the darkness. The dumfoundered collie dog looked after him and whined. A cold wind now blew from the top of the Knock Hill, black clouds chased each other across the moon, and by and by the rain fell in fitful showers. The shivering waif took shelter under a dry bridge, and, overcome by events, fell a-dreaming, if not asleep. One can imagine how he was haunted-first by the tappal podian (postboy) in search of letters that never were written; then a strange array of Odgers, Fagans, father, mother, and Nance; after which there came a hopeless blank.

In this state poor Hacket was found by another tramp of a very different type, a man who had never been out of Scotland, and who was not even "passing rich on £40 a year," yet who was making a name to be honoured all the world over. Tam Edwards, the naturalist, in his nocturnal' wanderings came upon the wretched outcast, and, rousing him up, handed him over to the nearest policeman.

From that date for several years I lost the thread of Davie's history. Indeed, I had forgotten his existence, till one day during 18—, in driving round the district with my good friend, Dr. Mwe visited the now fully-equipped asylum, and there in a separate paddock, with a keeper all to himself, was the most repulsive-looking wreck I had ever beheld. I looked again, and-God guide us !— I recognised all that remained of poor Davie Hacket!

Yes, my dear Lord Bishop, you may well sing that in this beautiful world