osophy of the ages was not taught, and people were mere jungly ploughmen. The third and following speeches were also by Babus, all eloquent in spite of the fact that their leading themes -namely, the glories of education, the munificence of Babu Chundar Ram, and the presence of the Collector-had been set forth with the utmost fulness by their predecessors. They did not seem to mind that. Each seemed to think that his way of reciting the familiar truths which each wished to inculcate would bring them in a very special way to the hearts of those present. At the end of the speeches the Collector asked the schoolmaster if we might hear some English reading, and a small boy in a very bright pink dhoti was brought forward and reeled off in a very high voice and at a lightning pace all the information contained in his reading-book about the Cat not killing the Rat, the Rat not being the Bat, and the Bat not possessing a Hat. The schoolmaster wore a most gratified smile during the process, and a great deal of unsuppressed admiration was visible in the course of it on the faces of the assembled parents; but as the boy, who had kept his eyes sideways on the Collector's face all the time in order to learn what impression he was making on the Sahib, evidently knew those pages by heart, the Collector, after saying it had been very nicely done, asked if there could be an exhibition of reading in some unseen part of the book. He turned over the pages himself to make sure of getting at an unthumbed one, and the small boy's face fell. But the schoolmaster rose to what seemed like an emergency, and said with a ready smile, "Certainly, your Honour, a larger boy will do some impromptu reading." A minute or two later a large, stout, bashful boy was produced, and, having been handed the book, forced his way gamely through the account, I think it was, of a gallant rescue of a child by a fireman, which lost some of its original pathos owing to its being intoned without stops, just in the same way as the story of the Cat, the Bat, and the Hat-syllables appearing to the stout boy to be of infinitely more value in English than words. However, the Collector said it was very pleasant, and suggested that the prize-giving should now begin, which it did. There seemed to be an enormous number of prize-winners, in every colour of the rainbow, the Hindus, on the whole, preponderating. It looked as though those who had not acquired pretty thoroughly the knowledge that the Bat does not wear a Hat must be very few. I suppose Bengali children are very quick. To each the Mem-sahib, with a gracious smile, presented his Wide, Wide World' or Christy's Old Organ,' or whatever it might be, and the pleased recipient silently sped back to his place. There was one small girl gorgeously apparelled, with painted face and clanking anklets, among the prize-winners. She looked about four, and no doubt excelled in pot-hooks. But what might not pot-hooks lead to in the way of emancipation? granted it, and there was general applause, just as at home, though as a matter of fact I believe that holidays are the one thing that schoolmasters and boys mostly detest in Bengal, their assiduous habits being disturbed by interruptions of this kind. Equally I believe that the Collector only asked for the holiday because he realised this, and meant to get back on the schoolmaster for having made him listen to so many long speeches on education. He would not allow this when I taxed him with it, but said he had asked for the holiday because it was the custom to do so. When the prizes were all worked through, the schoolmaster made a short speech, pointing out the satisfaction with which winners might bear these trophies of their learning and assiduity to their humble homes, and thanking on behalf of those present the wife of the Collector and District Magistrate for her gracious and dazzling distribution of the works in question. He then called upon his Honour for a short speech-before the meeting terminated with a rendering of "God Save the King." His Honour made a short speech. He said it was a good thing when rich men like Babu Chundar Ram handed over money for the purposes of education, but they must remember that the test of education was the practical result it had. Everybody could not be a philosopher, but everybody could learn to be sensible. There was a difference between learning and wisdom, and the latter was better because it implied character-and so on. The speech was greeted with great applause and noddings "God Save Our District Magistrate!!" of the head, so that every one seemed to be most harmonious, and ran— and you might have thought that East and West were agreed upon every point of education at any rate. Then the Collector rose and asked for a day's holiday in honour of his visit, just as a distinguished visitor might have done at an English school, and the schoolmaster smilingly If my interpretation was correct, and he had done it to annoy the schoolmaster, it must be confessed that the schoolmaster got back on him later. The matter hardly really enters into this account of the speech day, but I may as well mention it. It took shape some months later, when the Collector was about to leave the district. The schoolmaster sent him a parting gift, in which was enclosed the following letter. The letter, I must state, was headed "HONOURED SIR, I beg you to accept as kindly gift in departing 5 pomegranate fruits, 5 oranges, 2 doz. walnuts, and 1 bottle hair lotion. The latter is restorative to hair, and invaluable after much toil to weak brain.” R. E. VERNÈDE. A SAFETY MATCH.1 BY IAN HAY, AUTHOR OF THE Right Stuff,' 'A MAN'S MAN.' CHAPTER ELEVEN. DIES IRAE (continued). IT was Mr Dawks who really showed to the greatest advantage during the next halfhour. He assured his mistress by every means in his power that the whole thing was entirely his fault; and like the courteous gentleman that he was, he begged her with faintly wagging tail and affectionate eyes not to distress herself unduly on his account. The thing was done; let there be no more talk about it. It was nothing! By way of showing that the cordiality of their relations was still unimpaired he endeavoured to shake hands, first with one paw and then the other; but finding that both were broken he reluctantly desisted from his efforts. III. Windebank gazed down in an embarrassed fashion at the close coils of fair hair, bowed over the dog's rough coat. Then he stiffened himself defiantly. "He'll get well right enough, miss," he said with great assurance. "Just wants taking care of, that's all." It was a lie, and he knew it. But it was a kind lie. To such much is forgiven. Daphne sat with her patient until three o'clock, and then, overcome with the restlessness of impotent anxiety, and stimulated by an urgent telephonic reminder, ordered out horses. 1 Copyright in the United States by Ian Hay. the "Good-bye, old man," she said to Dawks, caressing the dog's long ears and unbecoming nose. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Lie quiet, and you'll soon be all right. Windebank says so." Mr Dawks whined gently and flapped his tail upon the floor, further intimating by a faint tremor of his ungainly body that if circumstances had permitted he would certainly have made a point of rising and accompanying his mistress to the door, and seeing her off the premises. As things were, he must beg to be excused. Daphne drove to Croxley Dene, where for an hour or so she exchanged banalities with the rest of the county and played a set of tennis. She drove home in the cool of the evening, more composed in mind. The fresh air and exercise had done her good. Windebank had said that the dog would live: that was everything. Less satisfactory to contemplate was the approaching interview with her husband in the matter of the car. Until now she had not thought of it. On reaching home she hurried to the library, where she had left the invalid lying on a rug before the fire. Mr Dawks was not there. "I wonder if Windebank has taken him to the stable," she said to herself. "I'll go and She turned, and found herself face to face with her husband. "Jack," she asked nervously, "do you know where Dawks she said faltered. " "I had him shot." Daphne stared at him incredulously. "You had him shot?" she said slowly. "My Dawks? "Yes. It was rank cruelty on your part keeping the poor brute alive, after-after reducing him to that state." The last half of the sentence may have been natural and justifiable, but no one could call it generous. It is not easy to be merciful when one is at white heat. Daphne stood up, very slim and straight, gazing stonily into her husband's face. 'Have you buried him?" "I told one of the gardeners to do so." "Where?" bing passionately in the dark. "And since he is dead," she added-"since you have killed him-I am going home to Dad and the boys! They love me!" She stood before her husband with her head thrown back defiantly, white and trembling with passion. "Very good. Perhaps that would be best," said Juggernaut quietly. CHAPTER TWELVE.-CILLY; OR THE WORLD WELL LOST. "Stiffy," bellowed the new curate ferociously, "what the -I mean, why on earth can't you keep that right foot steady? You edge off to leg every time. If you get a straight ball, stand up to it! If you get a leg-ball, turn round and have a slap at it! But for heaven's sake don't go running away! Especially from things like pats of butter!" "Awfully sorry, Mr Blunt!" gasped Stiffy abjectly, as another pat of butter sang past his ear. "It's the rotten way I've been brought up! I've never had any decent coaching before. Ough! . . . No, it didn't hurt a bit, really! I shall be all right in a minute." He hopped round in a constricted circle, apologetically caressing his stomach. They were in the paddock behind the rectory orchard. The Reverend Godfrey Blunt, a ruddy young man of cheerful countenance and ingenuous disposition, had rolled out an extremely fiery wicket; and within the encompassing net Daphne's last birthday present-Stephen Blasius Vereker, impaled frog - wise upon the handle of his bat, and divided between a blind instinct of self-preservation and a desire not to appear ungrateful for favours received, was frantically endeavouring to dodge the deliveries of the church militant as they bumped past his head and ricochetted off his ribs. "That's better," said Mr Blunt, as his pupil succeeded for the first time in arresting the course of a fast long-hop with his bat instead of his person. "But don't play back to yorkers." "All right!" said Stiffy dutifully. "I didn't know,' he added in all sincerity, “that it was a yorker, or I wouldn't have done it. Oh, I say, well bowled ! I don't think anybody could have stopped that one. It never touched the ground at all!" Stiffy turned round and surveyed his prostrate wickets admiringly. He was an encouraging person to bowl to. "No, it was a pretty hot one,' admitted the curate modestly. "I think I shall have to be going now," he added, mopping his brow. "Parish work, and a sermon to write, worse luck! I think I have just time for a short knock, though. Bowl away, Stiffy!" He took his stand at the wicket, and after three blind and characteristic swipes suc |