My Dear Mr. Coristine,—­A thousand thanks for the bonny pipe, which I fear you must have missed.  I shall take great care of it as a memorial of pleasant, though exciting, days.  I wish you were here to help Perrowne and me at our cricket and golf, and to have a little chat now and then on practical theology.  My ministerial friend is that infatuated with Miss Halbert (they are engaged, you know) I can get very little out of him.  Mrs. Carmichael sends her kind regards.  Her daughter Marjorie is looking pale and lifeless, I do trust the dear lassie is not going like her poor father.  We all love to hear her sing, but she has got that Garden of Gethsemane poem of his set to music.  It is very beautiful but far too sad for her young life.  I have been visiting your friend Mr. Wilkinson, pastorally, and am just delighted with him.  He is a man of a very fine mind and most devout spirit.  Miss Cecile and he will suit one another admirably.  Colonel Morton is wearying for your society, and so is the good old grandfather.  If it will not be putting you to too much trouble, will you ask your bookseller to get me a cheap Leipsic edition of Augustine’s “De Civitate Dei,” as I wish to polish up my patristic Latin, in spite of the trash written in it, that still defiles our theological teaching.  I have been visiting Matilda Nagle, and even that old reprobate, Newcome, who got a terrible shaking in his last nefarious adventure.  Matilda is doing remarkably well, and her boy is quite bright and intelligent.  Half a dozen cases of sickness in my two charges have kept me from writing, especially as one was a case of infection.  Haste ye back to all your warm friends here.

Yours very faithfully,
HUGH ERROL.

The last was a stuffy envelope addressed correctly to Mister Eugene Coristine, in the hand of a domestic, Tryphosa probably, and contained some half dried flowers, among which a blue Lobelia and a Pentstemon were recognizable, along with a scrap of a letter in large irregular characters.

Derest Eugene—­Wat makes you stay sew long a way.  This is meter as Pol sed to Petre put on the gridel and take of the heter.  A lot more flours are out in bloome like the ones I send with my love so dear fete have been in the creke sints you went a way I think that pig is sory she made you go now the chilren granpa sed to me to rite you to come back for a smok.  Dere mister Bigls has gone too and no nice one is left give my love to Tyler and say he must let you go for the house is sew quite their is no more fun in it.  Feena got a funy leter from old Sil with moste orfle speling the pusy is well but pore Mug in ded.  It was verry good of you to send me candes but I like to have you beter Your litel love
          
                                                MARJORIE.

The lawyer put this letter reverently away in a special drawer which contained his peculiar treasures, but