auldshaws, a
white-faced lad lay with his eyes closed, and a wet cloth on his brow.
A large-boned, red-cheeked, motherly woman stole to and fro with a foot
as light as a fairy. The sleeper stirred and tried to lift an
unavailing hand to his head. The mistress of Cauldshaws stole to his
bedside as he opened his eyes. She laid a restraining hand on him as
he strove to rise.

'Let me up,' said the minister, 'I must away, for I'm intimated to
preach at Cauldshaws, and my text is, "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to
do, do it with thy might."'

'My bonny man,' said the goodwife, tenderly, 'you'll preach best on the
broad o' yer back this mony a day, an' when ye rise your best text will
be, "He sent from above, He took me, and drew me out of many waters!"'

AN UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT

By F. ANSTEY

_Author of "Vice Versa," etc._

Frederick Flushington belonged to a small college, and in doing so
conferred upon it one of the few distinctions it could boast--namely,
that of possessing the very bashfulest man in the whole university.
But his college did not treat him with any excess of adulation on that
account, probably from a prudent fear of rubbing the bloom off his
modesty; they allowed him to blush unseen--which was the condition in
which he preferred to blush.

He felt himself oppressed by a paucity of ideas and a difficulty in
knowing which way to look in the presence of his fellow-men, which made
him never so happy as when he had fastened his outer door and secured
himself from all possibility of intrusion; though it was almost an
unnecessary precaution, for nobody ever thought of coming to see
Flushington.

In appearance he was a man of middle height, with a long scraggy neck
and a large head, which gave him the air of being much shorter than he
really was; he had little, weak eyes, a nose and mouth of no particular
shape, and very smooth hair of no definite color. He had a timid,
deprecating air, which seemed due to the consciousness that he was an
uninteresting anomaly, and he certainly was as impervious to the
ordinary influence of his surroundings as any undergraduate well could
be. He lived a colorless, aimless life in his little rooms under the
roof, reading every morning from nine till two with a superstitiously
mechanical regularity, though very often his books completely failed to
convey any ideas whatever to his brain, which was not a particularly
powerful organ.

If the afternoon was fine h