There are degrees in murder. Life must be held sacred among us in more ways than one—sacred, not merely from the murderous weapon, or the subtle poison, or the cruel blow, but sacred from preventible diseases, distortions, and pains. That is the first great end we have to set against this miserable imposition. Physical life respected, moral life comes next. What will not content a Begging-Letter Writer for a week, would educate a score of children for a year. Let us give all we can; let us give more than ever. Let us do all we can; let us do more than ever. But let us give, and do, with a high purpose; not to endow the scum of the earth, to its own greater corruption, with the offals of our duty. THE GREAT CAT AND DOG QUESTION. Between the rivers Kistnah and Beehma in the Deckhan, surrounded by wild rocky hills, lies the town of Shorapoor, capital of a state of that name, inhabited by a people who have generally been considered lawless, superstitious, and quarrelsome. Of late years they have been more industrious and peaceable, and though still an excitable race, may be said to be advancing in the arts of peace. It was during a more remote period, when few strangers ever ventured to penetrate the country, that a weary-looking traveller, covered with dust, entered one of the gates, and sat down for awhile at the side of a well. He then proceeded to take off his waistband and turban, washed his head and his feet, drank of the cool refreshing water, combed his beard and moustachios, and spreading a small carpet on which he laid his trusty sword, drew from his wallet a neat little muslin skullcap; then seated himself cross-legged, lighted his pipe, and began to look very comfortable indeed. In the mean time there were not wanting many idle and curious people, who having first at a distance observed the movements of the stranger, approached him nearer and nearer. But he seemed to take little notice of the crowd, and appeared absorbed in a sense of his own enjoyment, taking long whiffs of his pipe, and looking as if he had made a considerable progress towards the third heaven. At length a respectable looking man, who had come up, drew nearer than the rest, and asked him from whence he had travelled, and whither he was going? What he was seeking in Shorapoor, and whether he was a merchant, or merely came to look about him? But the questions ended in smoke, being answered only by _whiffs_. Then came another still bolder man, and said, ‘Sir, the heat is great; be pleased to come with me to my house, and repose yourself there, and I will give you a nice cool place in which you may sleep.’ Upon this the stranger drew his pipe from his mouth, and replied, ‘You are extremely kind, good Sir, and I am really grateful to you for your proffered hospitality; but the fact is, I don’t believe you would wish to have me in your house, did you know what I really am!’