In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. ’ ‘Oh, peste,’ exclaimed Melusine, and louder, ‘Where are you? Call, that I may find you. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. " "Confusion!" thundered Wild. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. "Whist!" exclaimed Terence; "he elevates his glim.
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