yore! Do I remember that old story? Bah! Of course I remember it. It is another woman's story:—nothing more! I always hear the same old tales of them. And you? What do you think of them, eh? I could not find in life the love I sought. I must be content to find comedy, or to make it for myself as I can out of the wreckage. Aye! Cracked bells make a wondrous comic jangle. Don't you like the jangling? Why not? You are all bilious, you miserable worldlings: and I please myself. Self is sufficient master for any man. He needs neither a tyrant nor a mistress and bilious fools who have head-aches have only them-selves to thank. You smile at me. There is a grin for you. How do you like it? There is nothing that shall not make me sneer to-day! I have learnt that little lesson; and I ought to have learnt it well, for I learnt it with a pair of lips for my book. Where are they now? Look at this green mound, just newly turfed. Even now the crabbed old digger is scraping his boots on his spade. The
