concile us to the fact that the dead
are also deaf, senseless, past grieving or comfort.

"It's all right, old man; don't you worry. I'll see to it," Dan said.

CARES OF A CURATE

"November 6th, 1901.

"... You were with me much down at H---- in the spring, and saw many of
the ins and outs of a certain affair then going on in which I was
personally interested, and which took up a large portion of my time;
and I think I owe it to you, Charles, to let you know how to all that
foolishness there came a finish. This 'excellent bachelor' is not to be
spoilt by matrimony. She wouldn't have me. And so on, and so on. I
spare you all particulars, and you see that I am alive to tell the
tale. It made things a little difficult at H----. I got away as soon as
I could and met with another curacy in this place, and I write to you
on the evening of my arrival. It looks a cheerful, pretty little spot,
but I haven't shaken down yet, and thoughts of H----, and of last May
when you were with me, keep turning up in my mind to-night.

"My vicar seems all right. I thought it very decent of him to meet me
himself at the station. He apologised for having insisted on an answer
to his written question--was I a confirmed bachelor? The ladies of the
parish were in favour of a celibate curate, he said, and he himself did
not want to be bothered by a man who would be getting married directly,
and going away. I told him there would not be any fear of misdemeanour
of that kind with me.

"He brought me on here--well no, he didn't, that was what I wished him
to do. He took me to the vicarage and gave me tea. His daughter gave
it, rather. You'd like the daughter. Not very young, and not pretending
to be; filled with good sense, a practical, companionable sort of body.
She, too, was good enough to approve my estate of confirmed
bachelorhood. She said they had found things work so much pleasanter on
these lines. The last three of her father's curates had been devoted to
the single life. I asked, for the sake of conversation, what had become
of them, and she told me, without the change of a muscle of her face,
that they had married. The vicar awoke to the subject of our
conversation here, and said that they had married his three other
daughters.

"'Jessica is the only one left me now,' he said.

"'Jessica must always be left or what will become of you?' the sensible
young woman said.

"A gre