other man, who was not so philosophically particular, and he took to himself a wife who was philosopher enough to walk, bare-footed, in the snow of a morning, in order to cure herself of a cold in her head, which she had contracted the night before. It is pleasant to read, in Day's Biography, that the young woman of the orphan asylum respected Mr. Day, although she could not love him; and that Mrs. Day came up to all his ideals, and made him a very happy man. After he died suddenly, kicked by a horse, Mrs. Day, we are told, "took to her bed, closed her bed-curtains, and never again allowed the light of the sun to visit her. She remained two years thus," it is added, "and was then reunited, in the grave, to him whom she had so tenderly loved!"
One short extract, taken, at absolute random, from "The History of Sandford and Merton," will show how philosophical is the work upon which Mr. Day's literary fame now rests, and how seriously Mr. Day treated the amusements of boyhood: "Thus," he says, in passing, " Thus had Tommy a new employment and diversion for the winter nights—the learning of arithmetic. Almost every night did Mr. Barlow [that dreaded Mr. Barlow] and Harry and he [Tommy] amuse themselves with little questions that related to numbers, by which means Tommy [poor Tommy]
