ho you are) you will feel
your heart jump into your mouth, and you will catch the side with a grip
that leaves a mark on your fingers afterwards. No! With a shriek of
command to the steersman, and a plunge of his paddle, the bowman
wrenches the canoe out of its course. Another stroke or two, another
plunge forward, and with a loud exulting yell from the bowman, who
flourishes his paddle round his head, you pitch headlong down the final
leap, and with a grunt of relief from the straining crew glide rapidly
into still water.

Lord Dunraven: "The Great Divide."

[Illustration: PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS. TORONTO]

"With whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."

It fortifies my soul to know
That, though I perish, Truth is so:
That, howsoe'er I stray and range,
Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change,
I steadier step when I recall
That, if I slip Thou dost not fall.

Clough

AFTON WATER

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise:
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills,
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow:
There, oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays,
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Burns

DAVID COPPERFIELD'S FIRST JOURNEY ALONE

I slept soundly until we got to Yarmouth and drove to the inn yard. A
lady looked out of a bow-window where some fowls and joints of meat were
hanging up, and said:

"Is that the little gentleman fr