V % (^ SIR HUGH'S LOVES. % h CHAPTER I. PBOLOOUB â€" THE WlJfOEIlKB. x*«ra. idlo Ui&rf, I know not wlikt thev moan, Teftn from the ae|>tb of â- ouu diviiiu despair lU*o iu tb« lia&rt, »od ft&tbor to Cbo uyw. In lookiDS on tliu happy Auiumn-fluldB, And thiukiug of ttia days that arc no more. T*nnyion's rrineits. Not much of a picture, certainly I Only a stretch of wide sunny road, with a tamarisk hed^o and a clump of shadowy alms ; astray shoopnibblint> in a grass ditch ; and a brown baby asleep on a bench ; beyond, low broad fields of grain whitening to harvest, and a distant film and haze â€" blue cloudiness, and the deep monotonous sound of the great sea. Yellow sunshine, groen turf, the buoyancy of salt spray in the air ; some one, trailing a white gown unheeded iu the sandy dust, pauses a moment under the tlickoring elms to admire the scene. She is a tall, grave woman, with serious «ye8 and dead-brown hair, the shade of withered loaves in autumn, with a sad beautiful face. It is the face of one wlio has suffered and been patient ; who has loved much and will love on to the end ; who, from the depths of a noble, selfless nature, looks out upon the world with mild eyes of charity ; a woman, yet a girl in years, whom one termed his pearl among women. Just now, standing under the elms, with her straigtt white folds and uncovered hair, lor hersun-bonnet lay on the turf beside her, her wistful eyes looking far away sea- ward, one oould have compared her to a Morman or a Druidical priestess under the shadow of the sacred oak; there is at once something so benignant and strong, so full of pathos, in her face and form. Low swaying of branches, then the patter- ing of rod and yellow rain round the rough- bewn bench, the brown baby awakes and â- tretches out its arms with a lusty cryâ€" a •Oggestive human sound that effectually breaks up the stillness ; for at the same instant an urchin whittling wood in the hedge scrimbles out in haste, and a bnxom- looking woman steps from the porch of an ivy-oovered lodge, wringing the soap-suds from her while wrinkled hands. Trifles mar tranquility. For a moment silence is invaded, and the dissonant sounds gather strength ; for once infant tears fail to be dried by mother smiles, and, as if in answer to the shrill cries, flocks of snow-white geese waddle solemnly across the grass ; the bov loaves of! whittling wood and chases the yellow-bills ; through the leafy avenue comes the loaded corn- wain, the jocund waggoner with scarlet poppies in his hat, blue corn-flowers and pink convalvuli trailing from the horses' «ars ; over the fields sound the distant {lealing of bells. The girl wakes up from her musing fit with a deep sigh, and her face becomes •addenly very pale ; then she moves slowly Mross the road towards a path winding through the bare harvest fields, where the gleaners arc busily at work. From under the tamariuk hedge comes the shadow of a woman ; as the white gown disappears and the lodge- keeper carries off her wailing child, the shadow becomes substance and grows oract into the figure of a girl. Of a girl in shabby black, footsore and weary, who drags herself witli hesitating steps to the spot where the other wonMn's fest have been rested, and there she stoops and hurriedly gathers a few blades of grass and presses them to her lips. Bilence once more over the landscape ; the glitter of sunshine round the empty bench ; the whirling of insects in the ambient air ; under the shadowy elms a prl smiling bitterly over a few ]>oor grasses, gathered as we pluck them from a loved one's grave. • • • • • Catharine, the lodge-koepor, sat rocking her baby in the old porch seat '.through the «pan door one oould catch glimpses of thu bright red-tiled kitchen with Us wooden settle, and the tortoise-shell cat asleep on the great wicker chair ; beyond, the sunny iittle herb-garden with its plots of lavender, marjoram, and awcet-smelling thyme, the last monthly roses blooming among the gooseberry bushes ; a child cliijueting up the narrow brick path with a big sun-bunnet and buruishetl pail ; in the corner a toy fountain gurglingoveritsoystcr-shell border, and a few 8Ui>crannuatod ferns. Catharine sat contentedly in the shady porch, on her lap lay the brown baby with his face all puckered up with fmilcs , his tiny hole of a mouth just opened ready for the small moist thumb, ana his hare rosy feet beating noiseless time to the birds ; ho was listening besides to his mother's voice as she sat rocking him and talking unconsciously aloud. " ' Heaven blesshert' she muttered, with « cloud on her pleasant face ; yes, those were her very words, as she stood like a picture under the old trees yonder." " ' Heaven bless her and nim too,' â€" but there was not a speck of color in her face as she said the words, and I could see the tears in her beautiful eyes. Oh, but you •re a saint. Miss Margaretâ€" every one knows that ; but, as I toll Martin, it is a sin and a shamo to ring the joy bolls for a feckless chit that folk never set eyes on ; while our darling. Miss Margaret, is left alone in the old place." " What about Margaret, Catharine, for heaven's sake, what about Margaret ?" and the shadow that had come from behind the tamarisk hedge now fell across the porch straight before the startled woman. Catharine put down her apron from her sycs with something like a cry, and stood up trembling. " Good gracious I is that you, Miss Crystal ? why, you come before one like a Hash of lightning on a summer's day, to make one i>alpitato all over for fear of a storm." " And about as woloomo, I supjioso," returned the young stranger, bitterly, "my good Catharine, your simileis a wouaurfully true one." " I don't know nought about ' similies,' Miss Crystal, hull know you are as welcome as the flowers in May. Come inâ€" come in â€"my lamb, and don't stand scorching your poor face in the sun ; come in and I'll give you Martin's wicker chair by the open window, where you can smell the sea and the fields together, and I'll fetch you a sup of Daisy's now milk, for you look fjuite faint and moithored, like a lost and weary bird, my pretty. Yes, just like a lost and wearv bird." " XOU ars right," murmured the girl through her pale lips ; then aloud, " have your own way, for yon were ever an obstinate woman, Catharine, and fetch me a draught of Daisy's sweet milk and a crust •f the old brown loaf, and I will thank you and go ; but not before you have told me about Margaret â€" all that you know, and that you hope and fear, Catharine." " Heaven bliaas you. Miss Crystal, it is the same tender heart as ever, I see. Yes, you shall hear all I know ; and that's little enough, I'll be bound." And so saying, she hustled up her dress over her linsey petticoat, and, taking a tin dipper from the dresser, was presently heard calling cheerfully to her milky favorite in the paddock, on her way to the dairy. Left to herself, the girl threw herself down â€" not iu the wicker chair, w4]ere the cat lay like a furry ball simmering in the sun, but on the old brown settle behind the door, whore she could rest her head against the wall, and see and not be aeon. She had taken oB her broad -brimmed hat, and it lay on the table beside her : and the sunlight streamed through the lattice window full on her face. Such a young face, and â€" heaven help her â€" such a sad face ; so beautiful too, in spite of the lines that sorrow had evidently tracod on it, and the hard bitter curves round the mouth. The dark dreamy eyes, the pale olive complexion, the glossy hair â€" in color the snn-steeiied blackness of the south â€" the full curled lips and grand profile, might have befitted a Yashti ; just so might the spotless queen have carried her uncrowned head when she left the gates of Shushi^n, and have trailed her garments in the dust with a mien as proud and as despairing. There she sat motionless, looking over the harvest-fields, while Catharine spread a clean coarse cloth on the small oaken table beside her and served up a frugal meal of brown bread, honey and milk, and then stood watching her while the stranger ate sparingly and as if only necessity compelled. â- â- There," she said at last, looking up at Catharine with a soft pathetic smUe that lent new beauty to her face : " I have done justice to your delicious fare ; now draw your chair closer, for I am starving for news of Margaret, and ' like water to a thirsty soul is news from a far country.' Uow often I say those words to myself." " But not bad news, surely, MissCrystal ; and it is like enough you'll think mine bad when told. Hark, it only wants the half- hour to noon, and they are man and wife now." " Man and wife ! of whom are yon talking, Catharine ?" " Of whom should I be talking, dearie, but of the young master ?" but the girl interrupted her with strange vehemence. •' Catharine, you will drive me crazy with that slow soft tongue of yours. How can Hugh Redmond be married while Margaret stands undsr the elm trees alone ?" " But it is true. Miss Crystal, for all that â€" as sure as the blue sky is above us â€" Sir Hugh Redmond weds to-day with a bonnie bit child from foreign parts that no one set eyes on, and whom he is bringing home as mistress to the old hall." " I don't believe youl " exclaimed the girl stormily ; but in spite of her words the olive complexion grew pale. " You are jesting, Catharine ; you are imposing on me some village fableâ€" some credulous rei>ort. As I love Margaret I refuse to believe you." " The time was when a word from Catharine wonld have contsntad yon. Miss Crystal," replied the woman sorrowfully, and her honest face grew overcast. " Do yon think Miss Margaret's own foster-sister, who was brought up with her, would deceive you now ? But it is like enough that sorrow and pride liavo tu^ied your head, and the mistake of having made the first false step beside." " Forgive me," returned the girl hoarsely ; and she took the work-hardened hand and pressed it between both her own. " I will try to believe you, though I cannot roalise it that Margaret â€" my Margaret â€" has been jilted-' " No, nor that either, dearie. Wo must not blame the poor young master beyond his deserts, lie loved her true. Miss Crystal ; ho loved her that true that hi heart was like to break ; but for all that he was forced to give her uj>." " I cannot understand it," in a howilderod voice. " When I lolt the dear old home that summer's day a year ago they had been engagoil nine months ; yes, it was nine months, I ronii.uibor, for it was on her birthday that he asked her to be his wife, and they had loved each other long before that. Do you think I can ever forget that time 7" I daresay not. Anyhow, things wont on well for a time ; the young master was always at the Grange, or Miss Margaret and Mr. Raby at the Hall ; and when he was away, for he was always a bit roving, ho wrote her a heap of lutters : and all was as right as it could be till the old master came home." Ah, true I I had forgotten Sir Wilfred." Ay, hu had boon away for more than two years in the Eaut,';Working for that fine book of his that folks talk aboat so much ; bnt ho was in bad health, and he had a strange hankering to din in the old Hall. There is an awful mystery in things. Miss Crystal ; for if it haa pleased Providence to have taken the |>oor old master before he reached the Hall, our dear Miss Margaret might have boon happy now." " Do you mean that Sir Wilfred objected to the match ?" " Well, 1 don't rightly know what hap- pened, but Martin and mo think there is some mystery at the bottom. Folks say, who know tho young master, that ho has a way of putting otT things to the morrow as should bo done to-day, and either ho did not tell his father of his engagement to Miss Margaret, or his letters went astray in those foreign parts ; but when the old master heard that Mr. Hugh had promised to marry Miss Margaret, ho made an awful scene, and swore that no Ferrers should be mistress of Redmond Hall." - " Good heavens t what reason could Hir Wilfrofl have for refusing his consent ? Margaret was beautiful, rich, and well-born. Do you mean to say that Sir Hugh was so poor a creature as to give her up for a whim ?" " No, no, Miss Crystal, dear, wo don't nnderstan<l the rights of it. When Mr. Hagh left the old master he just rushed up to tuo Orange to see Miss Margaret, and to tell her of his father's opirasition ; but she had a right bravo spirit of her own, and she heartened him up, and hade him wait patiently and she would win over the old man yet. Well, it la a sad story, and, as I told you, neither Martin nor me know what rightly happened. Sir Wilfred came up to talk to Miss Margaret, and then she sent for Mr. Hugh, and toldhim they must part, that she would never marry him. That was before the old master had that stroke that carried him off, hut she held firm to it after his death, and nothing that Mr. Hugh could say would move her." " And yet, if ever woman loved man, Margaret loved Hugh Redmond." " I know it, deario, no one conld look at her and not see that the light had gone out of her life, and that her heart was just breaking â€" how white you have gone, Miss Crystal !" " I am so sorry for Margaret. Oh ! Catharine, Catharine, if I had any tears left I think I could shed them all for Margaret." " Keep them for yourself, my dearie, maybe they will cool the fsver in your heart, and make you see clear, and bring you back to us again." " Hush, hush I I will not hear you. I will only talk of my poor Margaret. She would not marry him yon say." " No, she was like a rock, not all the poor young master could say could change her resolution. I know she told him that his father was right to forbid their marriage, and though it. was a cruel trouble to them tx)th, they most bear it, for it was God's will, not Sir Wilfred's, that separated them; but he would'never listen to her, and at last he just flung away in a rage and married the other." " The other ! â€" whom do yon mean, Catharine ?" " Well, you have heard of Colonel Mordaunt, who lived up at Wyngate Priory, the big place, np yonder, some of the land adjoins the Hall lands, but the house is no better than a ruin." " Yes, I know ; Colonel Mordaunt died in India." " Well, maybe yon did not know that the Colonel had a daughter, a bit bonnie lass, who was brought up by an amit in the country. It seems Sir Wilfred and the Colonel bad always hoped to bring about a match between the young people, and after Sir Wilfred's death they found a letter with the will, charj^g Mr. Hugh by all that was sacred not to marry Miss Margaret, and begging him to go aowu to Daintree, and see Colonel Mordaunt's beautiful young daughter. Miss Margaret told me with tears in her eyes what a loving fatherly letter it was, and how it prayed Mr. Hugh to forgive him for crossing his will ; but told him at the same time that no blessing could ever follow his marriage with Margaret Ferrers." No blessing ? There is some mystery here. Catharine." " That is what I say. Miss Crystal, but reason or not, the poor young master was half-crazed with the disappointment ; he was for sctticg aside everything, and going on reckless-like, but Miss Margaret sho was like a rock â€" she could not and would not marry him ; and in his anger against her, and because he did not care what became of him, he went down to Daintree and settled the matter with Miss Mordaunt, and that is all I know, Miss Crystal." " One â€" twoâ€" threeâ€" four," counted the girl with a bitter smile, " four broken hearts, four niutilate<l lives, and the sun shines, and the birds sing â€" one hungers, thirsts, sleeps, and wakes again, and a benignant Creator suffers it ; but hush ! there are footsteps, (,'athMine, hide nio, ijuick." " My deario, mJb'i look so soared like, it is only Mr. Raby â€" he passed an hour ago with the parson ; but there is only wee Johnnie with him now." " Is he coming in ? I am sure I hoard him lift the latch of the gate ; you will keep your faith with mo, Cotharinc ?" " Yesâ€" yes, have I over failed you ; bide ijuite a bit ; ho cannot see you. He is only standing in the poroh, for a sup of milk. I'll fetch it from the dairy, and he'll drink it and go." If only Johnnio were not there," murmured the ^rl, anxiously. No, no, he lias sent him on most likely to tho Vicarago." " My good Catbarii>e^" observed a quiet voice from tho porch, " how long am I to wait for my glass of milk ?" " 1 am sorry, Mr. Raby, I am indeed answered Catharine's cheery tones in the distance. " Don't bo sorry," returned the same voice ; " waiting will do me good." And then there was silence. Tho stranger stole out and peeped through tho half opened door. Thcro was a tall man standing in the porch ; a man so tall that the clustering ivy round tho trellis-work quite trailed about him and touched his forehead ; a man broad- shouldered and strong, but with a stooping gait like a giant worn out with labor ; he was in clerical dress, but his soft felt hat was ill his hancl, and the grand powerful head with its heavy dead-brown hair and pale face were distinctly visible under tho shadow of tho ivy. Ho did not move at the sound of tho stealthy footstep or at the light shadow that fell across him, though tho girl crept so close that ho could have touched her with his right hand ; but on ('atharino's reappearence she shrunk back with a gesture of mingled entreaty and command. " Thoro ia the milk, Mr. Raby, and it is yellow and rich with cream to reward your patiencu, sir." " Thank you," hk replietl, smiling, and putting out a large white hand ; tho stranger took tho glass from Catharine and held it to him ; lie drank it with seeming uncon- Hoiousness aiul with lowered eyes. " A most delicious draught ; but your hand is trembling, Catharine ; are you tired or unwell 'I" " Neither, sir, thank you," replied Catharine, huskily, while the girl drew back in evident aliirm. " Ah, there is Johnnie come for you, ho is waiting at the gate ; horo is your ntiik,Mr. Baby. Don't forget your hat, for tho sun is very powerful." No, no," returned tho clergyman, absently, "(iood morning, CJatliarino." Then, as Im walked down tho little brick- pavod path. " How strange (Jatharine's land never felt like that ; it always soemod puckered and rough to me, but this felt soft and cold as it touched me, and shook so that it could hardly hold the glass. Johnnie, lad, ia there any one standing in the porch with your mother '/" No, sir, only mother." Strange," he muttered, " strange ; I suppose it was my fancy, I am always fancying thintja :" and then hu sighed and put his band on the boy's ahoiilder, for Raby Foriers was blind. CHAPTER II. THE BUND nCKR or UiSVMCldfWM. Over proud o( coarse, Even solâ€" bat not so stupid, l>lind, that I. Whom thus the great Taskmaster of the world Has eel to inedit&ta, mistaken work. My dreary face ax&iuat a dim blank nail Tbrougbout inau s natural lUetimo,â€" could pre- voator wish. Browning's Jur(fra Leigh About five miles from Singleton, where Redmond Uall stands, is the little village of Sandycliffe, a small primitive place set in corn-fields, with long sloping fields of grain, alternating with smooth green uplands and winding lanes, with the tangled hedge- rows, so well known in southern scenery. Sandycliffe is not actually on tho sea-shore, but a short walk from tho village up one of those breezy uplands would bring the foot- passenger within view of the blue sea line ; on one side is Singleton, with its white cliffs and row of modest, unpretending houses, and on the other the busy port of Pierrepoint , with its bustle and traffic, its long narrow streets, and ceaseless activity. Sandycliffe lies snugly in its green hollow ; a tiny village with one winding street, a few white- washed cottages grouped round a small Norman church, with a rose-covered vicarge inhabited by the curate's large family. The vicar Uvod a mile away, at the Grange, a large rod brick house with curious gables, half covered with ivy, standing on high ground, with a ^rand view of the sea and the harbor of Pierrepoint. It might seem strange to any one not conversant with the facts of the case tha^ the small, sparsely-populated village should require the services of a curate, and especially a hard-working man like Mr., Anderson ; but a sad affliction had befallen the yomig vicar of Sandycliffe ; the result of some illness or accident, two or three years after hia ordination, had left him totally blind. People who had heard him bad prophesied great things of Mr. Ferrersâ€" he had the rare gift of eloquence ; he was a bom orator, as they said â€" a rising light in his fession ; it was absurd that such THE BOOM AT THB SAVLT. -^3 nd to I to pro- powers should be wasted on a village congregation, made up of rustios and old women ; he must preach from some city pulpit ; he was a man fitted to sway the masses in the east end of London, to be a leader among his fellows ; it was seldom that one saw sach penetration and power united with such simple unobkiisive goodness. Mr. Ferrers wonld smile a little sadly when these spoeches reached his ear. He was a man who cared little for the praises of his generation ; his one aim in life was to devote his talents to his Master's servicel What a HamlltoD Han Has to Say Abofttt. James W. Reid, formerly of HtniilVm, writes to the Toronto News from Safclt Sw- Marie that he went to that place sizTveetl ago on the report in a Toronto pape* thai things were booming. He says : " 1 1 on my arrival that there was no aha rent and it would take a small fortn bay a lot to build on, as a ring of specnliL gobbled up all the property last winter^ four or five miles along the river front away back into the country ever so far, merely paying down a few dollars oi: iu 0U6 caso I know of only $25 on a 3 1 , S0| purchase â€" and then all agreed ts put the prices so fearfully high that a man cannot touch a foot of it. This i killing the town, and keeping it back, aaf nearly everybody who comes here leaves in a few days, cursing the place instead of staying here and helping to build it np. Over 150 people came in the week I did, but there are only three of them left now. There ia plenty of talk about lots, bat no sales are being made, and except a few cheap buildings no work going on. It ia the deadest place I ever was in. One or two men have the business all in their own hands, and they do not like to see anybody else starting in opposition to them. The hotels charge $7.50 a week for board, and it costs a lot of money to stay here any time. Everybody wants to make a fortune in a month and not work for it." Ijiteat .Scottish News. It is announced that the talked of ohange of tho 79th Queen's Own Cameron High- landers into a battalion of the Scots Guards is not to take place. The last set of girders of the Tay Bridge were raised to their permanent position on tho 19th nit. The work of construction has occupied about five years. The detailed prospectus of the Glasgow International Exhibition has been issued. The guarantee fund, it is stated, already exceeds £240,000, and ia still being fccreased. Rev. Dr. Hutcheson.of Banchory-Teman, was chosen Moderator of the General Assembly of the Established Church of Scotland, at Edinburgh, last month, ana the Rev. Principal Rainy, of the Free Charoh. The same anonymous donor that gave £10,000 to start the Scottish National Por- trait Gallery, Edinburgh, has now inti- mated his intention of being at the cost of finishing the building according to „ the â€" to work in the corner of the vineyard original designs allotted to him. His inner consciousness. indeed, told him that he had capabilities for a larger sphere, a wider range of work ; when the call came he would be ready to leave his few sheep in the wilderness and go out into pastures new. He was like a knight watching beside his armor until the reveille sounded ; when the time came he was ready to go down to the battle. When the call came ! Alas I it never came in this world for Raby Ferrers. In the fall prime of youth and strength the mysterious doom of blindness came upon the young vicar and left him groping in a darkened world. There was bitter trouble at the Grange The death is announced of the Dowager Duchess of Leinster, daughter of the late Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, and sister of the late Duchess of Westminster. Lady Blantyrs, and the late Duchess of ArgyU. A hundred years ago, on the 4th of June, Robert Burns first went to Dam- fries, and received the freedom of the burg, in recognition of his talents, and the service, as a writer of songs, that he had done, and was doing, to his country. The death of Mr. Alexander Bnmton, Inverkoithiug. author of the " Life and Heroic Actions of Sir William Wallace," just then ; a young cousin of Margaret and I and other books bearing on early Soottiah Raby Ferrers, who had lived with them from childhood, and had been the spoilt darling of the honse, had left her ^ homo saddanly, leaving no trace behind her. Gossip had been rife in Sandycliffe, but no one except Hugh Redmond knew the rights of the case, or why the girl should have abandoned her homo when Raby Ferrers was lying on a bed of suffering, and Margaret was watching beside him in trembling anguish for the result. There were wock« and months of bodily suffering and fierce internal conflict â€" bitter hand to hanil fights with despair. And tho the strong will and faith of Raby Ferrers triumphed ; back from the shadow of the valley of death he came, mutilated, scarred, and victorious ; and like blind Samson, led by a boy, he one day electrified his people by entering his pulpit agaiu ; and at the sight of the changed pale face, and of the deep melodious voice speaking with its old tender authority, there was hardly a dry eye in the church. From that day Mr. Ferrers never flinched from tho purpose he had sot before him as far as lay in his power to do his duty. Bound by his ordination vows, he still gloried in the dignity of his priesthood. Sunday after Sunday saw him occupyhig the pulpit of his little church, which, as the fame of his rare eloquence went abroad' was alwoys crowded with strangers. He had secured tho services of an earnest hard-working man â€" the ill-paid, over- worked curate of an oast end parish with a large sickly family â€" and installed them in the sunny pleasant vicarage. (To beeoutlnued.) 8<>rkit With a I>Iiti'e for Kacli Toe. Speaking of hose reminds me of an imported idea in gentlemen's foot-weor, or " SOX," as they are called by the haber- dashers. They are made like gloves, with a place for each too, and are said to be far ahead of the old stylo in matter of comfort, also as to expense. â€" New York Letter in lioaton liecord. history, is annoimoed. Mr. Brimton was 83 yean of kfe. To the Wallace monument, at Stuiinj^ five busts hare already been offered â€" namely, those of King Robert the Bruce, Knox, Buchanan, Bums and Scott. Watt should certainly follow next in order. Each bust varies in cost between £80 and £100. A monument to the Marqais of Mont- rose, " tho great Maniuis," ia to be placed in St. Giles' Cathedral, Edinburgh, chiefly by gentlemen of the Clan Graham. Dr. Dowland Anderson has furnished the de- sign, tho carrying out of which will oosi about £1,0M. Peculiar Death of a Boy, The death in a chest as pathetically set forth in the •' Mistletoe Bough" has its latest parallel in the sad fate of little Tommy Gray, a bright New York lad of 7 years, whose body was found on Tuesday evening in a chest forming the seat of an ice waggon, which stood on the street. The little fellow, with several school compan- ions, wont bathing in the afternoon in the North River. They were surprised while in the water by a poUceman, and iu their fear of arrest they scattered in different directions. Little Tommy ran with hia clothes under his arm, jumped into the ice waggon and hid in the chest, pulling down the lid, a self-locker. Hero the poor little fellow was in the evening found suffocated. Periahable Freight. A freight car was left at Chippewa Falls by a northbound train. It was marked " perishable goods." When the agent opened the door after the departure of the train oat walked four tramps. â€" Milicaukte Journal. A Biiitle do Luxe. Bustles are a never-ending source of misery or pleasure, but really the bustle de luxe is one I have just seen. It is made of silk, filled with hair, and has dainty white ribbons for ties.â€" Neu) York Star. A meeting of Presbyterian ministers and elders was held in Toronto yesterday, when it was decided to divide tho city into districts for mission purposes, and a permanent organization was formed for mutual counsel on all matters of common interest. Dr. Anderson Critchett, of London, was recently offered a fee of £7,000â€" probably the largest medical honorarium on record -â€"to go to India to treat one of tho native princes, but declined the offer. " Mamma," said a little 5voar-old girl, pointing to a turkey gobbler strolling around a neighbor's yard, " ain't that rod- nosed chickou got an awful big bustle ?" â€"In a letter to County Crown Attorney McMillan, of Orangoville, Lord Dufferin thus refers to his family : Yon will, I am sure, bo glad to hear that my wife and all my children are flourishing. My eldest daughter has i;rown up into a very fine handsome young woman, and has now gone home for a year to England after spending two years with us here. My eldest son ia a young soldier in a cavalry regiment stationed in India, and the others are all gradually growing up. UTTUi JIU . Our littlo Jim Wan such a liuib Hia mother scarce could manage him His eyes wero blue, Auillookod you through, And Heemod to say, " I'll bavo my way 1" Hia ago was 6, ilia saucy tricks Hut in»<lo you smilo, ThouKli all tho whilo You said. " You limb, You wicked Jim, Bo quiot, do I" I'oor littlo Jim I Our eyes aro dim When soft and low wo spoak of him. No clatt'riug shoo (rocfl ruuiiiiig through Tho silent room, , Now wrapi>od in gloom, Ho still hu lies, With fast shut oyes, No need to say, Alas I to-day. " You littlo limb, You baby Jim, Be quiot. do!" Policeman â€" " Give mo a pint of peanuts, aunty, and there's 5 cents for you." Aunty â€" " Hivin bliss ye, sor I I see yez are a new man on thoforce." â€" New York Sun. The Canadian Wimbledon team intend spending a week at Cambridge before taking wup their (juartors at Wimbledon for / practice. â- 'T^' .?v .^ I I i Ma ^A^'^