Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. Before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating at the top. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. But he could only discern a black and shapeless mass, floating upon the water at a little distance, which, to his bewildered fancy, appeared absolutely standing still. Ruth read: DEAR SIR: "We are delighted to accept these four stories, particularly 'The Man Who Could Not Go Home.
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