HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Expositor, 1892-12-23, Page 10a
Christmas.
The stars shone out with quivering light,.
As shepherds, on that holy night,
Their vigils lone were keeping.
When lo from out the studded sky
There burst upon the Wondering eye
A vision that did earth outvie, -
From Heaven's portals sweeping.
The shepherds all were sore amazed,
As trembling they upward gazed
At form angelic flying.
Rat lurk they her the angel aing,
" Good tidings of grea. joy I bring,
For unto you is born a King,
He's in a. manger lying."
Melodious rang the seraph's voice,
" Fear not, but evermore rejoice,
And cease fore`er your sighing,
y
For unto on is born this day,
In David's city, blest for aye,
The Sa.vior, Christ he living Way,
Exult, with angels
And now a host, a heavenly throng,
Sweeps airthe air and earth along,
Triumphant chorus raising.
"To God be glory," now the cry,
"Aud- praise to Him who reigns on high,"
"Good wilt to men," rings front the sky
From choir celestial praising.
ar
A stmore bright than all the -rest
Shone out that holiest night and best,
The wise men -safely iding. -
And lo! the star before them went,
And to their path a radiance lent
To lead them where their steps were bent,
In worshipful confiding.
And as they came to lowly inn,
And found the new-born Babe within,
They joyed with joy exceeding.
And when they saw the holy child
Within the arms of virgin mild,
They praised, with lips pure, undefiled,
The Lord's moat gracious leading.
Law at his feet they humbly fell,
And sought, in vain their joy to tell,
But opened out their treasures.
Rich frankincense and myrrh they brought,
And gifts of gold with jewels wrought,
To lay before the Babe they'd sought,
Oatpread in fullest measures.
Then let the bells their carols ring,
To praise the manger -cradled King,
The Christ a sacred story.
Let every heart, with men of old.
Pour out its frankincense and gold,
In loyalty and love untold,
To God, the king of glory.
I replied. One has to who follows
my, profession!?
" Could you face a ghost in a country
churchyard at midnight 7"
"I never tried it. Then it is that
sort of gentry which I am to combat 7"
"Partly. But I will tell yon my
story."
This she proceeded to do, which
briefly was as fellows :
For years she had been a house-
keeper for a man, a cousin, who was
much older than herself. e was very
much a miser, and her task with him
had been far from an easy one. He
barely allowed them enough for their
n
sustenace, and the old house and the
land about it, which had once been a
fine place was .allowed to go to ruin.
Every pound he got was changed into
gold, and carerully kept from the sight
of all—even she never being allowed
to behold only as much as he doled out
to buy food.
There was but one servant—an old
man by the name of Jacob Stearns.
He had been there when Miss Field-
ing came, and he had disliked her from
the first. Perhaps he saw in her a
rival in the good graces of Antony
Fielding. His master had threatened
again and again to discharge him, so
that he might i save what he ate, but
he had never one so. Perhaps it was
because the old man earnedmore than
that in raising vegetables and doing
odd jobs about the house.
At length, one,day Antony Fielding
died; but before he did so he made a
will, in which he gave to Lucy Field-
ing, his cousin, all his property.
The old house and its belongings
were there, but the gold was nowhere
to be found.
There was not a sovereign in his
safe, where he was supposed to have
kept it, and about his clothes there was
only a small sum that he had for daily
expenses.
From attic to cellar the house was
searched, as were also the out -buildings,
but all to no avail. Jacob Stearns was
questioned, but nothing could be got
out of him. He had seen hismaster
have a large sum of gold, but he had
never fingered a single coin of it.
The old man had been dead a month,
and people had mostly ceased to talk of
the missing treasure. Some were sorry
and some were glad that the house-
keeper had lost her inheritance. It
depended whether those discussing the
matter were evil-minded or not.
This was her story, and the next day
found me in H—e
The house and its surroundings 1
Lound as she had described them. To
the south lay an old grave -yard now
eaveloped in snow, a.djoiring the land
of the late deceased. Behind, and
forming one boundary, was the river
with a high bank. Atone time it had
run so ckose that it seemed it must have
disturbed the remains of some of the
earliest buried there; but now the
stream ran further. away against the
opposite bank.
It wag here that the ghost had been
seen to walk when the moon was low or
new or the sky partially obscured by
clouds.
I was no more successful in the
house than others had been, although
had searched every nook and cranny
where it was possible for anything to
be secreted. (Miss Fielding had given
out that 1 was a distant relative come
to pay her a visit, so that my calling
might not be suspected; so I had no
fear of interruption.) The lost (r. as-
ure was not in the house I felt con-
vineed.
The next day I made some inquiries
%along the neighbours, and questioned
old Jacob about the ghost, which had
been seen walking among the old
toinbstones. Several of the former
declared that they had seen a form
moving about, and on inquiry found
that the object had not been seen until
the old man Fielding had been laid
there to rest.
Old Jacob shook his head mysteri-
ously, and admitted that he _too had
seen it, and also -hinted that he could,
tell more than he cared to, and I began
to have my suspicions that he could.
But how to make him speek was what
puzzled me.
That evening 1 told them that 1 was
going out for a stroll through the town,
and might not be in until late. Miss
'Fielding said that if she wanted to re-
tire she would leave the door unlocked.
Then 1 started off, and as soon as I
was out of sight of the house I climbed
over the low wall which enclosed it,
and entered the graveyard at, a point
where there was little danger of my
actions being observed.
Going back towards the river, I
threw myself down on the grass close
up at the base of an old monument,
which had a tendency to lean like all
such similar objects. Here tmade up
my mind to wait for the ghost if it
walked that night.
The new moon would give light for
a couple of }weirs yet, and if anything
moved about 1'could not fail to see it.
I had been nearly an hour on my
ghostly watch when I saw a figure
movirk among the gravestones toward
the river.
Pale as the moonlight was T saw
that it was no visitant from the spirit
world, but old Jacob in the flesh.
Straight to the bank he went, end then
over it out of sight.
occupied, feeling sure that the task I
had undertaken was nearly finished.
the thief were on, the eve
vered.
his tracks at the bottom
pushed aside the bushes
The gold and
of being disc
Standing
of the hank,
and thrust my arm the into hole there
revealed. .
My hand Ouched an object, which
-T grasped and dragged forth into the
palepoonlight. A sudden thrill almost
like that of terror ran through my
being as I saw what it was that I.
heiNtIO 'wonder, for it was a Altman •
skull/ I alost dropped the ghastly
object. It lipped from my bands,
and as I recovered it it gave forth a
jingling sou d.
My fright as gone when saw
what it held. A half dozen small, bags I
were crowde1 into it, filled with .cain.-1-
The lost tree ure was found, and Jacob
Stearns, was the thief. 1 bestowed the
gold about +, and put its strange re-
ceptacle back from where I had taken
ic. Then I -returned quietly to the
house and went to bed.
The nesO morning I acquainted
Mist Fieldi g of my 'discoveries iand
success. Tb
He would c
bags of gold
he was as ab
all. Miss Fi
She did not
but he was t
saw his face
I was_ree
Fielding, a
commission
of one
A. GRAVEYARD APPARITION.
A CHRISTMAS STORY TOLD BY"'A. TORON-
'TO DETECTIVE.
It was a day or two before Christ-
mas Day, and business had been fear-
fully slack, when I stood drumming on
a window -pane in my office, gazing idly
dawn into the wet, muddy street.
The time was afternoon and the room
so, dark that more than once I had
been teuapted to light the gas. But I
had not done so, fer I did not feel like
reading or writing, or in fact doing
any kind of work.
All day it had snowed, and as the
eight approached it gave no sign of
leaving otr. The clouds came down
until they seemed: to touch the tops of
the chuhch spires and the roofs of the
more lofty buildings of the city. It
was a day to make one homesick, es-
peaally if one had nothing to do as is
often the case with a private detec-
tive.
That was tny condition to a nicety.
I had not had a, professional call for
over a week, and I felt as though I
was getting rusty and stagnant.
I felt almost as though I should like
to have a-rinie. mysterious crime com-
mitted, if I was sure of being employ-
ed in ferreting it out. I was thus oc-
cupied, when 1 became conscious that
someone was coming up the stairs to
the flight on whichmy office was lo-
cated.
The step sounded like one made by
a person ef middle age rather then that
of youth_
Was .1 to have a visitor—someone
r m
-who had a job for ! T sincerely
hoped thee, it might be so.
The step gained the lending, and I
held my Iho
rreath for what should come
next. Tliere were rooms occupied by
several others on the floor, but T knew
the step was not one of theirseas I was
familiar with them all.
Yet the stranger might be seeking
for one of them instead of me.
If such should prove the case I felt
that should be more forlorn than
But ! The stfips approached my_
door, and a moment later was 0.; rap
thereon.
Come iu !" I said.
it opened, and a WOlnall stepped
nto the ,room. Only her face was
visible, andbut a portion of that, as
* she was covered from head to heel in a
rubber waterproof down whieh the
water was run ning in miniature rivers
as the snowflakes gradually melted
Ts this Mr. ffrant's office 9" she
said.
"
it ie," I replied. "Will you take
a seat 9- and I pieced a chair be,side
her.
„t' You are a, detective?"
"
ev-er.
CHRISTMAS CHEER.
MINCE PIES AND PLUM PUDDINCT.
MEAT FOR MINCE PIES.—The best
proportion ,of meat for mince pies
that I ever tried was beef tongue
well boiled, and all the tough outer
skin cut off, two parts; and roast mut-
ton, one part. Mutton was the_ meat
usechfor these pies when first invented,
as I have k'aid, but later authorities
substituted neat's tongue, then beef's
heart, and we cone down to quite re-
cent times before ve find the tougher
fiber of the beef round used. Our
pioneer mothers often made mince-
meat with pork, in lack of other meat,
but those blessed dames could make
good things out of the most unpromis-
ing materials, so well had necessity
.sharpened their inventive powers. I
would not, however, advise my readers
to try to emulate them with a pork
imince pie; it would be labor wasted.
And in advising the use of a propor-
tion of lean, cooked mutton in mince-
meat I must not tail to warg you never
to put in any Mutton suet; it is a
fatal error. :Beet suet must be used,
fresh, sweet and dry; the ancient
formula was equal parts of beef suet
and apples, but if you wisely cut down
the proportion of .suet to the very
smallest amount that you find your
family approves, the result will be -a
decided mellowing of the mince pie
visions" that follow. The goblins are
fewer and of a gentler breed, not to
say better looking.
A GOOD MINCE-MEAT.—The fellow-
ing is a recipe for mince -meat which
combines the qualities of excellence
and richness in a very satisfactorf
manner : Cook a small beef's heart, or
two tongues, by simmering, not boil-
ing, until perfectly tend r. When
i
qute cold, cut away an gristle or
4.
I
"Are you so busily engaged that "ou
cennot go into the country for a ew
days'?"
" flow far
. " San tatting like fifty miles ; in-fect
to. 1 1----- - ;' and she mentioned a toivn
something like that distance away.
- e I think I might manage to go," I
grid, in a moment, while 1 tried to
metae my countenance express whether
or not 1 could -get away from my other
engagements. It would not doto elate
a bargain with her too quickly, or she
miglit suspect —wliat Wag the truth —
that 1 had not had a job for sortie
time.
e 'When can you go r'
."110-morroe , if you wish it. T can
put other matters off for a day or tate
But what is the nettle@ of the tole you
.
wish me to undertake ?"
All this time my visitor had not
taken the chair r had proffered her ;
-
but now she sank into it and threw,
haek the hood of her waterproof.
When she had done this, 1 got a full
view of her face, and saw that she was
a woman of about middle age, with
that about her that showed that she
might be a working- woman, or, rather,
perhaps a companion for someone who
was better offin this world's goods than
herself.
. " I suppose you have plenty of cour-
age, Mr. 0 rant ?" she said, with some
n old Jacob was called in.
•nfess nothing until the
were shown him, and then
ect as a cur, and confessed
Iding was magnanimous.
turn him over to the law;
Id to go, and If-- never
again.
arded handsomely by Miss
d am open for a similar
his Christmas, if you know
What was Joan of Arc made of 7—
She was Maid of Orleans.
If compelled to swallow a men,what
sort would you prefer ?—A little Lon
don porter.
In less than two minutes I was et
the bank also, and peering over it 6,
little above him, I could see every mo-
tion he made.
He had taken some object out of the
bank and seemed to be fondling it upon
his breast, inueli as though it had been
an infant.
For some minutes this pantomime
went on, and then slowly he bent down,
and thrusting in his arm seemed reluc-
tantly to replace it in the spot whence
he had ta,ken it. Then, standing up-
right, he gave, quick glances in all
directions about him.
There was no one to be seen, and
re-entering the graveyard he glided in
and out among the tombstones, and
left it by the way he had come
I waited until his form ha dieap-
44.
THE PHANTOM HAND.• time • that iei did he comp 1 am o ' f any
1
These mince pies are very digestible
,
"Why, no, not in particular," she
meat u ed has been roastednstead A CHRIsTMAGHOST
pain 7"
owing t three things : Firstthe iS STORY.
answerede but 1 fancied her face grew
of boilcdl, and therefore has a softer
fiber • sehondly, the cempound is not
re:Zg a avouri e oo . eep a e,
alone away from ITIC.ne in,t.the tart atDDeepddaile
white as She shut her book and looked
I thought T had touched memory's
chord too roughly,perhaps, and added,
"Forgive me, aunt, 1 didn'tmean to
hurt you.
She made no answer, and I continu-
ed. "T asked beeauee Simon said you
gave him a stimulant before he left the
house; 1 imagined from that he was
cooked fter it has been chopped • and
the country seat of my uncle, orman
thirdly, he usual variety of spicles ie
French, was a beautiful place with its
not use I may be wrong in my chem -
t I judge that these combined trim lawns and pleasant park. .
.had come from Cambridge for my
ccount for the ready asiithila- 1
Christmas vacation, as usual, and aunt
ies made after this recipe.
a,ncl cousin had made me welcome, of
HER MINCE PIE. The follow- course; but, after all, I felt that some -
es thin was lacking in their greeting.
some -
good formula, for rich mince -
t it should not be cooked after
but should be kept for at least
s before being made up into
ake one fresh tongue, boiled
ped fine; four pounds each of
istry, bt
causes
tion of
ANOtF
. .
ing is a
meat, b
mixing,
six wee
pies.
and cho,
stoned .a,isins, well -washed Zante cur-
rants, and peeled and chopped applei,
with three pounds of minced suet, and
nds of yellow C sugar, made
rup and well skimmed. Also,
one pound each of slicednitron
andied lemon peel, and add to
ture, eqth one pint of good
or of sherry wine. Finally,add
two po
into a s
cut fin
and of
the mi
brandy
ground cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg
to suit our taste, then put the com-
pound into a stone jar with a close -fit-
ting, and stand in a cool place. if
it dries' out in keeping add a little more
brandy l When I make up this mince-
meat, t sometimes add a few candied
cherrieS, with a cupful of boiled cider,
thus gitting the pies a, peculiarly deli-
cious 4vor.
Pete PUDDINGS.—The progenitor of
pudding, the pride and glory
nglish Christmas,was the plum
or pottage. In medieval titnes
the phi
of the
porridg
it was 'always served with the first
course of a Christmas dinner. Tt was
made by boiling beef or mutton with
broth thickened with brown bread;
when balf-boiled, raisins, currants,
prunes, cloves, mace and ginger were
added, and when the mass had been
wee._
-
re•—•
• t
•
*
1 ;)- ---
•
1
•YOUNG ,CANADA.
C011111111(1111111$ For Xmas Night, tough outer surfaee, and then chop very
Why, i4 the Ihter "B" like a hiot fine. Totwo pounds of this add one
fire 7-13ecause it makes oil Boil.
Which is the most modest piece ;o
furniture ii—TIte clock; for it always
covers its face its hands, and runs
itself down, however good its evoliks
maybe. 1
Who were the first a,stronomerst—
rhe stars; thy first studded elfrhe
heavetis.
What 1 ngtli thould a young lady's
dress be
feet.
Why is the Ireer "0" like a d isorder-
ly' home? Beepers@ it is always in Chn
fusion.
Why is the ;defter "J" Iiice the end
of spring —Bimause it is the begin-
ning :of ne. "
Why is a hiendle nearly burnt ,out
like .a ce •tairi county in Trelandl—
Because i is Wick -low.
Why is a solar eclipse like e mother
wore(•?—A little elmee two
.2!
pound of minced roast mutton. Then
add one and a half -pounds of suet,
chopped.' very fine. Chop also four
pounds of pared a,pples, two pounds'
each of currants and stoned raisins,:
and one-fourth of a pound of citron.
Put it Over the fire, with one pound,
of yellow sugar dissolved to a syrup in
water, two quarts of cider and half a
pint of brandy. While it is heating,
add ground spices as follows: One
tablespoonful of cloves, one of allspice,
one' of salt, one of ginger and one of
mace, with one nutmeg grated; the
grated rind of one lemon and the juice
of two. Let it all simmer together
till the liquor is reduced one-half.
Satisfy yourself by fasting it that the
provortion of spices is entirely' to your
liking. When it is cold make your
pies with nice puff paste.
FRENCH MiNce-mewr.---In.stead of
the above I have often used a French
recipe fat mince pies with altogether
They were hardly the same as when
ailSt"turned on me wall the fierce -
uncle was living, I thought; yet
could not define the missing feature. nes s of a tiaress at bay . " want no •
An undefinable strangeness had come gaggigatigg; from YOU," she raged, and
her eyes gleamed with a bale u fire.
To say that was astonished at her
unexpected demeanour would be put-
ting it mild. 1 was simply astounded,
iand for a moment I had grave doubts
in regard to our individual sanity.
What was it T had said to arouse such
fierce wratli 7
Had been saving soine insane
thing and insulting 'Aunt Cecil, or was
she grieving so Leply over uncle's
death that my mention of him had
turned her head 7 No! on second
thought, I had not done either.. Then
why this outburst?
Whether she read my thoughts or
those knowing his habits of order and not I cannot tell, but she cense toward
calculation, no last wish of his could be
me, with one jewelled hand clutching
found. the heavy crape of her dress, and the
other, Aith extended indsx, pointing
menacingly into my face,
"Do you dare to insinuate anything,
you ungrateful, poverty-stricken strip-
ling ?" she hissed, in a, low, insulting
tone.
My blood was up. I sprang to my
feet and faced her, " I have no idea,"
I exclaimed hotly, "what you refer to;
I am innocent of any such base intent.
But"—and a terrible suspieion crept
into my soul. "Your fury throws a
strong light on something which, I
swear, I nevet: thought of before. If
yourself-condemnationsaw an insirma-
don in my question it wile le cause you
are —guil ty !"
T leaned towards her and spoke the
last word mainingly. 1 e was a risky
shot, but fortunately it
She put her hand on the, table and
stood trembling like an aspen leaf.
"Oh ! Ma.urice, do you think I gave
your uncle a poisonous draught 1" she
gasped. Her face was ashen pale, and
her eyes took on an expreesion of deep-
est anguish.
stood still; T felt my blood run
coldly back to its overwrought fount.
" /hunt T began, but could get
no further; faintness came over me
and I sank prone upon the chair. " Oh,
Uncle Yormam !" I moaned.
" Maurice, be still," whispered she.
"You drive me frantic, frantic, frantic!
Oh, God, how I have suffered I"
She turned and iled througli the, hall
and upstairs as if the Father of Evil
were after her. "My God ! can it be.
that she poisoned .I.Tircle Norman ?" T
questioned as 1 rose and began to
wander aimlessly about the grounds,
now gradually becoming covered with
snollavo.w.
long I walked,half crazed with
my grief, I know not, but -when the
shadows lengthened across the snow -
clad lawn, and deepened under the
trees, some one laid a hand on my
armit•Come into the house," they said,
"your aunt is no more."
"Dead ?" I almost shrieked.
"Yes; be calm, for your cousin's
sake; she is wild with grief."
Dumb of tongue and soul, I follow-
ed where they led.
White and still wae the -face I had
seen a few short hours before so full
of UEIexpressed hatred. Long I gazed
upon the waxenfeatures,but 11,0 emotion
of grief or pity stirred my heart.
Inez hovered over the inaninutte
form, wringing her hands and wailing
out her sorrow, yet I could not feel.
touched.
Some days after the 1). urial T went -
between me and Deepdale, however.
Uncle had been found dead in- the
park somesixmonths previous, Whither
he had gone for a walk. He was ly-
ing at the foot of a tree lifeless and
cold, with his limbs dra,wn,up, his face
contorted es if in extreme agony, and
his arm thrown over his head,with the
fingers clutching the sere grass. Being
old and somewhat ailing it is supposed
that he died in a fit.
I was his favourite nephew, he hav-
ing paid for my education at college.
I also had many reasons for believing
that I would be favourably mentioned
in his will, but, strange as it seemed to
Inez, his only child, as a matter of
course, became sole heir to his wealth,
and I was left out entirely. My cousin
was , a beautiful girl of twenty, and
always seemed very fond of me; in-
deed, it had also been hinted to me by
Aunt Cecil before uncle's demise that
Inez and I were "born for each
•-t"he face of this, however, I had
othienr
the ungrateful audacity to fall in love
with an orphaned girl in the city, thus
putting a strong negative to aunt's
declaration.
I told her of my Angagernent to
pretty Lulu Melville one day a short
time before, uncle's death, and she
pleinly told me 1 was a scholar of the
school of experience. •
Uncle was present at the thue, but
he only smiled, saying that everyone
should be allowed to choose for them-
selves in such matters." And themin
reference to my finances, he offered to
help me to the extent of a few those
sands when I should be married.
With his sudden death and failure
of leaving a will, this bright forecast
of the future, as a matter of conse-
quence. fell to the ground. It wee
not on my own account so much that
1 cared for this; but I, lover like, had
planned so many comforts for Lulu
wi en s hould become iny wife that,
it thade it very hard for me to believe
r was not remembered.
I was seated in the library oe Christ-
mas Eve, and lia.d been thinking of al'
this rather bitterly, it must be confess-
ed, before I opened my hook for an
hour with my favourite author; but in
the interesting story I soon lost the
bitter reflections and was enjoying the
narrative, when suddeely the shedow
of a human hand fell acress the page I
was reading.
For a moment I was dumfounded.
Then thought some one was, per-
haps behind me testing my credulity
and began investigating. To my utter
astonishment, not a living thing was
visible.
Finding no one near, I felt strange
but resumed my book, sayieg to my
self that at it was only a triek of the
In a few moments, however, he
shadow care again, this time resting
considerably longer on the page, and
in addition to the strange manifesta-
tion I felt a strong, eold wind go by.
Thoroughly mystified, I now arose,
put my book in my pocket, went out
into the grounds, and began walking
about. °
What. could it mean? -
Surely there was a reason—or- should
thoroughly boiled it was sent to table
with the first or meat course. This
dish is so ancient that the date of its
origin is not known.
The Puritans objected to the plum -
porridge as they did to the mince -pie,
regarding the dish as a symbol of ex-
travagance and luxury. The lovers of
good eating, however, preferred to
charge this prejudice to the Round-
head's sour temper. When Sir Roger
de Coverley saw a dissenter eating his
plum porridge with obvious enjoyment
he thought there was hope for him.
This once indispensable dish has not
been on record -since the first decade
of the nineteenth century. When it
began to give way to the richer after -
course of the plum pudding we cannot
say, but the latter is mentioned by
name in the " Tutler" and we find a
recipe for it in a book published in
1791.
The English custom is usually \ to
make the pudding some weeks or even
. 1
months before Christmas, or the time
beating her lloy I—Bee:Luse it's a hid -
agreeable results. It gives " the most that a well -made ,. plum pudding will
1
ing of the sun (son).
digestilile rich mince, I think, that can keep, if it is not allowed to freeee, is
' What e t ie three comparsions'of a
be maltle. This is the method'of mak- I astonishing. But it can be made the
lawyer?— irst he gets on, then he gets
ina •. Take twb pounds of roasted sir -
honour, tu d then gets honest. b •
part all cut away, one pound of beef
lady, givii g !away her sweetheart to
E. chopped fine; also one pound each of
lover, - . 1
yelloe: isuaar, Malaga raisins,
Who w, s t re first whistlenand what pale
Sultana, raisins and currants, four ounges of sugar and a glass of sherry,a
did he whi tie! 7 --The wind; he whittled '' • •
cl., lemon rind (rubbed) and two small
ounces each of candied citron, drie
"Over the I ills and far away !"
-, orange and lemon peel, cut in fine bits, pieces of loaf sugar, a pinch of salt and
What great comm ancleresf ter having. also the arated rind oftwo fresh oranges a pint of milk. Mix this well, '
put it
been killed tin an engagement, Came and two lemons with their juice, and over •a slow fire, stir it briskly with an
home in gogd'spirits at last I—Nelson.
Her uncfe's sister's father's wife
Had but one son in all her life.
1 am tha son, and have children
three -i -
lion' of beef, well done, and the outer
Why is the lettex "'It'll:ea- young ;
suet, and.two pounds of aPples, all
another? Beeetese it makes over a
day before belling it if desired.
GENUINE N G I. IS I. I SAUCE.—If you
want to 1iav4-- your Christmas pudding
genuine, you must not omit the sauce,
but make it by this recipe : Put in a
small saucepan six egg -yolks, four
an ounce of allspice,' a pint of brandy egg whip until the sauce thickens and
is frothy and v,hite pour some over the
pudding, and serve the rest in a
bowl. Do net heat it too long or it
and a bottle of sherry wine. Mix all
these ingredients well, put them in a
jar, and keep them for a fortnight in
a ,co,o1„pla_ce,... .(If you are in a hurry will curdle. When the Pudding is taken
I say warning 1 in this uncanny visite- ,t0 cousin, who, seeiningly, could
not be comforted. "Do not grieve so,"
I said: "aunt wished for death."
A wild, terrified look came into my
cousin's face. She beckoned me to
follow her as she withdrew into
the library, then she closed the door
carefully.
" She wishedfor death. Do you
know why'?" she asked with white
lips.
" Yes," T answered.
"Then v ou know that she poisoned
father, do you 7" T nodded in the af-
firmative, and she continued "1 did
not know until some time after his
death; never should have known,
think, had she not imagined that she
was haunted by a phantom hand. This
hallucination worked upon her mind so
much that one day she confessed t� me
her awful deed."
:41trepsishe
hand 9" asked.
e ima,gined she saw one. lee
the park, shortly after father's death,
door I met the gardener. "Bin out in
and that it followed her persistent-
ly. 7 I
tion. If so, what threatened me, or
why should I thus be disturbed
Then a morbid curiosity seized me.
I would go back to the library, and in-
vite another visitation.
I had not long to weit. Again the
shadow rested on my book and again the
ley wind struck my face. By this
time I had grown used to the mystery
somewhat and watched it more close -
After a few moments' pausing on
the page the shadow dropperto the
floor, where it continued moving to
and fro until it disappeared suddenly.
I once more left the house and stroll-
ed through the grounds to think the
matter over.
"Well I" ejaculated T, feeling utter-
ly nonplussed "this is strange; some-
thing is evidently about to happen:- -
perhaps to Lulu," With this T started
for the house.
Just as I was about to enter the
ma and eedshuddered and left the Iihrary. In
dwelling on the loneliness of the place a week afterward went away from
be-
fore hegrounds,times,thaveo
Yr eep"yhe he esaid, ccommenced
"since Mr. French's cer'us aeath." Deepdale never to return.
"Oh I replied, " Uncle Norman Some months after 1 Peceived
would not harm anyone, living, and letter from Inez.
dead I am sure he could not. But,
tell me about him. Was he ill the day
he wcenetin t thuen;m
park seems
d ise
w11,dne
must
have been, too, for your aurit gave him
a stimulant afore he started, 'cause she
thought . he might need something, as
he was not strong. But 1 allers
thought it kind o' strange, though,
'bout;:yliheeiss,wydaeessa,otlhhde. ,wIa said, a d
old, but that don't
crer up the mystery; not right satis-
factorily to my mind. But that's not
mYbhueman ss•'
Tturned on his heel and left
me, and I went into the house. Aunt
Cecil was readieg in the drawing- room,
her.
1had
with the 6c- Why is Cupid like poverty 7 —Be -
ca indl t e Dae tookbeen
t producedworked
nearbyup e
phantom cause he drives people to tl.e union.
hand and the gardener's words to I Little James, four years ohl, was pointing
get4r until I could nt hlk
oep speaking :
• out agcow to. a playnimte. See the bell
"1 have sold Deepdale," she said,
"and 1 am going abroad. I find 1
cannot live here alone, after- all
has happened. Enclosed find a portion
of -the money realised from the sale oft
the estate. I have -no one else to
divide with, and T am sure father
would desire me to share with. you if
he were living."
In her letter was a draft for a con-
siderable amount, of which 1 made
gooduse.
I am several years older now; but 1
never think of Deepdale without a
shudder, and 1 often close my eyes on
Christmas Eve for fear I shall see a
phantom hand or Aunt Cecil's rigid
features.
Cherrite
in a big -est
were quiff.
served.
agreed wit
deficiencies
extent tha,
disappear e
pay one ,
was his cre.
:cents, wide
in those a
him next
remained
years after.
eral invoin-
reaso ns evie
sufficient
the civil w,
I escaped I
with him,
to time tha
to his old e
casional ha
Our ways
„,
years had
istence, but
to give my..
I was than
ognized as
" You n
me, Mr. Blo
nition beca
sort of fell
he whiepere
that you gee
was not
mean in the
which Cherr
knew him,
Way of congi
with so pret
himself rem.
"
IS yours.
I'm her aa,
knew, thou
tween us.
Then, befor
crowded ho
place th inti'
woman, he 14
" Chick, t
used to wor
Inc when
to be a regu
you so often,
A face
turned towa
and a well n
Papeene
tell me that
bad when 1
seems to give
f3elf a, bad 'eh
" 1 do it s
of the great
me," Cherrit
us resumed,
been the Mai
the other we
thing but tre
that's easy e
willing to at
spend enoug
oldJobupi
Mr. Bloggs-
pliments, bu
offhand don'
inaprovenifhi
you remercb
WaS Oat
ative. Cheri
a beauty; I
'dock, aceme
of himself, a:
under a sine
inartt expree
tirely depari
ful:gIow in 1
told of good
as dreet
and he WOre
of a, man ae
thing ; he w
carried a sth
rassed by it
"She did
zee that 1et!
wish you'd
wherever yo
tell you tlw
you'd enjoy
story you'd
I'm not g
every day ti
gone throug
much good t
along with
she lives, to
against SODA
used to wort
you'll meet
and id like
that Cheriih
and that he)
We get out
Then he be
"Chick, I'm
a:k*. VialaW *