"'I believe I only stared at her, and then wrung Parker's hand and went out. "'He married her the next month, and--and--Trocalara has been heaven ever since. "'I never knew what a Christian was before she came: you know we have no faith in Texas in things we can't draw a bead on. But when she read me the story of the Scribes and Pharisees and Christ I felt ashamed to be like those Flat-heads and Greasers in the New Testament who did not believe in him; and now I feel sure of knowing some one in heaven, for Kitty has promised to find me there.' "I forget a great many of the incidents he told us," Donaldson went on in the quiet that was almost equal to the calm around us; "and I dare say it would bore you to listen. But he certainly was the most extraordinary man I ever met. I can't do justice to his expressions, for they lack his soft voice and curious hesitation. I wish we had him here, though." "Did you never hear of him again?" some one asked. "Yes. When we reached New York I found him standing in his old place by the aft wheel-house in a dazed sort of way, with apparently no intention of going ashore; so I asked him what hotel he intended to stop at. His only answer was to hand me a letter dated some days before: "'JUNTA, Texas. "'Kitty died last night. It is a boy, and is named after you--her last wish. "'PARKER.' That was all the letter said, but as I looked at his white face and burning eyes I saw it was what he had feared. "As I bade him good-night at the hotel that evening he asked me, 'Do you really feel sure that I could find her--there?' "'Yes: she said so, did she not?' I replied. "'I will try,' he said simply. "The next morning they found him with a bullet-hole in his temple. He had gone to find Kitty." * * * * * "Heads!" said Thornton as the boom swung over and the swirl from the Idler's bow told us the wind had come. As I changed my place I caught Miss Brogden's eye, and felt satisfied that Donaldson was forgiven. LAWRENCE BUCKLEY. A GREAT SINGER. There are so few of them! The next generation will hardly understand how great were some of the lately-vanished kings and queens of the lyric drama. We who have passed middle age, who have heard Lablache, and Tamberlik, and Jenny Lind, and Viardot Garcia, and Alboni, and Giuglini in their prime, and Grisi, Mario, Sontag and Persiani with voices but a little the worse for wear, can sadly contrast the vocal glories of the past with those of the present. Who are the great singers of to-day? Two or three _prime donne_ and as many baritones. There is not a single basso living to suggest Lablache, not a tenor to revive the triumphs of Rubini, Mario, Giuglini or the subject of the present article.