I'm glad of it, I'm sure; for it's all owing to him his poor mother's here. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. ‘I am done, Gérard. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. E.
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