Not one of the children I see from the window to-day is known to me, and most of the men and women I only recognize by their likeness to their parents.

That sweet-faced old woman with the shawl on her shoulders may be one of the girls who was playing at the game of palaulays when Jamie stole into Thrums for the last time; the man who is leaning on the commonty gate gathering breath for the last quarter of the brae may, as a barefooted callant, have been one of those who chased Cree Queery past the poor-house.

I cannot say; but this I know, that the grandparents of most of these boys and girls were once young with me.

If I see the sons and daughters of my friends grown old, I also see the grandchildren spinning the peerie and hunkering at I-dree-I-dree--I-droppit-it--as we did so long ago.

The world remains as young as ever.