A WREATH OF LILIES.

A CHRISTMAS STORY.

Br Jennie Wren.

Chap. I.—A Leaflet from a Life,

" The Lilt of Abgyle, 47 days from Lon. <lon, carrying 25S passengers, * bound for Auckland, New Zealand," shouted the skipper in voice of thunder, as the good ship Lady Gordon came alongside.

Messages were interchanged, a mail bag •*iWtilx-_nade up, and the Lady Gordon went on her _i._-aw_ard way, bearing jgany a word of love to anxious friends in Eng land f r6m those 258 human souls.

With one of these anxious, hopeful hearts our story has to do, and we crave our reader's indulgence if we seem to fail in our intention of taking just a leaflet from one human life, and scanning its simple record for our Christmas tale.

Amos Holt, of Holt's Farm, in one of the rural districts of England, was counted by his friends and neighbours a substantial man, whose family were pretty sure to do well in the world, and maintain a good posi tion in Earlcote society. The little market town of Earlcote pos sessed but few advantages; but among those few was one which its inhabitants freely appreciated—the fact that its society certainly was very select. Its respecta bility was unquestionable; there were but few public-houses, its gaol was seldom occu pied, its record of crime being always be low that of its sister towns in the county. Now, Amos Holt was wont to drive into Earlcote as regularly as market day came round, sometimes . accompanied by his wife and daughters, sometimes only by his son Richard, of whom he hoped yet to make a good farmer, although the young man did not display much agricultural talent. On the contrary, Richard prefered a quiet, studious life, and during his brief course at Earlcote Grammar School, had displayed much natural ability, coupled with an un daunted perseverance. But already the clouds were gathering over England's agricultural districts. Landlords could not find tenants at the former high rental, labour was so ill paid, and machinery so plentiful, that the young men preferred seeking a livelihood in the large manufacturing towns to living in aimless poverty in the country. Many of the farmers listened to the glow ing reports of certain agents of immigration who, in no measured eulogies, described the happiness and prosperity of the New Zea land settlers ; and several families decided to sell out, and try their fortune in a more favoured land where (as yet) landlordism had not attained such arbitrary power. . Among those affected by the immigra tion mania, was Amos Holt, who already found it very difficult to keep up with his neighbours in maintaining the position of gentleman farmer.

So there came a day when Holt's farm changed owners, and the family prepared to leave England while yet there was time to save themselves from possible penury. Now, Richard, although he had no desire for a country settler's life, had vague hopes of finding a better field for exertion in the new country than in England, where com petition was so close and severe. There was but one matter which gave him anxiety. He had pledged his heart and hand to pretty Alice Meredith, the only daughter of Doctor Meredith, of Earlcote; and her father would not consent to their mar riage, if Richard followed out the family intention'and emigrated to New Zealand. Here was a serious difficulty. He loved Alice far too well to give her up, and the fair girl loved him with a devotion that was really touching. Yet she dared not disobey her father, and her mother was heart-broken at the mere mention of her only darling undertaking such a voyage. She was only eighteen, a slender, delicate girl, with eyes of softest, deepest blue, over which the heavy fringed lashes hung like drooping canopies to the entrance of the soul; for Alice had such a depth of tender ness and expression in her azure eyes that her father was wont to call them " windows of her soul."

No wonder that the old people clung to her, their only treasure, the idol of their hearts, and would fain have seen her wedded to a "settled-down resident of Earlcote, whose head was not turned by rumours of untold fortune in a new country." But the handsome Richard Holt had won her susceptible young heart, and what sacrifices will not love make for sweet love's sake? He could not take her with him, but he could secure the bond of union that should hold their hearts as one, though oceans rolled between; and 80 it came about that Richard Holt won the consent of fair Alice Meredith to a secret marriage, which was quietly performed one morning in a distant village church. Alice had been staying with a friend for a week or two at Summerton, and what more natural than that her lover should pay her a farewell visit there the very week before he sailed ? She kissed the tiny golden bond upon her finger, then hung it round her fair neck by a white ribbon, and hid it near her heart.

" Good bye, my little wife," said Richard. "I shall prepare a lovely home for my pretty English bird; then she shall come to me across the sea."

A few days later he was gone, and she had only the memory of his love to sustain her through the anxious months that fol lowed, waiting for his promised letter. At last it came, the welcome news of his safe arrival in Auckland, and of his success in finding employment in the city. His father had gone up the country, where he had taken up land, but Richarci* preferred town life; so he and his two sisters had taken a small house, where the girls took in dressmaking, while he sat in a dingy office adding up long lines of figures that would somehow form themselves into perplexing problems, as his thoughts wan dered away over the broad ocean to the little town of Earlcote, where his yoiihg wife waited for the welcome letter that should call her to his side. Thus Richard wrote hopefully, lovingly ; and Alice tried to be patient, and send him a cheery, loving answer; but as the weeks rolled by her heart often sank with sad forebodings of that uncertain 'future, and her cheeks grew paler, her blue eyes heavy with anxious fear, as the truth slowly dawned upon her mind that she would not be able much longer to conceal her marriage. ' One day the crisis came. Dr. Meredith had been sorely troubled by the sad change in his daughter's physical and mental condition, and attributing these painful symptoms to grief at Richard's departure, had ventured to speak gently to Alice, and asce-tam th true state of her feelings towards him. His wife, too, shared his anxieties, and the good folks decided that it, were better to send for Richard home again and let them be married than to sacrifice the bright young Hfe to the sorrow of a hopeless love. Poor Alice, what could she say? Her nervouß system could not bear this continued strain ; her heart seemed ready to burst as she hid her face on her mother's bosom, and, with a cry of mingled joy and pain, fainted in her arms.

I -hherdau-kened, B^m.._wm,AUcew^tod ! the decision of her parents ; for during her unconscious state her mother had discovered the wedding-ring hidden in her bosom, " I never thought matters had gone so far," said poor Mrs. Meredith, through her tears, as she sat in the doctor's study, over whelmed by this discovery. • " Well, well, mother," replied the doctor, wiping his eyes; "we must give her up; it is a good thing they are married. H any thing should happen to our poor girl on the voyage, that will be a blessing ; but she must go to her husband as soon as possible, or I fear the result both for herself and child."

It was a great sacrifice, but then she was their only child, tenderly beloved, and how could they trust her alone on such a long voyage in her present delicate state of health ? So the happy home and excellent practice of Dr. Meredith were both given irpi-"~U_he_ family left Earlcote for ever. Passages were-__ ? _ ffed the Lil of Argyle, and soon they were --t-n-tteij. way to their new home, whero they hopedtb-eo their darling restored to health and happi ness.

All went well for the first half of the voy age. Alice seemed to get stronger; the light of hope and love came back to those blue eyes, that often gazed so wistfully over the broad expanse of ocean, in anticipation of the joyful meeting that awaited her on that distant shore. When the Lady Gor don passed on her homeward way, Mrs. Meredith was able to send hopeful message to Earlcote friends, for to this fond mother's loving heart, her child's happiness and wel fare were the chief consideration of earthly bliss. A few* days later, scarlet fever in its most malignant form broke out on board the Lily of Argyle, and among its first victims were Dr. Meredith and his wife. And even as the death angel hovered over the unfortunate vessel, another human soul was launched forth upon life's troubled sea, and the cry of the new-born babe mingled with the sobs of the bereaved sufferers. Strange to relate, that tender life escaped the fatal fever that in a few short hours had made it motherless ; and when the $r_adful scourge was removed, and the weakened clew and reduced passengers were able once more to resume their daily duties, the little babe was carried on deck to the thanks giving service, and received its baptismal name and blessing. " Lily," fair and fragile, orphaned at her birth, yet wonderfully preserved through that time of danger—what shall thy future know of joy or sorrow ? For what purpose was thy young life spared ? Only the Father, who dwelleth in the Infinite, knoweth the issue of each human life; to mortal eye the page of the future is a hidden record, only to be turned over leaf by leaf, transcribed in characters of love. The Angel of the Future standeth near, guarding and guid ing each human destiny from toe cradle to the grave, which is but the gateway of a new life. He relaxeth not his vigilance or care, until the record of that life is written, sealed, and covered, and the soul returneth to the Infinite, bearing into the Presence of Eternal Love—what immortal fruits ? what harvests of blessing ? Ah, solemn thought for a new year's consideration. •'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he reap." What shall I bear into the Father's presence aa the fruit of a lifetime ? As for me, as I look upon the mistakes and failures^ of a year that has almost sped, I can think of no purer, more beautiful, or desirable offering than ' A Wreath of Lilies.'

Chap. ll.—Aunt Floss.

When the Lily of Argyle was released from quarantine, and the weary passengors were at last permitted to land, Richard Holt went on board to claim his infant daughter, and learn the few sad particulars of his wife's death from the kind-hearted captain. Little Lillie was received by her aunt Floss (short for Florence) with open arms, and carried to the home Richard had hurriedly prepared for his poor young wife, on receipt of the doctor's letter.

" Pretty little pet !" exclaimed Aunt Floss, as she laid the infant in its little bed. " You shall not know the miss of a mother's care while I live. Only to think of you being spared. AVell, the ways of Provi dence are past finding out." As for Richard, he took but little notice of the tiny creature ; his heart was sore for his loss, and many were his self-reproaches that he had left Alice behind him, or ventured the risk of a secret marriage. " Three lives sacrificed through his folly." The thought was productive of such bitter pain that he grew melancholy; so deep indeed was his mental depression, that he became quite unfit for his duties at the office, and presently received a not unkind but decided dismissal.

About this time the natives began to create a disturbance, and the Militia being called out, Richard Holt directly joined a company, and bidding his sisters a hasty farewell, took a lingering look at his little child, and went out to protect the scattered settlements, which were threatened with destruction.

Aunt Floss became very anxious for the safety of her parents, as the rumours were brought into town of the repeated ravages of Titokowaru'a hostile tribes, and the skirmishes of the British troopers. How ever, she presently received tidings of their perfect security, and devoted her attention and undivided love to her Httle charge. Selina, her younger sister, became en gaged to a naval officer, to whom she shortly afterwards was married, so the business fell entirely into the hands of Aunt Floss, who managed to obtain a fair share of the patronage of the Auckland ladies.

By the time the war was over, Richard Holt became quite a changed character. Heedless of danger or exposure, he had car ried his life in his hand, at times wishing, as he saw a comrade faU, that the fatal bullet had chosen him for its victim.

Recklessly he had plunged into every danger and excess. Yielding to the tempta tion of " a short life and a merry one, he had sought to vanquish self-reproach and obliterate painful memories by the indul gence of his lower nature ; and so it was that Richard Holt, whom we saw so full of Kfe and ambition, sank to the debasing level of a drunkard and a gambler. He did not care to meet the questioning eye, the tender reproaches of Aunt Floss ; he did not wish even to look upon the innocence of the little one whom he should have cherished as a legacy of love, though sometimes, in his sober moments, thoughts of Alice, her love and purity, her beauty and fidelity, would intrude upon his con science, and cause him to sigh over the failure of his hopes. By his dauntless bravery he had secured gromotion and won military honours, and aptain Holt might have returned to Auck land in prosperous circumstances ; but the spirit of evil had found entrance into his soul, while, the angel of his better nature stood weeping without. Once he sent Aunt Floss a cheque for £20, which she devotedly set aside for the little Lillie, who was daily growing more beautiful and intelligent. A strange, dreamy child, with large, soft eyes of purest blue, almost white in com plexion, slender of figure, with a wealth of golden curls surrounding her small, pure face. Gentle and loving, yet strong in her childish sense of right,' studious and quiet, observant of every tiny trifle loving the

beautiful with an intensity that soemod to permeate her whole being, the child grew up In an atmosphere of love arid guile-ess ness thai seemed to surround her young life with sweet and tender influences, and mould her gentle nature for a future life of noble usefulness.

One luxury Aunt Floss possessed in the midst of her busy, of times troubled life, a beautiful garden; the delight of her few leisure moments, the place where she loved to sit on Sabbath afternoons with little Lillie, teaching the child in thewayshe loved best, albeit Aunt Floss's instructions were wont to be very fragmentary, but the sen sitive child loved these leaflets from the book of Nature; the language of the birds Miditowers awoke an echoing chord of music in ber young heart that would vibrate through a lifetime of earth's trials and joys. There was to be a floral service for the children on Christmas Day, and Lillie had looked forward all the preceding week to the pleasure of attending it with Aunt Floss, who had promised her a beautiful bouquet. * Iri't^ unt ■Floss had Deen terribly worried ail those days with fashionable costumes, aT^nTiceo^ 0! 0- 8 c°^^*-, and stupid apprentices, not -ra_jmention trou-ra___-_ bills and business cares. Lillie had been .watching the opening buds, treasuring up dainty sprays of fern she had begged the milkman to bring her from his country home.

On Christmas morning Lillie wakened with the birds, and quietly slipping on such clothes as she could fasten, she carried her shoes in her hands, for fear of waking Aunt Floss, who was so tired, and stole out into the dewy garden. There she visited each dainty floral treasure, caressing them all most fondly with her little hand, singing softly to herself as she plucked her chosen flowers, and sat down on the garden seat to arrange them.

"Oh, I love you, you beautiful things," she said, " you beautiful lilies, and I know the dear Saviour loved you too; for auntie read me out of her Bible, where He said, ' Consider the lilies, how they grow.' These are my very own, because my name is Lillie, and so auntie gave them to me." Thus talked the little one to herself, as she twined her flowers into a wreath, with which she intended to surprise Aunt Floss when she awoke.

She did not see a tall, shabby-looking man.hvho was leaning over the fence, watch ing her intently. As he caught her childish words, he drew a heavy sigh, and murmured softly:

"Ah, little ono, pure as the lilies is your tender life, so let it be. I will not venture to touch you, or speak one word to my own little Lillie, lest I stain her pure nature by the contact with evil."

He was about to move away, when the child looked up and met his longing gaze. Rising from her seat, still holding her flow ers, she went up to the fence, and said gently:

" Poor man, have you no beautiful flow ers ? and did you wish for some for Christ mas? See, I will give you some of my lilies. I have plenty. Are they not beau tiful ? "

"Little one," he replied, "they are not half so lovely as your small sweet self. Give me just one, by which to remember you, and God keep you pure and lovely as these lilies!"

He bared his head, as though in love's sacred presence, and took the wreath from the child's hand. Gently he broke one flower from its stem; then reaching over the fence, he placed the pure white wreath upon his child's head.

" Good-bye, little Lillie. God bless yon, and give you a happy Christmas," he said, and then he went away. And when Aunt Floss came out upon the verandah, she saw little Lillie standing there, crowned with the pure white blos soms. The child ran to tell her of the strange man, and she quickly guessed that it had been no other than her own poor father who had given his child Christmas blessing. " Poor Richard !" said Aunt Floss; "he might have come in to breakfast, and spent Christmas with us. I wonder where he has gone."

Afterwards Aunt Floss took the child to the floral service ; and a3 she stood before the altar in her simple white frock, her golden curls falling over her fair neck ; as the rector stooped to take her floral offering, the good woman found her eyes grew dim with tears, and she sent up one swift silent prayer to the Father, that He would accept her simple gift, and keep the soul of this little one pure and lovely as the wreath of lilies.

Then, like a promise of blessing, floated the sweet strains of the Christmas music upon the still summer air, and the children's voices rang out clear and sweet, as they sang the praises of Him who was born in Bethlehem. Like a troubled spirit, Richard Holt wan dered about that Christmas Day; and as he roamed aimlessly through the streets of Auckland, he, too, heard the sweet song of the children ; and as he stood by tbe fence, listening to the last notes of that Christmas carol, he saw Aunt Floss leave the chnrch, holding little Lillie by the hand.

Chap. lll.—Heart Yearnings.

Again it was Christmas Day. Away on the most rugged peak of one of the rugged hills that have yielded rich golden harvests to hundreds of enterprising miners, in the pursuit of which thousands have risked their all, and lost, ah ! even life itself, in the mad, adventurous specu lation of the gold field. Here, on the brink of a precipice, stood a small tent, almost hidden from view by the tall ti-tree and fern which surrounded it. Hard by was a shaft some two hundred feet deep, where the golden treasure was supposed to be hidden. Heaps of quartz lay around ; but to-day the windlass was idle, the claim protected, and the miners, with the exception of the solitary occupant of the small tent aforementioned, gone to enjoy the usual Christmas carousals in the township. He was always accounted strange and taciturn by his mates ; indeed they had nothing in common except the same eager desire to wrest from those rugged hills a golden prize that should secure them the pleasures of wealth and enable them to enjoy life.

As he sat _he_e on the heap of quartz, he —that is, Richard Holt—did not appear very hopeful of the realisation of these golden dreams. His appearance altogether rather tended to give one the impression that he was down on his luck, so unmis takably " seedy"*wos his whole demeanour. He looked so forlorn in his loneliness that even the little dog, the only living thing in sight (except swarms of _iosquitoes), came and licked his hand in canine sympathy with his dejection. Richard Holt looked up then, and, patting the creature's shaggy head, said kindly, "Well, Snip, you-and I are spending a dull Christmas after all; let's see if there's a bit of tucker in the tent for you." He had not cared to get any food for himself—no, not even to boil the billy that morning ; but he found some meat for the dog, and, taking a crust from the box, sat down by the tent door to munch it slowly and thoughtfully. Up from the township came the sound of the church bell, and he knew that glad songs of Christmas joy would be ringing from many a happy heart.

He' thought of' that = Christmas morning more than fifteen years ago, when ho had seen his child among the flowers, and istened to her simple talk among the lilies, that were not fairer than her own pure life. He thought of the years that had passed, of his own careless, fruitless life, spent for the most part on the goldfield, or among the Maories. And all at once Richard resolved to abandon his design of quartz planting, or rather specimen stealing, for which purpose he had remained alone upon the hill thislovely Christmas morning; and take the next boat to Auckland with the vague idea of finding Lillie, and taking ]ust another look' at her iv her bright, young beauty, for, Richard thought to him self, "she must be almost a woman now, and as beautiful as her mother had been, m those far off times at Earlcote. There was no boat that day Richard found on consulting the newspaper, but early the next morning there was an excursion steamer, and his decision was quickly made. Having obtained respectable clothing, clean linen, and some ready cash, he prepared for his impromptu journey ; and when he had indulged in the luxuries of hair cutting and '"_um_°F' and exchanged his digger's cos could almortTecy___.£^uit °f, bl^- k'°"| Holt who had landed in Se^^S^?^ such ambitious hopes for that future which* had proved so unpropitious and unfruitful.

In a pleasant little cottage on the Newton Road Aunt Floss had found a refuge from business cares and perplexities, for she had suddenly discovered the fact that she was growing old. Her dark hair was streaked with grey, her light footstep less fleet than of former years ; while an indisposition that had troubled her for some time past threatened to increase her debility, and compel the active, energetic spirit to learn that of times most difficult lesson " to suffer and be still."

Slowly it had come upon her, the trial she so dreaded, and now she was quite un able to leave her couch, or engage in any active work. In Lillie she found a most devoted nurso and intelligent companion.

Studious beyond her years, she had never cared for the daily monotonous round of business life, but had chosen rather the oc cupation of teaching, and gradually risen in this position, until she had attained her present situation as mistress in one of the acadamies of the city. So she was enabled to maintain their simple household in com parative comfort ; yet to further insure the possibility of obtaining such little luxuries as invalids often require, Lillie devoted her leisure moments to literary pursuits, con tributing to several local and Australian journals. Theso tributes of her pen gradu ally found_ favour with an appreciative public, until her norn deplume became almost a household word, and many an eager hand hastily cut the pages of the Saturday's jour nal to find the column contributed by "Phebe," or search the poets corner for her simple, tender rhymes.

Her love of the beautiful had grown with her growth, until it had become the pre vailing passion of her life. Flowers, birds, poetry, and music, were among her chief pleasures, and in the enjoyment of these pure tastes her mind expanded, her soul became more and more responsive to the voice of beauty and purity, until Aunt Floss would often lie and watch the kindling eye, the expressive mouth, the profile of the well-formed head, as Lillie sat at her desk, swiftly penning the glowing thoughts that seemed to come to her waiting, listening soul, as the voice of some unseen, inspiring influence, that shed its soft radiance over her entire nature.

For to Lillie to write was to live ; without this outlet for her imaginative fancy she would have become warped in thought and expression. When she was weary this formed her chief resource of recreation. When troubled by outward cares she would fall back upon this inner life, and find rest and comfort. Holding converse with her favourite authors, or drinking in the en nobling thoughts of her beloved poets, LJlie would forget the trials and vexations of the passing hour, and live a second life in the pure atmosphere of beauty. For although Lillie's young life had been so sheltered by the loving care of Aunt Floss, there had been a tinge of sorrowful loneli ness, a depth of earnest longing after some thing moro to love and live for, that kind Aunt Floss could never understand or enter into.

Her nature was too deep, her spirit too sensitive, to be content with such a narrow 3phere of love or labour, and like a pinioned bird the soul of the young girl longed to soar abovo the limits of her own existence, and learn the infinitude of love's power and influence.

Often her young heart would go out in tender yearning towards the unknown father, whose life seemed to have been so full of failures and disappointed hopes. Aunt Floss had told her the story of her fair young mother's love, of her own birth and orphanage, and her father's bitter sor row ; and Lillie longed to twine her heart's strong affections around that bereaved spirit, till perchance she might raise him from the depths of self-abandonment to a nobler, happier life. And always when she retired from busy duty, and in some quiet moment of seclusion, poured out her soul's request in the presence of her loving Father; there was borne heavenward the earnest longing of her inmost nature, that "he might be brought back to love and duty, and enter into the joy of a soul at peace with God."

And now it was Christmas Day, and Lillie, having comfortably arranged her aunt's cushions, and provided every possible plea sure for that dear imalid, had joined in the gladsome service of the Christ child, sinking out of a full heart the blessed tidings of His lova That evening they talked long and earnestly of him who was so dear to both of them, Aunt Floss dwell ing tenderly upon the memory of that time when he had given • his child Christmas blessing, and crowned her fair brow with a wreath of lilies.

Chap. Last.—Christmas Blessing.

When Richard Holt arrived in Auckland he hastened towards the former residence of Aunt Floss, but upon enquiry he found that she had given up business and left that neighbourhood some years previous. His hepes sank ; with a dull feeling of disap pointment he turned into the nearest res taurant and called for some luncheon.

Upon the table lay several periodicals. Idly he took one up, and as he waited, be-! gan to read. It was a Christmas article, entitled "A Message of Love," that he happened to catch sight of as he opened the paper. It bore the signature of "Phebe." Something attracted him strangely, and he read on to the end—read the beautiful thoughts that came from the heart of his own child, and knew not that "to his soul an angel spake, in tones of tenderest love." As he partook of his luncheon, he thought of those things, and a great longing for a better, nobler life came into his heart. He turned over the pages of tho journal. There were reports of various school examinations, and among other names he saw that of his own child. Something told him it must be her—"Miss Lillie Holt." Yes, he would enquire; he would yet find hfer, his little Lillie. It was in the soft twilight of that

lovely Buri__.er eve that Richard Holt stood outside .the. fence,, looking over, in to Aunt Floss's pretty garden, the delight of Lillie's heart. Some lovely roses clambered along the verandah in fragrant profusion "j" but through their laden branches one could catch a glimpse of the pleasant parlor win dow, where Lillie oft sat writing in this quiet hour. And thus it was that Richard saw her. Between the white curtains glimmered a soft light, as of a lamp be yond, and in that thread of light appeared affair head, the soft golden tresses brushed tightly back from the pure, clear brow; the face, eager and intent, bent upon the open page, over which the small white fingers moved swiftly, answering to the thoughts of that busy brain. Very beautiful she looked to the father's yearning eyes ; how he longed to clasp her in his arms, and claim her as the one treasure life held for him. How like her gentle mother she had grown ; the same fair com plexion, the same full .eye and soft ex pressive mouth. What a depth of feeling there must be in that pure soul; but would she pity or despise ? Would she welcome or shrink from the embrace of him who had so miserably failed in a parent's duty to his motherless child ?

One faltering step forward, his hand is on the latch of the gate ; it clicks ; the figure rt£3iS*il&2Z2^J iMa'> tho door opens, soul's longinT^feiv,;^o6^^' hu3 his arms as though to^laspa^lovcofo 0-^!---.. Lillie stands on the verandah one moment, looking, earnestly, searchingly at the stranger. He bares his head and advances slowly, as though half afraid the beautiful reality is but a dream after all, but sho catches the faint murmur that falls from his quivering lips—"my child?'—and with a glad cry of joy is clasped to her father's yearning heart. " Richard," said Aunt Floss, as they sat together in the pleasant room, Lillie still holding her father's hand, " you will never leave us again. You will stay with me the ' little while' that yet remains to me, and then you will tako care of Lillie."

_ No, he would never return to that old, aimless, fruitless life, but by God's help and the power of his daughter's pure, loving in fluence, he would learn to live, not unto himself alone, but to His praise who had sent him a message of mercy and draws his erring soul homeward by the beautiful in fluence of a wreath of lilies.

Monkeys at a Wedding Break fast.

I was married in India. I engaged for our honeymoon a little house—sixteen miles oi so from any other habitation of white men— that stood on the steep white cliffs of the Nerbudda River, which here flows through a canon of pure white marble. Close beside our house was a little hut, where a holy man lived in charge of an adjoining shrine, earning money for himself and the shrine by polishing little pieces of marble as mementoes for visitors. It was a wonderful place altogether, and, while my wife went in to change her dress, the servants laidbreakfast on the verandah over looking the river. At the clatter of the Elates there began to como down from the ig tree that overshadowed the honse, and up the trees that grew in the ravine behind it, from the house-roof itself, from every where, a multitude of solemn monkeys. They came up singly, and in couples, and in families, and took their places without noise or fuss on the verandah, and sat there, like an audience waiting for an entertain ment to commence. And when everything was ready, the breakfast all laid, the monkeys all seated, I went in to call my wife.

"Breakfast i 3 ready, and they are all waiting," I said. "Who are waiting?" she asked, in dismay. " I thought we were going to be alone, and I was just coming out in my dressing gown." "Never mind," I said. "The people about here are not very fashionably dressed themselves. They wear pretty much the same things all the year round." And so my wife came out. Imagine, then, her astonishment. In the middle of the verandah stood our breakfast table, and all the rest of the space, as well as the railings on the step 3, was covered with an immense company of monkeys, as grave aa possible, and as motionless and silent as if they were stuffed. Only their eyes kept blinking and their littlo round ears kept twitching. Laughing heartily— at which tbe monkeys only looked all the graver—my wife sat down.

" Will they eat anything ?" asked she. " Try them," I said. So she picked up a biscuit and threw it among the company. And the result ! Three hundred monkeys jumped up in the air like one, and just for one instant there was a riot that defies description, The next instant every monkey was sitting in its place as solemn and serious as if it had never moved. Only their eyes winked and and their ears twitched.

My wife threw them another biscuit, and again the riot, and then another and another and another. But at length we had given away all that we had to give, and got up to go. The monkeys at once rose, every monkey on the verandah, and advancing gravely to the steps, walked down them in a solemn procession, old and young together, and dispersed for the day's occupations.

Interesting Fish Experiment.

A very interesting experiment was recently conducted by W. Oldham Chambers, Secretary of the National Fish Culture Association, at South Kensington, London. Taking two Prussian crabs from the tank of the aquarium, he deposited them in separate dry cans, adorning one with blue ribbon to distinguish it from the other, which was selected for tho administration of spirituous liquors. After a lapse of four hours the fish were placed in water, evident signs of expiration being apparent in both cases. A small quantity of brandy and water was then given to the crab selected for the imbibition of intoxicating liquors, through the medium of a feather, and no sooner was the fish placed in water than it was quickly restored to vigour and strength. The crab enlisted under the banner of the "Blue Ribbon League " to all appearances died half an hour after its more fortunate associate, and was then taken out of the water and thrown on the ground. About four hours later, however, the fish was picked up by Mr Chambers, who observed it by appearance to be in rigor mortis. He at once operated on the seemingly inanimate fish by opening its mouth and pouring a dose of brandy and water down its throat, and again putting it in the water, when, to his_astonishment, he noticed slight signs of animation. For five minutes the un fortunate object of the experiment floated helplessly on its side, when presently, to the still greater amazement of Mr Chambers and those who watched the experiment, it gradually asserted itself in the water, and, with considerable effort, made use of its fins, feebly at first, but afterwards ener getically. Both the resuscitated fish, who show no signs of their late prostration, aro now in the tanks as usual.

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