Satut^day, Febi^uai:^y 17th, 1894. 



LAS ! alas ! I wake to hear the rain beating 

 against my window and gushing from the 

 shutes. I get out of bed and look forth. 

 All external objects are blurred in a dull, leaden 

 ocean of moisture. But remembering the old say- 

 ing — there are exceptions to all rules — " Rain at 

 seven, clear at eleven," I take courage and start for 

 ** Chapman's Well." The name of the " meet " 

 does not sound very tempting in such weather. I 

 hope Mr. Chapman will not put me into his well, and 

 so finish what the morning threatens to do for me. 



I arrive at the " meet " damp, decidedly damp. 

 The rain is coming in at sundry parts of my clothing. 

 The day is bitterly cold, too ; and it is quite a relief 

 to find that my lady love has not been allowed to 

 face such weather as this. But here is the Master, 

 staunch to his tryst, though his years must be 

 approaching the allotted threescore and ten. As 

 for myself, though not arrived at that period of life, 

 I have arrived at a very wet period, and am fast 

 approaching a state of pulp. But I try to look 

 happy and hopeful and as if nothing were the matter, 

 though I feel every moment fresh streams issuing 



