On the other hand, when Croesus dies it does not follow that the scullery-maid should die at the same time.  She may grow a new Croesus, as Croesus, if the maid dies, will probably grow a new kitchen-maid; Croesus’s son or successor may take over the kingdom and palace, and the kitchen-maid, beyond having to wash up a few extra plates and dishes at coronation time, will know little about the change.  It is as though the establishment had had its hair cut and its beard trimmed; it is smartened up a little, but there is no other change.  If, on the other hand, he goes bankrupt, or his kingdom is taken from him and his whole establishment is broken and dissipated at the auction-mart, then, even though not one of its component cells actually dies, the organism as a whole does so, and it is interesting to see that the lowest, least specialised, and least highly differentiated parts of the organism, such as the scullery-maid and the stable-boys, most readily find an entry into the life of some new system, while the more specialised and highly differentiated parts, such as the steward, the old housekeeper, and, still more so, the librarian or the chaplain, may never be able to attach themselves to any new combination, and may die in consequence.  I heard once of a large builder who retired unexpectedly from business and broke up his establishment, to the actual death of several of his older employes.

So a bit of flesh, or even a finger, may be taken from one body and grafted on to another, but a leg cannot be grafted; if a leg is cut off it must die.  It may, however, be maintained that the owner dies, too, even though he recovers, for a man who has lost a leg is not the man he was.

ADAM AND EVE
[Sidenote:  Samuel Butler]

A little boy and a little girl were looking at a picture of Adam and Eve.

“Which is Adam and which is Eve?” said one.

“I do not know,” said the other, “but I could tell if they had their clothes on.”

FIRE
[Sidenote:  Samuel Butler]

I was at one the other night, and heard a man say:  “That corner stack is alight now quite nicely.”  People’s sympathies seem generally to be with the fire so long as no one is in danger of being burned.

THE ELECTRIC LIGHT IN ITS INFANCY
[Sidenote:  Samuel Butler]

I heard a woman in a ’bus boring her lover about the electric light.  She wanted to know this and that, and the poor lover was helpless.  Then she said she wanted to know how it was regulated.  At last she settled down by saying that she knew it was in its infancy.  The word “infancy” seemed to have a soothing effect upon her, for she said no more, but, leaning her head against her lover’s shoulder, composed herself to slumber.

NEW-LAID EGGS
[Sidenote:  Samuel Butler]

When I take my Sunday walks in the country, I try to buy a few really new-laid eggs warm from the nest.  At this time of the year (January) they are very hard to come by, and I have long since invented a sick wife who has implored me to get a few eggs laid not earlier than the self-same morning.  Of late, as I am getting older, it has become my daughter, who has just had a little baby.  This will generally draw a new-laid egg, if there is one about the place at all.