unconcern believing he would soon return, but his prolonged absence soon began to cause her anxiety which deepened into painful distress. Her brief preference for the society of the "frolicksome" Roger, which was more assumed than real, and the resentment she entertained against Donald for his interference, were now instantly snuffed out. The chastisement Roger had received, and the threat of its repetition, had been sufficiently impressive to deter him, on two recent occasions when he had the opportunity, from even speaking to Grace.

The passing months found Grace learning her lesson in the hard school of Sorrow-sorrow not alone for her own loss, but sorrow for him whom her unkind treatment had driven from his home. She knew the depth of his devotion to her, and, from her own experience, imagined how he too must suffer. The longer the time that elapsed the better was Grace able to appraise at his real value the Donald she had lost; but she locked her secret in the recesses of her heart.

Donald, when he left Rossie, sailed from Glasgow for America, and while in Quebec was persuaded to visit the Klondike gold fields. There he labored for eighteen months with varying success, until at last he suddenly found himself rich. During all that time he had heard no news of Grace, and in the excitement of the "diggins" his infatuation for her had dwindled, he believed, to nothing more than a friendly interest. Why then should the finding of the nugget have revived in so vivid a manner memories of Joan Mills' sitting room? Why did he imagine that he heard the piano sounding in mournful tones? Why was his sleep disturbed with visions of Grace's face, her eyes pleading with him as if she were in pain? He tried to shake off the sensation; he moved from place to place; but in vain. Finally he packed and left the new country as suddenly as he had left Rossie.

"Hoo is Gracie the day," asked Betsy, who called to inquire for her one morning, for Grace Mills had been very ill for some days.

"Come ben here, Betsy. Tak that chair. Sic a nicht we've hed. Say, Betsy, hoo lang is't since Donald gaed away?"

"Twa years a' but a fortnicht. I hinna

hed a letter noo for three month. Hoo dae ye ask, Joan?"

"Did Donald ever tell ye that him an' Grace were gaey thrang?"

"Never a word o' the kind did he utter. Mercy me, Joan, what are ye drivin' at?"

"I never suspeckit, aither, that my lassie liked him till last nicht. I aye thocht that the Cupar loon wes aifter her, but he never cam tae the hoose aifter the nicht Donald thrashed 'im, an' I wes gaey thankfu' for that."

"But, Joan, I dinna understan'."

"Weel, Betsy, Gracie wes oot o' her heid a' last nicht wi' that fever, an' in her delirium she upbraided Donald for lavin' her, syne she would tak the blame on hersel', syne she would plead wi' him tae come back again. Oh, ye never heard the like o't. I believe noo that she has been pinin' for Donald since he left. Twice last nicht when she wes oot o' her heid she prayed, in sic a pityfu' voice, that the Lord would send him back tae her. waes me, Betsy, if my lassie hes tae lave me," and Joan, worn out with watching, cried nervously on Betsy's shoulder for a long time.

Oh

"Hush, Joan dear," and Betsy fondled her like a child. "Nearly twa year syne Gracie threw awa the adornments and ither weichts that wes hinderin' her, an' aye since hes been rinnin' the Christian race. I've often thocht aboot the cracks you an' me hed aboot 'er, an' when I saw the cheenge in her life, the tears o' joy wou'd rin down my cheecks as I thanked the Lord."

"Ay, an' since last nicht I ken noo tat the Lord took awa Donald so that she would be brocht closer tae Him," said the grief-stricken mother.

"The Lord hes queer wys o' workin', but, although yer lassie is ane o' His jewels, I canna think that He means tae transplant her yet tae His ain croon-she's o' ower muckle use doon here so cheer up, Joan. I think she'll get weel," and they both moved into the sick-room.

Donald Dawson arrived, unannounced, at Rossie late one night, having walked from Cupar. It was moonlight, and he could distinctly see his initials out on the beech tree at the end of the school lane. He remembered trading a "peerie" and six "bools" for the knife which had two blades, or rather one and a half, for one

was broken. He looked in as he passed at the school-house window, and his fancy pictured him a pupil again. He peeped in at the open door of the house of his old sweetheart, upon whom he intended to call in the morning. He recalled the quarrel with his sister when she informed him of her approaching marriage with George Talbert. Memories, pleasant and painful, surged like successive waves through his mind, as he approached his dear old home.

At last he saw light in the end window, and a few more steps brought him to the door. His unexpected appearance before his sister, Margaret, was bereft of all embarrassment when he caught her in his arms. Her husband, George Talbert, was in Glasgow.

"Where's mither?" asked Donald. "She's at Mrs. Mills," replied Margaret. "Grace hes been gey ill."

"What's the maitter?"

"Naebudy kens. Aboot a month syne she became sae bad that the doctor in Cupar was sent for. He made a few jaunts tae the hoose, but said the case was peculiar an' looked like's something

troubled her mind. Ye ken Rossie isna often veesited by the King o' Terrors, an' when his Majestee daes come tae the toon it's tae balance the books o' some ane wha's borrowin' ower muckle frae the Bank o' Time."

"Is she in danger?" asked Donald.

"That she is. We hed prayers i' the Kirk for her, an' mither prays for her every nicht. The neebors are sayin' that she's sae low noo that the end canna be far aff, unless the turn comes sune."

Donald waited to hear no more, but rushed out, and soon was at Mrs. Mills' cottage. His mother happened to be at the door, and after a loving embrace explanations were postponed, and they entered the house. The doctor was in the sittingroom at the time, and informed Donald that the condition of the patient was critical. She seemed to have something on her mind, the nature of which she would not disclose. Her fever had increased, and if she could not get a good natural sleep soon, her heart might give way to the strain. Just then Grace called Mrs. Dawson, so she returned to the sick-room. Betsy noticed that Grace's face bore a more troubled expression than usual, and said to her:

"Grace, darlin', is the pain waur?" Grace made no reply.

"Winna ye tell hurtin' ye?"

me, Gracie, what's

Grace said: "Mrs. Dawson, wull ye pray for me?"

Betsy dropped at once on her knees, but "Gude Lord-Gude Lord," was all the length she got when her full heart, sorrow and joy competing for its occupancy, proved too much for words. At length she regained control, but could only ejaculate:

"Lord, ye canna da eit noo. I kent we could lippin tae ye. Heal up the sair hairt an' mak' a' thing richt."

She remained kneeling so long after she had finished that Donald's impatience mastered him, and he stepped unannounced into the room. Betsy was alarmed at the possible effect, and just looked at him. Grace saw him, too, and for the first time since he left, said:

"Donald," and heaved a deep sigh. "Gracie," said Donald, tenderly. "Come closer," said Grace, rising up a little. "Donald, dae ye forgie me?"

For reply the strong man bent over, and with the tears streaming down his cheeks, implanted upon her lips his first kiss. Grace's face instantly beamed, her eyes shone, and with the words, 'I'm ready noo," she fell back on her pillow.

Thinking the end had come, the attendants summoned the doctor, who looked at his patient and smiled. The sweet sleep of nature had at last overpowered the forceful resistance of the disease.

The sun rose as usual next day-Grace slept on. After mid-day she opened her eyes and gazed around in apparent wonder.

"Weel, Gracie," said her mother cheerfully, "yer lookin' better noo. We're sae glad."

"Mither," she said.

"What would ye like, Gracie ?"

"Was't a dream, mither? I was in heaven last nicht, an' saw-an' saw-”

The appearance of Donald, who could not stay out of the room after hearing her voice, stopped her. After resting her eyes on his face for a few seconds, she tremblingly said:

"Donald, it's true?"

He replied: "Ay, lass, it's true." San Antonio, Texas.

The old Greek etymology, as given by Max Muller, gives man as meaning "one who looks upward."

Earth has many treasures that are not enjoyed by Earth's children. The very first verse of Holy Writ tells of the creation of the heavens, and many convincing reasons can be given for the belief that the first act of the drama of creation therein described embraced all those resplendent spheres, the beauty and harmony of which have fascinated the eyes and excited the wonder of all generations.

Dr. Herbert Howe has drawn for us a picture of the world's first astronomer, Adam, as he stood alone upon earth, viewing the death of man's first day, the coming of the first night. Knowing nothing as yet of the processions of sun, moon and planets, the solitary man sees the warm and cheering sun descending to the west. Trailing shadows form a dread rear-guard. What were the thoughts of earth's first man? What dread questions filled his mind? Swift followed the answer. One by one the taper-lights of the stars came out as if to light a path for the Queen of Night soon to rise above the horizon.

Might it not be well to attract our younger folk toward study of the "excelling glory" of the celestial hosts, and to make that study attractive by telling them of the fascinating mythology of ancient peoples and ancient religions based upon the stars and planets? Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian and Roman histories give entrancing legends relating to the connection of worship with solar or astral deities. There are the legends of Greek mythology, such as that of Andromeda, the Nereids, Perseus, the slayer of Medusa; Jupiter placing Callisto among the stars of the Great Dipper, and so on.

Untold thousands of years ago, the Egyptians charted the heavens, and wise men of China recorded the stately movements of heavenly bodies. Greek and Roman astronomers and philosophers revelled in searchings after knowledge of

celestial phenomena, and kept nightly vigil in study of

"God's visible Tabernacle in the skies, Star-built from shining undercroft to dome; Past pillared pomp of worlds and columns wrought

With fair entangle of amethyst and pearl. Thro' jacinth portals hung with mist of stars,

And fiery fringe of suns-to come at last Even to the chancel of the Universe."

Herodotus, Plato, Pythagoras, Ptolemy, were followed by Copernicus, Tycho Brahe, Kepler, Galilco, Newton, Herschel, and a host of present-day eager students.

When Saint Paul quoted from a Greek poet the words, "We are his offspring," he was doubtless familiar also with other lines in the same poem, which read:

"For He it was who scattered o'er the sky The shining stars-and fixed them where

This Greek poem was addressed to Zeus, "Father of Gods and men." In epistle and gospel as well as in the books of Moses and the Psalms of David, you will find exact agreement as to speech and attribute with this poem of a Greek to Zeus, supreme among the Olympian deities, whom the Romans called Jupiter.

Egypt worshipped Ra and Osiris as SunGods, and six lesser solar deities; Khons and Thoth, as Moon-Gods. Externals of worship were magnificent as to structures, and gorgeous as to ritual, incense and music.

Babylonian and Assyrian religions. exceeded even the Egytian in number of star-gods. The early East Indian peoples worshipped the Sky and the Sun. Surya, the Sun-God, was the equivalent of the Greek Helios and the Roman Phoebus Apollo. The Sun was worshipped as Shemesh by the Phoenicians, and as Usil

by the Etruscans, who also worshipped the Moon as Losna.

Shakespeare was a student of the heavens. He writes of dancing stars and rhyming planets; of stars and planets lucky, ill, wandering, fair, inauspicious,; of bawdy planets and crooked eclipses.

The only love-poem Longfellow wrote was addressed to his wife, the Song of the Evening Star.

"Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, Whose panes the sunken sun incardnadines, Like a fair lady at her casement, shines The evening star, the star of love and rest."

Tennyson sings of the nebulæ as

"Brushes of fire, hazy gleams."

Night after night we gaze upon that "beautiful river of light which flows across the sky," which we call the Galaxy, or Milky Way. Do we gaze at this "excelling glory" in awe and wonder, or as the ox in the field?

"Ye stars! bright legions that, before all time,

Camped on yon plain of sapphire, who shall tell

Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him Who bade through Heaven your golden chariots wheel!"

There is the thrice-glorious constellation

of Orion, mighty hunter; Cassiopea, "The Lady in the Chair"; that brightest of stars, Vega, thirty times as bright as the Sun. The celestian bodies seem to embody fixed mathematic equilibrium. The starry vault seems to incarnate supreme peace, supreme order.

Perhaps we think as we gaze into the celestial quietness that it has never known such wild commotions of nature as this orb of ours has suffered since evolution from chaos. Yet perhaps the worlds celestial have suffered as violent cataclysm, as continuous a process of destruction and reconstruction as has this tiny orb, which we are apt to think as the whole universe.

Of course, in all changes there has always been obedience to fixed laws. Pythagoras saw in the movement of the spheres the echo of a celestial symphony, a tri

umphal hymn to that wisdom which makes even crashing chords to only complete harmony.

We may well learn to look upward to the skies and find rest and peace as we"Survey God's beauteous firmament unrolled Like to a book new-writ in golden words, And turn the azure scroll with reverent hand,

And read to man the wonders God hath wrought." Bloomington, Ill.

where he has resided ever since. Mr. Smith was educated for a school teacher, but disliking the profession, in 1881 he entered the testing department of Messrs. David Colville & Sons, Ltd., Dalzell Steel and Iron Works, Motherwell, and has been in their employment ever since and for the last fifteen years has been manager of the physical laboratory and is held in the highest esteem by all concerned. Mr. Smith is a man of few words, but when he speaks he speaks to the point and does. all he can to help in every good work for the welfare of those around him, who have honored him in every way. He is a member of the Bothwell School Board, president of the new Stevenston and Clydesdale District Charity Organization Society, president of the United Free Church Young Men's Swimming Club, president of the Holytown U. F. Church Band of Hope, and an executive committee member of the Holytown and District Nursing Association.

Mr. Smith has been a lover of poetry since a boy and began writing while in his 'teens. At the urgent request of his many friends, he published an edition of his works in 1893, which took very well, and I am proud to say that I have a copy in my possession. Mr. Smith sings sweetly. about Bonnie Scotland, her poets, patriots, and kings, and we wish that he may long be spared to praise Scotland's bonnie woods and braes.

"Oor Ain Bit Waukrife wean"

Christmas.

A mither's wail.

Loch Laggan

BY JOHN HUSTON FINLEY, PH. D., LL. D. (For "The Caledonian") When my spirits are droopin' and saggin' And my energies wanin' and flaggin',

I pray for the right

To sleep for a night

On the banks o' the bonnie Loch Laggan.

What matter the meddlesome waggin',
Of garrulous tongues, or their naggin'
Or times that are dour,
With a bed on the moor
By the side o' the bonnie Loch Laggan?

I'd no be a poachin' or maggin'
But wi' hope and wi' faith never faggin'
I pray the good Laird.
Mony years to be spared
To sleep by the bonnie Loch Laggan.