respectability preserved; and above and through all, the bitter but
necessary counting the cost of this last bed.

It is strange how pagan many of us are in our beliefs. True, the
funeral libations have made way for the comfortable bake-meats;
still, to the large majority Death is Pluto, king of the dark
Unknown whence no traveller returns, rather than Azrael, brother
and friend, lord of this mansion of life. Strange how men shun him
as he waits in the shadow, watching our puny straining after
immortality, sending his comrade sleep to prepare us for himself.
When the hour strikes he comes--very gently, very tenderly, if we
will but have it so--folds the tired hands together, takes the way-
worn feet in his broad strong palm; and lifting us in his wonderful
arms he bears us swiftly down the valley and across the waters of
Remembrance.

Very pleasant art thou, O Brother Death, thy love is wonderful,
passing the love of women.

* * * * * *

To-day I have lived in a whirl of dust. To-morrow is the great
annual Cattle Fair at E-, and through the long hot hours the beasts
from all the district round have streamed in broken procession
along my road, to change hands or to die. Surely the lordship over
creation implies wise and gentle rule for intelligent use, not the
pursuit of a mere immediate end, without any thought of community
in the great sacrament of life.

For the most part mystery has ceased for this working Western