Write out the copy at once, my child, and I will
take it up to Deepley Walls the first thing to-morrow morning."

(_To be continued_.)

ABOUT THE WEATHER.

Why is it that we in England talk so much about the weather? One reason,
I suppose, is because we are shy and awkward in the presence of
strangers, and the weather is a safe subject far removed from
personalities of any kind. Then the variableness of our climate
furnishes an opportunity for comment which does not exist in countries
where for months there is not a cloud in the sky, and you can tell long
before what kind of weather there will be on any particular day.

Whatever else may be said of our English climate, it cannot be accused
of monotony. You are not sure of seeing the same sky every morning you
arise, than which there is no greater source of ennui. Those of us who
have lived long abroad know how tired we got of a cloudless blue sky. We
can sympathise with the sailor who, on returning to London from the
Mediterranean, joyfully exclaimed--"Here's a jolly old fog, and no more
of your confounded blue skies!" Certainly we could do with a little more
sunshine in England than we get. It is not true that while we have much
weather we have no sunshine, but we have not as much of it as many of us
would like. Still England is not as bad as some places; for instance,
Halifax, Nova Scotia, where they have nine months' winter and three
months' bad weather. Indeed, the English takes rather a good place
amongst the climates of the world. It is free from extremes, and allows
us to go out every day and at all hours.

However, judging from the way we grumble, it would seem that we are
anything but satisfied with our climate.

_Scene_--Drawing-room at Scarborough. Melissa (writing): "Aunty,
darling, how do you spell damnable?" "Good gracious, darling, never use
such a word. I am surprised." "Well, but, auntie, I am writing to papa,
to tell him about the weather." "Oh, well, my darling, I suppose I may
tell you. D-a-m-n-a-b-l-e; but remember that you must not use the word
except to describe the weather."

I suppose the clerk of the weather office has long ago ceased trying to
satisfy us in this matter. What seems wretched weather to one person
makes another happy. Cold, that the young enjoy because it makes them
feel their vitality to the tips of their fingers, is death to the old.
Those who are fond of skating look out of the windows of their bedrooms,
hoping