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7#' i',i Walt k nit. (The Century.) >\'hen Juhnny cauie &couruu(( I tlioiiKht hiiii ovi'rbolil. For 1 wui but a yimiif{ thing And hi' not vrrv old. And though I liked hitn woU enough I Hvnt hini on hit wav. With 'â-  Wait a lut, tn.hj a hit, Wait H wi'fk and a day '' Wht'ii Johnny poaHtid ine in Uie lauo. And pUadfUfur a kinH, And vowod hi'd Uivn ntti uvorniort- Kor Krantin»! of thv \th»n . Althou^;h I'd iik»Hi it uvtrwt^Il, I ran Ir<iin hint awny, With " Wan a bit. hide a bit. Wait a wct-k and a day !" When .hdiiiny fell a-rautin(t. With •â-  .h-nny. hf my wift* ?" And vowfd 1 ni'Vcr ^liouhl rugrt'i. Howfvcr loiik' my hfc ; Althutiifh 1 likfd it biat u all, 1 turnt-d fnmi hini away. With ' Wait a t>it. hnh- a bit. Wait a witL'k and a day ' ' Oh, Johnny was a niuny ; H'l took niu at my word ! And \tv waH cuiirllnh' anotlii>r Thf nixt thing that I h«-urd. Oh. what a uinny was Johnny. To iiiind nil' whfii I'd hay . •• Wait a l>it. l»idc' a bit. Wait ti wcM'k and a day ' H«i»;h-ho. I've m«t iny Johnny. i Min hini a blink o my uye. And then lie full a-raviii»;. For want o* my l"Vf hfd diu ! I nc'iT could ht* rt't rrn»-l. Sti 1 Bvi ihf wtKldhih' day. With •â-  H:i-t(*a l>ii. ii"r watiie a bit. Till! re tt danger in delay.' SIR HUGH'S LOVES. For when Noveiiit)er came with its short days, itH yilli)* foj;«. itn husvy lUriip atmo-'phiTt'. li ternl)lo thing happened in Mr. lIuiitiiiH.loii'H ottii-e. A yourii; clrrk, the one above Maurice â€" a weak, (iLsHipiti-tl fellow, who had lately );iven nnut ili^Batiifaction by his un- punctuality and cartjleiianegsâ€" absconded one day with live thouxand poundH belon)^- ini; to ilia employer. Mr. Huntingdon had juDt given authority tu the manager to diamixH him when the facta of hix diaap- pearancv aii<l the nuKHing sum wore brought to their ears. The deed was a cool one, and HO cleverly executed that more than one believed that an older hand waa concerned in it ; but in the midst of the oonHternation and confusion, while the manager stood rubbuig his hands nervously together, and Mr. Huntingdon, in his culil, hard voice, was giving instructions to the detective. Maurice 'i'raffi>rd ijuietly asked to s|H-ak to him a moment, and offered to accompany the detective officer. Ho knew George Anderson's haunts, he said, and from a chance word accidentally overhoaril, he thought hn had a clue, and might Huccued in finding him. Tliere was something so modest and self-reliant in the young man's manner as he spoke, that, after a s<'urching glance at him, Mr Huntingilon agreed to leave the matter in his haiiils, only bidding him not to let tlio young villain escape, as hu certainly meant to punish him Many were the incidents that befell Maurice and his companion in thix his first anil last detective case ; but at last, thanks to ht« saga<:iiy and the unerring instiiya ^ the ollioer. they were soon on the right track, and before night had very far advanced were hanging almut a low public house in (..iverpool, lurking round corners and talking Id stray sailors. And the next morning they l>oardud the Washington, lK)und for Now York, that was to loose anchor at the turn of the tide ; and while Kt«untoii, the detective, was making iminiries of the captain about the steerage passengers, Maurice's sharp eyes had caught sight of a young sailor witFi a patch over his eye, apparently bus^ with a coil of roi)««, and he walked up to him oare- iessly ; but as he loitered at his side a moment his maimer changed. " Don'tlook round, George," hewhispered ; " for heaven's sake keep to the ropes or you •re lost. Klip the |K>cket b<x]k in my hand, and I will try and get the detective out of the boat." " Would it be penal servitude, Maurice?" mattered the lad, and his face turned a ghastly hue at the thought of the human bloodhound Iwhind him. " Five or ten years at least," returned Maurice. " Were yon mad, George 7 Give t to meâ€" <|oick -quick ! and I will put him on the wrong scent. That's right,' as the â- baking hand pushed a heavy brown pocket-book towards him. " Ooodby, Oeorge ; say your prayers tonight, and (hank Uod that you are saved." >• " Btaunton," ho said aloud, as the detoo- tive approached him, •' wo aro wrong ; ho is in tiie bow of the Hrowii Hess, and ho â- ails in the I'rairio Flower ;" and as ho uttered the flrat lie that he had ever told in his guileless young life, Maurice looked full in the detective's face and lad him <|uiotly away. Hut a couple of hours laterâ€" when Btaunton was loosing his temper over their want of success, and the Washington was â- teaming outof the dock -Maurice suddenly produced the pocket-book, and pro|)08ed that they should take the next train back for London. " For I am very tired," Unishod Maurice, with provoking good- humor ; " and Mr. Huntingdon will sleep better to night if we give him back his tlvo thousand pounds." " *)u'll let tho rogue go I" exclaimod Htannton, and ho swore savagoly. " You have cheated justice, and oounived at his escape." '• Yes," answered Maurice calmly. " I)on't put yourself out, my good follow. I will take all the blame. Ho sailed in tho Washington, and there she gru's like a bird. Yon are out of tomiMir because I was loo â- harp for you. Kvil c^ominunicationa oorriipt good manners, Htannton. I have taken a loaf out of your book do?i't you think I should make a splendid detective ?" oontinuod Maurice, rattling on in pure boyish fun. " I got up tho little ttotion •bout the Urown Hess and the Prairie Flower when I saw him dressed like a Bailor, with a patch over his eye, hauling in the ropes." Then, as Btatlnton uttered another 0«th : , â-  , " Why, did you exiieot me to bring back my old churn, when I know they would give hitn (iveorteu years ot poi^al servitude? 1)0 you think I am tlesh ai.;i blood and could do ;t ? No I I have kept my promise, and brought baokthe five thousand pounds, and not a farthing of it wo.ld ho or you havo •sen but for me" Perhapa Htau nton wag not ai hard hearted as ho seemed, for he ceased blaster ng and shook Maurice's hand very heartily ; nay, more, when thoy told their story, and Mr. Huntingdon frowne<i angrily on hearing Maurice had connived at tho criminal's esctt|«', he spoke up for Maurice. '• You Jul not expect the young gentleman, sir, to put tho haiidcutls' on his old pal ; it is against human iisture, younoo." " t'erhaps so," returned Mr. Huntingdon, coldly ; " but I should havo thought bettor of vou, TrafTord, if you iiad sacrificed feefiug in the nmtter. Well, it may rest now. I Imve struck off George AndiTson's name as di-fscilter out of my book and memory, and 1 will tell Dobson to add his salary to yours. No thanks," he continued in riither "a chilling manner, as Maurice's eyes sparkled, and he attempted to speak ; "it is a fair recompense for your sagacity. Go oil as well as you have begun, and your future will be ansure<l. 'I'o-morrow I slmll cx|)ect you to dine with nie at Helgrave House. Dobson is coming, too," and with a slight nod Mr. Huntingdon dismissed him. That night Maurice laid his head upon his pillow and dreamed happy dreams of a golden future. To-morrow he should see tho dark-eyed girl who had spoken so sweetly to him : and as he remembered her words and glances of gratitude, and the touch of her soft white hands, Maurice's hesrt gave quick throbs that were almost pain. He should see that lovely face agai wau his first waking thought ; but when tl evening was over Maurice Trafford wjnt back to his lodgings a sadder and a wiser an. Ho was daz^tled and bewildered when he saw her again â€"tho young girl in the white gown was changed into a radiant princess. Nea was dressed for a ball ; shecame across the great lighted room to greet Maurice in cloud of gau/.y draperies. Diamonds gleamed on her nock and arms ; her eyes were shining ; she looked so bcwilderingly beautiful that Maurice grew embarrassed, all the more that Mr. Huntingdon's cold eyes were upon him. Maurice never recalled that evening without pain. A great gulf seemed to open between him and his master's daughter ; what was there in common between them ? Nea talked gaily to him as well as to her other guests, but he could hardly bring himself to answer her. His reserve disappointed Nea. She had been longing to se« him again, but the handsome young clerk seemed to have so little to say to her. He was perfectly gentlemanly and well bred, but he appeared somewhat depressetl. Nea's vanity was piqued at last, and when Lord Hertie joined them in the evening she gave him all her attention. Things had not progressed according to Itlr. Hunting- don's wishes. Nea could not be induced In look favorably on Lord Herlie's suit ; she poute<l and beliave<l like a spoilt child when tier father spoko seriously to her on tho subject. Tho death of one of Lord Herlie's sisters had put a stop to the wooing for tho present ; but it was understootl that ho would speak to Nea very shortly, and after a long and angry argument with her father, she was induced to promiati that she would listen to him. Nea was beginning to feel the wright of Jier father's ilitlexible will. In apite of her gaiety and merry speeches, she was hardlv happy that evening. Lord Bertie's heavy BiM-eidios and meaningli'ss jokes oppresMod her how terribly weary she would get of hini if he were her husband, she thought. Hhe was tired of him already â€" of his commonplace hamtsonie face of his confidential whis[^H<rs and delicately. ' implied compliments â€"and then she looked I up ami met Maurice's thoughtful grey eyes I Hied on her. Noa never knew why she I blushed, or a Strang') restless feeling came over her that inoment ; but she answorod I Lord Hertie (satishly. It was almost a relief when tho carriage was aniiniinccHl, and she was to leave her guests. Maurice, I who was going, stood at tho door while Lord Hertio put her in the carriage- a little gloved hand wave<l to him out of the darkneaa â€"and then the evening was over. Mr. Huntingdon had not seemed like himself that night , he had complained of headacdie and fovoriahness, and had oonfldod to Dobson that iierhapH after all Dr. .\iiislie was right, and ho ought to havo taken more rest. I Somehow ho was not the man he had been before his accident ; naverthetuss he ridiculed the idea that much was amiss, and talked vaguely of running down to the sea for a few days. I Hut not even that determined will of his 'could shako off the illness that was crtsep- ing over him, and one night when Nea r turned from a brilliant reunion she found Helgrave House a socond time in confusion. Mr. Huntingdon had been taken suddenly ill, and Dr. Ainslie was in attendance. ' lly and by a nurse arrived â€" a certain bright eyed little Hister Teresa â€" and took charge of the sick man. After the first few days of absolute danger, during which ho had been tolerably submissive, Mr. Hunt, ingdon had desired that he should ho kept informed of all matters connected with an important law suit of his at present |Hmd- iiig ; and during the tedious weeks of cou- valoscence Maurice Trafford carried the daily report to Ilolgrave House. It soeinod as though fate was oonspiriug against him ; every day ho saw Nea, and every day her presonue grew more perilously sweet to him. Hho had a thousand innocent pretexts for detaining him, little girlish co()uetrios . which she did not employ in vain. She would ask him about her father, or bog him to tell her about the tiresome law-suit, or show him her birds and tlowors, any- thing, in fact, that her caprice could doviso to keep him bosidu her for a inomoiit : very often they mot in her father's room, or Mr. Huiitingdon wiiii'd give orders that Mr. Trafford should stay to liimhon. Noa, III hsr blindness, thought she was only aiiuisiiig luirself with an idle fancy, a girl's foolish partiality for a face that seemed almoHt |«irfect in her eyes ; sho little thought that she was playing a dangerous game, that tho time was fast approachin;, >vlicn she would And h«r fancy a sorrowful reality. I Day by day those stolon momenta became more perilous in their sweetness ; and one . iniirning Nea woke up to the conviction that Maurice Trafford loved her, that he I was everything to her, and that sliu would rather die than live without him. | It was one aftornooii, and thoy wore together in tho drawing room. Maurice had come late that day, and a violent storm bad aet in, and Mr. Huntingdon had sent down word that Mr. Trafford had better wait until it was over. To do Mr. Hunting- don justice, he had no idea his daughter was in the house ; she had gone cut to luncheon, and he liad not heard of her return. The heavy velvet curtains had been drawn to shut out tho dreary scone, and only the firelight lit up the room ; Noa, sitting in her favorite low chair, with her feet on the white rug, was looking up at Maurice, who stood leaning against the mantlcpier:e talkiiifi to her. He was telling her about his father's early death, and of the swoet-faced mother who had not long survived him ; of bis own struggles and poverty, of his lonely life, his efforts to follow his parents' example. Nea listened to him in silence ; but onou he paused, and the words seemed to die on his lips. He had never seen her look like that before ; she was trembling, her face was pale, and her eyes were wet with tears ; and then, how it happened neither of them could tell, but Maurice knew that he loved herâ€" knew that Nea loved himâ€" and was holding her to his heart as though he could never let her go. CHAPTER IX. THK AWAKENINO. That thrilling, solemn, proud, pathetic voice, Hh stretcliod liis arms uuc towards that tbrllliog vt.ice. Ah if tu draw it on to his embrace. [ take tier as (iud uiadu her, and ms men Uust fail tu uumake bur, f jr uiy lioiior'd wife. K. It IlrouniinQ. Paradise itself could hardly hold an hour of purer and more perfect bliss than when those two young creatures stood holding each other's hands and confessing their mutual love. To Nea it was happiness, the happiness for which she had secretly longeil. To Maurice it was a da/zling dream, a mad- ness, an unreality, from which he must wake up to doubt his own sanity to tremble and disbelieve. And that awakening came all too soon. Through the long hours of the night he lay and [Mndered, till with the silence and darkness a thousand uneasy thoughts arose that cooled the fever in his veins and made him chill with the foreboding of evil. What had he done ? Was he mad ? Had it been all his fault that he had betrayed his love ? had he not been sorely tempted ? and yet, would not a more honorable man have left her without saying a word ? How could he go to Mr. Huntingdon and acknovi-ledge what he had done ? that he, a mere clerk, a (loor curate's son, had dared to aspire to his daughter, to become the rival of Lord Bortie Gowerâ€" for Nea had confided to him her father's ambition. Would he not think him mad ? groaned Maurice, or would he turn with that hard dark look on his face that he knew so well, and give him a curt disniissiil '.' Maurice remembered George Anderson and trembled, as well he might ; and then as the whole hopoleHsiiess uf tho case rushed upon him, he thouglit that he would tell his darling that he had been mad -dis- honorable, but that he would give her up ; that he lovod her better than himself, and that for her own awoet â- ake he must give her up. And 80 through tho long dark hours Maurice lay and fought out his tierce battle of life, andgnoruiou found him the victor. The vi;tor, but not for long ; for at tho first hint, the lirst whispered word tlmt he must tell her father, or that he must leave her for ever, Nea clung to him in a (lerfect passion of tears. The self-willed, undisciplined child had grown into the wayward undisciplined girl. No one but her father had ever thwarted Nea, and now oven his will had ceased to govern her ; she could not and would not give up the only man whom sho lovod ; nothing on earth should induce her now to marry Lord Dertie â€" she would rather die first ; if he left her she should break her heart, but he loved her too well to leave her. Pour Maurice ! An honorablo man would have nerved himself to bear her loving re- proaches ; would have turned sadly and firmly from her confused girlish sophistries, and reproved them with a word. He would have told her that ho loved her, but that he loved honor more ; that he would neither sin himself nor suffer her to tempt him from his sense of right. Hut Maurice did none of these things ; he was young and weak ; tho temptation was too |K>werful ; he 8taye<l, listened, and was lost. Ah I the angels must have wept that day over Maurice's fall, and Nea's victory. Hhe told him what he know already, that Mr. Huntingdon would turn him out of his ortice ; that ho would oppress her cruelly ; that he would probably take her abroad, or condemn her to solitude, until sho had promised to givo him up and marry Lord Hertie. Could he leave her to her father's tender mercies, or abandon her to that other lover '! and she wept so passionately as she gaid this that a stronger man than Maurice must have felt hi« strength wavtr. And BO Nea had the victory, and tho days Hew by on golden wings, and the stolen moments became aweetor and more precious to tho young lovera until tho end came. Mr. Huntingdon was betterâ€" he conid leave his rtwin and walk up and down the corridor loaning on Bister Teresa's arm. I'hero was less pain and fewer relapses ; and when Dr. Ainslie proposed that his patient should s|wnd tho rest of the spring III the south of France, Mr. Huntingdon oonsrnted without demur. They were to be away some months, Mr. Huntingdon informed Noa, and extend their tour to Hwitzerland and the Italian Tyrol. Lord Hertie had promised to join them at I'au in a month or so, and here her father looked at hor with a smile. They could get the trousseau in Paris. Nea must make up her mind to accept him before they started ; there must be no more delay or shillyshallying ; the thing hail already hung tire too long. Lord Bertie had been coinplainingthat he was not fairly treated, and more to tho same purpose. Noa listened in perfect silence, but it was well that her father could not see hor face. Presently she rose and said that ho was tired and must talk no more, for Mr. Trafford would be hero directly ; and then she made some pretext for leaving the room. Maurice found her waiting for him when ho caiiie ilownstairB. As ho took hor in his arms, and asked hor why she looked so pale and strange, she clung to him almost convulsively, and implored him to save hor. Maurice was as pate as she long before she had finished ; the crisis bad come, and he must either lose her or tempt his fate. Again he tried to reason with her, to l>e true to himself and her ; bat Nea would not give him up or let him tell her father, tihe would marry Maurice at once if he wished it ; yes, perhaps that would be the wisest plan. Her father would never give his (Aisent, but when it was too late to prevent it he might be induced to forgive their marriage. It was very wrong, she knew, but it would be the only way to free her from Lord Bertie. Her father would be terribly angry, but his anger would not last ; she was his only child, and he had never denied her anything. Poor Nea ! there was something pathetic in her blindness and perfect faith in her father ; even Maurice felt his misgiving silenced as he listened to her innocent talk ; and again the angels wept over Maurice's deeper fall, and Nea's unholy victory. They had planned it all ; in three woeka time they wore to be married. Mr. Hunt- ingdon could not leave before then. On the day before that fixed for the journey, the bond was tu be Bealcd and signed between them, BO that no power of man could part them. Mr. Huntingdon might storm ever so loudly, bis anger would break against an adamantine fate. " Those whom God has joined together no man can put asunder" â€" words of sacred terror and responsibility. The next three weeks were very troubled ones to Maurice; his brief interviews with Nea were followed by hours of bitter misgiving;. But Nea was childishly excited and happy ; every day her love for Jlaurioe increased ana deepened. The shadow of his moral weak- ness could not hide his many virtues. She gloried in the thought of being hia wife. Oh, yes, hor father would be good to them, perhaps after all they would go to Pau, but Maurice and not Lord Bertie would bo with them. Nea never hesitated, never repented, though Maurice's face grow thin and haggard with anxiety as the days went by. They were to l>e married in one of the old city churches ; and afterwards Maurice was to take her to his lodging in Amptou street ; and they were to write a letter to Mr. Huntingdon. Maurice must help her write it, Nea gaid. Of course her father would be angry â€" fearfully angry â€"but after a few hours he would calm down, and then he would send the carriage for her ; and there would be a scene of penitence and reconciliation. Nea painted it all in glowing colors, but Maurice shook his head with a sad smile, and begged her not to deceive herself. Mr. Huntingdon might not tor- give them for a long time, for he remem- bered George Anderson, and the inexorable will that would have condemned the young criminal to penal servitude. And so one morning as Mr. Huntingdon was sitting by the oiien window watching tho children play in the May sunshine, and wondering why his daughter had not been to wish him geod morning, Noa had stolen out of her father's house, and was hurry- ing through the gunny stjuare and green deserted park until she found Maurice waiting for her, who silently took her hand, and put her iu'o the carriage. Nea said afterwards that it was that silent greeting of Maurice's, and his cold touch, that first brought a doubt to her mind ; during the long drive he spoke little to her only held her hand tightly^j,^p|U«l when at last thoy stood together mttie dark old church with its gloomy altar and white gleaming monuments, the poor child gave a shiver that was almost fear, and siidilenly burst into tears. It had come uiKiii hor all at once what she was doing, and why she was there ; but already it was too late, for while she was clinging to Maurice with low frightened sobs, tho curate had hurried from the vestry and had eatertHl within the rails, and the pew opener was beckoning them to take their places. Too late ! too late ! Ten minutes more and the knot was tied that no hand could loosen, and Nea Huntingdon had beoome Nea Trafford. • « • â-  • • Hut when they had left the gloomy old church in the distance, and were driving through the crowded streets with their babel of voices, Nea's courage and spirita revived ; and presently sho was tripping about Maurice's shabby rooms, rearranging the bowls of jonquils and lilac, with which the landlady had made some show of festivity, unlooping tho stiff folds of the muslin curtains, and peeping into the corner cupboards with the gleeful curiosity of a child, until, at her young husband's gentle remonstrance, her soriousneag returned, and she sat down to write the formidable letter. .\nil how formidable it was Nea never imagined, until she had tried and failed, and then tried again till she sighed for very weariness ; and then Maurice came to her aid with a few forcible sentences ; and so it got itself writeii -the saddest, most penitent little letter that a daughter's hand could frame. Hut when she had laid down the burthen of hor secret, and the s|iouial messenger ha 1 been dospatohed to Helgrave House, Nea put off thought for a while, and she sat by the window and chatted to Maurice about the gay doings they would have at Pau, and Maurice listene«i to her ; but always there was that sad incredulous smile on his face. And so the day wore on, but when they had finished their simple dinner and the afternoon had waned into evening, Nea grew strangely (|uiet and Maurice's face grew graver and graver as they sat with clasped hands in the twilight, with a barrier of silence growing up between them. And when tho dusk became darkness, and tho lamp was brought in, Nea looked at Maurice with wido anxious eyes and | asked what it meant. Were they not going to send the carriage for thoui after all ? she wondered ; niUHt she go homo on foot and brave her father's anger '! he must bo se very, very angry, sho thought, to keep them so long in suspensu. " Hush !" e.xulainied Maurice, and then they hoard the rumbling of wheels that stopped suddenly before the door, and the loud (lealingof a bell through the house. I " The carriage ! the carriage !" cried Noa, and the tlush rose to her face as she started to her feet, but Maurice did not answer; he was grasping the table to' support himself, and fell as though another moment's suspense would be intolerable. " A letter for Mrs. Trafford," observed the landlady in solemn awe-struck tones, " and a man in livery and the cabman are bringing in some boies." " What bozBB ?" exclaimed Nea, but aa she tore open the letter and glanced over the contents a low cry escaped her. " Maurice ! Maurice !" cried the poor child, and Maurice taking it from her, read it once, twice, thrice, growing whiter and whiter with each perusal, and then sank on a chair, hiding his face in his hands, with a groan. " Oh ! my darling," he gasped, " I have ruined you ; my darling, for whom I would willingly have died, I havo ruined you and* brought you to beggary." They had sinned, and beyond doubt their sin was a heavy one ; but what fattier, if he had any humanity, could have looked at those two desolate creatures, so young, and loving each other sc tenderly, and would not have had pity on them ? (To be continaacL) Fuuil That Glvea Miuole. The lumbermen in the Maine forests work intensely in the cold snows of winter, and in the icy water in the spring. To endure the severe labor and cold, they most have food to yield a great deal of heat and strength. Beans and fat pork are staple articles of diet with them, and are used in very large quantities. The beans supply protein to make op for the wear and tear of muscle, and they, and more especially the pork, are very rich in energy to be used for warmth and work. I cannot vouch for the following, which has just struck my eye in a daily paper, but, if it is true, the workmen were sound in their physiology : "A lot of woodcboppers who worked for Mr. 8â€" â€" in H stopped work the other day, and sent a spokesman to their employer, who said that the men were satisfied with their wages and most other things, but didn't like *your fresh meat; that's too fancy, and hain't got strength into it.'|Mr. S gave them salt pork three times a day, and peace at ouce resumed its sway." The use of oily and fatty foods in arctic regions is explained by the great potential energy of fat, a pound of which is equal to over two pounds of protein or starch. I have been greatly surprised to see, on look- ing into the matter, how commonly and largely the fatter kinds of meat are used by men engaged in very hard labor. Men in training for athletic contests, as oars- men and football teams, eat large quanti- ties of moat. I have often i)uerietl why so much fat beef is ueed. and especially why mutton is often recommended in preference to beef for training diet. Both the beef and the mutton are rich in protein, which makes muscle. Mutton has the advantage of containing more fat along with the protein, and hence more potential energy. Perhaps this is another case in which experience has led to practice, the real grounds for which have later b«en explained by scientific research. â€" Pro/. Atwater in the CeiUury. lirtdesmalds In Uermany, In Germany the duties of the brides- maids have just a tinge of superstition about them. It is one of their duties on the morning of the marriage day to carry to tho bride a myrtle wreath, for which they had subscrii>ed on the previous even- ing. This they place on her head, and at night remove it, when it is placed in the bride's hand, sho being at the time blind- folded. The bridesmaids then dance around her, while sho endeavors to place the wreath on one of their heads. Who- ever is fortunate enough to be thus decorated will, it is believed, be herself a wife before another year has passed away. In removing the bridal wreath and veil, the bridesmaids aro careful to throw away every pin, or the bride will be overtaken by misfortunes ; while any unwary bridesmaid who retains one of these useful little arti- cles will materially lessen her chances of •• getting off." Like many other German superstitions, this has found its way into England, though it has not yet become a general belief. Clilneoe Mon«7-Raialll|| Methods. The Chrittiaii Criien reports that the heathen in China have a practice that, if introduced into this country, would soon abolish church fairs, rattles, pound parties and the other questionable means of rais- ing money to run the church. Dr. C'orbett, a returned missionary, says : " The heathen never go to their temples to wor- ship without carrying an offering of some kind as a proof of their sincerity. When they become Christians this conviction is not rooted out, but rather it is heightened in proportion as Christianity is regarded as superior to heathenism. I have seen them give to such an e.\t«iit that I have felt it a duty to ronionstrate and remind them that they owed duties to their homes which must not be forgotten." Were it not for tho danger attending the knowledge of our church methods it would be wise to have a few Chinese sent to this country as missionaries in this particular department of church work. The Chinese are BO imitative that, on the whole, it is best for our people to confinethe knowledge of their methods of raising money to our own shores. â€" Christian Adfwale. The First 8pee«h of the Youdk Man, " Mr. Chairman and gentlemen â€" The Jxiot has beautifully said, in those words so amiliar to you all, but which, unfortu- nately, have escaped me at this moment, he has said â€"in tho words of the poet â€" the poet -has saidâ€" now, gentlemen, I did not exiHxjt to be called upon to speak at this banquet to-night, hence though I could probably spuak better hence than I can here hence I feelâ€" I mean I find myself â€" that is to say, you find mo- and -and realizing as I doâ€" happiest moment in my life. Now, I didn't come hero to make a speech â€" " " We see you didn't," interrupted the Chairman, and the young man sat down amid thunders of applause. â€" TexixiSi/tinga. ^ Work on the short line railway from Montreal to the sea is progressing satisfao- torily. All the oontracts in tho State ot Maine have been awarded, and the sections under contract aro expected to be oom- plotoil in November. A Skye terrier belonging to a London gentleman, aays the Fi«(d, is oaring for eight little chickens. They oocupy a basket and the chickens nestle in the dog's long hair and seem oomfortable. They follow the dog about and tho brute strives to give them all the personal care possible.