trunk unpacked and Florence (the little one) already struggling  鈥楳r. Beutel told me with regret that Mr. Baring, on account of low funds, had desired him on Nov. 1st to stop two village-schools near Batala, in which 50 or 60 boys are receiving instruction. I had my Laura鈥檚 锟?鈥攇rown to 锟?, 10s.鈥攈alf of her handsome gift, of which Margaret has the other half. This will keep the village schools going till April; and by that time, please God, others may send help.... People do not seem to care for village schools. Government does not. And the people鈥攐ur dear Natives鈥攁re so anxious to have them. The nicest boys seem the village ones.鈥? 大发时时彩赢钱  ???To think we see a Ghost. in California. The watch is from father, the rug from mother, So must we join with our Original. (I dare say I'm blasphemous; but you'd be, too, if you'd offered as So it has been with many novelists, who, after some good work, perhaps after very much good work, have distressed their audience because they have gone on with their work till their work has become simply a trade with them. Need I make a list of such, seeing that it would contain the names of those who have been greatest in the art of British novel-writing? They have at last become weary of that portion of a novelist鈥檚 work which is of all the most essential to success. That a man as he grows old should feel the labour of writing to be a fatigue is natural enough. But a man to whom writing has become a habit may write well though he be fatigued. But the weary novelist refuses any longer to give his mind to that work of observation and reception from which has come his power, without which work his power cannot be continued 鈥?which work should be going on not only when he is at his desk, but in all his walks abroad, in all his movements through the world, in all his intercourse with his fellow-creatures. He has become a novelist, as another has become a poet, because he has in those walks abroad, unconsciously for the most part, been drawing in matter from all that he has seen and heard. But this has not been done without labour, even when the labour has been unconscious. Then there comes a time when he shuts his eyes and shuts his ears. When we talk of memory fading as age comes on, it is such shutting of eyes and ears that we mean. The things around cease to interest us, and we cannot exercise our minds upon them. To the novelist thus wearied there comes the demand for further novels. He does not know his own defect, and even if he did he does not wish to abandon his own profession. He still writes; but he writes because he has to tell a story, not because he has a story to tell. What reader of novels has not felt the 鈥渨oodenness鈥?of this mode of telling? The characters do not live and move, but are cut out of blocks and are propped against the wall. The incidents are arranged in certain lines 鈥?the arrangement being as palpable to the reader as it has been to the writer 鈥?but do not follow each other as results naturally demanded by previous action. The reader can never feel 鈥?as he ought to feel 鈥?that only for that flame of the eye, only for that angry word, only for that moment of weakness, all might have been different. The course of the tale is one piece of stiff mechanism, in which there is no room for a doubt. The motion; such intensity of hope鈥? There is an apparent discrepancy in Beccaria鈥檚 first condemning death as too severe a punishment and then recommending lifelong servitude as one of more deterrent power; but Beccaria would have said that the greater certainty of the latter more than compensated for the greater severity of the other. As regards the relative power of the two punishments, it probably varies in different individuals, some men having a greater dread of the one, and some of the other. The popular theory certainly goes too far, when it assumes that all men have a greater dread of the gallows than of anything else. When George III. once granted a pardon to the female convicts in Newgate on condition of their transportation to New South Wales, though seventeen of them accepted the offer, there were yet six who preferred death to a removal from their native country. It is also stated by Howard that in Denmark the punishment in cases of infanticide, namely, imprisonment for life, with labour and an annual whipping on the place of the crime, was 鈥榙readed more than death,鈥?which it superseded as a punishment.  E鈥檈r closed my weary day, my darling was serenely sleeping.