Master of His Fate

heap!' It is a pity," said he, with a laugh, "you ever took to science, Embro."

"And why, may I ask?" said Embro.

"Oh, you'd have been great as an orthodox theologian of the Kirk; the cocksureness of theology would have suited you like your own coat. You are not at home in science, for you have no imagination."

It was characteristic of the peculiar regard in which Julius was held that whatever he said or did appeared natural and pleasant,--like the innocent actions and the simple, truthful speech of a child. Not even Embro was offended with these last words of his: the others laughed; Embro smiled, though with a certain sourness.

"Pooh, Julius!" said he; "what are you talking about? Science is the examination of facts, and what has imagination to do with that? Reason, sir, is what you want!"

"My dear Embro," said Julius, "there are several kinds of facts. There are, for instance, big facts and little facts,--clean facts and dirty facts. Imagination raises you and gives you a