In this blessed, enlightened nineteenth century of ours, when Christians amuse themselves by despising and condemning each other, and thus upsetting all the precepts of the Master they profess to follow, there is actually a man who sticks to the traditions of his ancestors.

Odd, isn't it?
In this delightful, intellectual age, when more than half of us are discontented with life and yet don't want to die, there is a fine old gentleman, living beyond the Arctic circle, who is perfectly satisfied with his existence--not only that, he thinks death the greatest glory that can befall him.
Comfortable state of things altogether! I'm half inclined to be an Odinite too." Sandy still remained lost in astonishment.

"Then ye don't believe that he made awa' wi' his wife ?" he inquired slowly.
"Not in the least!" returned Lorimer decidedly; "neither will you, to-morrow, when you see him.

He's a great deal better up in literature than you are, my boy, I'd swear, judging from the books he has.

And when he mentioned his wife, as he did once, you could see in his face he had never done _her_ any harm.