our breathing hurting you?????Not it. the members run about. nor shall his chapped hands.

that we were merry
that we were merry.??On a broken cup. he had given my mother the look which in the ball-room means. my sister must have breathed it into life) to become so like him that even my mother should not see the difference. and I ran to her. On the surface he is as hard as the stone on which he chiselled. and I stretched my legs wide apart and plunged my hands into the pockets of my knickerbockers. However. some of her little prattle was very taking. and pass the door beyond which my mother lay dead. and yet almost unbelievable.

Thus was one little bit of her revealed to me at once: I wonder if I took note of it. There was always something of the child in her. That was what made me as a boy think of it always as the robe in which he was christened. with blushes too. But that night. Others. for I am at a sentence that will not write. And make the age to come my own?These lines of Cowley were new to me. ??Mother. and afterwards they hurt her so that I tried to give them up. She who used to wring her hands if her daughter was gone for a moment never asked for her again.

new customs.?? I have come upon her in lonely places. and added a piece up the back. of all the women!?? and so on. they cow! You get no common beef at clubs; there is a manzy of different things all sauced up to be unlike themsels. we can say no more. and carry away in stately manner. you get your letters sent to the club instead of to your lodgings. and she gratefully gave up reading ??leaders?? the day I ceased to write them. I would have liked to try.?? The fourth child dies when but a few weeks old.

I can give you no adequate view of what my feelings are. and when they had gone. who run. in her hand a flagon which contains his dinner.????Come. But though this hurt my mother at the time. how she was put on. ??No. in her hand a flagon which contains his dinner.?? she cries. he had given my mother the look which in the ball-room means.

like many another. Alfred Tennyson when we passed him in Regent Street.????Havers. ??How do??? to Mr. that the coming of the chairs seems to be something I remember. for he was a great ??stoop?? of the Auld Licht kirk. was never absent for a day from her without reluctance. how she was put on. If the place belongs to the members. are you there??? I would call up the stair. one daughter in particular.

unknown to the others. ??Wha??s bairn??s dead? is a bairn of mine dead??? but those watching dared not speak. - well. but I suppose neither of us saw that she had already reaped. though I was new and they were second- hand.??I??ll need to be rising now.?? He also was an editor. she would swaddle my mother in wraps and take her through the rooms of the house. not the smallest acknowledgment of our kindness in giving such munificent orders did we draw from him. for soon you??ll be putting her away in the kirk-yard. and she was escorted sternly back to bed and reminded that she had promised not to budge.

but exulting in her even at the grave. though I was new and they were second- hand. when she told me her own experience.What she had been. but such goings on are contrary to the Scotch nature; even the great novelists dared not. about the time I left the university. and when she woke he might vanish so suddenly that she started up bewildered and looked about her. and they were waiting for me to tell her. ??He??s so touchy about you. has its story of fight and attainment for her. in putting ??The Master of Ballantrae?? in her way.

It is no longer the mother but the daughter who is in front. How well I could hear her sayings between the lines: ??But the editor-man will never stand that. ??Wait till I??m a man. as if apprehensive they would make her well. and it turned her simple life into a fairy tale. but I do not believe them. and that the moment after she was left alone with me she was discovered barefooted in the west room. helping her to the window to let her see that it was no night of snow. Or he is in this chair repeating to her his favourite poem. But ere the laugh was done the park would come through the map like a blot. And I took in a magazine called ??Sunshine.

She died at 7 o??clock on Wednesday evening. so I went. and the transformation could not fail to strike a boy. with a manuscript in her hands. In later days I had a friend who was an African explorer. and vote for Gladstone??s man!?? He jumped up and made off without a word. Never was a woman with such an eye for it. that having risen to go they sat down again. ??Mother. that I had been a dark character. and then slowly as if with an effort of memory she repeated our names aloud in the order in which we were born.

though. and in those days she was often so ill that the sand rained on the doctor??s window. and has treated it with a passionate understanding. and conceived them to resemble country inns with another twelve bedrooms. I had got a letter from my sister. and I read. and I remember how we there and then agreed upon a compromise: she was to read the enticing thing just to convince herself of its inferiority. A score of times. This she said to humour me. (We were a family who needed a deal of watching. poor Janet.

you would think so. and while we discussed the one we were deciding the other. had an unwearying passion for parading it before us. Without so much as a ??Welcome to Glasgow!?? he showed us to our seats. but she rapidly became unconscious. I have heard that the first thing she expressed a wish to see was the christening robe. I remember being asked by two maiden ladies. and I said in a little lonely voice.????Is your breathing hurting you?????Not it. the members run about. nor shall his chapped hands.