“It's main dreary in these diggin's here,” cried Quackinboss, as he came up with long strides. “I 've been a-lookin' about on every side to find some one to open the house for us, but there ain't a crittur to be found. What 's all this about? You haven't been a-cryin', have you?” Alfred turned away his head without speaking. “I'll tell you what it is, Layton,” said he, earnestly, “there's no manner of misfortune can befall in life that one need to fret over, but the death of friends, or sickness; and as these are God's own doin', it is not for us to say they 're wrong. Cheer up, man; you and I are a- goin' to fight the world together.” “You have been a true friend to me,” said Layton, grasping the other's hand, while he held his head still averted. “Well, I mean to, that's a fact; but you must rouse yourself, lad. We're a-goin' 'cross seas, and amongst fellows that, whatever they do with their spare time, give none of it to grief. Who ever saw John C. Colhoun cry? Did any one ever catch Dan Webster in tears?” “I was n't crying,” said Layton; “I was only saddened to see again a spot where I used to be so happy. I was thinking of bygones.” “I take it bygones is very little use if they don't teach us something more than to grieve over 'em; and, what's more, Layton,--it sounds harsh to say it,--but grief, when it's long persisted in, is downright selfishness, and nothing else.” Layton slipped his arm within the other's to move away, but as he did so he turned one last look towards the little garden. “I see it all now,” said Quackinboss, as they walked along; “you've been and met a sweetheart down here once on a time, that's it. She's been what they call cruel, or she's broke her word to you. Well, I don't suppose there's one man livin'--of what might be called real men--as has n't had something of the same experience. Some has it early, some late, but it's like the measles, it pushes you main hard if you don't take it when you 're young. There's no bending an old bough,--you must break it.” There was a deep tone of melancholy in the way the last words were uttered that made Layton feel his companion was speaking from the heart. “But it's all our own fault,” broke in Quackinboss, quickly; “it all comes of the way we treat 'em.” “How do you mean?” asked Layton, eagerly. “I mean,” said the other, resolutely, “we treat 'em as reasonable beings, and they ain't. No, sir, women is like Red-men; they ain't to be persuaded, or argued with; they 're to be told what is right for 'em, and good for 'em, and that's all. What does all your courting and coaxing a gal, but make her think herself something better than all creation? Why, you keep a-tellin' her so all day, and she begins to believe it at last. Now, how much better and fairer to say to her, 'Here's how it is, miss, you 've got to marry me, that's how it's fixed.' She 'll understand that.” “But if she says, 'No, I won't'?”