There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. "It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. ” “Would you like to be a boy?” “I wonder! It’s out of the question, any way. “And yet I do it without compunction.
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