than their over-anxious descendants of the year 1867, who give their brains more to do and their legs less than their forefathers. The worthy Neil, led by the exigences of his profession more frequently than other people into convivial society, made the discovery, before it was too late, that over-much whisky was not good for his mind's or his body's health. Like a sensible man he resolved first of all to moderate his draughts, and finally to abandon them altogether. His mind being made up, as the song informs us— "He took his fiddle in his hand, And screwed the pegs up while they'd stand,

To make a lamentation grand,

For gude auld Highland whisky, O!" Neither history nor tradition records, as far as we are aware, at what period of his life the gleeman renounced the strong drink that was enfeebling his constitution; but we know on his own authority that he continued to imbibe "wine and ale," without detriment to the coolness of his head or the suppleness of his fingers, while his biographers report that he died in his eightieth year, in the full possession of his faculties. The worthy man was born in an age when people

with crotchets and hobbies did not think they had "missions" to reform the world. He was content to reform himself; abstaining from that which he found to be evil, but not considering it to be his duty to dictate to others, or threaten them with fine and imprisonment if their opinions did not conform to his own.

If we were called upon to decide between Dow and Gow, we should be for Gow-just as we are for liberty against despotism, and for the right of private judgment against dogmatic assertion. Let us all be like Gow, and there will be no necessity for Dow. Let each man reform himself, abstaining from that which is evil and holding fast to that which is good-whether it be in drink or in doctrine—and the great problem will be solved. But if this be too much to hope for in a wicked world, give us abundance of good, cheap, wholesome wine-abundance of good, cheap beer, unpoisoned by adulterators and knavish publicans over-hasty to get rich; and the people of Great Britain will, in course of time, become as little addicted to intoxication as the soberest nations of Continental Europe.

My grandfather, Thomas Dottrell, was in height five feet four. My father, Thomas Dottrell, was five feet four inches and a quarter. He broke his leg, and degenerated into five feet three and three-quarters. I am of the third generation, and by ordinary rules should have been a tall man.

My grandfather, Thomas Dottrell, had married a tall woman—a very tall one, five feet ten and a half inches without her high-heeled shoes. Joanna, wife of my father, Thomas Dottrell, stood five feet ten in her stockings. These wives were both gentle, mild, and somewhat timid women, standing in great awe (whether in shoes or stockings) of my grandfather and father, the two Thomas Dottrells.

As may be well imagined, the hopes of father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, were centred in the third generation. Tradition had not handed down the stature of William Dottrell, founder of the family. Nothing was known of him beyond his Christian name, and the circumstances that he did not belong to our part of the country, that he had married late in life, and that he and his wife had died shortly after my grandfather's birth. The latter had appeared in early life in Yorkshire, accompanied by Mistress Margery Dottrell, his aunt. This good woman had purchased some land for her nephew,-built thereon a house, on which she conferred the designation of Dottrell Hall, which was decorated with the family arms, or, a pie tawny,-superintended the education of her microscopic nephew till he became as much of age as his size allowed,then shuffled off this mortal coil one Thursday afternoon at half-past six, leaving unfinished a secret apparently hanging on her lips, and her nephew ignorant of his parentage and cradle.

He was their

From these few facts my grandfather Thomas and my father Thomas had constructed a family legend that ancestor William had been a man of many cubits, married to a woman of diminutive form. They endeavoured by Anakim alliances to repair the mischief wrought by their pigmy progenitor. No lord in all the county had so tall a wife as grandfather Thomas; but the result answered his expectations neither in quantity nor in quality. Father Thomas was the only offspring of his devoted parents. all, though small the offering was. My grandfather hoped on against hope. He sought ferruginous baths, and consulted skilled medical men. In vain. Having thus spent a life which in duration was long as his being was short, he breathed his last in Dottrell Hall; and even in his death and a leaden coffin could not fill the six-foot shelf he had erected for himself in the family vault. When this event occurred I was one-and-twenty. My coming of age, I imagine, rather hastened his end. At an early period my father had been married to my mother, and within the earliest creditable limit of time I made my appearance in the wide, wide world. The rejoicings on this occasion were unbounded. I was a long, lusty, muscular infant, with a bellow like a ram, and a conformation which displayed more the stalwart, Stoddart blood of my mother's family than the diminutive but symmetrical anatomy of my Dottrell descent. I imbibed my mother's milk like a young gladiator, and ere long devoured mutton like a young wolf. Broad-chested, thick-limbed, redcheeked, I bade fair for six feet, and for two or three years made the unmixed delight of the Thomas Dottrells, father and son. For myself, I had been named William

Dottrell in honour of the founder of the family-of my great-grandfather; and my grandfather, who had stood sponsor, had, without consultation, slipped the name Goliah before the family Dottrell.

But two, three years passed, and my mother gave no further evidence towards the augmentation or aggrandisement of our line. Four years passed, then five, six, seven, ten, twelve, fifteen. I was still an only son-fed on beef, mutton, and mucous food, calves' heads and tendons; exercised in gymnastics; encouraged to ride, shoot, devour jellies, swallow beer, and neglect my books. And I shot upward like a green bay - tree, my calves like a drayman's, my arms like a prize-fighter's, an appetite like Dando, and wind like an organ. At length I completed my fifteenth year. Great joy reigned around us. I was five feet four inches and a half. There was a great feast at Dottrell Hall. All my mother's brothers and cousins, Baxters, Quarmbys, Slaters, and Booths, all my grandmother's clan of Booths, Slaters, Quarmbys, and Baxters, assembled to do honour to my stature; and our house might have been taken for a scene in Gath or Patagonia, so Titanic were the proportions of our maternal kith. Compliments were deluged on my size, appearance, and prospects. I was a true Booth-a true Quarmby-no one could mistake me but for a Baxter-I was a Slater every inch of me, according to the gens of the flatterer. Even some young clanswomen beamed kindly, and some elderly spinsters loomed legacies. There was a grand dinner that day. A large quart mug was produceda custom of the country.

It was

filled with champagne by a Baxter, and a Quarmby shouted that I must drain the cup to show the blood and bone I was made of. I stood up in my place. My father and my grandfather looked on, proud, yet dreading the ordeal. I seized the

cup and drained it to the last drop. One moment, the shining bottom glittered double in my eye. I fell back, and

Two years passed, and old nurses declared they had known instances of young men growing as late as thirty.

Three years passed. I went to Oxford-my arms fit to cope with any bargee, and my legs to kick a football over St Mary's.

At twenty-one I came of age and was measured-five feet four inches and a half.

My grandfather took to his bed. A stone taller than himself describes his virtues.

For my own part, my size, or want of size, would have caused me but little annoyance. The fortunate chance that had given me a tall growth had saved me from schoolboy taunts. It was only on going to Oxford that the efforts of my parents to save me from humiliation made me feel it. I was by no means despondent, and began to feel, during their absence, a little conceited of my miniature form. Moore, Napoleon, Lord John Russell were not much taller than myself, and I did not relinquish the hope of illustrating the name of Dottrell in letters, war, or politics. Of poetry I was by no means an unsuccessful votary, nor did I feel discouraged by many a criticism. A prize poem of my composition obtained for me the soubriquet of the Pentameter, because I was only five feet. I accepted the stigma with gratitude, and, in token of disdain and forgiveness, inscribed "Sic vos non vobis" four times over my oak. I was rather a favourite. I flatter myself I was not ridiculous. Of my social qualities it may perhaps not appear overpresumptuous to state that my manner had the charm which only small men can infuse into their conversation. At the Union my speeches were considered not destitute of fire.

My affection for my parents was great; yet I confess I did not feel happy when I saw them walking arm-in-arm through the streets of Oxford.

"Don't she feel cold up there?" yelled one small vagabond to another.

66

Why don't she carry a speaking-trumpet?" shrieked another. "A problem of latitude," simpered a University wit.

"The equator and the pole," lisped a second.

"The Tower and Sword," grinned a third, who sought the remote in his illustrations.

"Come up and kiss me, my dear," shrieked the first young blackguard in a shrill soprano typical of female blandishment.

The University trio could not resist a smile, and I bolted down a friendly alley. I could defend myself, but not others. My strong right arm that pulled stroke in my College boat could avenge a slight offered to my frame by vulgar profanity; but even I saw the discrepancy of the pair who had begotten me. I was wise in my own generation. I perceived the errors of the past. I inly vowed that, whenever fate ordained that I should take on myself the responsibilities of a mate, the favoured female should represent the mathematical definition of a point, without length or breadth. Mrs W. G. Dottrell loomed in my dreams as five feet in height, and thin in proportion; while my burly frame stood towering over her, or bending gracefully to whisper words of love, or encircling her tiny waist with the brawny muscle of that arm which I pampered, oiled, and displayed like a prize bull-calf. I was to be the sturdy oak round which the tendril ivy should creep. Physiologically, also, I looked on this design as a new experiment which, by avoiding the errors of my forebears, should present to the world Dottrells of more commanding dimensions. My imagination had,

however, in this behalf, yielded to reason and experience. My natural bias was, like that of all short men, for tall women. In like manner I have observed various tall women concentrate their long love in my moderate person. My humorous friends have frequently rallied me on the evident partiality for my society displayed by the daughter of the Dean of St Peter's -a puny lady, lame, five feet eleven and a half, and generally known as the "Course of True Love," because she never could run smooth. The same fatal passion also assailed Rosa, the daughter of a neighbouring pastry-cook, handed down to fame as Monte Rosa, on account of her abnormal proportions. Once alone had the warmth of my character carried my passion to a degree beyond the range of my own thermometer. A ball at Henley was the scene of this event-a young lady six feet two and a third, the cause of my disaster. Seated on one side of a ball-room, I had attributed her apparent height to an elevated seat. I invited her to dance a waltz. She bowed in that meek manner tall women always assume. She stepped down, and lo! by my side a giant form topped over me. I essayed to encircle her waist. My arm refused its office, and idly grasped her form at least a barleycorn beneath that hallowed region.

I had almost forgotten to record the evident though unreciprocated passion testified towards me by a young lady, Miss Lane, the daughter of the Vice-Principal of St Sumpter's Hall. She was tall as the preceding, xanthous, with skeins of unwholesome flax hanging curveless on her neck. She was, in consequence, known as the "Long Lane that has no Turning;" and would of a morning, when she met me, greet me with a leer of such power as almost to overwhelm me. I mention these little episodes, not from pride or empty vainglory, but to justify

myself in the eyes of those who may consider my career inconsistent with the resolutions and professions of philosophy.

When about twenty years old, a gigantic grand-aunt, who had never seen me since my growth had been stunted, bequeathed me a considerable property-at least about £3000 a-year. When I left the University, therefore, notwithstanding the paucity of my inches, I was not a fit target for a sneeze, being independent in means, the heir to the Dottrell propertya carefully nursed property, well drained, and with the prospect of a railway; the author of a prize poem, and likewise of several trifles well known in the University, with a slight tendency to melancholy. I was also somewhat of an adept in social arts. I played tricks of sleight-of-hand; I understood the mysteries of ciphers; told fortunes on cards; and in everything endeavoured to prove myself an Admirable Crichton on a small scale.

On my return to my place in the country, I determined to cultivate the acquaintance of my neighbours by giving a fête. Moore's poem of the déjeûner at Boyle Farm fired me with ideas of local distinction. Under the pretext of an archery meeting, I was determined to eclipse every festivity given in the district for at least a hundred years. My grounds were well suited for the purpose. The river ran through the lawn, as it does to the present day. On the thither side fireworks were to be displayed in the evening; while near the house marquees were erected for refreshments and dancing near the targets.

The grand match took place at four o'clock for a bracelet made after my design-enamelled, relieved by emblems of toxophily in diamonds. Misgivings were great; for Miss Bowyer, the heroine of the county, reserved herself for the last. She had been detained at home, but by generous consent her

rivals demanded that the prize should not be awarded till the close of the day, that the champion might still have a chance of maintaining her pre-eminence.

Miss Bowyer I had never seen, by I knew by repute her beauty and her history. Her father was a baronet of ancient family, but of comparatively reduced circumstances. Bowyer's land was no longer in the zenith of its magnificence, acre after acre having melted away before the reckless splendour of the race. Where thousands had before been numbered by tens, units now reigned, and Sir Godfrey Bowyer could scarce compete with myself and other squires of the neighbourhood. But the fame of their origin still shed its lustre round them. The Bowyer of Agincourt, the founder of the family, still transmitted his craft to his descendants. The pride of tradition kept up tradition itself, and throughout the length and breadth of the county the archery of the Bowyers was greeted as a proverb. Evelyn Bowyer was the sole remaining scion of the old stock. In her were centred the hopes and the skill of the old Bowyers. Her prizes were countless, and the county beauties were well pleased to be second to herself.

A pony carriage drove to the gate, and I hastened to receive the Royalty of the Bow.

A thrill of pleasure ran through me as I handed her from the carriage. She was short-more, her beauty went straight to my soul as I looked down on her, at least three inches. Her fair pale complexion, her soft but bright violet eyes, her auburn hair, her bow-shaped mouth, beamed on me saint-like, pure, womanly. One hand rested on my arm. Her hands were beautifully formed, small and delicate, scarce fit for the athletic sport in which she excelled. As she descended from her carriage I had likewise had occasion to admire the same quality in her boots. Her figure