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Gallilee could have looked into her mind at that moment as well as into her face, she would have read Miss Minerva's thoughts in these plain terms: "All this time, madam, you have been keeping up appearances in the face of detection. You are going to use Mr. Le Frank as a means of making mischief between Ovid and Carmina.

"Can you give me no more definite answer than that?" Mrs. Gallilee asked. "I am quite unacquainted, madam, with the musical proficiency of the pupil to whom you refer. "I am speaking," said Mrs. Gallilee quietly, "of my niece, Carmina." Those words set all further doubt at rest in Miss Minerva's mind.

Fortunately Central recognized his childish voice and was willing to humor him, so as she too knew Miss Minerva's beau. The connection was quickly made. "Hello! Is that you, Major? This is me. If you don't want Mr. Algernon Jones to be robbering everything Miss Minerva's got you better get a move on and come right this minute.

"You sho' is a hero to stan' up an' let him knock you down like he done." "Yes," cried Jimmy, as the black woman dragged him kicking and struggling through the hall, "we's all heroes, but I bet I'm the heroest hero they is, and I bet Miss Minerva's going to be mad 'bout you all spilling all that blood on her nice clean floor."

Philosophers and fools, separately or together, as the case may be for folly and philosophy not seldom form one Janus-head, and Minerva's bird seems sometimes not ill-fitted with the face of Momus these and their thousand intermediates have tried in all ages to define that quaint enigma, Man: and I wot not that any pundit of literature hath better succeeded than the nameless, fameless man or woman, was it? or haply some innocent shrewd child who whilom did enunciate that MAN IS A WRITING ANIMAL: true as arithmetic, clear as the sunbeam, rational as Euclid, a discerning, just, exclusive definition.

"If this ain't just like Billy, all time got to perpose to clam' a ladder and all time got to let the ladder get loose from him," growled Jimmy. "We done cooked a goose egg, this time. You got us up here, Billy, how you going to get us down?" "I didn't, neither." "Well, it's Miss Minerva's house and she's your aunt and we's your company and you got to be 'sponsible."

"Come on, we'll sprinkle the street and I don't want nobody to get in our way neither." "I wish Wilkes Booth Lincoln could see us," said Miss Minerva's nephew. A big, fat negress, with a bundle of clothes tied in a red table cloth on her head, came waddling down the sidewalk.

But when we come to compare what he wrote, regardless of Minerva's averted face, with the spontaneous production of his happier muse, we shall be inclined to think his example one of the strongest cases against the theory in question.

For the information of such readers as may not have the original at hand, I append the following from Cary's translation of Herodotus: <II.28> * With respect to the sources of the Nile, no man of all the Egyptians, Libyans, or Grecians, with whom I have conversed, ever pretended to know anything, except the registrar* of Minerva's

"I wouldn't kiss him to save his life," declared Frances; "he's got the spindliest legs I ever saw." The painter had just finished putting a bright green coat of paint upon the low, flat roof of Miss Minerva's long back-porch. And he left his ladder leaning against the house while he went inside to confer with her in regard to some other work.