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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1886-12-9, Page 6•••••se,seeetse s eseePign,"414,414111r il:,"11!TrtI114841$•• eese ese , tlr'qabia',ots C°tIn#ats bout poi Hate/eine did Poe Metre, S p A plundernig expedition among. poor Cep, Try to,ronee youiself 1031,e, Here is W e 1/tfeeeetet $ lechers, 4 beekett Iry, Whioh bee heenbrought by a GIB, The Attitudetoo, of the young girl was yoqug gni. ehe sae; alld 4rOull4 her waist hung the The light bad got Tery dim in the hut and LOVE AND VENGEANCE AMONG THE' SMUGGLERS' 441" bit ot edialg t° liQr aig4t-dress, whial. ' he had notice-, When her erns WeS Opt- awful look of soother world which Wee nOW Ceptaie Morton could not very Nyell see that — stretched to opeu the simile): little slidieg on the awe of the dying man. It was only aoor On heard the lugger, in A faint whieper tiaatlie could epeak, . The le,ntero---by which5.11Ceptaio Dolan " Come—come—come 1„ Tne MoST rAsicorATING RON4110E SPICE via Deece Or Coorate Ole Maltase= CHAPTER XIV, Tele 0IIOST TUAT PAPALKEED E Gereld had. not knewu how the cetestrophe to the boat a the Sprey ho1 been. brought about—or, perhaps, he would ha.ye shrunk little from Ben Bowline, who had been the contriver of it. He would not there been quite able to enter into Ben's views and ideas as to how far you may carry a primi. ple of self defense. But it was an immense relief to Gerald to be able to letwo he deck. Ben had released him from the gag and put the handiterehief 10 his own pocket, and when Gerald reached the state -cabin of the Rift, as it was called, he was at once receiv- edin the arms of Captain Mocquet, who, while, he rubbed the region of his stomach, exclaimed " Sacre, mon ami 1 I shall call ene mor- tal—what you sety—duel that Monsieur Jackson. I do not like de box." " What box?" said Gerald. " Dis box," replied Mocquet, as he deolt Gerald a feeble blow in the stomach. h. Oh ! I tmderstand. Marie—how is poor dear Maria?" "She sleep like one mouton; that is, small —what you call him ?—lamb." "Where is he I will have him up l—I will have him 1" roared the voice of Captain Dolan at this moment, and there was a scuf- fling noise at the hatchway. " Dolan !" said Gerald. " Sacre !" said Captain Mocquet. "Ile shall yet came on deck. He shall yet the on the schooner 1 I have sworn it 1" " He comes 1" said Gerald, faintly. "An- other struggle with that man ! Oh, heaven, direct me. Is he, indeed, or is he not, my father ?" "Hold, Captain Dolan !" was now heard in the voice of Ben Bowline. We don't believe it 1" " You—doeet—believe—it 1 And pray, Ben Bowline, what is it that you don't be- lieve ?" "That Gerald wrote to the port ad- " In -deed 1" " Oh, that's all ver any well. Captain Do - 1, but Martin and I don't believe." "Martin and you are two mutinous ras- cals and I will speak to both of you another time. I suppose, though, I may be permit- ted to go into my own cabin ?" "Well, as to that—" "Oh, much obliged to you—ha ! ha !— much obliged !" The rapid sound of Captain Dolan's de- scending footsteps came plainly upon the ears of Gerald and of Captain Mocquet. The latter seized upon Gerald ; and, fling- ing open the sliding -door of the little berth where Marie slept, he dragged him in with him and abruptly closed it. It was et that moment Captain Dolan reached the cabin. All was darkness. Coming out of the faint night-light— which, after all, is ever a sort of light in the open air, and gleaming from the surface of the sea—the darkness of the cabin of the Rift was something very impenetrable and profound to Captain Dolan; and he paused on the threshold as a man might pause on the brink of a well. He had bean very much bruised by his fall down the forecastle hatch As no bones were broken, he had managed to crawl up, with such an accession of savageness and rage about his heart and brain that he was capable of any act of cruelty and oppres- sion.The crew of the Rift he dared not, he well knew, raise a finger against; so his first idea was to make Gerald feel the weight of his vengeance. " Hilloa !" he said ; " hilloa !" There was no reply. " Gerald, I say !" No answer. "Skulking, eh? Oh, we will soon put an end to that --oh, very soon 1 Stop a bit, Mon- quet, hilloa 1 Captain Mocquet, holloa, boy 1" All was still. " So you won't speak, either! No doubt you are both agreed on that. But who lanows we won't find a way to make you both speak? Ha, ha ! who knows? Come, now—I know well enough that you are both here, so you may as well speak—eh ?—eh?" All the sound in the cabin was the hoarse echo of his own words. "Oh, very well, very well. Please your- selves, only don't think you will do any good by it. Don't make a rush at me; I am arm- ed—I am armed 1" The idea that such might happen came over the craven heart of the ruffian and he retreated a couple of steps up, the hatchway clear of the door. r. Hoy! a light here !" he said. "There was one, but it is out. A lighthere. Hoy! One of the crew brought a lantern down to him and lit it onthe steps. "There you are, sir." "The Spray, where is she? "Oh, she's—why, there she is 1 The report of a gun from the Spray suffi- ciently answered the inquiry, but it was evi- dent that the shot flew wide of the Rift. "Keep on," said Dolan, "keep on for the bay, and let her just see us go in., " Ay, ay, sir." "This shall bethe last," he muttered, as he went into the cabin again, and set the lantern on the table—"this shall be the last of it. No more voyages in the Rift for me. A good round sum—twenty thousand pounds—that will do; and Gerald hanged for piracy. Ha, hal what glorious news for the admiral; when 1 thll him! Now, where are you ?" Dolan glared. around him in surprise at the empty state of the cabin, and then his eyes fell on the little sliding -door to the berth and he said: "Very 'Wise that—very cunning. As if, now, I did not know of that. Come out ; come tent, I say 1 How faint I feel 1 Brandy 1 brandy Amether drop. This fall has shaken me—very much shaken me, indeed. Ah, that is the thing." Dolan had found the case of heftier& and had solaced himself with a deep draught ot brandy, He felt decidedly /settee, but not more clear in his intellect or prudent in Ms speash, "That will do/ that will do. I wonder now Who invented brandy? Some great genius, I should say ; but whoever he was good luck to hirn say L But he's past wish- ing good luck to, of course, for brandy has been invented elrer so long ago .; so, etf comae, the -worthy indivitual is deed—dead. Well? we still all be dead seme day, who our tune"eonices but I duet want my time to eome. Oh, no, no 1 t have made too good thing of smuggling and of the Rift alto - gaiter to want that. / shall be agteet ntleman yet, ii nook sharp and don't run on eny reeks. That's the thing to do. deeidedly good." These last words applied to another drought of the brandy. Delon, then holding by the table in his eabin, glared about him with a, ferocity of expressionpeculiarly his own and thoughts of murder came into his mind. • " I don't see," he muttered, " why I should be troubled with Mocquet, as 1 shall be troubled. The sooner lie is out of my way the better for me. He will go on shore else, and there will be no end of bother. I am here with hine—here Alone, except the boy, and I don't care what he says or what he sees. I vril have him hong; and Sir Thomas Clifford, the admiral of the port, shall see that eyen-handed justice is done ; and then I will write him a letter—oh, such a letter 1 Hee! he1—such a letter ! Oh, what a letter that will be 1 Ha 1 ha ! Oh 1 hal [ha Good gracious 1" 1 Dolan very near choked himself with the strained laughter that came over him at the idea of what a letter he would send to Ad- miral Sir Thomas Clifford. It took hirn some tune to recover, and then he looked at the panel that would slide betek and open a way to the berth leecling from the cabin, and the deadly hyenadel ike are flashed from his eyes again aud he plunged his hand in ehe breast of his apparel as he said : 1 "Captain Mocquet 1 Captain Mocquet! want you, if you please. I know perfectly well where you are and I want you, Captain Mocquet There was no reply. "Oh,you won't speak. You won't come out mne your old friend, who has trans- acted business with you for so long Well, perhape we will find some way of making you, Captain Mocquet.' The silence was still unbroken. could. ewe tow well about in the cabul— " Where ? What?" sent A tull ray through a hole to the side, upon the fetes and form—partially rising from the berth—of Merit. The resemblance to the last oecesion en which lie had, seen her was very complete. The confueion of his intellect was rapid and eomplete ; eud he could clo nothing but still kited by the toble, and glare at what he conid consider to be nothing else than the apparition before him. How was it possible to be other than a supernatural being who now met his eyes? There was the girl whom he had met in the cabiu of the Coquette—whom he could here sworn he saw go down with the French lugger. There she was, looking; just as she did; she uttered. the same words too • and there was the little fluttering lace that hung e by her waist. ' He had happened particular- "With fair hair, and so sweet a look—" ly to notice that. " I saw that she was fair, Maid Yory love - /es" " God ! God 1" " Some neighbor's child ?" With a writhing movement, the smuggler approached close to Captain Morton ; and in a strange, spasmodic way, he whispered to him : "That was the child that was saved from the wreck of the Sarah Ann. Her clothes were marked with the name of Grace Mor- ton 1" "Nearer ---nearer, Cense t' I—ern—going now 1 I mee the God 1 it is laeed and awful 1 and Yet whet? "1 hoer soft Yoiees preying, and they utter my naine—even my sinful mune 1" "Be Comforted," " Huai ! hush 1 hush 1" Captain Morton was silent; awl As the light slowly waned away, aud got dimmer and dimmer, he could hear the breathings of the smuggler grow fainter, When the dying man spoke again, it was in a low, faint whisper: "Did you say a basket ---a girl ?" • yet— Yo a might have *actuated twenty slowly, while Dolan, with parted lips and staring eyes, regarded the fair image before him; and then the agony of his fear, which else would have killed him, found vent in a howl of fright thAt echoed through the ship. He fell completely over on his back. He yelled again, and shrieked fearfully. He rolled to his knees again. He struggled half way so Ms feet. "Help—help 1 Have mercy upon me ? Ben, Martin 1 Oh, save me 1" He reached the hatchway on his hands and knees; still yelling for aid or mercy he reached the deck and fell int the arms of the terrified crew, Who, hearing such yell, and shouts from the cabin, had made a rush to the hatchway to ascertain the cause. CHAPTER XV. TUE A11E11,10:0' CAFTAM CATCHES A C+Lialyslt OF HIS LOST Del:10112ER. "Ah, you pretend to be asleep—you and Once more we take our way to that little Gerald. You are perhaps thinking that bit of beach, on which now the advancing you will resist me—that both of you have i tide was surging, and listen to the words— I got into a sort of citadel, where you are hid, :few now and faint—which were falling from I You will find yourselves mistaken. Captain the lips of the dying smuggler. Captain Mocquet, I say 1" Morton was so deeply interested in every- Dohn thought he heard a slight move- i thing that had been uttered by Hutchins, I ment on the other side of the panel and he in relation to the child that had been saved ' dropped on his knees by the table and took from the wreck of the Sarah Ann, that the 1 a pistol with a long, bright barrel from his iknock at the door of the hut had to be re- . breast and leveled it over the table, shutting peated before he paid attention to it. ! one eye, as he thought, very slowly, so as 1 The dying man heard it, however. 1 to take good aitn at Captain Mocquet when 1 It hacl all the effect upon him of a sum - he should make his appearanoe. . 1 mons to the grieve. I "Aro you coming? Are you coming, 1 With a loud cry, he sprang upis to a sitting my dear aptain Mocquet? I am waiting posture m hs bed; and holding out h . . for you. There is no danger ---not a bit— arms before him, as though he would ward not a bit. Yet, stop ; I want to say some- something off, he shrieked out: ; thing to you. I was nearly forgetting— 1 "No, no; not yet—not yet—oh, not yet! very nearly forgetting. Will you give me I cannot go; I know you 1 Oh, spare rne i that order for the twenty thousand francs? yet—for the love of Heaven, and of Ilea- 1 Eh? Will you give me that and then I will tell you where your little daughter is? Good, that 1 I will tell him where his little ' daughter is and then he can have no com- plaint against me. Ha, ha 1" Dolan was just under the influence of the ardent spirits he had taken sufficiently to have lost his discretion, and. to utter aloud his secret thoughts, as well as those which he wished to keep to himself ; so that Cap- tain Mocquet and Gerald, by both listening attentively, heard much that otherwise they could only have faintly guessed at. I They did both listen most silently. Marie slept. It was strange what a deep slumber had come over the young girl ; but it was, per- haps, th be accounted for by the fatigue con- sequent upon the brief cessation of the ordi- nary current of life, when she was all but drowned, after the sinking of the Co- quette. Certain it is that she slept soundly— neither the confusion upon the deck of the Rift, nor the firing—both from it and from the Spray—nor the struggle that had taken place with Gerald, when he was forced upon But in her sleep she had a sort of eon- I the deck, had sufficed to awaken her. sciousness of that latter tumult. The young girl had moaned sadly when the faint echoes of Gerald's voice came to her in her dreams; and she muttered some few inarticulate worcts and her eyelashes had become drenched with tears. But the noise had ceased and Marie had slept on ashefore. She slept still. Captain Mocquet and Gerald were close to the panel that opened into the cabin, but they had no notion that Dolan was pre- senting a pistol th that panel, which, at the caprice of a moment, he might discharge, possibly to the Injury of Marie. Had such a thought as that passed over their minds, they would not have hesitated a momm moment th sally out and confront hi. As it was, Gerald whispered to Captain Mocquet: "I had better go to him and speak th him." "Non—non. I shall. "Not you, sir! Have you not heard that his threats are direetecl against you. Me he reserves for some future fate, which will give him more satisfaction; so for the present, I am safe." Dolan spoke again. "Now I give you fair notice—both of you. I will., have you out—out at once As for you, Gerald, I ha 1-1 will think of you; but you, Captain Mocquet, I may as well settle with at once. Come, now —about that little girl, of yours—what will you give? How much—eh? If I tell you where she is, how much will you give ?" The stillness was now unbroken for a few moments and then Dolan dried out in a voice of rage: " rtell you, Mocquet, if you don't conic out at once and speak I will shoot you through the panel 1" "Ah 1" said Mocquet,de and he maa step forward; but Gerald took him by the arm and dre* him back. "No—no. I will go "Non—non 1" It Was either herfather's voice or Gerald's which at this moment broke through the protracted. slumbers of poor Mario. With a sigh she opened her eyes, etid her idea WA that She was in her own little cot on board the Coquette. It is astortishing how the mind evil', without consulting the demote, tionsi reVive whet it has etencluded eEletS, WithOut dispUte, She forgot, for the Moment all thet had hoppenecl to separate her from the French bigger ; or if it direetly floated over her half -wakened recollection, it was but like the feint remembrance of a dream. With precisely a similar action to t1 she had used while on beard the Coquette, Merit stretched forth her hand ahd tonehed the braise handle of the sliding door; she drew it open, and glanding from the buds hi which she lay, cam aid;e "Bon lour, molt cher perc. On sornInee, nOtIS 7" Now' these were' the preeise Words she had uttered when Ceptem Dolort first sew her 10• ven's mercy, spare me yet! Let me have time th repent. Olt, not yet! I know you --I know you too well 1" "Who is it ?" said Captain Morton. "Death --death 1" "Nay—you are deceiving yourself." " No ; it is death—death 1" "Death does not come in a material form. Compose yourself and hope for the best. You may still seek for mercy where mercy is infinite." With a deep sigh the smuggler fell back upon his miserable bed and said faintly: "Yee—yes." Captain Morton went to the door, which at the request of the dying man had been closed, although it could easily have been opened from without. The captain flung it open, saying, as he did so : "'Who is there ?" There was no reply from the person seek- ing admission to the boat -house; but by the dim, very dim light, Captain Morton could see that it was a young girl with a shawl placed over her head and pinned or tied beneath her chin, while the long ends hung down over her shoulders. "Who are yon?" he said again. "Whom seek you here, my girl?' "Jabez." "Who is Jabez ?" "Hutchins, sir." "He is very ill—dying, I think—and can- not see any oee. You come from some of the cottages, I suppose ?" " Oh, no—no 1 al have brought him this." She produced a little basket over which was a clean, white cloth; and it was just at that moment, while the captain had his hand on one of the handles of the little basket and the young girl still retained her hold of the other that the sullen echo of a gun and then of another came from over the sea, apparently far off. " Ah 1" said the girl, " I fear—" "What do you fear ?" "Poor Gerald—my poor Gerald 0, God, be. good th hun 1" The young girl started from the open door of the little oat -house, and then, suddenly pausing, she looked up into the night sky. A beautiful rocket rose high among the clouds and then bursting, sent down a rain of emerald -colored sparks. It seemed as if some faint reflection from that green rain of light found its way to the fair face of the young girl, for as Captain Morton looked at it he could hardly persuade himself that it was not something more than mortal in its beauty that met his eyes. A deep and strange feeling came over his heart and he knew not why or ,wherefore, but the tears rolled up in his eyes and he stepped toward the girl with his arms out- stretched, with an impulse to clasp her to his breast which could not be withstood. "The Rift 1" she said, as she clasped her hands. " It is the Rift 1" Another moment and, fleet as a chamois, she was gone. A light flutter of drapery in the darknees and he could see no more of her. Captain Morton stood on the threshold of the boat -house like a man entranced. "What is this 7" he gasped. " Why am I thus full of agitation? Why does my heart beat- so rapidly and itrangely and why are my eyes filled with tears?' He leaned against the side of the old boat. The tide, with a surging hiss, was laying the beach, and he could hear the wind, with O melariehola, dirge -like howl, battling with the waves in the Channel. PTe strove to pierce the darkness with his eyes, but all in vain ; no trace of the yowler girl could he discover, With a deep sigh Captain Morton re-enter- ed th lute "1 MR very weak," he said, " and little trifles move me. It le because I he,ve suffer - ea so mech. The basket that the youtig girl had brought with her she left in the hands of the Captain, who no pleCed it on the side of the bed, as he said in a low voice, be., traying great exhaustion With feeling s " Hutchins, hero is a basket, 1 suppose containing Aortic delicacies for y.oti, Beet by some compassionate friend or nerghbor, Do yOu hear int ?" Captain Morton cried out aloud: "My child—my own—my little one 1 0 Heaven 1 My darling—my Grace 1" "Yon—you—you the father—" "1 am—I am 1 I have oome from afar over the sea to seek for newt! of this little one. I am Captain Morton, and you speak of my child 1" "Thank—thank God 1" Boom 1 came the thunder of a gun at sea; and the spirit of the smuggler fled. Speak a,gam—on, speak again ! cried Captain Morton. " Where is she? Where has she fled? Oh, tell me 1 One word— only one word 1" All was still. The frantic appeals of the father were put th an insensible clod. Then, with a wild rush, Captain Morton fiew from theht•dedl cl• "Grace—Grace 1 my child 1 my own dale ling! It is your own father calls you— your poor suffering father 1 Grace—my own dear one ! my own little one 1—do you not hear me? Grace 1 Grace 1 Whither have you fled? Your father calls you, to hold you to his heart forever and forever 1" With such shouts and cries Captain Mor- ton fled alone the beach and up the narrow pathway that led th the town, and the fish- ermen and their wives, who had retired to rest, muttered prayers as they heard the frantic cries and the rapid footsteps. It is long now since WO have set foot th • t f +b..4- • t where first we descried the young• girl iel conversation with the old sailor, who had I charge of the beacon ot the cliff as de- scribed in the first chapter of this veritable I history. 1 We now return to that mysterious place. Joseph and the young girl are no longer on the top the cliff. They occupy a position ' on a sort of plateau, about halfway down the face of it, and they are both looking out t to the sea. 1 "Come, come, Miss Grace," said Joseph, "I advise you for the best. You will have 'Mrs. Wagner coming after you soon, and you know her. "1 do know her, Joseph ; but I know that 'I am no longer a little child." "Well, no more you are, miss, if it comes th that ; but you know that your father—" 1 "I will not call him father, Joseph." " Well, well, miss, don't then; and I can't say he's much of a father to you. What makes you shake so, Miss Grace, 10 - night? You don't seem like yourself." "I hardly know, Joseph." "Why, now you are crying." "1 know I am. I don't mind telling you. I went, as you know, in the boat to Hutchins' cottage a little time ago." "Yes, miss ; and Tom rowed you along the little bit of coast, didn't he ?" "He did. I went to take him the little basket of things that I always take him once a week." (TO BE CONT/MulD.) ....-.--.....w.o....110+1...iipm. The Wrong Girl. Fair Marcella in the parlor Strung her beads on golden thread; Played "a study" or "fantasia," Or a thrilling novel read. She was stylish, fresh, and dainty, She had hands as white as snow, And she'd quite resolved to marry Only "dear, delightful Joe." Little Jenny in the kitchen, Busy at the morning light, Making clear and fragrant coffee, Making biscuits fresh and white, Busy sweeping, dusting, cooking, "Hero and there, and to and fro," Good and fair, but noways stylish, Jenny loved "delightful Joe." Now Marcella and then Jenny Caught the gay, uncertain beau ; One day holding little brown hands, Next the hands as white as snow. But when listening to Marcella, Playing in the parlor dim, He was sure the stylish maiden Was the very wife for him. Then again at Jenny's table, Loved and honoured as a guest, He was sure the household maiden, Of till wives would be the best. So between the maids he doubted Till one night—lis mostly so— Fair Marcella, in the moonlight, Won the dear, delightful Joe. Ten ydars after ! Then ha knew it.— Knew that he had ehosen wrong— Knew a dainty home and dinner Were far better than a song ; Knew that white hands may be pretty For a lover to caress ; But that hands well trained to duty Are the hands that really bless. Why This Perpetual Worry? I often wonder why some men will help their wrinkles to deepen and increase their balaness by flying into such tantrums when theit meals are a trifle late or the buttons are off their shirts. I know a Chtistian Man ti "perfesSer," a deacon in the church, who makes his ifeet life a burden to het because of his ceaseless complaining and seoldieg about trifles. Do other readers know stieh husbeeds ? Heaven forbi& that one suelt bas fallen to the portiot of any reader of till& I dell such men viciotte. We allow too many trifles to vex cold fret us. I once saw a ma,n famous for his mental vigor and great learning swell up and ierow purple with rage because—he couldn't And his hat. How easy it is for a man to melee a, family wretechd by his habit of whining and coxii Isiah:Aug cola ecoldieg. Life is to short to •WaSte auy of it- in smelt ueelees mouthings. --saeteeetterees—e•-• The largeet library in tars world is ih Paris, and. ethiteine 2,2501000 volumes, How to nave Good kltok. We like good steak, and I Will tell y94 how we manage to get it in about twooty Mfilutea after the fire is lighted on a cold winter's'. morning' We burn wood. If we aidn't wo would burn enough to have Steak. The Are is lightened in the cook stove, and as own RS the first few goticks of wood burn well down ana the leettle is eirnmerine two or three shovelfuls of ehercoal are thrown in, and in five minietee we Iwo the niceet bed of live eoals ofte could, wish for. The steak is thrown directly on the coals and is 'Weed rapidly with a couple of long toasting forks tili done to quit. It is very little cost and less trouble. Charcoal costs only from le to 25 cents per bushel, and a bushel lasts a long tinie for this purpose. One who has always eaten eteale fried in lard in a skillet has yet to leern what good. Canadian beef is, The average boarding- house cook has e. peculiar rule for cookiug steak. NVIten she gets up in the mining she puts a "lump of lard the size of a. walnut in a cold skillet, puts the steak in on top of that, and another lump on the steak, puts the skillet on the stove, an d then lights the fire," If the fire were lighted first it would break the charm. If you will cook steak in a skillet have it (the skillet) amolciug hot, put in the steak without any grease, turn it live times the first ten seconds, and after that turn it often, and you will have a good fair steak; but not as good as broiled on the ,coals. An Enjoyable Dinner. BOILED LEG OF MOTTO.—Let the mutton hang for a few days (or even a week, in cold weather) before cooking. At the end of that time cut off the hank bone and rub the meat, if necessary, with a clean cloth. Put it into a large saucepan of boliing water ; let it boil fast for two minutes, M order to harden the outside and so retain all the juices; theu draw the pan on one side and allow the meat to gently simmer until sufficiently cooked, Fifteen minutes must be allowed for every pound and fifteen min- utes over. Some pereons like smell, whole turnips boiled in elle liquor with the mut- ton, and arrauged neatly round the edge of the dish for a garnish, while others prefer to helm the meat served alone, accompanied by caper sauce. CAPER SAUCE.—Make half a pint of melted butter and stir in it two dessert -spoonfuls of finely chopped capers. Taste the sauce, and if not sufficiently acid, add a dessert spoonful of vinegar. Stir the sauce for a few minutes over the fire, letting it simmer very eolith', then serve in a sauce -boat. Potato mold is an exceedingly pretty dish and very easily made. Boil or steam the potatoes in the usual way, then mash them thoroughly with a little milk, butter, pep- per and salt; press them firmly into a pretty mould which has been well greased; then turn them out on a dish and place them either in .the oven or before a hot fire for a few minutes to get prettily browned. This is a very dainty way of serving potatoes and makes a nice change from the ordinary mash- ed potatoes. MASHED PARSNIPS.—The parsnips require th be well washed and scraped; if large, cut them in two or three pieces and put them into a saucepan of boiling water, slightly salted. Let them boil quickly un- til quite tender (they will require an hour or perhaps longer, according to their size and age) ; then remove them from the water, draM, and mash them, and press them through a sieve. Put the pulp into a clean saucepan with two or three table- spoonfuls of milk, or cream if it is to be had, and a small ball of butter, about an ounce, well kneaded with flour. • Stir the parsnips over the fire until the butter is entirely dissolved ; then turn them into a vegetable dish and serve at once. GOLDEN PUDDING.—Chop half a pound of good beef suet very fine and put it into a bowl with four ounces flour, four ounces of sifted bread crumbs, a tablespoonful of sugar, the grated rind of three lemons, and a pinch of salt. Mix these ingredients thoroughly ; then add three well -beaten eggs. If these are not sufficient to moisten the pudding, a little milk may be added, but the mixture must not be too moist or the pudding will be heavy. Beat all brisk- ly for a few minutes; then turn the prepar- ation into a buttered mold. Tie a strong pudding ctoth over the lop; plunge the pudding into plenty of boiling water and keep it boiling fast for three hours. Turn it carefully out on a hot dish and serve with lemon sauce. LEMON SAM:IE.—Put the thin rind of a lemon and three tablespoonfuls of fine white sugar into a saucepan with half a pint of milk. Let these simmer gently for ten minutes; then add the juice of the lemon and an ounce of butter rolled in flour. Stir until the butter is entirely dissolved ; then strain it into the sauceboat and serve. Some persons add a glass of wine. Good Enough to Remember. To smooth out premature wrinkles, rub best olive oil into them at night on retiring. To remove the glossy appearance from coat collar and elbows, rub with a cloth dipped in warm water and borax. A good cement to fasten on lamp tops is melted alum; use as soon as melted, and lamp is ready for use as soon as the cement is cold. Cow's milk, one quart; water, one pint; dilute hydrochloric acid, half a teaspoon- ful' mix and boil. The resulting curds are softand fine as from human milk. To laundry shirts to rive the fine gloss th the bosoins, take of white wax one ounce, spermaceti two ounces, melt them together with a gentle heat. When you have pre- pared a sufficient amount of starch, in the usual way, for a dozen pieces, put into it a piece of the polish about the size of a large pea, using more or less, according to large or small washings. Or thick gum so. lution (made by pouring boiling water upon gum arable) may be used. One tablespoon- ful to a pint of starch gives clothes a beauti- ful gloss. Musings of Modesty. 1 often muse in my modest Way And wonder what 'twould be best to ball The garments worn by the steamer sex, 11v avail and all HoW ever modest a maid may be, To mention them oft she has a thence, Ana in such a case oh, my soul revolts To call them " pmts," It often happens' that amsels Coy Must Speak 01 bheill lit Winanner free ; And tr-S--rs hits ever been a word That Jars on me. 718010e kind person would help me out 11 wonld be unto me the chief of boons ; My sensitivo nattivo 'loathes the sorted 01 pelt. lens. tfeit till some 0116 BOB30 island invents, iffy modeSt mind 1 will not disclose, nevee mention them by a mune ; hat 0111 9511 them "those." MAR' now Solt TM QletIlloat eetterO,a, by Welliur While Wellington and .Q1,11t Were Mae- °3nYrig'tlTiEt)hIae7,rw1eQs ' t11eottertoltvenitgni:oinSo, he &the on one occesieo thought it neeeeeery t?make 4:rce411rc:thbl iigttlitCi1atel6ele1Y1u"eiuglfhini Oeertaii10811i011.Itlieorofhs inereh the troops he0a1110 ragged and strag- gled, and an attack by the Freneh WOuld bove beeo an awkward matter. ' The duke, however, Says Sir Francis Hastings Doyle, in Ms reeently-published RefninistefWaY) gave his orders with perfeet coolness, and then went on to say, "Now 1 shall go to beds." `To bed, my lord 7' was the somewhat anxious comment. " But what if the French at- tack us during the night ?" "Oh, dear, no," he said—"we are are quite safe from attack till ten o'clock to -morrow morning 1" The troops as they came up were properly disposed of, the requisite preRarationS made and everybody looked out foetae coming ten o'clock. Accordingly, just s had, beeit ei predieted, shortly After the, ' hour the French made their appeareefoe in force, and endeavoured to wrest from the British troops the advantage gained by that success- ful march. They were however baffled and driven back. General Alava ventured to put this question to the duke—"Might I ask, my lord, how you kuow that the French would not attack us till ten o'clock iu the morniug 7" " Oh, certainly 1" was the an- swer. 'As we were riding through mec1t and such a pass, did not you see three French vedettes gallop off as hard as they could ?" "No," said. Alava, with his eyes and mouth wide open. "But I did," re- torted Wellington; " and I felt at once what would happen. Those fellows went off and re.ported to Soult that they had seen mo their in person, and I knew Soult well enough to be sure of his course. He would summon a council of war as 10011 as possible and tell them, 'If Lord Wellington is there in person, he numt have got up his reserves. Before attacking him I must get up mine;' and, as for his reserves, I am quite certain that they could. not be got up to act against us till ten 101 110 morning, therefore I took things easily and went to bed," The sequel shows a singular coincidence. Sir Francis was repeating this story in the common room at All Souls one evening, old Sir Charles Vaughan, the ex -ambassador, being present. " Ali, yes,' he remarked, "I know that story as well as you do; and what is more I can cap it for you ! I was telling it some years ago at a Paris dinner. A French general one of the party, on hear- ing it, lookod for a moment rather sulky and discomposed, and at last broke out as follows—`Yes, indeed, for I was second in command on that occasion; and those were Soult's very words.'" ^. • Why They Laughed at the Minister. "11 is strange how hard it is for a person who has been asleep and has waked up again to judge how long he has slept," said an aged Baptist minister to me to -day, "Several clays ago I attended a Baptist re- vival in the mountain region ef Virginia, where the population was eleefite, where re- ligious privileges were setent, and where preaching was a great treat to the people. Not content with three sermons a day at the meeting -house, a number of preaching services were held at different private houses, in the evening. One evening a young brother uamed Smith was appointed to preach at a private house, and I was re- quested to go along, to give him counte- nance, and to follow him with an exhorta- tion. A goodly congregation, for those parts, assembled, and everything went well until Bro. Smith took his text and started to preach. But the weather was warm, and. I had worked vera heOt all day and. was very sleepy; and as 1, had tilted my chair against the wall and had taken a per- fectly easy posture, I instantly sank into a profound slumber. When I awoke a. brother was jogging me and saying. Won't you make some remark?' I looked around, and to my astonishment Brother Smith had tak- en his seat. What was I to ? I was th speak, and I hadn't heard a word of the ser- mon. Trusting to my tact and ready wit, I rose and proceeded as if I had heard every word. I said that I heartily agreed with the general drift of Brother Smith's sermon, but that the lateness of the hour forbade any very extended remarks. I was about to launch out into some glittering generali- ties when every one broke out into a laugh, and I got very much confused and sat down. The truth was that Brother Smith had made a. complete failure, and hadn't spoken five minutes. I need hardly say that that was the end of that meeting. • There is a Time. BY ADDISON ALF:ZANDER. There is a time we knovr not when, A point we know not where, That marks the destiny of men, To glory or despair. There is a line by us unseen, That crosses every path ; The hidden boundary between God's patience and His wrath. To pass that limit is to die, To die as if by stealth; It does not quench the beaming eye, Or pale the glow of health. The conscience may be still at ease, The spirit light and gay, That Which is pleasing still may please And care be thrust away. But on that forehead God has set Indelibly a mark, Unseen by Mao, for man as yet Is blind and in the dark. Oh, where is this mysterious bourne By which our path is crossed • Beyond which God himself hath'sworn That he who goes is lost? How far may we go in sin ? How long will God forbear? Where does hope end and whet Yegin The confines of despair? An answer from the skies is sent— Ye that from Cori depart, While Itis called to -day repent, And harden not your heart, Empty. oTrasiniprTAre you the proprietor of this htei, Peoprietor—Yes, Tramp—Will you please punch me under the ribs as bard as you can? Proprietor—Certainly—there how's that? Tramp—Thaeal do. Now, what I'm get- ting at is don't yer want to hire me for it pettembpiatiee dinner -gong ? That holler sound would fetch people,/ down from the tenth dory, Too Long to %it, Young Tom An:jury asked his tailor the other day whorl he would send him the stilt of whiter elothes that he had ordered. " When you have emicl me for your last spring's euit," replied the tailor. Oh, bether 1" said Tom, impatiently, "(10 you suppose I can wait f oreeer for my winter elethez 7" Prisoner (desirous of finetering the eourt) —"I think there is a fine expression in yottr honor's face," judge (urbanely)—" So there is, end the fine is $10 and coatt."