Stand at the door in evening;
Life would vanish and slacken,
Men would be changed to stone.
But there will be autumn's bounty
Dropping upon our weariness,
There will be hopes unspoken
And joys to haunt us still;

There will be dawn and sunset
Though we have cast the world away,
And the leaves dancing

Over the hill.

THE NIGHT

BY J. D. C. PELLOW

THIS is the night,

And no stars shine.
Do I need their light
When my love is mine?
The rain falls,

But I care nought.
My heart to me calls:

We have found that we sought.

We have found a gate

That opens out

From the tower of Fate And the walls of Doubt.

Mine eyes shine,

And my heart stirs, For my love is mine,

And I am hers.

And I walk on light

And drunken feet, So fair is the night,

The air so sweet.

O Sun, down under

The sea's deep ways, For this great wonder I give thee praise.

MORNING BREATH

BY GEORGE RESTON MALLOCH

THE king of night has left his throne.
And dropt his pearls of dew;
A fallen rainbow lies the dawn,

That he from heaven did woo.

Now all around the cocks crow loud.
The air is cold and clear:
No man has yet to labor bowed,

Or creased his brow with fear.

How careless and how rich is life!

How bright the meadows gleam, Before dark duty sets her knife Against the stems of dream.