Ages may come and go, but boys will remain the same as far as anything bad is concerned. Give a boy an apple, and he will not enjoy it to the full till he finds another boy beside whom he can eat it, the other boy's envy bringing out its full flavour. [Illustration: "DROPPING A COPPER INTO THE DISH OF A BLIND MAN" _By Henry W. Kerr, R.S.A._] The other day I was going to Glasgow; and having no desire to go via Queensferry on the North British line, I went to the Caledonian Station. As I had a few minutes to spare, I was looking through the railings to the Lothian Road, when my attention was drawn to a boy dropping a copper into the tin dish of a blind man who was reading the Bible. The reading suddenly stopped; but before the man could put his hand in the dish the penny was quietly withdrawn, dangling at the end of a string. The operation was repeated, and the third trial convinced the man that he was being "sold." "There he's coming again!" said the boy. The man grasped a heavy stick, and just as a minister was passing he received a firm broad cut across the middle of his vest. As soon as he recovered he looked about for a policeman to give the man in charge, but I hurried down and explained to him. I may have been mistaken, but I thought I recognised him from a sketch I had seen as one who had taken a prominent part in the Queen's Park Demonstration, and I strangely seemed to forgive the boy, who however had not waited for pardon. My nephew was not long in the house till he had examined everything, and among other things he fished out an old album with a musical box attached. I had put it aside some years ago as broken. "Put it out of the way," I said, "it's useless." But this only added to his curiosity: he took it to another room, and soon brought it back, playing at a furious rate, as if glad at being released, and anxious to make up for lost time. I hate musical boxes. One never knows what they are playing, and, like boys, they seem anxious to exhibit all they know. An explanation of what had been wrong was given to me in a tone which showed my informant saw that mechanics was another thing I knew little of. The disconnecting action of the swivel had--something or another, I forget what; but all that was required was--something else. I said I had never bothered about it, which was quite true; but I am sure he felt I could not have mended it if I had tried. The pace of the tunes gradually got slower, and what at first seemed to be a hornpipe was now like a dead march. Then it seemed to be going to sleep, and a note only came out now and then, and it slept, but not for long; he had found that the key of the dining-room clock fitted it, and he wound it up again. "Oh! take it away," I said; and he went off to the next room, but no doors could keep out the sound.