ollowed
rather abruptly by something curiously contemptible or absurd, we are
tempted to give utterance to the thoughts that are too complicated and
deep for rapid analysis, in the curt expression "Such is life."

The physician invites his friends to a social _reunion_. He chats and
laughs at the passing jest, or takes part in the music--the glee, or the
comic song. A servant whispers in his ear. Ten minutes elapse, and he
is standing by the bed of death. He watches the flickering flame; he
endeavours to relieve the agonised frame; he wipes the cold sweat from
the pale brow, and moistens the dry lips, or pours words of true,
earnest, tender comfort into the ears of the bereaved. The contrast
here is very violent and sudden. We have chosen, perhaps, the most
striking instance of the kind that is afforded in the experience of men;
yet such, in a greater or less degree, is life, in the case of every one
born into this wonderful world of ours, and such, undoubtedly, it was
intended to be. "There is a time for all things." We were made capable
of laughing and crying; therefore, these being sinless indulgences in
the abstract, we _ought_ to laugh and cry. And one of our great aims in
life should be to get our hearts and affections so trained that we shall
laugh and cry at the right time. It may be well to remark, in passing,
that we should avoid, if possible, doing both at once.

Now, such being life, we consider that we shall be doing no violence to
the harmonies of life if we suddenly, and without further preface,
transport the reader into the middle of next day, and a considerable
distance down the river up which we have for some time been travelling.

Here he (or she) will find Ailie and her father, and the whole party in
fact, floating calmly and pleasantly down the stream in their canoe.

"Now, this is wot I do enjoy," said Rokens, laying down his paddle and
wiping the perspiration from his brow; "it's the pleasantest sort o'
thing I've known since I went to sea."

To judge from the profuse perspiration that flowed from his brow, and
from the excessive redness of his face, one would suppose that Rokens'
experience of "pleasant sort o' things" had not hitherto been either
extensive or deep. But the man meant what he said, and a well-known
proverb clears up the mystery--"What's one man's meat is another's
poison!" Hard work, violent physical exertion, and excessive heat were
Rokens' delight, and, whatever