"Well!" said he, with a shrug and a smile,
"I wish some good angel would influence my
friend in the right direction. I rashly promised
his mother and sister in Norfolk, to see it done,
and he promised them that he would do it. But
I suppose he never will."

He spoke for a minute or two on indifferent
topics, and went away.

I had scarcely unlocked the drawers of my
writing-table next morning when he reappeared.
I noticed that he came straight to the door in
the glass partition, and did not pause a single
moment outside.

"Can you spare me two minutes, my dear
Mr. Sampson?"

"By all means."

"Much obliged," laying his hat and umbrella
on the table. " I came early, not to interrupt
you. The fact is, I am taken by surprise,
in reference to this proposal my friend has
made."

"Has he made one?" said I.

"Ye-es," he answered, deliberately looking at
me; and then a bright idea seemed to strike
him;— " or he only tells me he has. Perhaps
that may be a new way of evading the matter.
By Jupiter, I never thought of that!"

Mr. Adams was opening the morning's letters
in the outer office. " What is the name, Mr.
Slinkton?" I asked.

"Beckwith."

I looked out at the door and requested Mr.
Adams, if there were a proposal in that name,
to bring it in. He had already laid it out of his
hand on the counter. It was easily selected
from the rest, and he gave it me. Alfred
Beckwith. Proposal to effect a Policy with
us for two thousand pounds. Dated yesterday.

"From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton."

"Yes. He lives on the same staircase with
me; his door is opposite mine. I never thought
he would make me his reference, though."

"It seems natural enough that he should."

"Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never
thought of it. Let me see." He took the
printed paper from his pocket. " How am I
to answer all these questions?"

"According to the truth, of course," said I.

"Oh! Of course," he answered, looking up
from the paper with a smile: " I meant, they
were so many. But, you do right to be particular.
It stands to reason that you must be
particular. Will you allow me to use your pen
and ink?"

"Certainly."

"And your desk?"

"Certainly."

He had been hovering about between his hat
and his umbrella, for a place to write on. He
now sat down in my chair, at my blotting paper
and inkstand, with the long walk up his head in
accurate perspective before me, as I stood with
my back to the fire.

Before answering each question, he ran over
it aloud, and discussed it. How long had he
known Mr. Alfred Beckwith? That he had to
calculate by years, upon his fingers. What were
his habits? No difficulty about them; temperate
in the last degree, and took a little too
much exercise, if anything. All the answers
were satisfactory. When he had written them
all, he looked them over, and finally signed them
in a very pretty hand. He supposed he had now
done with the business? I told him he was not
likely to be troubled any further. Should he
leave the papers there? If he pleased. Much
obliged. Good morning!

I had had one other visitor before him; not
at the office, but at my own house. That visitor
had come to my bedside when it was not yet
daylight, and had been seen by no one else but
by my faithful confidential servant.

A second reference paper (for we always required
two) was sent down into Norfolk, and was
duly received back by post. This, likewise, was
satisfactorily answered in every respect. Our
forms were all complied with, we accepted the
proposal, and the premium for one year was
paid.

OUR DAILY BREAD.

IN the time of Pliny, six different kinds
of wheat were cultivated by the Romans; in
the present time there are from a hundred
and fifty to a hundred and sixty different races
of wheat: most of which, however, are distinctly
referable to four or five principal types. The
minor varieties are by no means permanent in
their characters, except under special cultivation,
and they degenerate when grown in unfavourable
conditions. In like manner, favourable
conditions readily bring out improved qualities
in inferior kinds. But it must not be concluded
from this, that Buffon and the other writers are
correct in their views who regard the corn-grains
as artificial products. The principal types appear
constant, for Decandolle recognised the seeds
of " Triticum turgidum" in specimens from the
Egyptian mummy-cases; Loiseleur confirms this
fact; and the Count de Sternberg, in 1834, raised
plants of the common wheat from a sample obtained
from an Egyptian tomb. This is further
confirmed by a note presented to the French
Academy of Sciences by M. Guérin Méneville.
Some botanists— to whom the absence of wild
wheat in most countries is an indication of the
artificial origin of the corn of our fields— regard
it as a product of long-continued cultivation.

A few years ago, M. Esprit Fabre, of Agde,
gave an account of the supposed production of
wheat by a grass called " Ægilops ovata," growing
wild in the south of France. It never exceeds
a foot in height, and has a short broad ear
with but four spikelets, only two of them being
fertile. It has long been known to produce a
variety called " triticoides," from its approach in
some degree to the character of wheat. When
this grass, in its wild state, produces this variety,
a portion of the characteristic bristles or awns of
the valves disappears, and the spikelets are generally
barren. The ripe grain is long and