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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Advocate, 1887-06-16, Page 2IR RUGJi'SLOVESJ caARTEA T, etieLeoot—Tuu welinueee• 'J. ears, idle team. s know net whet they moan, Tears from the cieisth of slime diviee nevelt Nisi) in the heart, atid other to the eyes, sit molded ()lithe happy Aututau-tmids, 4ad thinking of the days that are no more. reanstrewe PrOlefer. Npt =nigh of a picture certainly Only a etretcli of wide sunny road, with s tamarisk hedge and a chimp o shadowy ems; a stray sheep nibbling in. a grass ditch; awl a brown beby asleep on a bench; heyond, low broad fields of grain whitening to harvest, and a distant film and •haSe— blue cloudiness, and, the deep monotonous sound of the great sea. Yellow sunshine, green turf, the huoyanoy cif salt spray in the air • some one, trailing a white gown unheeded' in the sandy dust, pauses a moment under the flickering elms to admire the scene, She is a tall, grave woman, with serious eyes and dead-hrown hair, the shade ef withered leaves in autumn, with a sad beautiful face. It is theism of one wile 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 straight white folds and uncovered hair, for her sun -bonnet lay on the turf beside her, her wistful eyes looking far away sea. ward, one could have compared her to a Norman or it 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 red and yellow rainround the rough- hewn bench, the brown baby awakes and , stretches out its arms with a lusty. cry—a 4- suggestive hiinian sound that 'effectually 10 broke up the"-Stillness•ffer at the same ' instant, an urchin whittling Wood in the hedge scrambles out in haste, and a buxom. looking woman steps from the porch of an vy-covered Wage, wringing the soap -suds from her white 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 boy leaves off whittling wood and chases theyellOW•hille ; through the. bitty avenue &canes the loaded corn -wain, thejocund waggoner with scarlet poppies in his hat, blue corn -flowers and pink conyolvuli trailing from the horses' ears; over the fields sound the distant pealing of bells. Thegirl wakes up from her musing fit with a deep sigh, and her face becomes suddenly very pale; then she moves slowly across the road towards a path winding through the bare harvest fields, where the gleaners are Istisily at work. From under the tamarisk hedge comes the shadow of a woman; as the white gown disappears and the lodge -keeper Carnes Off her wailing child, the shadow becomes substance and grows erect into the figure of a girl. Of e.'girl in shabby black, footsore and weary, who drags herself with hesitating steps to the spot where the other wornan's feet have been rested, and there she stoops snd hurriedly gathers a few blades of grass and presses them to her lips. Silence 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 girl smiling bitterly over a few poor grasses, gathered as we pluck them from a loved One's grave. s s s Catharine, the lodge -keeper, sat rocking her baby in the old porch seat through the open door one could catch glimpses of the bright red -tiled kitchen with its wooden settle, and the tortoise -shell cat asleep on the great wicker chair ; beyond, the sunny little herb -garden with its plots of lavender, marjoram, and sweet-smelling thyme, the last monthly roses blooming among the gooseberry bushes; a child cliqueting up the narrow brick path with a big sun -bonnet and burnished pail.; ii, the corner, a toy fountain gurglingover, its oyster-shellborder, auks few superannuated ferns. „ , • .Catharineseat-, einitentedlY. inthesshady. • . porch, , on her lap lay the biown haby with his bee all puckered up with siniles ; his " tiny hole of a month:just opened ready.for ' the small raoistihumb,' and his,hare rosy feet beating noiseless time to the 'birds s he was listening besides to his inother's voice as she sat rocking him and talking unconsciously aloud. " Heaven bless her!' she muttered, with a 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 him too,'—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 are a saint, Miss Margaret—every one knows that ; but, as I tell Martin, it is a sin and a shame to ring the joy bells 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 wonsen. Catherine put down her apron from he eyes with something like a cry, and stood up trenibling. s "Good gracious 1 is that you, Miss Crystal? why,you tome before one like a flash of lightning on a summer's day, to Make one palpitate all over or fear of a storm." "And about as welcome, I suppose " returned the young stranger, bitterly, "ray good Catharine, yout shnileis a wonderfully true one." "1 dorittsknow nought' about Miss Crystal, but I know you are as weleonse ,tts theilowers in May, Come iii—cothe in —ray lamb, and, don't Stand' sCotching year poor face in the sun; come in and I'll give you Maitin'e wicker chair by the open *wide*, where you can smell the Sea and the fields together, and fetch yea a sup of Daiey's new milk, fot you look quite faint and =Dithered, like a lost and weary bird, my pretty. Yes, just like a lost and 'weary bird." "'�u are rightr" milrmured the girl thren84 her PaleliPs i then Ileadt "have your on Wey, for yon were ever an obstinate womeit, Catharine, aid fetoli xe draught of Daisy'i sweetmilkand a rest of the pld brown loaf, and1 will thenk you and go; but net before yen have old 'ine lAhOut T.Pww,rpt---*4 that Yen lala'ar-, l!ad thatyou hope and 'tear, Cathariae." " 1-fea-Ven bless rat, Misa Cr1ratftli it is the Berne tender heart as ever, I see. Yes, you shall hear all hum and that's little enough, be boancl." And so saying, she liustled up her dress over herlinsey petticoat, and, taking I tin dipper from the dresser, was presently heard calling cheerfully to her milky favotite in the peddock, on her way to the dairy, Left to herself, the .girl threw herself down—not in the wicker chair, where the cat lay like a furry ball simmering in the sun, lint on the old brown settle behind the door, where she could rest her head against the wall, and see and not be seen. She had taken off he broad -brimmed het, and it lay on the table beside her; and the sunlight streamed through the lattice window full on her fate!. Such a young face, and—heaven help her—such a sad face; so beautiful too, in spite of the lines that sorrow had evidently traced on it, and the hard bitter curves round the mouth. The dark dreamy eyes, the pale olive coraphgxion, the glossy hair—in color the sun -steeped blackness of the south—the full curled lips and grand profile, might have befitted a "irashti;just so might the spotless queen have carried her uncrowned head when ehe left the gates of Shushan, 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 etranger ate sparingly and as if only necessity compelled. "There," she said at last, looking up at 'Catharine with a Softpathetic smile that lent new beauty te her face: I have done justice to, your -Zelicious fare rnovPdraw your 'chair 'closer, for i 'ale Starving 'fOr news of -Margaret, and like water to a thirsty soul is news from a far country.' How often I say those words to myself." But not bad -news, surely, Miss Crystal ; 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 wifeof whom are you talking, Catharine ?" "01 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 Redraond be married while Margaret stands under the elro trees alone ?" " But it is true, Miss Crystal, for all that —as sure as the blue sky is above us—Sir Hugh Redmond weds to -day with a bonnie bit child from foreign parts that no one set eyes on, and whom be is bringing home as mistress to the old hall." "I don't believe you!" exclaimed the girl stormily; but in spite of her worclsthe olive complexion grew pale. "You are jesting, Catharine • you are imposing on me some village fable—some credulous report. As I love Margaret I refuse to believe you." "The time waEl when a word from Catharine would have contented you, Miss Crystal," replied the woman sorrowfully, and her honest face grew overcast. "Do you think Miss Margaret's own foster -sister, whis brought up with her, would deceive you'ffOw 2 But His like enough that sorrow and pride have turned your head; and the mistake of having made the first false step beside." " For&ive me," returned the girl hoarsely; and she took thwork-hardened hand and pressed it between both ' her own. "1 will try to believe you, though I cannot realise it that Margaret—my Margaret—has been jilted." "No, nor that either, dearie. We must not blame the poor young master beyond his deserts. He loved her true, Miss Crystal; he loved her that true that his heart was like to break ; but for all that he was forced to give her up." " leannot understand it," in a bewildered voice. "When I left the dear old home that summer's day a yearegotheyhad been engaged". nine. _Months ; yes, it :Wee nine months, I remember, for it wail on her, birthday that he asked her to be hig wife, and theyhad !cried- each Other long :before that. Do'you think I can ever'forget *hit time r „ " I dareiek jaot:' Anyhow, Range Went onwell'hir a time ;the young theater was always at the Grange, or Miss Margaret and Mr. Baby at the Hall; and when he was away, for he was always a bit roving, he wrote her a heap of letters ; and all was as right as it could be till the old master came home." "Ah, true! I had forgotten Sir Wilfred." "Ay, he had been away for more than two years in the BastSworking for that fine book of his that folktalk about so much; but he was in bad health, and he had a strange hankering to die in the old Hall. There is an awful mystery in things, Miss Crystal ; for if it had pleased Providence to have taken the Poor old master before he reached the Hall, our dear Miss Margaret might have been happy now." "Do you mean that Sir Wilfred ohjected to the match V "Well, I don't rightly know what hap- pened, but Martin and me thirils there is some mystery at the bottom. Folks say, who know the young master, that he has a way of putting off things to the morrow as should be done to -day, and either he did not tell his father of hie engagement to Mies Margaret, or his letters went astray in those foreign parts; but when the old master heaild that Ztr. Hugh had promised to marry MiSs Margaret, he made an ateful scene, and swore that no Ferrets should be mistress of Reamed:4 Hall." Good heavens ! what teation could Sir Wilfred have for refusitig his consent ? Margaret Wilebeautifulr rich,' and well-born. Do you mean to say that 8ir Etugh Was se poor a creature as to give her hp for a *him ?" " No, no, Miss Crystal, dear, we don't tinderstarid the right e of it, When M. Hugh left the old Master he just rushed up to the Grange to see Miss Margaret, and to tell her of hie father's opposition ; but she had'a tight brave spirit of het otivn,. and she heartened him up, and bade him wait patiently and she Would win atter the old man yet. Wellr it is a sad story, and, as 1 tola Yciu_i neither Martinner ale linew what riglitlY naPPened, Sir Wilfred PAW) aP to talk ta Miss Margaret, and then she sent for Mr. Hugh, and toitthim they mist part, that she would never marry him, That was hefore the old master had that stroke that cerried him off, .but OM lield Arm to it after hie, death, and notlibip that Mr. Hugh could say would nurse her. •' And yet, if eVer Wereari loved Plant Margeret loved Hugh Redmond," " I knew it, dearie, no one could look at her and not eee that the light worn. nnt of her life, and that her heart as just breakinghow white you hews gone, Miss Crystal 1" "1 am so sorry for Margaret. Oh Catharine, Catharine, if I had any tears lefatlretthphoeuid shed them all for Margret," Keep them, for yourself,my deem), maybe they will cool the fever in yourheart, and make yell see clear, and bring you back to us again. "Hush, hush 1 IL will not hear you: I will only talk of my poor Margaret. She would not marry him you say." "No, she wee like a rook, 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 both, they must bear it, for it was Gocl'e will, not Sir Wilfred's, that separated. them ; but he would never listen to her, and at last he juet flung away in a rage and married the other.' "The other l—whom do you mean, Catharine ?" Well, you have beard of Colonel Mordaunt, who lived up at •Wyngate Priory, the big place, up yonder, some of the land adjoins the Hall lands, but the house is no better than a filth." 'Yes, I know; Colonel Mordaunt died in India." "Well, maybe you did not know that the Colonel had e' daughter, a bit bonnie lies; who was brought up by an aunt in the country. It seems .113ir Wilfred and the Colonel had always biped td bring about a mit& between the young people, and alter Sir Wilfred's deth they foundrii letter with the Will, charging Mi. Hugh byall that was sacred not to marry bliss Margaret, and begging him tei go down t� Daintree, and see Colonel Mordaimt's beautiful young daughter. Mies Matgaret told me with tears in her eyes what a loving fatherly letter it was, and heis, 1* 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 se,y, Miss Crystal, but reason or not,lhe poor young master was half -crazed with the disappointinent ; he was for setting aside everything, and going on reckless -like, butMiss Margaret she was like a rock—she could not and would not rnarry 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 matterwith Miss Mordaunt, and that is all I know, Miss Crystal." "One—two—three—four," counted the girl with a bitter smile, " four broken hearts, four mutilated lives, and the sun shines, and the birds sing—one hungers, thirsts, sleeps, and wakes again, and a benignant Creator suffers it; but hush 1 there are footsteps, Catharine, hide me, quick." My &Ririe, don't look so scared like, it is only Mr. Baby—he passed an hour ago with the parson; but there is only wee Johnnie with bim new." "Is he coming in? I am sure I heard him lift the latch of the gate; you will keep your faith with me, Catharine ?" Yes—yes, have I ever failed you; bide quite a bit ; he cannot we you. He is only standing in the porch, for a sup of milk. I'll fetch it from the dairy, and he'll drink it and go." "11 only Johnnie were not there," murmured the.girl, anxiously. "No, no, he has Kent him on most likely to the Vicarage." My good Catharine," observed a quiet voice -from the porch, "how long am I to wait for my glass of milk ?" "1 am sorry, Mr. Baby, I am indeed," answered Catharine's cheery tones in the distance. " Don't be sorry," returned the same voice; waiting will do me good." And then there:iyas silence. s The stranger stole out and peeped through the half opened door. There was a tall man standing in the Porch'; esinsai so tall that the clustering ivy •rontid the trellis -wink s'duite trailed about hirn and touched hie forehead ; a nem broads 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 in his hand, and the grand powerful head with its heavy dead -brown hair and pale face were.distinctly visible under the shadow of the ivy. He did not move at the sound of the stealthy footstep or at the light shadow that fell across him, thoegh the girl crept so close that he could have touched her with his right hand; but on Catharine's reappearence she shrunk back with a gesture of mingled entreaty and command. "There is the milk, Mr. Relay, and it is yellow and rieh with cream to reWard your patience, sir." "Thank you," he replied, smiling, and putting out &large white hand; the stranger took the gifted from Catharine and held it to him ; he drank it with seeming uneon- sciousness and with lowered eyes. A most delicioue draught ; but your hand is trembling, Catharine; are you tired or unwell ?" " Neither, sir, thank you," replied Catharine, huskily, while the girl drew back in evident alarm. " Ali, there is Johnnie dome for you he is waiting at the gate' here is your Stick, Mr. Baby. ,Don't forget you hat, for the sun is very powerful." " NO, no,'' returned the olergyttaitai absently. Good Morning, Catharine." Then, as he walked .down the little brick. paved path, How ettarige• Catharine's hand ileVer felt like that ; it always seethed puekered and rOugh to me, bid this felt soft and cola as fi tOnclied Me, end shodk ei0 that it &add hardly hold the gliteff. johtithei ia there any One ntaitaing iti the porch With your Mother 2" "No, sir, only Mallet." Strange," he intitteted, " titian& ; suppose it Was My fan6y, I Un2 alWaY§ faneying things- :" and then he Sighed end put hie hand on the bey's Shouldet, Pit Baby Viitretii Wee blind: • P4ARTA4I. .71IM .P*UP VCP SalitS7M4STS1, over prowl of eontee, , Even gel—hut noteitistupid.hilact,thats, whein thug the greet Tasluntetet Pt the word Res get to ineditete, Mietiken Ierk My dreaty fecisagaineit a dira',blank ran ThreOehoat taaa''f .M4t.uP.41- Plet1e4ess'eP414. ?FP - Seat, Or Wish. •ProWnfug'l Aurora About Ave miles irons Bingletee, where Redmond Hell stands, is the little viUage of Sandypliffe, sial l Primitive place) set in Pon -field% with -long illoPit19 grain, altetnating with smooth green uplande and winding lanes, with the tangled hedge- rows, o well known in seethes% _Scenery. Sandyoliffeisuot actually on the ses-ehore, but a short walk from the village up one of those breezy uplands would bring the foot. passenger within view of the blue sea lino; on one side is Singleton, with its white cliffs and row ef modest, unpretending hOW,,Jee, and onthe other thebusy port ef Pierrepoint, with its bustle and trallictits long netroys streets, tind ceaseless activity. Sandyeliffe lies snugly in its green hollow J a tiny village with ene winding street, a few white -washed cottages grouped 't oiled a small Norman church, with a rose -covered vicarge inhabited by the curate's large family, The vicar lived a mile away, at the Grange, a large red brick holm with ourions gables, half covered with ivy, standing on high ground, with a grand view of the sea and the harbor of Pierrepoint. It might seem strange to any one not conversant with the fads of the case that 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 young vicar of Sandycliffe ; the result of some illness or accident, two or three years after his ordination, had left him totally blind. People who had beard him had prophesied great thiegs of Mr. Ferrers—he had the rare gift of eloquence ; he was a born orator, as they said—a rising light in his pro- fession •, it was absurd that such powers should be wasted on a' village congregation, made up Of instilis and old wenien ; ie thtpra'cb froth Bottle city pulpit; he was a man fitted -to sway the masses in the east end of London, to be a leader among his Movie ; it was seldom that one saw such penetration and power united with such simple unobtrusive goodness. Mr. Ferrers would smile a little sadly when these speeches 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 service —to work in the corner of the vineyard allotted to him. His inner consciousness, indeed, told him that he had capabilities for a larger sphere, a wider rangeofwork; 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 1 Alas 1 it never Came in this world for Relay Ferrers. In the full 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 just then; a young cousin of Margaret and Baby Ferrers, who had lived, with then2 from childhood, and had been the spoilt darling of the house, had left her home suddenly, leaving no trace behind her. Gossip had been rife in Sandycliffe, but no one except Hugh Redmond knew the rights of tint case, or why the girl should have abandoned her home when Raby Ferrets was lying on a 'bed of suffering, and Margaret was switching beside him in trembling anguish for the result. There were weeks and months of bodily suffering and fierce internal conflict— bitter hand to hand fights with despair. And then the strong will and faith of Baby 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, heoneday electrified his people by entering his pulpit again; 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.Ferraenever. flinched from the purpose he had set 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 prie,sthood. Sunday after'Ssuiday eaW shim: odenpyihg the, pulpit Of hie little church, Which, as ,the,fame of hie.rareehigkenceWerit'eliread' ,*es„alweys Crowded withstrangers. He had sectiredth:e.services Of ,an earnest hardswerking min—the ' ill.paid, over- worked Quiet° Of an east end parish with a large sickly family—and installed them in the sunny pleasant vicarage. (To be continued.) Socks With unlace for Each Toe. Speaking of hose reminds me of an imported idea in gentlemen's foot -wear, or as they are called by the haber- dashers. They are made like gloves, with a place for each toe, and are said to be far ahead of the old style in matter of comfort, also as to expense.—New York Lotto in Boston Ilecord. Perishable Freight. A freight oar wag left at Chippewa Falls by a north -bound train. It was marked "perishable goods." When the agent opened the door after the departure of the train out walked, four tramps.—Milwaukee Aurnal. A Bustle de Luxe. Bustles ate a never-ending source of thisety or pleasure, but really the bustle de luxe is one I have just seen. It is made of silk, filled with hait, and has dainty white tibbons for ties. --New York Star. A theeting of Presbyterian miniSters and elders was held in Toronto yesterday, when it was decided to divide the city into dietricts fot mission purposes, and a permanent organizatien was formed for Mutual counsel on all matters of common interest. Dr. Anderson Critchett, of Landon, was tecently offeted a fee of-Z7,.000—probitbly the largest Medical honotanuin Oa record .—tb go to India to treat doe of the natiVe princesrbnt dealined the offer. "Mamma'," • soda a little 5. ear -old irl, pointing to a turkey gobb et etre' ing around a neighbOr's yard, " ain't that red+ nosed chicken got an awful big bustle f • Tllit Pc.13,* AT TEM s44'41r.„ What eo 144110WOR Mrae Hall to 817 4&!4fat ;sates W. Acid, formerly of RaMiltalsa write e te the Tereate •iVetes #9411311114 Ste. Marie -that he wepttp thit Oleo six Wahl ago on the reyert in a Toronto paper ttot thlnfga Were booming. He says " founa pn my arrival that there was no ShaP to rent 'and it would take a smell fortune tow bey a lot to build qn, as a ring of speculators gobbled .up ell the property last wieter for four or five mike; along the river front and away hack into the country ever so far, by merely paying down a few dollars on 4 -- in cum case I know of only 925 on a 94,800 purchase—and then all agreed to put up the Rime so featfully high that a poor man cannot touch a foot of it. Thieiu, killing the Own, and keeping it back, as nearly everybody who conies here leaves in - a few days, cursing the place instead of staying here awl helphig to build it up. Over 150people mime in the week I did1 but there are only three of them left now. There is plenty of talk about lots, but no sales are being made, sea except a few cheap buildings no work goieg on, It is the deadest place I ever was in, One or two men have the businees 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 welsh, to melte a fortune in a month and not work for it." Latest Scottish News. It is announced that the talked of change of the 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 the 19th ult. 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' R240,000; and is Still being decreased. Rev. Dr. Hut cheson,ofBanclioryaernan was chosen Moderator of the Generai Assembly of the Established Church of Scotland, at Edinburgh, last month, and, the Rev.- Principal Rainy, of the Free Church. The same anonymous donor that gave £10,000 to start the Scottish National Por- trait Gallery, Edinburgh, has now hie - mated his intention of being at the cost of finishing the building according to the •original designs. 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 Blantyre, and the late Duchess of Argyll. A hundred years ago, on the 4th of June, Robert Burns first went to Dum- 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 Brunton. Inverkeithing. author of the " Life an Heroic &nitwit: of Sir William Wallace," and other books bearing on early Scottish history, is announced. Mr. Brunton V750 83 years of age. To the Wallace monument, at Stirling, five busts have already been offered— namely. those of King Robert the Bruce„ Knox, Buchanan, Burns and Scott. Watt should certainly follow next in order. Each bust varies in cost between Z80 and £100. A. monument to the Marquis of Mont- rose, the great Marquis," is to be placed in St. Giles' Cathedral, Edinburgh, chiefly by gentlemen of the Clan Graham. Dr. Dowland Anderson has furnished the de- sign, the carrying out of which will cost about £1,000. Peculiar Death of a Hoy. 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 art ice waggon, which stood on the street. The little fellow, with several school compan- ions, went bathing in the, afternoon in the North River.- .They were surprised while ie the 'water' by b, policeman, and in Ahem feat of arrest they spattered in different directions., • Little Tommy ran with his clothes under his arm, jumped into the ice waggon and hid in the chest, yelling down the lid, a self -locker. Here the poor little fellow was in the evening found suffocated. —In a letter to County Crown Attorney McMillan, of Orangeville, Lord Dufferin thue refers to his family: You will, I ens sure, be glad to hear that my wife and ell my children are flourishing. My eldest daughter has grown 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 is a young soldier in a cavalry regiment stationed in India, and the others are all gradually growing up. LITTLE Mt. Otir little Jim Was such a limb His mother scarce could manage him. His eyes Were bine, And looked you through, And seemed to say, " rn have my way I" His age Was p, His saucy tricks But made you smilo Though all the while 'nu said, " Tou limb, Yeti wicked dirri, Be (pilot, do I" Poor little Jim! Our eyes are dini VViten soft and low we speak et him. io elett'ting shoe Gees running throttgh The silent room, New wra.bpea in gloom, So still be lies, With fast shut °yeti, Ne nod to say, Mast to -day, "Yeti little lirnb. Yen baby Jim, Bo (Inlet, do I" Politeinan•—" GriVe ine a pint orpeafiuts,, isunty, and there's 6 cents for you." Aunty. Hivin bliss ye, sor 1 I see yes' ate a new inati oki. thefOrce."s—New York Sun. The Canadian Wimbledon team intend spendiiiq a week at Cambtidge before taking up their quartets at Wimbledon for practite. 11