And His Handwriting is the love we bear for our fellow-creatures, and--through them--for Him; at least, so it seems to me." "That is pure imagination and sentiment, Bateson.

Very pretty and poetic, no doubt; but it won't hold water." Caleb smiled indulgently.

"Wait till you've got a little lass of your own, like my Lucy Ellen, sir.

Not that you'll ever have one quite as good as her, bless her! for her equal never has been seen in this world, and never will.

But when you've got a little lass of your own, and know as you'd be tortured to death quite cheerful-like just to save her a minute's pain, you'll laugh at all the nonsense that's written in books, and feel you know a sight better than all of 'em put together." "I don't quite see why." "Well, you see, sir, it's like this.