a coat, then, as the learned judge above quoted
has said, "the party who does the work has no
right to appropriate the produce of his labour,
and your material, to another person." These
points are important, for this reason: supposing
the workman were to become bankrupt before
the goods which Mr. Blank had ordered were
finished, then would arise a question of property.
If the property in the goods had not passed to
him, and he had, unfortunately, paid for them,
the assignees would take the goods.

Lastly, there is a maxim to be found in the
books which Mr. Blank will do well to remember.
Freely translated, it may be rendered,
"Purchaser, look out!" In the Latin, it is
written, "Caveat emptor." Its meaning is
this: unless the seller of any goods "expressly
warrants them to be sound and good," or unless
he "knew them, to be otherwise, and hath used
any art to disguise them," the purchaser must
make the best of his bargain. Whether "the
buyer has paid such a price as is usually given
for a sound commodity, does not affect the
question." The law simply says in such a case,
"Caveat emptor!"

            WRITTEN IN DUST.

     I SAT one morning sadly,
          Upon the ocean's strand;
     And with my staff I figured
          A heart, deep in the sand.

     My thoughts were straying wildly
          O'er years long past and gone,
      I marked not that the billows
          Were madly rushing on.

     One crested wave came foaming,
           And swept the heart away;
      No trace was left remaining,
          Nought but the watery spray.

     My own sad fate I read there,
           And hastened to depart;
      My bitter tears fast streaming
           To think of that lost heart.

THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER

I GOT into the travelling chariot—it was of
German make, roomy, heavy, and unvarnished—
I got into the travelling chariot, pulled up the
steps after me, shut myself in with a smart bang
of the door, and gave the word "Go on!"

Immediately, all that W. and S.W. division of
London began to slide away at a pace so lively,
that I was over the river, and past the Old
Kent-road, and out on Blackheath, and even
ascending Shooter's Hill, before I had had time
to look about me in the carriage, like a collected
traveller.

I had two ample Imperials on the roof, other
fitted storage for luggage in front, and other
up behind; I had a net for books overhead,
great pockets to all the windows, a leathern
pouch or two hung up for odds and ends, and a
reading-lamp fixed in the back of the chariot, in
case I should be benighted. I was amply
provided in all respects, and had no idea where I
was going (which was delightful), except that I
was going abroad.

So smooth was the old high road, and so
fresh were the horses, and so fast went I, that
it was midway between Gravesend and
Rochester, and the widening river was bearing the
ships, white-sailed or black-smoked, out to sea,
when I noticed by the wayside a very queer small
boy.

"Halloa!" said I, to the very queer small
boy, "where do you live?"

"At Chatham," says he.

"What do you do there?" says I.

"I go to school," says he.

I took him up in a moment, and we went on.
Presently, the very queer small boy said, "This is
Gadshill we are coming to, where Falstaff went
out to rob those travellers, and ran away."

"You know something about Falstaff, eh?"
said I.

"All about him," said the very queer small boy.
"I am old (I am nine), and I read all sorts of
books. But do let us stop at the top of the hill,
and look at the house there, if you please!"

"You admire that house?" said I.

"Bless you, sir," said the very queer small boy,
"when I was not more than half as old as nine,
it used to be a treat for me to be brought to
look at it. And now, I am nine, I come by myself
to look at it. And ever since I can recollect,
my father, seeing me so fond of it, has often
said to me, 'If you were to be very persevering
and were to work hard, you might some day
come to live in it.' Though that's impossible!"
said the very queer small boy, drawing a low
breath, and now staring at the house out of
the window with all his might.

I was rather amazed to be told this by the
very queer small boy; for that house happens
to be my house, and I have reason to believe that,
what he said was true.

Well! I made no halt there, and I soon dropped
the very queer small boy and went on. Over
the road where the old Romans used to march,
over the road where the old Canterbury pilgrims
used to go, over the road where the travelling
trains of the old imperious priests and princes
used to jingle on horseback between the continent
and this Island through the mud and water,
over the road where Shakespeare hummed to
himself, "Blow, blow, thou winter wind," as he
sat in the saddle at the gate of the inn yard
noticing the carriers; all among the cherry
orchards, apple orchards, corn-fields, and hop-
gardens; so went I, by Canterbury to Dover.
There, the sea was tumbling in, with deep
sounds, after dark, and the revolving French
light on Cape Grinez was seen regularly
bursting out and becoming obscured, as if the head
of a gigantic light-keeper in an anxious state of
mind were interposed every half minute, to look
how it was burning.

Early in the morning I was on the deck of the
steam-packet, and we were aiming at the bar in
the usual intolerable manner, and the bar was
aiming at us in the usual intolerable manner,
and the bar got by far the best of it, and we got