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Canby and Col. Thomas, with George Meeks as interpreter for them, and Meek's squaw as interpreter for Captain Jack, were to meet Jack next Sunday morning for the purpose of effecting a treaty with the Modoc tribe, they to meet Jack at a certain place, without escort or side arms.

So of the little that is left of life I may reckon two thirds as dead, for time that a man may call his own is his life; and hard work and thinking about it taint even the leisure hours, stain Sunday with work-day contemplations. This is Sunday; and the headache I have is part late hours at work the two preceding nights, and part later hours over a consoling pipe afterwards.

It is not irreligion which such men hate; but the religion of the man, or the party, whom we are set against; now hatred is certainly no part of the religion of the gospel. Well, you have told me why you go to church; now pray tell me, why do you confess there on your bended knees, every Sunday, that "you have erred and strayed from God's ways?"

Paul immediately wrote to say that he would call at Grosvenor Square at the hour appointed, abandoning any intentions which he might have had in reference to Sunday morning service. But this was not the only letter he received that evening.

Another one, said Mr Perch, 'with military frogs, is in the parlour of the King's Arms all the blessed day. I happened, last week, to let a little obserwation fall there, and next morning, which was Sunday, I see it worked up in print, in a most surprising manner.

"I want to start meetings of an evening on Howden's Waste." "You think they'd listen?" "They'd listen fast enough now." "They didn't before," said Parload, looking at his pet instrument. "There was a demonstration of unemployed at Swathinglea on Sunday. They got to stone throwing." Parload said nothing for a little while and I said several things. He seemed to be considering something.

Sunday, August 28th, in lat. 12° N. The trade-wind clouds had been in sight for a day or two previously, and we expected to take them every hour.

We may assume that some person in the Sunday evening congregation remained hidden in the church, committed the burglary, opening the safe with a duplicate key, marking the wall and the door, and giving a wrench to the lock to suggest ordinary thieves. Had it not been for the hooligan club, these efforts to mislead would not have been very successful, I fancy.

A letter from his mother is awaiting him there, and he bursts into tears, and sails at once for his beloved home, which he reaches one beautiful Sunday morning in May. His meeting with his mother takes place in the church, and there also he sees Rose, whose constancy is now rewarded.

For, either he looked like an untidy parcel of brown paper, loose ends of string straggling out of him, or else in his Sunday best was indistinguishable from a rose- bush wrapped up carefully in matting against the frost. Yet, in either aspect, no one could pretend that he looked like anything but a genuine Head Gardener, the spirit of the kitchen-garden and the potting-shed incarnate.