ealthy memories as the bees live in the winter on
the honey that they gathered in the summer-time. Yes, let him think
about those unforgettable triumphs, and let him talk about them. They
make great talking. And as he recalls and recites the thrilling story,
the leaden moments will simply fly, the old glow will steal back into
his fainting soul, and, long before he has finished his tale, he will
find his fingers busy with another glorious prize.

V

LANDLORD AND TENANT

I heard a capital story the other evening under the most astonishing
circumstances. It was at a public meeting connected with a religious
conference. A certain minister rose to address us. We knew from past
experience that we should have a most suggestive and stimulating
address. But, somehow, it did not occur to us that we should be
favoured with a story. And when this grave and sedate member of our
assembly suddenly launched out into the intricacies of his tale, it was
as great a surprise as though the haildrops turned out to be diamonds,
or Vesuvius had begun to pour forth gold. Before we knew what had
happened, we were electrified by the story of a man who dwelt in a very
comfortable house, with a large, light, airy cellar. The river ran
near by. One day the river overflowed, the cellar was flooded, and all
the hens that he kept in it were drowned. The next day he bounced off
to see the landlord.

'I have come,' he said, 'to give you notice. I wish to leave the
house.'

'How is that?' asked the astonished landlord. 'I thought you liked it
so much. It is a very comfortable, well-built house, and cheap.'

'Oh, yes,' the tenant replied, 'but the river has overflowed into my
cellar, and all my hens are drowned.'

'Oh, don't let that make you give up the house,' the landlord reasoned;
'try ducks!'

I entirely forget--I most fervently hope that my friend will never see
this lamentable confession of mine!--I entirely forget what he made of
this delightful story. But, looking back on it now, I can see quite
clearly that half the philosophy of life is wrapped up in its delicious
folds. It raises the question at the very outset as to how far I am
under any obligation to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune. The river has flooded my cellar and drowned all my hens.
Very well. Now two courses are open to me. Shall I grin and bear it?
or shall I make a change? I must remember that it is very nice living
on the ba