gaya: We all knew her a year or two ago, and laughed at her, perhaps. She was Portia then, wooed by Bassanio or John, listening to Colin's story of love over the barn-yard gate. We laughed at her ; but there was a pathetio break in our laughter, after all- a remembrance that something whioh was very real and ennobling and real to us, and was now but a fantastic, silly dream. Like "all mankind" we lovert a lover, for the sake of what we ourselves had lost ; we jested with the girl, perhaps, but tenderly. Since she was a baby she never had seemed to need so ranch, to be so worthy of reverenoe. We knew that her lover was no Bassanio or Colin ; but a very ordinary, dull young f ellow, and not at all the ideal paragon bef ore whom she abased herself and worshiped, and we knew that some day she would be forced to look at him through our eyes.