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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1892-12-23, Page 2B THE BRUSSELS POST. DUO. 23, 1892 0\ Ll RECfiLL, CIIAI'TER XXII', i' x J'I il> M1at.1.F 4 MAE Or nt L NS. My innocence had been proved to the satisfaction of the Secretary of State ; but it took him three weeks to maks up hie mind before my discharge was sent down. In that interval I was treated as a fleet -class oriminal, and my hair allowed to grow. On the day I quitted Dartmoor a new suit of clothes was given to me, together with three pounds. A warder conducted ine to aorrabridge, took a ticket for mo, end waited to put me in the train. Discharged prisoners long separated from the world are like children. Some will hang about the same place for several days, uuable to determine what to do with their freedom. That was not my case. Por six years I had been meditating what I should do when the time come, and now, impatient to put my scheme in execution, the delay of a few minutes was more intolerable than the lingering months of uncertainty. The warder yawned ; I was not an amusing • charge. Suddenly struck with an idea which promised entertainment, he said— "Come in here, old man, and I'll show you what you're not seen for eleven years.' He led me into the little waiting room, and confronted me with a lsoking•glass that stood over the dre•place. My surprise was as great as when six or seven years before I had seen my face in a pan of water ; the obange was even greater. I had lost flesh ander the constant agita• tion I had suffered. My face was emaciated to the degree of one who has left the ei bed after a long illness ; the bridge o f nose showed white through the skin ; th nostrils were pinched and drawn down a the angles; my eyes were deep sunk; they were no longer blue—iris and pupil seemed merged in one—they looked black under the projeotingbrovs, and had the quick, furtive movement of a hunted beast. There was -nothing but cruelty in them, and every line .of my face was seamed with hard, vindic- tive passion. What surprised me most was -to find that my hair and short black beard were streaked with grey. "No one would think me but a little over thirty," 1 muttered with satisfaction;; " Why, no ; you look more like as if you were in the fifties; but look how you've been a -going it these six years. I wager people would take you to be more than me, and I'm .eight -and -forty." ' Would they ? That's good." " Weil, you are a rum cove. I've seen •old hands look in that glass and burst into tears to find they're old men ; but most of 'em had some one hanging on to them as they were hopeful of pleasing again." •'I haven't." "No, and worse luck for you," he said, shaking his head. 1 lingered before the glass, trying to patch my profile, noticing my look when I spoke ; infatuated with my own appear- ance ; delighted with the change in every feature. No young fellow goingto see his sweetheart (meld flatter himself more. "Come along; here's the train you were so anxious about just now. There's your ticket; take care of it. And now I'll say good-bye to you ; but I shan't be surprised if I see you again before long." With this he hurried me into a comport, meat and shut the door. The train filled up at Exeter. Every one looked ab me. No one spoke. That was significant. A discharged convict is always to be known by the assertive newness of every thing he has upon him, trod generally by a look of helplessness. On a long journey these peculiarities are sure to be observed, and then charitable or inquisittve people seek to engage him in conversation. 1 knew that my expression was forbidding, and it lost nothing by the irritable movement of my long limbs and gaunt frame. I pu hed past my fellow-peseengers to the door, and was the first on the platform as the train ran in to Waterloo. It was half - peat two. I jumped into the first disengag- ed cab I came to, and gave the driver Mr. Renshaw's address in Westminster. The clerk in the outer office looked the up and down auspiciously when I asked to see his master. "What is your business?" he asked, " Private business." a' What's your name?" 'While I hesitated whether to give my real name or another, the door of the inner office opened, and Mr. Renshaw himself ap- peared. I knew hiin at the first glance, though he too, had altered since I saw him first. "I want to speak to you privately, Mr, Renshaw,"I said. "About what?" he asked, looking at his watch, and then at me, with about these= amount of interest. "About Christopher Wyndham." "Oh, certainly. Come in here," he amid at once, in an altered tone. I followed hint into his roan, where he turned a chair for me, and seated himself on tite opposite side of the table, "I hope you have come to tell me some good news of that poor fellow." " Do you know me 1" I asked. He looked at one intently, and, shaking his head, said "No," interrogatively. "You don't remember to have seen me before ?" "Not to my knowledge," he said, after another penetrating loop. "My nems is Wyndham," I said. He started in his chair. "Not Wyndham, the—" "Yes, Wyndham the convict." He was still incredulous. Knibbing his brows, he murmured— "Impossible, I have a clear recollection of a young man certainly not more than thirty, thick set with a heavy, thoughtful face" " If you had known me eleven years ago you wouldn't have recognized me then. I have lived two lifetimes In prison," "But your voice even—" "I haven't spoken a dozen words to• gether to any living creature for six years, We don't talk in there. It hurts my throat to speak." "Making every allowance, such a change passes the range of possibility—or, at Ieast, of probability. I mast have some proof of your iedenbiby ; my memory gives me none," I throw down my discharge papers before him. " Is that enough for you 7" "If that is not enough, I will answer any question you like to put about Any inventions or the interview we had at Dartmoor about them." Ile examined the papers and then °polo, g{sed for doubting my identity, Yet even lila apology was made in a tone that showed the doubt yet lingered in hie mind, "You have waived a pardon," he said, with an effort to change his idea. " Pardon 1 I am set at liberty Month there is no longer any excuse for keeping me in slavery." I told him what I had learned from the g�overnor and the warders. A tobleman'e Meas° it Scotland had been broken into and hieateward Shot. One of the burglars was taken, To Savo his own nook he gave inform. atiou throb led to the apprehension of hie ac, complied. At the trial he Loomed him of other crimes—off and on they had worked together for nearly twenty yeare—and amongst Wan rn having shot a policoman at Hain in 1877, for which I was tried end eon. victed. His account of the burglary, of his escape by the garden wall, his ineoting with me, our going through the fog together up the hills towards the park, and there hear• ing the shot fired that killed Sanders all ao exactly tallied with n]y statement and the defence made at my trial, that in was no ongor possible to consider the guilty, " Extraordinary 1" exclaimed Mr. Hen, thew. " I have seen nothing about it is the papers.' "Do you read the Somali papers 1" I ask- ed. "Alt, I overlooked that, A Scotch trial would scarcely be noticed in the London papers, and I see nom bit tthen. Just now there aro horrors enough in our own coun- try and in Ireland to occupy thou, The Homo Office is not likely to publish such e terrible miscarriage of justice. It deems al• most a earcaaln to congratulate you," he added, after regarding mo in silence for n minute. " Yet without this accident, Hoa• ven knows how tnuoh longer you might have suffered 1 1 with my dear friend were here to see you at liberty. I may tell you that your chaplain was convinced of your innocence from the 'very first, and against the advice of the governor petition- ed the Home Secretary in• - ur behalf not o month before he was kille• His repreeen ° rations no doubt helped t t obtain a speedy "recognition of your ale.at to releareand b compensation." In a few savage words I told how I had been kept waiting three weeks for my die. charge, and the amount of compensation that had been given me, Ile was shocked. " When your ease is made known—" he began. "But it must not be made known," I said interrupting him. "I have made myself known to you because it was necessary ; 10 is just as necessary that I should not be known to any one else. Can I depend on you. to say no more about tee than if I hail let you know nothing?" "Certainly. Your manner led me to suppose that you sought redress for your injuries otherwise—" " What do yon know of my injuries ?" "Nothing beyond what 1 have learnt from you." "You have eyes. Look at me and say if the injuries you see stamped on my face are to be redressed by public sympathy—if I got it by whining. If my wrongs are to be avenged I shall and surer means than that." " Let me beg yon as a friend, to proceed with prudence and moderation," be said, earnestly. "Moderation 1 Yon couldn't ask more if you were my enemy." He shifted uneasily in his chair. " Well, Mr. Wyndham," said he, 'get me know what I can do for you." "Tell me if anything is coming to me from my inventions." "Ab I that is a more cheerful subject to talk about. I am happy to tell you that your engine is a 5ueoe0s. It bas stood the test of time, and its merits are recognized. A thing of that kind takes time to work. However, we have rounded the corner now ; orders are coming in ; we are turning them out with increased rapid• ity ; and tine supply only just keeps abreast with the demand. The lamp has been a paying concern from the start, and the sales have gone steadily up year after year, If you would like to come with one into the works and see the practical working of your ideas—" ' No, I don't want to see them, I only wish to know what money I am to receive for them." "I cannot tell you exactly without look. Mg in the books ; but, roughly speaking, the amount due to you—by the way, you are aware that I have paid nothing out on your account—failing to receive any instruo• tion teem you as to the person whom—" "I know. I promised to send you the name and address of that person, and I didn't," "I have written to you several times on the subject, but for some reason my letters were returned. And our friend the chaplain being no more—" "Never mind about that, Tell me what the amount is roughly." " I think I may say that there is about six or seven thousand pounds to your credit in the books." " That's enough I" cried 1, rising in ex• ultctt'on. "That's enough I" " 1? cough at any rate to keep yon in easy eirctr.tstanees whole a still greater sum is ae0untt.lating." "Easy circumstances 1" It was not that prospect which elated me. I thought only of the moans this stun of money afforded for carrying out my scheme of vengeance. " When can I have some money?" 1. ask- ed . sk•ed. "I can let you have a sum for your present rag uirements now." ' Do. Give me twenty pounds." fur, Renshaw bowed, and taking a cash- box from the safe said— " We had better make an appointment for an early date—say this day weelc, if it suits you—to meet here and settle up. At the same time wo may conte to some ar• rangement with regard to the future, That will give you time to consult with your friends, and engage a solicitor if you think proper, Shall we say this day week—two o'clock, here?" 11e asked, handing me the notes, Yes," said I ; and without a word of thanks or farewell I left hie]. He must have thought that misfortune had robbed me of reason as well as youth ; per, haps he was not far out from the truth, CHAPTER XXIV, FERTNEn. EVIDE000 AOAIA'eT 110''4'19'9, There teas method in my madnose though. My plans were clearly mapped out. In the train I had settled how mach might be aa. complishod in the tint day. One object was attained; I had money to supply my needs. The beginning augured well, I had succeed - cd beyond my expectations, Whoever bo• fore heard tell of a man going into prison penniless and coming out a rich man ? The next thing was to see Mr. Northcote, It was important to Meru filet of all whether the change in my looks would dcosive one who knew me well ; and, secondly, whether my wife still lived at Sevenoaks. My feverish impatience made me prefer going to the Groat Pastern on foot rather than by a cab; I felt 1 could do the clistanao quicker. I tnrnod out of the Westminster Bridge Road down tate Lowor Marsh, Be- fore I had gone a hundred yarcle I felt my hn oos trembling end a qualm in my stomach; that reminded me that I had oaten nothing °moo five o'olock in the morning, A savory whiff of steam game out from a 000kshop, I turned its there, arid, Boating myself in one of the boxes waited ' u twinn dull 0xpeotnncy wondering at the seine time 11 I should find the old vicar still alive, When a girl puts bill of fare before mo and asked what I would eat, I stared at her iu stupid wonder. It was the Grst time for eleven years that any taste had been manned, That meal did more than anything else to bring ale to a meth of any new pteitiot. "X shall be suspected at once if I don't behave like an ordinary man," thought I, Impressed with this new necessity, I forced moll to say "thank you" when the girl brought me change, and afterwards recollecting that Ib teas customary to give a gratuity to tho attendent, I called her back and gave her some ooppers. I should nob have felt more abashed in kissing the hand of a princess; but I was very well satisfied with myself. It was half -past eight when I ',cashed 1!eltenham ; blit, despite bits hour, I resole. ed to go to the Vicarage. What else could I do? Sleep was out of the question, and au indescribable dread, like that one might feel on looking 00 the face of a deed brother last seen in health and happiness, forbade me to revisit my old hone and the scenes identified with the sweeteeb hopes of existence. A buxom young wotnan came to the gate when I rang. Site told me that Mr. North- cote was at supper. Never mind ; I'll wait," said 1. " He wouldn't like me to go away if lie know what I have Dome about." While site was hesitating whether to shut me outside the gate or let me wait inside, an old woman came down from the porch, "Surely that trust be Jane," thought I, recognising her by some undecipherable signs. She was a hale woman of hftytwo, and looking lase, wheal last saw ber; now, she was a bent toothless old woman of sixty- three, and looked older. "A man wants to see master, mother,' said the girl. "Mother," said I to myself, with a -still greater shook ; " why, then, this young woman must be little Lucy whom I used to carry on my back." n The vicar has just rung the bell to 115080 away ; you can ask if he is disengaged," said the old woman. She stayed with me by the gate while her daughter ran into the house ; disguising the caution with which she guarded the entry by a fete civil remarks .about the length of the days, the fineness of the treabher, and the prospect of to goad hay orop. " Yes," said I, ' the clays will begin to draw in soon ;" and then speaking us clear- ly as I could, and with as much of my old manner as I could assume, I added a distfch that I had heard again and again from her in bygone days : " A lover's vows and a ni htingelo's 001ig, And the days of Juno are lust as long." looking hard said ms "that's chuckle, and what they sing in my country. I warrant you c01115 from Somerset." "Not far away from there," said I, grim- ly, thinking of the miserable moor in Devonshire. "Well, spite of the fading light, I thought by your looks you must be a Westcoun man." I had passed that test satisfactorily. The vicar same down the path from house; a little whiter, a little stouts little less firm on his feet; that was all change six years had wrought on him. " Well, my friend, do you wish to s to me?" he asked. " Yes, sir; I want to ask you a ques in private, if it isnot too late. It is a yo man you were very kind to ab one ti Kit Wyndham." " Oh, certainly. Come with me. Send lamp into my study, if you please, Jane." He led the way across the lawn, arid entered the room] by the open French windows. li try the r, a the peak 11011 ting me— ths we We sat down fats to face in the twilight. There was not a sign of recognition in his manner. ' You know he has a wife," I began. "Perhaps you have seen her and see some likeness in 1115," "No, I bare never seen his wife—to any knowledge," be replied. The secret has not come out, then," thought I, It must be easy to her to cheat the world after eleven years of duplicity. "May I ask who yon are?" said Mr. Northcote, as I did not break the silence. " Yes, I am her brother. 1)o you want to know my name ? No, no," he replied, hastily, "I would rattier not know ; the poor fellow wished it to remain a secret, Still, I should be glad to learn that his wife is well ; that she wants for nothing." I was silent, fear. ing to betray myself. I had, as it were, to feel my way along this new path. "Do nob hesitate to speak openly on Shat point," he continued ; 1f I can render any assis- tance of a pecuniary kind—" " Oh, there is no need of that. She is well enough provided for. But she's anx- ious to know something about herltueband, and as she can get no answer to her letters, and is not allowed to see him, she thought you might let us know about his welfare." " Unfortunately," he taid, " I am in ex- actly the same position. All my efforts to commeni:ate with the unhappy young man have been of no avail. All that I can tell you is that he is still at Dartmoor and in good health, I have made it a rule to apply for information bo the authorities every three months." " When did you apply last?" 1 asked. "Only the week before last. I will write again if- " 110 ; there is no necessity for that. My sister can write now ; it never occurred to us to enquire that way, She has written to him, and the letters hems come baok, with a note stating that Kit is under punish- ment, and not allowed to write or receive fetters, So we knew he must be alive, but we couldn't make out why hs was always under Fleishman t. Luoy brought in the lamp, and I rose as if to go, The vicar begged the to sit down, and 7 purposely took a elude oleo by the table that the light might fall on my face. "Now," thought 7, "if 7 am to be known by any one I shall be recognized by this old than, who has known me from a boy, and i0 prepared for a change by the alters• bion that astonished him five years ago." Holding my hat in my' hand, I looked steadily at the lamp before mo like ono absorbed hudsspondentrofiocbions. Suddenly I turned round ; the vicar's eyes wore upon my face ; the only expression on ]tie face was embarrassed pity, " I wish with all my heart 1 could be of 0000100 to your sister and her poor, hus- band," he said, " We won't think of him any moro sir, It's no use," 'Then after dandling my hat a moment in ellenee, I said, " You know that my sister was in service—in Mr. Thane's home, My sister was mach et - tutted to Miss Kobe, but she hasn't demi. to go and the hon You can understand that 1115 wouldn't like to be Innwa as rho wife of a convict, She told ine to ask you if you Gad heard lately from her 'young lady,' as she oalls her," ' Yes, I heard quite lately, I haus the letter Isere in my pocket," While he was tuning over a handful of letters to find that /rein my wife, he oontinned : " She knows, I suppose that her late mistress is married.' "Married ? " I said, feigning astonish - meet as well as I could, "Oh, dear, yea She htvi been married —oily, let me see," Ho paused, holding his head on one side. "Alt, it must Is tet years. And 1 dm'osay your poor slater will remember her present husband, Ielajor Cievedon," "I think. I have hoard her speak of hhn," I replied, trying to keep my feelings under restraint ; and then, wibh shill deeper hy• poorisy, I said, "The couple ere well and happy, I ?tope, sir." " They seem to be perfectly happy, I am pleased to say ; bob with regard to health, Mrs, Clevedon leaves something for us to desh•e, They have had to give up a very beautiful home they had in Kent, whero I ]tad the pleaeure of seeing them ones, and spend the winter months in Italy." "Aro they in Italy now?" " No ; they returned the weak before last,audare now at—hero is the letter." He laid clown the letter. The sight of the well, known and once -beloved band writing seemed to burn my otroiued eyes. Having put on Ifs spectacles, the old gentleman proceeded t0 open the least'. "1 may without iudisoretion, I believe, give you her address, iu case your sister might wish to write to Mre. Cleveden. Here it is. 1 The Hermitage, Hadleigh, near Torquay, Devonshire.' Would you like me to write it down for you 9" "No, I shall remember it," There was no fear of that 1 " I think she mentions your unhappy brother•in-law's name somewhere. In old Clays when she lived hero, she was very fond of seeing his work—now, where is the line ?" I could have told him where to look for it : in a postscript. The letter was written to know if I were still in safe keeping, and her anxiety was masked under the indif- fere b aspect of an afterthought. "All, here it is," said the vicar. " ' P. S. Have you heard anything lately of poor Wyndham ?' look my friend." I pushed back the letter as if it were a venomous thing. " I oan't read," I said, hoarsely. " You say she is not well ?" I added, gloating over rho thought that terror of discovery made her life a torture. "No, poor lady. I suppose it is the chest. When she is not in Italy, she stops, as you see, somewhere in the south of Eng. land. A terrible complaint, and the more distressing when there is a young family growing up about her." This was a fresh blow. It had never entered my mind that she could have chit. dren. It was too monstrous to imagine that she shoal(' perpetuate her infamy, The vicar was running his eyes affectionately over the page before him—giving me note and then a sorap from it, about the climate of Italy, or such trifles—or be must have seen the new hate and Ioathin that convul- sed my features. With an effort I conquer• ed my passion, and forced myself to speak calmly. She has children?" " Yes, two ; a girl and a boy ; one not more then two years old," As he spoke be closed theletter. "Quite a young woman, too ; not more than eight - and -twenty," he said, sadly. Then he closed his eyes as he disengaged his spectacles. I turned my back on the lamp while he was thus occupied, for I felt the muscles of my face twitching, as if a knite were cut- ting into my flesh fnelt by inch. I tried to reason myself into indifference, seeing the danger of betraying what I felt. Why had it not occurred to mo before that my wife might haus children, 1 asked myself, and why should 1 bo so moved in discovering it now ? Did she not stand eon. ended of even greater crime then this ? Was thorn still some lingering folly, some unextinguished spark of that old love in one that this fresh foot about her should cause suet). a tumult in my breast? What dmf. femme could it make to me whether she was childless or a mother ? Nay, did it not rattier enlarge any scheme of vengeance and facilitate its accomplishment 't Let her have as many children as Niobe, and by just as many should her sufferiuge he multiplied. Supposing that the maternal instinct cur• vived ail finer feelings—eopposfng that she had a common mother's clinging to her brood—might I not strike at her through them ? If one by cote they are taken from her, those children, until she stands at last desolate and alone, as .l stand now 1— 1 meditated. The vioar °ailed me back to myself by asking if I had anywhere to go for the night. 'Yes, sir,"said I, collecting my thoughts. "It's about titne I went. I was thinking if I had forgotten anything. She'll be glad to hear all she news. 1 suppose you am swered that letter, and said you I1ad in- quired lately about Wyndham?" He replied that he had. "That is well," thounht I, as I went away ; "now there are not likely to be any inquiries made at rho prison about me for three months, Three tnouths 1 Oh, Ishall be revenged before then 1" (T0 DD CONTINUED) She Worked Rim npto a Climax. She turned her sloe -like eyes upward to him. She was a pale, interesting young girl—the kind that tali robust men like on account of the clinging vine and sturdy oak business. She had met him once or twice at dances ---but knew nobhing further about him. "Have you an ambition in life?" she asked. "No,"he answered, moodily. It was an encouraging beginning, but she had him all alone ; she had even said site lidn't like to dance in order to get him into that corner. He was good•lookiug. Un- doubtedly he was fairly well off.. "It is because you do nob feel the re- sponsibiliby of life," she continued, wisely. "You need something to stir you out of the humdrum of bachelor life. You need some one to make you break yourself away from your habits and ell that sort of thing, Don't you think 3,00 do?" "Yes," Ile answertd, "I suppose I do," "Domesbio happiness ie all there is in this world worth living for, 1 have heard ever so many people Say 'so. Now, it is just the satno with me es it is with you, I was nineteen my last birthday ; and 1 have no responsibilities in life. Papa won't let me worry about a thing. I should be ever so teeth happier 11 1 could share the trials 0,f some noble man," "Indeed?" he asked, "Yes," she answered, "Don't you agree with me?" Igo did not answer. Sho was it trifle die- °enragged. "Wouldn't you like to got married?' she asked him, timidly. "I am married," he said, with a slight undertone of surprise in his voice, and im- mediately thereafter a smile oropbabout it's lips as 00 began to realize rho humor of the situation, HOUSEHOLD. ]+]ibis Feet, Two Iittlo Mot, so smell that boot may nestle Two In feetlinen Cha untried border Mare's mysterious land ; Dimmed and soft and pink at petchbroe hies. 501110 In April's fragrant days, Ilow can they want among the briery tangles Jldging the world's rough ways? TheIDsoIuarotes-wlhlbonrato footnlotitor'salong loabdhecloubt¢ulfatuto ' Alas I sines woman Ates rho heavier burden. And walks the harder road, Love, for a while, will make the path before then Will away the brainbles, lotting only The roses blossom thorn, But when the mother's watchful oyes arc shrouded Andthose from tout of lot1without hor Rohl. ing, Who shall direct them then i How will they be allured, betrayed. deluded, Poor 111 tie untaught teal Into what dreary Hones will Limy wander, What dangers will they meet? Will they go toiling blindly in the darkness Of sorrow's tearful shades? Orfind the upland slopes of peace and beauty, Whose sunlight never fades 1 Will they go tolling up ambition's summit, The common world above 1 Or In some nameless vale seom•ely shaded? Walk side by side with love ? Some feet there be which walk lifo's track nn. wounded Which end but pleasant ways ; Some hearts there be to which this life is y A round of happy days. Hut these aro few. Far moro there aro who wa 'iVlthndonter a hops or friend. Who Had their Journey full of pains and losses And long to moll the end. All 1 who may road the fnburo l For our da•I- ing We crave all blessing sweet, And pray that He who foods the crying ravens Will guide the baby's foes The Woman Beak As a schoolgirl she begins to display the characteristics that are inborn to her nature. She is a borrower. She doesn't buy her aohool books and stationery, but spends the money which she ehoeld expend in this manner for some personal adornment. Then her schoolmates are victimized. It grows to be an accepted rule that she shall help herself to her companions' anpplies, and she does it in a regal way that makes it seem a condescension on her part. Candies, trinkets and school girl treasures come under the general division, and she is usually as well stocked with such belongings as any of her mates. When vacation comes eke bile. awbers someone into inviting her away for the season, and frankly admits the poverty of her purse. This is but the beginning, As she goes into the world she still manages to travel under the wing of somegood-natured friend who may never wake up to the fact that she is being tna.lc a convenience of to suit the whim of her clever friend. Every woman numbers one or more of the feminine beats among her aoquaietatces. The " friend " who accepts your gifts and the hospitality 01 your home, brie who has been never known to make any return for the favors she reoeives so. gracefully. She will borrow your traveling bag and umbrella and in the meaetime you may need the articles yourself and be forced to go without. Perhaps you aro so fond of ;itis fair im- position that you are willing to pay for all her pleasures, but the awakening will come some day and you will find throb you might better have lavished your kindness upon: your laundress or maid, for the pretty fraud who has shared your purse and your pleasur- es is likely to prove ungrateful and forgetful as soon an some better opportunity offers to servo her selfish ends. Breakfast Dishes. Twux MOUNTAIN MUFFINS.—Croom 0110 half cup of batter, then add Gradually one half cup of sugar. Beat two eggs light and add to the butter and sugar. Mix four teaspoonfuls of baking powder and one tea• spoonful of salt with one quart of floor. Add to the first mixture alternately with one cup of milk. Drop from the spoon into buttered muffin pans. Bake about twenty flee minutes in a moderate oven. Bcwatcrahr Brows.— Berton is easily cook• ad and easily spoiled. A new way to nook itis here illustrated. Cut the bacon onto thin slices then grease a common wire broiler with a little of the rind and lay the bacon in oven rows across it. Set the broiler into or over a dripping pana.od put them in the oven on the grate. Cook until the bacon is crisp and lay the slices on brown paper to drain. DouonNUTs.—This rule is a little different from the usual rules because both soda and Dream tartar are used with sour milk. Tho ingredients are five cups of flour, one tea- spoonful of cream tartar, one heaping tea- spoonful of batter, one cup of linger, one and a half teaspoonfuls of salt, one quarter teaspoonful each of cinnamon and nutmeg, one egg, one oup;of sour milk, one rounded teaspoonful of soda. Mix the dry ingredients together as:follows : Sift the proem tartar in the flour and then rub in the butter with the tips of the fingers ; drop the egg whole into the centre of the flour ; sift the soda into the our milk and pour on the egg, When using soda mix it with the acid as quickly as possible in order to save the cm: - bottle gas which makes the mixture light; if soda is dissolved in hot water according to the old way a parb of effervetoenoe is lost ; it is better to lode] it to the acid which is already sifted in the flour or mixed with it, Afterinixing this dough well add a little more flour if neoossary and burn on to to well floured board. Work ib slightly and roll out one-fourth of an inch thick, out with a dough nutter and fry in deep fat until brown and drain on brown paper and sprinkle with powdered sugar. Have the fat hot and to find whether itis hot enough try it with a piece of bread which should brown while you count sixty slowly ae the clock ticks, This is the rule for an uncooked mixture but for something which is already cooked as a croquette the fat must be hot enough to brown the bread in forty minutes, counting in the Sarno slow manner. If any- thing is to be fried a long time do not leave the fat on the front of the range whore it groove hotter and ]totter but after plunging the article to be fried into very hot fat set the kettle back where the beat will not in. oroase ; iu this way a chard brown crust is not formed, Bread flour has more gluten in it than pantry flour therefore if you with any thing to rise quiclrly it should be made of the latter, which is not ea tenacious. It is a mistake to keep but ono kind of flour in the house; but 1f compelled to use breed !lour with baking powder or soda remora. ber to use less as it swells more, Using the wrong ]rind of flour it very often the amoral of failures itt cooking, inffin POTATOES. •— We do not ox. peat that everybody will otok potty. toes h1 this way when in a harry in the morning but wo givo the rule to illustrate a now way of serving potatoos and 11 also shows how simple materials may ba made into hsntloouto dishes, Pare the potatoes and then out then] in shape using an apple corer. The pieces of potato ho shape et en Maple core as it Dames from the corer tura then soaked in salted wabor for all hour, as potatoos always fry better when part of the starch has been removed. Nov boil the potatoes for eight loluubos which is not long uoough to break them In pleoes, drain then] thoroughly by spreading them on a cloth, diet fry fn deep fat using a baskeb. When well browned, season with salt and popper mod drain on brown paper. When ready to serve, sprinkle with finely °hopped pars- ley ley bub if the parsley most be omitted the potatoes will taste as well but not look as tempting. All good cooks now use to frying basket as it helps so much mud pre, vents breaking the materials to be fried as iu using a fork, A Handy Holder, ICvery housewife has almost daily felt rho necessity of a holder near enough at band to be of use upon unexpected occasions, To supply this need lpurchased a fete yards of quite narrow cheap crash toweling. Cut this according to the length of your arm, or 0 trifle longer, fold the toweling bwo or three, or a0 many thicknesses as you need, at the bottom, to protect your hands from the host; stitch across three or four times, with the machine, sent the other end and fasten to your waist with one or two safety - pins, and you will never again be obliged to choose between burning your hands, or us- ing your apron as a holder. A cheap grain sack auto °p nicely, and makes equally as good holders, and is cheaper than crash. These holders eon be washed weekly, and ileo or three will last for years. Oatmeal and How to Oook it, OATMEAL PoltulDen.—Put es much water into a saucepan as will tnnico the quantity of porridge desired. Let it boil ; then take a handful of oatmeal in one ]land and let it fall gradually into the seeder, and with a spoon in the other hand stir the water and m al round and ronrtd, constantly letting mure meal slowly fall from the honel, till the whole is as thick as common muds ; then salt to taste and let it boil tel minutes ; add a little more boiling water and boil Eve or ton minutes longer, stirring quickly 10 pre- vent its scorching. OATMEAL OAKS.—Wet the meal with loot water, add a little salt, then knead into a dough ; roll out very thin, and bake on iron plate') till quite dry, but without scorching. FutEn OATMEAL.—Slice up sold cooked oatmeal, then fry in a little hot lard, or dip in beaten eggs salted to taste, then in bread or cracker crumbs, and drop in ]tot lard like doughnuts. STEAMED O.tTnaEAL.—To One teacup of oatmeal add one quart of cold water, and a teaspoonful of salt ; pat in the steamer over a kettle of hot water, and steam one hour and a half after the towel begins to cook. OAmnlo.tr. WArtcias,—Use equal parts of water and oatmeal, make as thin as you can shape out on the bottom of the pan, so that when clone it will not be thicker than a knife blade anywhere, and most places you can see light through it. Bake very slowly Until quite dry, watching so it will not scorch. Apple Batter. An interested young reader asks for a re- cipe for making apple butter. No better rule can be given than that in "fruits and how to use them" by Mrs, Hester M. Poole. Take sweet eider from the press, not more than a day old or alcohol will begin to form and the cider will have lost its fruity quart. ity. Boil it down ono half and then add the apples, pared, cored and sliced. There should bo, by measure, slightly more than half es much apple as boiled eider. Cook slowly and carefully, akbnming whenever necessary, and stir with a long wooden pad- dle which reaches the bottom of the kettle. The apple is broken into one Mass like mar- malade. When it begins to break, sweeten to the taste ; itis more wholesome and ap- petizing if left quite tart. It call be kept any length of time in stone jars or wooden pails if thoroughly cooked. The usual apple butler sold in groceries i0 made in- sipid with too touch sugar, The old-fash- ioned apple butter, loss rich but more palat- able preserves the very estence of the apple. Season with spices if liked, but the apple flavor is incomparable. Aider Apple Sauce. Reduce swept older to about one half be boiling of er gentle fire. Peel and core thy apples allowing one peck of apples to one quart of the boiled cider. The best sauce is made from half sweet and half sour apples. Boil the sauce for an lour then add a pint et molasses to the proportions given above and continuo boiling slowly for five hours. Keep the sauce boiling steadily but the heat should only bo intense enough to maintain the boiling and the sauce should gook until it turn rod. It should be stirred occasional- ly from the Bides to provsne burning and as it thickens the stirring should be frequent to avoid danger of burning. Sometimes one fourth of the fruit a made up of quince parings, when jelly or presery es are being made of that fruit. When the apple sauce is cold it is pot up in stone or glass jars or wooden buckets and closed air tight, When a emetics. quan- tity of sauce is made it can be boiled in about bwo hour's if the cider is used which has been boiled until think. Scrim Curtains, Thin scrim curtains, lace edged, aro lovely draped in the following marmot. leather them across the top, or baste on fine pleats, and moo them at the top of the window till each length extends titresfour. the of tate way over. They will hang very thiels and double. Now separate the sides, and drape back with °cede or ribbons, just two feet below she gathers; and have these upper portdons hanging quite full until al- most " baggy." What is then left of the lengths hangs in long, scant folds just reach- ing the floor. Why He Requested a Change. "Darling," said the young man as he tenderly raised the lovely head from the plane where it had rested an hour or more, got up, sat down again on the other side of the beautiful maiden and once more drew the golden ourls to his bosom, "you have to obje outothis slight Change of position, have you ?" "No, Alfred," she murmured, sof tly, "your heart is on this side." "Yes, my angel," responded tate young man, his voice trembling with deep fooling, "and my wet will now bo soiled alike on both sides," In addition to tho ordinary coins well known in the United Kingdon, the British Mint prodttoae silver moil bronze ppi0005 in cents for Canada, piastres and hadf.plastres for Cyprus, cent piooes for Hong Kong, pickle ponce and farthings for Jamaica, and I Doth pieo00 for the Straits of Setticoonbe.