and he apologized for it by the fact that he had been on
a long tramp from Melrose Abbey to Kenilworth Castle. But I think as
thrilling an evening as we had this winter was with a man who walked in
with a prison-jacket, his shoes mouldy, and his cheek pallid for the want
of the sunlight. He was so tired that he went immediately to sleep. He
would not take the sofa, saying he was not used to that, but he stretched
himself on the floor and put his head on an ottoman. At first he snored
dreadfully, and it was evident he had a horrid dream; but after a while he
got easier, and a smile came over his face, and he woke himself singing and
shouting. I said, 'What is the matter with you, and what were you dreaming
about?' 'Well,' he said, 'the bad dream I had was about the City of
Destruction, and the happy dream was about the Celestial City;' and we all
knew him right away, and shouted, 'Glorious old John Bunyan! How is
Christiana?' So, you see," said Miss Smiley, "on stormy nights we really
have a pleasanter time than when the moon and stars are reigning."

Miss Stinger had sat quietly looking into her tea-cup until this moment,
when she clashed her spoon into the saucer, and said, "If there is any
thing I dislike, it is an attempt at poetry when you can't do it. I know
some people who always try to show themselves in public; but when they are
home, they never have their collar on straight, and in the morning look
like a whirlwind breakfasting on a haystack. As for me, I am practical, and
winter is winter, and sleet is sleet, and ice is ice, and a tea-cup is a
tea-cup; and if you will pass mine up to the hostess to be resupplied, I
will like it a great deal better than all this sentimentalism. No
sweetening, if you please. I do not like things sweet. Do not put in any of
your beautiful snow for sugar, nor stir it with an icicle."

This sudden jerk in the conversation snapped it off, and for a moment there
was quiet. I knew not how to get conversation started again. Our usual way
is to talk about the weather; but that subject had been already exhausted.

Suddenly I saw the color for the first time in years come into the face of
Mr. Givemfits. The fact was that, in biting a hard crust of bread, he had
struck a sore tooth which had been troubling him, and he broke out with the
exclamation, "Dr. Butterfield, the physical and moral world is
degenerating. Things get worse and worse. Look, for instance, at the tone
of many of the new