cork-slabs on which hundreds of moths and butterflies
made dazzling spots of colour; saw the sheets of pink blotting-paper
between which his collection of native plants lay pressed; the glass
case filled with geological specimens; his Bible, the margins of which
round Genesis were black with his handwriting; a pile of books on the
new marvel Spiritualism; Colenso's PENTATEUCH; the big black volumes of
the ARCANA COELESTIA; Locke on Miracles: he saw all these things and
more. "No, I'm glad to say I have retained many interests outside my
work."

Tangye had taken off his spectacles and was polishing them on a
crumpled handkerchief. He seemed about to reply, even made a quick
half-turn towards Mahony; then thought better of it, and went on
rubbing. A smile played round his lips.

"And in conclusion let me say this," went on Mahony, not unnettled by
his companion's expression. "It's sheer folly to talk about what life
makes of us. Life is not an active force. It's we who make what we
will, of life. And in order to shape it to the best of our powers, Mr.
Tangye, to put our brief span to the best possible use, we must never
lose faith in God or our fellow-men; never forget that, whatever
happens, there is a sky, with stars in it, above us."

"Ah, there's a lot of bunkum talked about life," returned Tangye dryly,
and settled his glasses on his nose. "And as man gets near the end of
it, he sees just WHAT bunkum it is. Life's only got one meanin',
doctor; seen plain, there's only one object in everything we do; and
that's to keep a sound roof over our heads and a bite in our
mouths--and in those of the helpless creatures who depend on us. The
rest has no more sense or significance than a nigger's hammerin' on the
tam-tam. The lucky one o' this world don't grasp it; but we others do;
and after all p'raps, it's worth while havin' gone through it to have
got at ONE bit of the truth, however, small. Good night."

He turned on his heel, and before his words were cold on the air had
vanished, leaving Mahony blankly staring.

The moonshine still bathed the earth, gloriously untroubled by the
bitterness of human words and thoughts. But the night seemed to have
grown chilly; and Mahony gave an involuntary shiver. "Some one walking
over my ... now what would that specimen have called it? Over the four
by eight my remains will one day manure!"

"An odd, abusive, wrong-headed fellow," he mused, as he made his way
home. "Who would ev