And so she prayed with all the fervor of her overwrought spirit, until the dusk reminded her of the many hours she had been absent from the sick man in the attic they called home. As she was about to cross her own threshold, a hand was laid upon her shoulder in the darkness, and a voice filled with a love and tenderness she had never heard in any human speech, said, softly: “What ails thee?” She could see nothing, but her soul was grown desperate, and she answered, without fear, “I am troubled for my husband, for his life is ebbing away, and the miseries we suffer. I pray only for him, but God does not answer my prayers.” “And do you pray only for your husband?” “Yes, we are all alone in the world, and there are none who care for us, or do for us, or pity us. We have only God.” “Then pray for all the world and all mankind, and perhaps God will hear your prayer.” Then the sorrowing soul knew that she too was not without sin, and that out of the House of God she had met the angel of the Lord. WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. BUBBLE AND SQUEAK. Just received a book for review, an author’s complimentary copy, from one of my friends, one of the finest hearted, most beautiful natured men in the world. This is one of the saddest ironies of life. It is just such a book as I wish my enemy had written. * * * * * The New Woman, who is really new and not a mere simulacrum of the old fetish masquerading in borrowed plumage, carries a copy of the FLY LEAF in the pocket of her bloomers; for the editor of the FLY LEAF is a New Woman’s man, and distinctly prefers her to her grandmother. * * * * * This is worth the attention of young people just graduating from our schools and colleges and entering upon the sad and serious business of life, as it will put them in the path of success quicker than all the wisdom of Aristotle and Plato--and I say this, who spawned it. One can break all the ten commandments upon a technicality. * * * * * A wink is much more innocent than a blush. * * * * * One of the tragedies of old fogyism is the wit and wisdom of youth. But youth has its little ironies, and the longevity of old fogeyism is one of them. * * * * *