"Oh, but that is absurd. You timid young folks can't act for yourselves. You want agents and instruments that have got hardened by use. Fancy the condition of our ancestors, you know, before they had the sense to invent steel claws to tear their food in pieces--what could they do with their fingers? I am going to be your knife and fork, Sheila, and you'll see what I shall carve out for you. All you've got to do is to keep your spirits up, and believe that nothing dreadful is going to take place merely because some day you will be asked to marry. You let things take their ordinary course. Keep your spirits up--don't neglect your music or your dinner or your poor people down in Borvabost--and you'll see it will all come right enough. In a year or two, or less than that, you will marry contentedly and happily, and your papa will drink a good glass of whisky at the wedding and make jokes about it, and everything will be as right as the mail. That's my advice: see you attend to it." "You are very kind to me," said the girl in a low voice. "But if you begin to cry, Sheila, then I throw up my duties. Do you hear? Now look: there goes Mr. Lavender down to the boat with a bundle of rugs, and I suppose you mean me to imperil my precious life by sailing about these rocky channels in the moonlight? Come along down to the shore; and mind you please your papa by singing 'Love in thine eyes' with Mr. Lavender. And if you would add to that 'The Minute Gun at Sea,' why, you know, I may as well have my little rewards for intermeddling now, as I shall have to suffer afterward." "Not through me," said Sheila in rather an uncertain voice; and then they went down to the Maighdean-mhara. [TO BE CONTINUED.] AT ODDS. The snow had lain upon the ground From gray November into March, And lingering April hardly saw The tardy tassels of the larch, When sudden, like sweet eyes apart, Looked down the soft skies of the spring, And, guided by alluring signs, Came late birds on impatient wing. And when I found a shy white flower-- The first love of the amorous sun, That from the cold clasp of the earth The passion of his looks had won-- I said unto my brooding heart, Which I had humored in its way, "Give sorrow to the winds that blow: Let's out and have a holiday!" My heart made answer unto me: "Where are the faint white chestnut-blooms? Where are the thickets of wild rose-- Dim paths that lead to odorous glooms?" "They are not yet. But listen, Heart! I hear a red-breast robin call: I see a golden glint of light Where lately-loosened waters fall."