a "stuck-vat"
upon short legs. The dialogue is fluent and lively, beginning
with "Ja, ja!" and ending with "All right!" but it leads to
our hitting off the right track exactly, and coming out at a
lovely little cottage-villa under the mountain, where we rest
and lunch and then stroll about up the hill spurs, through
myrtle hedges and shady oak avenues. Then, before the
afternoon shadows grow too long, we drive off to "Groote
Schuur," the ancient granary of the first settlers, which is
now turned into a roomy, comfortable country-house, perfect
as a summer residence, and securely sheltered from the
"sou'-easters." We approach it through a double avenue of tall
Italian pines, and after a little while go out once more for
a ramble up some quaint old brick steps, and so through a
beautiful glen all fringed and feathered with fresh young
fronds of maiden-hair ferns, and masses of hydrangea bushes,
which must be beautiful as a poet's dream when they are
covered with their great bunches of pale blue blossom. That
will not be until Christmas-tide, and, alas! I shall not be
here to see, for already my three halcyon days of grace are
ended and over, and this very evening we must steam away
from a great deal yet unvisited of what is interesting
and picturesque, and from friends who three days ago were
strangers, but who have made every moment since we landed
stand out as a bright and pleasant landmark on life's highway.

ON SANKOTA HEAD.

"Yay, Jim, there ain't no doubt but Sairy Macy's a mighty nice gal,
but, thee sees, what I'm a-contendin' fur is that she's tew nice fur
thee--that is, not tew nice egzackly, but a leetle tew fine-feathered.
No, not that egzackly, nuther; but she's a leetle tew fine in the
feelin's, an' I don't b'lieve that in the long run thee an' she'll
sort well tugether. Shell git eout o' conceit with thy ways--thee
_ain't_ the pootiest-mannered feller a gal ever see--an' thee'll git
eout o' conceit with hern. Thee'll think she's a-gittin' stuck up, an'
she'll think thee's a-gittin'low-minded. Neow, Jim, my 'dvice is
good; an' ef thee'll take it, an' not go on with this thing no furder,
thee'll both be glad on it arterwa'ds. 'Spesh'ly 's she ain't very
rugged, an' sickly gals had oughter hev rich husbands."

"But, father, Sairy an' me loves o' 'nother."

"Oh, wal, then it's tew late ter say nothin',"