Barry Herald

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] WHO WINS MISS BURTON i A Tale of the London Season BY HHS. C. M. HAWKSFORD. Author oj "John's Wije." CHAPTER V.-Continued. In the morning the fog was still so thick that it Was almost impossible to see out of the window. Mrs. Burton, wrapped in a red shawl, declared, as she poured the water out of the steaming silver kettle into the teacups, that the fireside was the only place on such a day, but that she had some duty-calls that must be made that afternoon, that she would be obliged to sacrifice her personal feelings, and that Agatha must accompany her. When the letters were brought in, Agatha took liers up. as she always did now, with a feeling of indifference. Lord Dunmore's almost illegible handwriting was there as usual, but she passed it over another rivetted her attention—it was Mrs. Vernor's. She had heard occasionally from Mrs. Vernor since leaving St. Helena; she had written to tell her of her engagement, and received her really heartfelt best wishes; and although she rarely mentioned the Lynns, every fresh letter inspired Agatha with the hope that she might tell her something about them. This morning she held the letter a few minutes in her hand before opening it, and looked in vain for the] Jenborough postmark. It was not there, simply the London one. A few hurried lines inside explained that Mrs. Vernor had un- expectedly been summoned to town by one of her early pupils, who was dying. She wanted to see Agatha, and would go to Hertford-street the moment she had any spare time. She did not ask Agatha to go and see her, but Agatha determined St once to do so, and run the risk of finding her at home. Mamma," said Agatha, need I pay those Visits with you this afternoon ?" What has happened to prevent it, Agatha ?" Mrs. Vernor is in town, and I must go and see her." "It is [very provoking," replied Mrs. Burton, "but people always will turn up when they are I least wanted. Why could not to-morrow do ? To- morrow I shall be out, and you will be alone." Oh, I could not be happy to lose a day," said Agatha, more especially as I do not know how I long she means to remain." Mrs. Burton thought it best not to contradict her, so it was arranged;that she was to leave her at Mrs, Vernor s, whilst she paid the visits, and then to call for her again." The direction given was to a small crescent in Bayswater: a place, as Mrs. Burton said, of which She had never heard the name, and which she only hoped her coachman might be able to find, and then she asked what was Lord Dunmcre's news Agatha had forgotten to open the letter, but she did so at once on being reminded, and tried to appear interested in a photograph of her future hoine-a magnificent castle, standing high. sur- rounded by noble trees and beautiful gardens, with a broad lake winding away in the distance. Mrs. Burton was, of course, enchanted, and told Agatha that she must have given her a fairy god- mother and Agatha laughed and said that, after all, she might find out one day that she was only Cinderella. If Agatha might have chosen, she would have put on her plainest winter dress that afternoon but Mrs. Burton wished her to pay a visit of state in Belgrave-square before she went to Bayswater. and to dress as befitted the future Lady Dunmore, it being on one of Lord Dunmore's great friends that they were to call; and Cameron having laid out a violet silk dress, a violet velvet mantle, and a white bonnet with violet feathers, there was nothing left but to put them on. Lady Mary Haughton was not at home, so they drove to Bayswater. Mrs. Vernor being at borne, Agatha got out, and Mrs. Burton drove away. pro- mising to call again in an hour. Agatha followed the maid into the sitting-room: a dim figure was standing before her, the door shut behind her, and she was just about to exclaim Mrs. Vernor, when her voice failed, the room went into darkness the figure was not Mrs. Vernor, it was Mr. Lynn. 1 have made a mistake," she said, desperately; I came to see Mrs. Vernor, and I thought-" But she was trembling so violently that she was obliged to grasp the back of the chair to save her- Belf from falling. Whatever Mr. Lynn's first feelings may have been, he mastered them quickly. You thought rightly, Miss Burton, Mrs Vernor is here. or will be in a few minutes." And then he bowed, without offering his hand, and turning a chair round, asked her to sit down. Agatha obeyed. She did not know if she were very happy or very miserable; she was in a dream. For a few minutes both were silent, then Mr. Lynn took out his watch. I ordered the carriage to call for me again in an hour," said Agatha, "hearing that Mrs. Vernor Was at home." I fear there may have been some mistake," replied Mr. Lynn but I will go and see." And he left the room. Agatha covered her face with both her hands, and tried to think what she ought to do, or ought to say. Mr. Lynn was only absent a few minutes. I am afraid," he said, on re-entering, that some blunder has been made. Mrs. Vernor is out, and her return uncertain." Agatha rose. I had better go," she said. For a moment Mr. Lynn looked at her as he used to do in the old St. Helens days, and seemed about to speak, but he checked himself, and then said, coldly, I fear either alternative will be equally un- welcome—returning alone in a cab, or waiting for Your own carriage." "I think," said Agatha "it would be best to wait, onJy-" Only I am here," replied Mr. Lynn, with a light inclination of the head, and a shade of sarcasm in his voice. But Miss Burton need be under no apprehension when my services can be dispensed with I am ready to leave the house, and so spare her the pain of my society." Something almost like a moan came from Agatha's lips. he had been standing up, but she sat down, and turned her face to the window, without speaking. There was something like triumph mingled with the bitterness that lay at Mr. Lynn's heart, as he looked at Agatha but he felt that he had never loved her so madly as he did then, in her proud desperation; not that he showed it, there was a fiend at his heart, and it goaded him on to torture her. If you have any message for Mrs. Vernor, and can trust me with it, I will promise to deliver it." I shall see Mrs. Vernor myself, I hope," re- plied Agatha "I have nothing new to tell her." Miss Burton's life cannot be so uneventful," he said, or perhaps her usual discretion pre- sents her from troubling her friends with her personal interests." The hot tears came into Agatha's eyes at the implied reproach; but she was in the shade, and Mr. Lynn did not see her face, he only saw the diamond ring that glittered on her finger. He waited a minute, and then he bowed and was about to leave the room. He had even reached the door when Agatha interrupted him. There was a wild, hunted look in her large dark eyes, as she ex- claimed, Mr. Lynn, don't go I ask it as a favour, please don't go." She went back to her seat. It had all been done on the impulse of the moment, something had impelled her to it. Mr. Lynn closed the door, came in and sat down. Miss Burton, I do it because you ask me; inothing now but your words shall influence me." He was cruel even yet, but Agatha did not remonstrate. She looked up. and the pained ex- pression on her face soothed his angry spirit, and he asked gently about her mother, brother, and her London life. I have one more favour to ask to-day," replied Agatha, and it is that you will talk to me of St. Helens, and only St. Helens. Let me try to imagine, for to-day at least, that there has been no inter- vening time, that the old da) s have come back again. It will be difficult for me, Miss Burton," said Mr. Lynn;" but I will try." And so Mr Lynn began by speaking of Mrs. Vernor, and why she had left home, and the reason of his accompanying her, his mother being anxious that she should not travel alone in her agitated frame of mind. And then, insensibly, they glided into other subjects, so that when the servant, opened the door and an- nounced the carriage, both fancied that it had only been away a few minutes. Mr. Lynn offered Agatha his arm. She was brighter now, something like undefined hope had sprung up wi hin her but not so with him. '■ Miss Burden, Agatha," he said, as he grasped hor hand, C'no more -good-bye." Not good-bye, she said "I am coming again to-morrow to see Mrs. Vernor." She got into the carriage, the door <vas shut, she looked out of the window into the gathering darkness; he was watch- ing her, and she saw him still standing until the carriage turned the corner of the square. Mrs. Burton had not come back after all, so no disagreeable questions were asked. Agatha had not felt so happy as she did that night for what seemed to her whole ages, and she dropped asleep saying to herself, "To-morrow I shall see him—to- morrow, to-morrow!" Alas! for the human to. morrow CHAPTER VI. THF. next day, when Agatha, got up. h." wh';l!e mind was engrossed with one idea, and that was — Mr. Lynn. She waited impatiently until break- fast was over, and then she asked Mrs. Bui-ton if she might order the carriage for eleven o'clock. Mrs. Burton acquiesced, provided she would be ready to return at two, reminding her that in n few days Lord Dunmore would be in London, and that it would be well for her to have finished all her business, so as to be at liberty. Liberty! how the word grated upon Agatha's ear. "But for to-day at least," she said, as she weut up-stairs, I wili forget him; for to-day 1 will be the old Agatha.' Then she took off her diamond ring, and all the ornaments which had been gifts from Lord Dunmore, and put on the dress she knew Mr. Lynn would like, remember- ing all his tastes, even to the colour of her gloves. She did not analyze her motives, she only followed her inclinations and then she hurried down stairs, sprang into the carriage, and looking up at the drawing-room window, nodded gaily to Mrs Burton as she drove off. The drive to Bayswater seemed interminable; but she was there at last, and going up the stairs she had gone down the day before, leaning on Mr. Lynn's arm. Mrs. Vernor was in the sitting-room she put her arms round Agatha, kissed her as she took off her hat. and made her sit down. Then she began a hundred questions, which Agatha hardly knew how to answer, for all the while she was listening for Mr. Lynn's footstep. She was not prepared for disappointment, but waited and hoped on, and tried to appear interested in other subjects. At last, when nearly an hour had passed away, she could bear it no longer. "Mr. Lynn?" she said. Mr. Lynn went home this morning." (:one! really gone exclaimed Agatha, forget- ful of everything but her bitter mortification. Tell me you did not mean it; it can't be true." And she laid her hand imploringly on Mrs.Venor's arm. Yes, Agatha, it is quite true." And he left no message for me. Oh he has been unkind." He did leave a message, Agatha," said Mrs Vernor, quietly taking both Agatha's hinds in hers. He told me, if you asked, to say that he went away because it was best." Agatha burst into tears, she could not help it: the reaction was too great. Mrs. Vernor tried to soothe her. "Agatha," she said, "you are not happy tell me what I can do for you you have always been like a child to me." You can do nothing," replied Agatha, looking up, and dashing the tears from her eyes. Mine is a miserable lot. but I have brought it on Myself, and 1 must abide by it." A gzt tha," said Mrs. Vernor, "tell me one thirg -did you love Mr. Lynn ?' "Don t ask me," said Agatha, starting up it is too late now I am to be Lord Dunmore's wife in three weeks—what is Mr. Lynn to me ?" The sorrows, Agatha, that are of your own making uill bring their consequent suffering. There is no position in life from which we are nut bound to save ourselves should it be yet in our power, if that position be one which we know is wrong and you are wrong, Agatha, if you do nut love Lord Dunmore." "Dear Mrs. Vernor," said Agatha, laying her head upon her friend's shoulder, 1 have been a miserable coward, but I have stood so alone, and now I feel that there is no escape; all I ask is, do not speak of it." Mrs. Vernor had stood up, and was about to re- monstrate, but Mrs. Burton unexpectedly an- nounced, and saying anything more became im- possible. She had come sooner than she intended, to take her darling Agatha away, and to indulge herself at the same time, she said, with a peep at Mrs. Vernor she wished to hear her opinion on Agatha's looks, and thank her in person for all the care she had taken of her dear child at St. Helens. Mrs. Burton could be very gracious when she liked, especially to those whom she considered her inferiors, when it did not compromise her in the eyes of the fashionable world; and Mrs. Burton had also a theory that, sooner or later, nearly every one can be made useful in some way. So she was most sympathising about Mrs. Vernor's consumptive pupil, and her hurried visit to town begged her to dine with them, and even offered to send the carriage to fetch her. Mrs. Vernor was leaving town the next morning, so she refused, and Mrs. Burton and Agatha took their leave. As Agatha kissed her friend, Mrs. Vernor managed to whisper, in answer to her clinging embrace, if ever, Agatha, you want a home, promise me you will come to St. Helens." And those words came back to Agatha when most she needed the assurance. Mrs. Vernor left London the following day, and Agatha returned to her old life. Her trousseau progressed rapidly, and everything neared its ful- lilment. Three nights before the wedding, Agatha was seated alone before her own fire. She had but just parted from her mother, as each had gone to her own room, and they had all the evening been talk- ing of dress and jewels, and arranging future plans. Agatha was weary and heart-sick. Better, she said, be dead than so utterly wretched. < <h! mother, what is my happiness to you ?" And then the thought flashed into her mind, "Perhaps I am wronging her- it is not yet too late for that." She started up, put on her dressing gown, and went swiftly down the psssage until she reached her mother's room, knocked softly, and entered. Mrs, Burton was sitting in an easy chair over the fire, reading one of a packet of letters. She looked surpl ised at Agatha's entrance, as if it were an unusual event at that hour. "You are surprised to see me," said Agatha "but, mother, I have something to say—something I want your advice about. You will think it is late perhaps," she continued, with all the calmness of desperation but- But I think I can guess," said Mrs. Burton, smiling; "you want the white lace flounces for your aiLber silk." Agatha shook her head her mother's total un- suspiciousness made her task verydifficult. She waited for a moment, then she knelt on the ground, low down at her mother's feet, and told her that she could not marry Lord Dunmore. Mrs. Burton's face grew livid as she listened. "Agatha, what madness is this ? Not marry Lord Dunmore ? be disgraced yourself, and dis- grace us all for life?" "But, mother," said Agatha, "think of my happiness. Oh, mother! only let me give it up, and I will work for you, I will never leave you we will be so happy, in spite of all the lost hateful grandeur, which can only make me miserable. Mother, if you ever loved me, save me Mrs. Burton looked staggered, but she rallied. Agatha, you can't mean it: think of the expense I have been at, the ? uinousoutlay on your London season, your dress, everything—everything which was to be put straight by your marriage with Lord Dunmore." "Think, mother," said Agatha, with the passion- ate, pleading look still in her eyes. how young I am to sacrifice a whole life; think what I shall suffer if I am obliged to live for ever with a man I-I hate." You will get to like him, Agatha." "Never she replied. I might try to do my duty, but I should fail even there, because -because," exclaimed Mrs. Burton, it is as I suspected; you have some romantic schoolgirl fancy for someone else. I only wish," eie said with rising indignation, I had never 16' TTOU go to St. Helens, and then you would not havb Jllen, as you did, into the hands of low, designing people." Agatha started up-her eyes were flaming. "I will not hear it," she said, '-even from you. All the real happiness I have ever known was at St. Helens all the restof my life, since I grew up has been a vain, miserable delusion it has made me a false, deceitful woman, deceiving even the man I ar-a going to marry, and who believes in me it is my duty at least to tell him." Mrs. Burton was really alarmed her terror lest Agatha should fulfil her threat made her grow cold all over. She saw in one glance Lady Dun- more s triumph, Lady Alice Wendover's, herself sunk in the shade, Valentine's heiress lost: so she begged and prayed, she even wept, she appealed to her love, to her duty she implored her to think of the disgrace, and at last Agatha promised, and Mrs. Burton, still fearful, went with her back to hei- room, saw her into bed, and sat by her until Agatha had, or Mrs. Barton thought she had, sunk into a calm sleep. To-morrow," said Mrs. Burton," Lord Dun- more and Valentine come; I must prevent her doing anything rash to morrow, and the day after she is to be married." The next morning Agatha seemed much as usual, only she looked ill. Lord Dunmore and Valentine arrived in the afternoon, and they all went out driving. Mrs. Burton tried, by an extra amount of conversation and gaiety, to cover Agatha s silence, and she laughed pleasantly when Lord Dunmore showed some anxiety about her, and assured him it was only excitement. After dinner, when the gentlemen joined the ladies. Lord Dunmore took a vacant chair beside Agatha, and Mrs. Burton felt a sickening drend' lest in the opportunity given by a tcle-a-tet.e, Agatha might betray herself; but it was needless. Agatha felt utterly hopeless and miserable, but she did not expect to be anything else. She looked at Lord Dunmore. as he bent his head over her, and shuddered as she thought, To-jyoi-i k)% he will be my husband." Lord Dunmore was in great spirits: he talked of what he should do, of what Agatha was to do: and then he took from his waistcoat-pocket a small ring-case and displayed a plain gold hoop, and made her fit it on, and then raised her hand to his lips, his small light eyes gleaming with triumph as he paid her some whispered compli- ment. CT. be continued.)

WEDDED BY CABLE. The oddest marriage in the history of South Africa h&s just taken place at Pretoria and in Holland. The bride and the groom were the trifle of 6000 miles apart. The circumstances surrounding the case make it almost an international marriage. The bridegroom was Ernest Van Trotsenburg, the head of the State Telegraphic Department. The bride was Miss E. H. Morsman, a resident of Amsterdam, Holland. It was, in fact, a marriage by proxy with the aid of the cable. All arrangements for the marriage bad been made by letter and cable, the time having been agreed upon, the difference in time between Pretoria and Amster- dam being allowed for, and each party knew at a cer- tain moment just exactly where the other was and what it was prepared to do. In the Hotel Kruger the bridegroom and his friends met. A wire from the cable bad been run to the room, and the arrangement had been perfected whereby it was possible to secure direct connection with Amsterdam, and therefore it was almost as easy for the bride and the groom to communicate with each other as if they had been in adjoining rooms with the door open. There were ten friends accompanying the bride- groom, who sat beside the little table of the cable operator, and when the proper moment came sent a message saying that he was all ready and anxious to become the husband of the young woman. Mr. Van Trotsenburg knew that in her pleasant home in Amsterdam Miss Morsman and a party of friends were awaiting the cable from him to begin the cere- mony. The bridegroom bad given a friend of his in Amsterdam power of attorney to act as his proxy at the wedding. This proxy made the responses for the bridegroom, and grasped one end of a glove belonging to the bridegroom, while the bride took hold of the other end. It is this feature of the marriage by proxy which gives it its name, "the glove marriage." One of the numerous technicalities of the Dutch marriage law renders the holding of the glove an absolute necessity. If this action be omitted the marriage is not legal. Only two cablegrams are necessary nowadays, one stating that the bridegroom is ready to begin, and the other from the bride saying that all is over, and that the change of name has been successfully accom- plished. Then the bride has a wedding breakfast, at which the proxy, who is really the best man, assists her. After that the young wife goes aboard the steamer and sets out for the land in which her hus- band dwells.

THE LAST OF THE DARLING FAMILY. The news will be received with some surprise, not to say disappointment, that the only surviving brother of the famous Grace Darling is now a pauper in receipt of parochial relief. George A. Darling, the last of the family, is an old man, and though once fairly prosperous, has, through the failure of the poor fishermen of Seahouses, North Sunderland, where he lives, fallen into such poverty as to necessi- tate his receiving relief from the parish rates. The old man adds to his scanty living by selling The True History of Grace Darling's Life and The Journal of Grace Darling's Father." The house in which the heroine was born and the house in which she died are still standing and occupied in the charming village of Bamburgh, in the unique parish church of which-bt. Aidaa's—Grace was baptised. She lies buried along with all the Darling connection in the still churchyard of Bamburgh and for the third time since her mterment in 1842, the canopy memorial above her ashes has just been restored. After having stood a few years the effigy of the heroine-a recumbent figure with an oar on her arm, looking towards the islands which she made illustrous-began to decay, and was removed to the in terior of the church, where it still lies, weather- beaten and rain-worn. Very curiously, the roof of the transept in which this original effigy is preserved has just given way, and is declared unsafe. The outside monument some 15 years or so ago was restored, and a new effigy placed beneath the stone-arcaded canopy, but in the great storm of four years ago the canopy was blown down, and the second effigy defaced. After lying in ruins for some two years, a new canopy has just been erected and the recumbent figure of Grace Darling repaired. The coast is a wild one; but there has been something strangely fatal in the fortunes of the tombs of one whose praises once rang through Europe. Far worse, however* than any ruined monument is the cold neglect of the heroine's last surviving relative. Surely," says the correspondent who sends us these particulars, "something should be done to brighten the eventide of the life of one so closely associated with a great English heroine."

WHAT OUR WARSHIPS COST. The special marine number of Cassicr's Magazine (33, Bedford-street), just issued, is one of the most handsomely got up and interesting productions of the kind that have come under our notice for some time. A number of experts supply the reading matter. Sir William White, K.C.B., writes on Specialities of Warship Design," Mr. A. F. Yarrow on Fast Torpedo Boats," Mr. Robert Caird on The Launching of a Ship," Mr. John 1. Thorneycroft on Steamers for Shallow Rivers," Mr. Archibald Denny on The Design and Building of a Ship," Sir Charles: Dilke on the Naval Weakness of Great Britain," Mr. Charles E. Hyde on the Modern Marine Engine," and so on. In Sir William White's article are some interesting particulars as to the cost of our warships in ancient and modern times: In 1637 the Sovereign of the Seas cost about £ 41,000, half of which was for labour. This was quite'an exceptional outlay, and no doubt other than legitimate expenses were charged against that vessel. At the beginning of this century a 100-gun line-of- battle ship cost from C65,000 to £ 70,000, exclusive of armament. The 121-gun sailing three-decker of 1837 cost nearly £ 120,000, and the screw three- decker of 1857 about £ 220,000. The use of armour added greatly to cost, and the Warrior, of 1859, figured up nearly £ 380,000. The Dreadnought, of 1873, cost E620,000, and the Inflexible, which followed her cost £ 810,000. Those large amounts were partly due to the introduction of costly mechanisms required for mounting and working the heavy guns and partly to large increase in the outlay on armour. Then came the reaction in favour of less costlv ships, and vessels were produced for £ 600,000 to E650,000 between 1875 and 1885. The inevitable tendency reasserted itself in 1885, the Nile and Trafalgar each costing about £ 850,000. The Eoyal Sovereign claBS of 1889 cost about £ 775,000, and the Majestic about £ 840,000. All these figures are for ships built in the Royal dockyards, and exclude incidental charges ae well as cost of arma- ments. They include gun mountings, with their costly mechanisms and torpedo gear." British battleships are, however, in proportion to their dimensions, less costly than battleships of other navies, and actually less costly than most foreign ships of about the same date: A French first-class battleship costs about EI,000,000, and so do the corresponding ships in the Russian and Italian fleets. The American battleship Indiana cost over E600,000, exclusive of armour, and that involved an expenditure of nearly £ 340,000. For the German battleships now building, of about 11,000 tons, the estimated cost is about 4:700,000." Another interesting fact brought out by Sir William White is that, large as are the dimensions of first- class battleships and cruisers, they are inferior to those of the largest merchant ships in length and load displacement. It is absurd, therefore, Sir William says, to apply the designation monsters to modern battleships and cruisers. Sir William White's article, and the magazine generally, is beauti fully illustrated.

TnE Austrian Railroad Minister has issued • circular to all the railroad managements of the country recommending them to grant a yearly vaca- tion of two weeks to ali regular employes, which is in accordance with the practice of the State railroads for some years past. TilE Tramways Committee of the Sheffield City Council, having obtained the necessary Parliamentary sanction, propose to convert the existing lines into the electric overhead system, and to commence several of the more important extensions. The committee's report has been fully discussed and adopted. M. DKSMAZURICS, whose death is just announced from Borau, had a singular experience in the war of 1870. Grievously wouuded at Reichahofen, he was left for dead on the field. He regained his senses at night to find a scoundrel on the point of cutting off his finger to steal his ring. Luckily he had his loaded revolver, wherewith he shot the fellow dead, and at daybreak he was picked up by the ambulance. TilE Royal Agricultural Society having approached the Scotch railway managers to secure a reduction in rates, the directors have decided to practically reduce the rates for farm and garden produce by one-half, with a. minimum of 4d. and 6d. per parcel. The reduced rates will apnlv eaually to retailers and con- sumort. »

"JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING It was a lovely picture of rolling woodis-.id anl" grassy slopes, with the peaceful river in the distance reflecting the glories of the dying sun, and the rich masses of cloud tinged with myriad rainbow dyes, but before Bell Fielding's eyes a mist of tears inter- vened. None sparkled on the jetty lashes, no trace of them was left on the fair, flushed cheek, but they blurred the vision for all that, as she choked them back on her sad heart. Around her was every evidence of wealth. The house rising in the back- ground, a grand old pile of gray stone, worthy the name of castle, the grounds surrounding it, kept in exquisite order, giving every sign of cultivation and taste, her own dress rich and costly, yet the tears so nearly shed were caused by the bitterness of depend- ence. It was her uncle's house she shared, the privileges which by right belonged solely to her cousin, her beautiful cousin May-proud and beautiful, the idol of her father, a man stern and grave save to the daughter whose smile melted the chilliest froet in .vhich he enwrapped himself. Years before Bell, too, bad known a father's love, but that Archer Fielding had ever been own brother to this man of iron seemed impossible. Her earliest recollections were of a bright, genial nature, eyes and lips formed only for laughter, forbidding conceal- ment and distrust, a heart always ready to listen to her childish wants, ever open to enfold and protect her, then silence and mystery. His name was never mentioned now in her uncle's home. She had been taught to think him dead, though sometimes rose a great hope in her soul that somewhere on this wide earth he might yet live, and the day would come when she might find him. She could complain of no un- kindness, but well she knew duty, not love, assigned her her daily bread, and therefore, since in her veins, too, ran the proud blood of the Fieldings, it choked her fi-» she ate. I will go away," she said aloud. I cannot bear it. I am young, I am strong. I can work, or, if needs be, starve—anything rather than accept crumbs—aye, or a whole loaf-leavened by stem duty, without one sweet morsel of love." "Soliloquising, Miss Bell?" interrupted a voice, and the girl turned, her face flushing, then paling, as the young man who had thus addressed her approached and drew her arm within his. For a moment she let it rest there, as though it were plea- sant to her, then made a motion to withdraw it, but he laid a detaining grasp on the small, white fingers, as he questioned, Why will you not accept my escort ? Is your own society so far preferable ?" My cousin is expecting you, I believe, Mr. Armstrong, at the house. May does not brook delay." Indeed Nor do I; therefore, since I was seek- ing you, allow me at least a brief reward. I was not aware Miss Fielding had any claim upon my time, at least not Miss May Fielding Again his listener's face flushed as she made a half impatient movement of dissent. "Bell," he went on with sudden im- petuous manner, is it possible you do not know the charm which has drawn me here, have you not long ago read the story of my love for you ? It is true that I have been polite to your cousin, although my attentions have hardly been so marked as to admit of misconstruction. Think you we care for.the snow- capped mountains, when at our very feet lies the valley of plenty ? Through her I have gained speech with you. Surely such subterfuge is in no way to be despised. I have seen your proud spirit suffer, have known something of its pangs. Darling, will you not end them ? Will you accept the home I offer you, as fair a one as that you leave, where you shall reign its honoured mistress, queen of all, even my heart." Was she dreaming ? Was it, indeed, love for Loring Armstrong she so long had held within such irrepressible barriers, that now at his words leaped in such mad, strong currents through every pulse ? She so long had looked upon him as May's lover, she so well knew his declaration had been expected by her, which would gratify for her father every desire of his parental ambition; so fully realised their baffled disappointment when they discovered it was she whom he loved, that her brain whirled, but those last words, she whom he loved," gave her strength. What could she not bear for such a price? Had Loring Armstrong been penniless she still could have gladly gone forth to the ends of the world, and now, now she could only raise happy, tear-brimmed eyes to his, and sob out her new-found joy on the unex- pected shelter of his heart. But May ? What will she say ?" she questioned at last. Darling, do you think because I have been so happy as to win you, every one must envy you the prize ? I doubt if Miss May has a heart, save when it beats triumphantly as she looks at the reflection of her own beautiful face in her mirror. But come, little trembler. We will go and announce our dawn- ing bliss and put your foolish fears to flight." So saying, he threw his arms once more about the slender form, and drew her toward the house. On the broad terrace impatiently opening and closing the fan she held within her jewelled hand,the beautiful heiress sat awaiting their approach, or rather the approach of one alone, for she raised her pencilled eyebrows with haughty inquiry, accom- panied by a disdainful shrug of the graceful shoulders when the saw who was his companion but as they drew nearer, and she noted his action of acknowledged protection, a deathly pallor overspread the beautiful face, and one drop of blood rested on the crimson lip where her small white tooth had left its cruel impress. We have come to ask your congratulations, Miss May, although I have assured your cousin how sincere I know they will be. Is your father within?" No, I believe not, and without the consent of one's guardian, congratulations, I infer, are preipature. However, you may rest assured of mine, if you con- sider them of moment." The tone in which she spoke gave no betrayal of the conflict she endured, and at the words Bell started forward. How kind of you, dear cousin, to share my happiness," but a something, unnoticed by the man, warned her to say no more-to draw back chilled, she could scarce tell why, and send the momentary impulse of affection back to its fountainhead. A shadow of undefined dread crept over her not even her lover's kiss, with his piomise to return early in the morning that the important interview might be accomplished, could dissipate a shadow which took visible form, as on the following day she was sum- moned from the breakfast room to her uncle's study, and met her cousin just leaving it, with an expres- sion of triumphant assurance she was unable to con- ceal. With unusual urbanity, after carefully closing the door, Mr. Fielding motioned her to a seat. I hear," he began, clearing his throat, that Mr. Armstrong has asked you to become his wife. This both amazes and pains me. Amazed because you certainly must have conducted your courtship with unbecoming socrecy, and pained because it' forces me into disclosures which will make this marriage an im- possibilitv." The shadow had fallen now. She felt it suffocat- ing her, but she awaited the rest in silence. -1 Had your hand been sought by one whose name was of less lustre, and whose birth, station, and im- mense wealth forced him to less necessarily maintain it, I might have kept silent. Now I cannot con- sistently do so. therefore I must tell you your father is not dead, as you have supposed, but still lives, a fugitive from justice!" Lives My father! Thank God r' From her white lips broke the exclamation of gratitude, unheeding the barrier which had forbidden all these years his acknowledging himself to his child. I will not here speak of the character of his offence, save that the clemency of one man saved him from disgrace," he continued, restlessly pacing the floor, as though even his hard nature shrank from his self-appointed task. His eyes were glancing over at the white, suffering face of the girl he was stabbing with each word. It only remains for me to apprise Mr. Armstrong of these facts to induce him at once to renounce your hand of his own accord, or in mercy to your pride inform him you have repented a too hastv decision and wish to be free. Which course will you choose ?" Sir, your blood is in my veins. The question is therefore scarcely necessary. I shall neversee Loring Armstrong again. Word it as you will, only if it be true that my father Jives, I would share his exile- aye. if needs be, his disgrace. Write him it is my wish, and gain quickly his consent." A daik red flush overspread her listener's brow, and his voice was hoarse as be replied No letter could reach him. As soon as possible I will let him know of your desire." Slowly Bell rose and left the room, ivondoring if years bad not elapsed since last she had entered it. A dull wonder took possession of her in the weeks that followed, as to why her lover so calmly had ac- cepted her sudden rejection of his suit. She did not know a faint hope had tempered the first force of the blow, the hope that he would break down any barrier, leap any obstacle which might pre- vent his claiming her for his own. But since the few brief hours they had spent together, when be had won her promise, he had vanished. Not even May's wiles could draw him to her side since he had disappeared from their midst. So, sitting alone and weary, she was startled one evening, as the first snow lay upon the ground, by the entrance of a stranger. Gray hairs mingled with the brown, but as he stood silent one moment before her a thrill of expectation gave her a premonition of the future, and when he opened his arms with the talismanic words My daughter," she sprang to their embrace. But as he released her, another stood waiting, 88 Loring Armstrong said: Have I not, won my reward, Bell?" Glancing for one moment into the noble features ot the parefat she had lost soiobg, audifailing to read- one sign whi, should proclaim him capable of wrong* :.tie e,)ttld no It)tiger hesitate, as with rapturous blis-.A .-he felt herself once more enfolded in her lovw's arms. Nor did he let her go when her uncle was summoned to their presence, so changed, so white, so fear-stricken that she could but feel a thrill of pity at her heart., a pity which made her plead his cause when the sad truth was unfolded, the truth that to save him her own father had assumed his crime, the forgery of a note. True to a promise made to his mother on her death-bed to protect a younger brother, be had gone forth a wanderer, leaving home and child —even his wealth-for the guilty one. Loring Armstrong, insisting upon the issue, had been reluctantly told, and he it was who determined to win the girl he loved at any cost, had sought and found the father, who had sacrificed so much, and from whose lips, sealed so long, he wrung at last the tru; h. You have a daughter," confessed the wretched man, when all had been told, restored to your arms. Remember, I did this for mine, and forgive me." So it was the heiress after all Loring Armstrong bad won for his bride, and when on the eve of Bell's wedding day May Fielding's body was discovered, beautiful and white and cold in death, and her uncle left his home a wretched wanderer, unwilling to accept the free forgiveness offered him, her husband wiped away her tears, and in his and her new-found father's love she learned the lesson that weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."

WHAT AN EARTHQUAKE IS LIKE. The subjoined extracts from a letter from an Eng- lishman, who is manager of a large tea-garden not far from Darjeeling, gives a realistic account of the effects of an earthquake in the mountains, fiOOO feet above sea level and several hundred miles awav from Calcutta. I am writing amidst the debris of disaster. About five o'clock in the evening we had an earthquake which lasted for one and a-half minutes, and has left my bungalow a wreck. I was in the garden at the time, and had just met the assistant of the neighbouring garden in my tea garden, when he said be felt an earth- quake. But I only heard a low rumbling sound, and said it was thunder. Presently I, too, became aware of the shock, which increased to such a violent degree that we had to catch hold of each other's shoulders to save ourselves being thrown down. The trees were all bowing down to the ground, and we were reeling about like a couple of drunkards. I took out my watch as soon as I felt the shock and time lk minutes. I heard some coolies cry out that the Pankabasie factory had fallen down, and on looking up the hill, about three miles off, I saw the factory in a cloud of red smoke, which was the brick dust from the falling walls. I also saw dust rising from the back of my bungalow, about Si- miles up the hill. The same thing was happening to my factory at Fallodlie. I went on to Fallodlie, which was close by, and found the upper walls of the loft had partly fallen in, and nothing much was damaged, except some stored tea. I was hardly prepared to find that I was no longer the proud possessor of the house I had left in the morning, but that a valuable ruin was in ita stead. It hasn't got an ivy-mantled tower, as all the three chimneys had fallen down. There is an upper room above the main room. Its walls had each comfortably fallen through the ceilings of both lower bedrooms "and one of the bath rooms, whereas the walls of the other bath room had fallen outwards. The main room was covered with bricks and plaster, but was not really much damaged. In this room I am at present sleep- ing, and have all my furniture in the verandah. I have got to start pulling down fast and building up gradually, but I do not know yet whether I can get masons to do any work, as the rains have just come on, and besides that, masons will be in great demand everywhere, patching up and building. I have not heard the extent of the damage yet, as the mail train has been stopped, and I hear there is a large gap in the ground near Gilliguri, which is our lower station. Landslips have occurred everywhere." — • "1

FRENCH FRUIT. Enormous quantities of fruit are being sent in from France, consisting principally of plums, gages, and pears. Nuts also are coming over in large quantities, and we learn that the French nut crop is in proportion about as heavy as it is in England. Ten thousand packages of these fruits in one day is by no means bad, and the quantity enables one to judge of the nature of our transactions with fruit from France. They are also sending across a large quantity of tomatoes, and the demand for their best fruit exceeds the supply.

CHOIXY SAPHBAD (as a 30 to 1 shot rushed under the wire first): "Theah, I knew that fellah would win!" Belle Bluntley Have you anything on him ?" Cholly Saphead Only me mind." Belle Bluntley I didn't know the bookmakers at this track took small bets." THE Postmaster-General finds no difficulty in securing candidates for any vacancies that may occur in his great department. Here is an illustration of this fact. Very recently he advertised that, there were 30 vacancies for lady clerks in the Savings Bank Department- No fewer than 350 fully-qualified young ladies sought those positions. THE bicycle, as well as the Bible, now forms a part of the missionary's outfit. It is said that four-fifths of the departing missionaries take the wheel with them when they go abroad. On the other side of the world the use of the wheel may be helpful in reaching the heat hen; but alas! hereabouts the heathenish scorcher gets away every time on his own wheel. Tiiy French have again beaten us they have pro- duced the most remarkable kleptomaniac on record. This is an old lady named Bide, whose passion for smoking has impelled her to pilfer pipes from Pari- sian shops with such industry that no fewer than 2600 were found in her lodgings. All were meer- schiiums, and 39 were well coloured. THE Income-Tax Repayment Agency wish to call attention to the fact that notice of claims for refund- ing of income-tax where a loss has been incurred during the year ending April 3, must be lodged without delay. Claims for three years on abatement, exemption, and life insurance premium! can, how efei1, be made for some time longer.

ENGLISH ELECTRIC RAILWAYS. A great deal of curiosity is manifested not only by irvestors but by the general public, fur information oil this subject; and in order to show the difficulties that stand in the way of supplying such information, we reproduce the following remarks on the subject from the Railway World: In past years we have published tables showing details of the working ex- penses of electric and cable railways in Great Britain. Twelve months ago, owing to a transfer of the pro- perty, no accounts were issued for the Birmingham City Tramways, so that the cable and electric lines in that town could no longer be included in our statistics. This year we are still without accounts. Since the last article on the subject was written, the Edinburgh Northern Cable Tramways have ceased the issue of their half-yearly returns, owing to the lines having been bought up by the Town Council of Edinburgh. They now form a part of the whole tramway system of Edinburgh. Consequently our tables are now practically restricted to the two electric railways in England which pub- lish detailed accounts, viz., the City and South London Electric Railway, and the Liverpool Over- head Electric Railway. None of the existing electric street tramways in England and Ireland issue records from which any definite information as to the working expenses can be drawn. One, however, may be com- forted by the reflection that on an average an electric street line in this country can seldom sbow a much lower percentage of expenses to receipts than is dis- played by the railways above mentioned. These undertakings are on a large scale, and carry a heavy traffic, free from the disturbance and delays com- mon to all street lines. Such facts should largely counterbalance the circumstance that they have passenger station and signalling expenses, from which street lines are free." Proceeding to comment on a table of statistics, showing the results obtained on the Liverpool line since the date of its opening down to the end of the past half-year, the Railway World points out that the amount of business has increased considerably of late, and this is partially accounted for by the recent opening of a short extension of the line. It is encouraging to see that the cost of motive power per wile run remains very steady. The total expense per train mile is beginning to show a diminu- tion, but as the receipts per train mile are also down, the petcentage is only a fraction lower than in the last II half of 1896. Other tables are given to show how very materially the position of the City and South London Railway is improving. It is true that the expenses per train mile are the highest since 1893, but then the re- ceipts have gone up enormously, and are now much higher than they have ever been before. In the first half of 1893, when the expenses were fractionally higher than in the first half of the present year, they w amounted to 64'6 per cent. of the receipts, but now the ratio is only 55'64 per cent, and the lowest on record. Motive power is slightly higher than it has been for some time. It is quite evident that the company are by no means overdoing the amount of service, seeing that the receipts per train mile are going up so much. When the company get their ad- ditional tunnels under the Thames, and the exten- sion of the line to Moorgate-street completed, they will doubtless run an even heavier service, and though the receipts per train mile may become a little lower, this will be more than compensated by the increased mileage run. There is a big field open to this company, especially after the extension north- ward to Islington and southward to Clapham are carried out.

A MILLIONAIRE S WILL. By his will of February 4, 1897, Mr. William Louis Winans, of Baltimore, U.S.A., 1 and 2, Chichester-terrace, Brighton, and 10, Pembridge- square, a citizen of the United States, who died on June 22 last, aged 75 years, left personal estate in the United Kingdom of the value of 92,403,587 17s. 5d. He bequeathed to his wife, Mrs. Maria Ann Winans, his watciies, jewellery, articles of personal ornament and wearing apparel; and ho bequeathed to his sons, Louis William Winans, of 10, Pem- bridge square, and Walter Winans, of 7, Chichester-terrace, Bright on, his plate, pictures, furniture, and articles of household use and orna- ment, and his leasehold messuages or tenements, land, and hereditaments in Great Britain and in the United States of America. The late Mr. Winans left all his real estate and the residue of his personal estate to his said two sons, subject to the payment by them of £ 5000 a year to Mrs. Winans during her life £ 2000 a year to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Ellen De la Rue, during her life; and £10,000 a year during the life of Mrs. Winans to his son Louis William in consequence of the expense which he will have in keeping a home for his mother, including the use of horses and carriages. My said son Louis William Winans," the will continues, is left one-half owner and my fon Walter is left one-half owner of the above-named property and of all my residuary estate to the intent that each of them may (subject to the payment of the above-mentioned legacies, donations, and annui- ties) use the principal and income of one-half of the above-named property and of all my residuary estate for his own purposes, and will and bequeath or otherwise dispose of it as he may choose. I desire that if my son Louis William Winans shall marry that in selecting a wife he will take into serious consideration all the advice I have given to his brother Walter by my letter to him of August 15, 1880, a copy of which I have given to him, and that in case of his mother being alive that be will get her consent to his choice before getting married. 1 desire that my wife reside with my son Louis William Winans during the whole time up to her death, and I direct that my son Louis William Winans shall provide a comfortable home for her and the use of horses and carriages, and I know that he will invari- ably treat her in the same loving way that he has always treated her." The testator appointed his two sons executors of his will, under which there are no bequests to charitable or other public uses. The personal estate has been valued at £ 13,289 4s. Id. of Sir Robert Keith Dick-Cunyngham, of Prestonfield and Lane Creightoun, ninth baronet, formerly of the 93rd Regiment, who died at Polefield, Cheltenham, on May 2 last, aged 61 years. Sir Robert, who served throughout the Indian Mutiny campaign in 1857-59, was severely wounded at the Siege of Lucknow. The executors of his trust dispo- sition and settlement are his brother, Alexander Dick-Cunyngham, of 23, Moorgate-street Alexander pringle, of Wbytbank and Major James Alston Clark, of Longbaugb. By his will of the 21st July, 1896, Colonel Archi- bald Impey-Lovibond, of Newhall, Ardleigh, Essex, J.P., who served in the Indian Mutiny campaign and in the Sikkim Expedition in 1860, appointed as executors his wife, Mrs. Clara Prudentia Impey- Lovibond, daughter of Mr. F. Hanks of Illinois, and Major Samuel Martin Gully, of Acton Vicarage, Sudbury. Colonel Impey-Lovibond, who was the son, of Mrs. E. Impey, of Bath, died on the 19th June last, aged 74 years. He appointed the trust funds of a settlement made 19th May, 1860 (subject to Mrs. Impey-Lovibond's life interest therein) to his daughters, Bessie Clara Gully and Mabel Impey- Lovibond, and he left all his residue of his property to his wife. The testator's personal estate has been valued at JE7192 15s. lOd. gross and net nil.

WEDDING SERENADES. The right of friends to make a hideous disturbance on the occasion of a wedding has been triumphantly vindicated by a New Jersey jury. The name applied to this gentle pastime in rural circles is serenading In reality it occupies the same re, tion to a serenade that a boiler factory does to a mandoline. In the case passed upon by the New Jersey jury the leading instrument in the serenading orchestra was a loaded cannon, but that was regarded as a mere detail. On July 29 Frank Ralph had marned Jemima Blazier, the daughter of a farmer, Richard M'Kenzie, a farm labourer, had headed an expedition armed with noisy instruments, which marched to the Ralph farm and demanded re- fresh ments; they had been refused entertainment by the eider Ralph; thev had thereupon procured two cannon from the Mount Bethel-common, dragged them to the house, and fired them off three times notwithstanding the elder Ralph's protestations. Jf Kenzie was then charged with disorderly conduct. The counsel for the defence appealed to the personal feelings of the jury. "How often, gentlemen, have you not committed the same heinous crime your- selves. How often have you not gathered together and smitten the sonorous washboiler and the melo- dious saucepan in honour of the newly-married, until the blushing-bridegroom has come forth from his re- tirement and filled you to the necks with applejack and angel cake in order that he might be left in peace ? And this is the beautiful custom, gen- tletuen, which you are asked to destroy for all time by rendering a verdict against my client." It was eleven o'clock before the arguments were over. At midnight. the jury came into court with a verdict. We find," said Freeholder John Mobus, the foreman, that this here defendant is exonerated and not guilty, without a stain on his character, the ancient custom of serenading being such that it ought to be pre- served for the innocent pleasure of the majority in this community, for those who have been serenaded themselves find the most sport in serenading others, and it keeps young people ont of mischief." Judge Woods ordered this thesis to be interpreted on the records as a verdict of not guilty," and M'Kenzie was carried from the court on the shoulders of the crowd. 7

Wnr, I'd like to know," said a lady to a judge, cannot a woman become a successful lawyer ?" Because she's too fond of giving her opinion with- out pay," answered the judge.

GAUDEIvJJVG GOSSIP. (From Cottage Gardening?) FI.OWKR GARDEN. Among good autumn tlowers, the following are in good condition Sedum spectabile, Perennial Asters or Michaelmas Daisies in variety, Perennial Sun- flowers, Japanese Anemones (white and red), Scabiosa caucasica, Senecio pulcher, Pyrethrum uliginosum, Zauschneria californica, Tritomas in variety (one of the showiest of autumn-flowering plants, should be protected in severe winters), Statices in variety, Rudbeckia Xewmanni, Gaillardia grandiflora, Colchi- cumsor autumn-flowering Crocures, Cioldon Amaryllis (Sternbergia), Gladiolus Brenchleyensis, and early- flowering Chrysanthemums in variety. When the leaves are falling about in autumn one seems to want something in the garden besides the remains of the summer bedding plants. A tuft or two of Pampas Grass on the lawn always attract attention at this season, and the habit is graceful all through the summer. A soaking or two of liquid-manure just before the flower spikes show will help it. In cold districts, a little protection in severe winters will be an advantage. I have never ("Cambs writes) absolutely lost it through frost, but the plants have sometimes been so much injured as to prevent them flowering the next season. All the plants named above will do in any ordinary garden soil, if well cultivated and fairly manured. But to meet the exhausting effects of a dry season, the land must be trenched at least two feet, not necessarily bringing any bad stuff to the top, but breaking it up and placing a layer of manure between the bottom and top spits. Carnation layers should be kept moist till rooted, and roots will not form in dusty soil. The beds for them should be prepared. If the natural soil is light, dress that ground heavily with road scrapings, and add a sprink- ling of soot and salt. The latter substance is very useful on porous land in a dry season. If used in winter, ilb. to the square yard will not be too much, and, where wireworms are troublesome, use lib. per square yard of gas-lime. All these things are cheap and easily obtained, and the plants will be bealthier and freer from insects where they are used. Look over the recently-budded Roses and loosen the ties. FRUIT GARDEN. Young trees of gross habit will not bear much fruit until the surplus vigour has been worked off in some way. The quickest way of getting such trees into harness is to check their roots a little, by either lifting or cutting off their extremities. Lifting answers the same purpose as pruning; in fact, it does prune sufficiently to check growth, and therefore it is to be preferred, though it involves a little more labour, because the operator must begin farther away from the trunk when he intends lifting the roots of a tree than if be merely cuts them off. In lifting the roots of a young tree, a trench must be opened from 4ft. to 6ft. from the tree, according to its size and age, deep enough to get under the roots, and with a fork gradually work the soil from among them until length enough has been uncovered to lift nearer the surface without giving any unnatural prepsure upon any part. Of course, those growing down straight into the ground must be cut off. In root-pruning, a trench is usually dug a certain distance from the tree, usually 3ft. in moderate-sized trees, and all roots 'o ind are cut off. The usual course is to do half the tree at a time, with a year or so intervening. It is not desirable to wait for the leaves to fall when either root-lifting or pruning is to be done. All through the month oi October the work may go on, and, if in careful hands, it may begin in September. Trees have been crippled by root-pruning because there are men who are unteachable by anything except failure, and such men never ought to touch a tree but with ordinary care there is neither difficulty nor danger. VJCGBTABLH GARDEN. Plant out plenty of Lettuce and Endive to meet all requirements. Corn salad comes in useful, and may be sown now either broadcast or in drills. Bath Cos Lettuce may be sown now to stand in the seed bed till spring. Propagate Lavender and Rosemary from cuttings or slips. Sow Chervil for flavouring salads, and pot a few roots of Tarragon for flavouring pur- poses in winter. Harvest the spring-sown Onions, if not already done. Must be well dried by expo- sure. Make Mushroom beds in buildings that can be warmed in cold weather if possible. Mush- rooms can also be grown on ridges outside, but such beds require careful management in cover- ing, &c. Have the manure fresh from the stable, where the horses have had dry, hard food, and either dry it in an open shed, turning every two or three days for a fortnight, or else mix one-fourth or fifth according to the condition of the manure, of loam with it, so that the two are thoroughly, blended. Lay in a ridge-shaped heap till the beat rises, then shake over again and make up the beds, treading or beating it down firmly. If the beds are made against a wall, have them 15in. deep at the back and 12in. at front. If made in ridges, 3ft. wide at the base and ft. high will be a good size. GREENHOUSE. Camellias and other hard-wooded plants will be better inside now. Old Cyclamens which have been rested, and are now breaking into growth, should be shaken out and repotted if not already done. Must have good loam one-half and remainder peat, leaf-mould, and sand. Keep the corms well up. Lift and pot up Arum Lilies, Solanums, Salvias, and any other greenhouse plants which have been planted out for the summer. Stand in the shade for a few days. Continue to take cuttings of any plants of which young stock is required. Pot early- flowering bulbs, such as Freesias, Roman Hyacinths, early Tulips, and single and double Daffs. Plunge all outside for six weeks, except Freesias. Sow Mig- nonette in 5in. and 6in. pots for winter-lfowering; Machet is a good variety for pot work. Sow thinly, and thin to five plants in each pot. Use the best loam, with some old cow-inanure, and a little char- coal dust and sand. Make firm, and, after sowing, place the pots in cold frame. THE LAWN. A piece of close, clean, level lawn, well laid and well kept-as soft and rich in colour as a bit of green velvet-is one of the finest ornaments in any garden, and is sure to meet with admiration, even by those who care but little fcr flowers or fine foliage. It is not a very difficult matter to obtain such a piece of grass, but the ground must be properly prepared beforehand, and the turf employed must be fairly free from weeds in the first place, and be kept clean after- wards, as well as regularly rolled, cut, &c. Lawns are usually made by laying down turf cut from an old meadow, a common, or the like, and if the grass is fairly free from weeds, and of a fine, i-hort, close description, this is, perhaps, the simplest and best manner of going to work. The usual and proper size of such 11 turves" is 3ft. long by 1ft. broad, so that as nearly as possible 91 are required to lay a rod of ground, or about 14,500 to the acre. A common price for the turves—near London, at any rate-is about 5s. per 100 on the ground, or 10s. to 12s. cut and delivered, but when they have to be carted from a distance the cost is increased, of course. The ground must be well dug and carefully levelled before laying the turf, and the surface be raked fine and level. Manure is seldom required, but if the ground is very poor or rubbishy it may be advisable to employ a little, and in this case there is nothing better than ordinary road-sweepings or scrapings. Where hollow places have been filled up this must be done quite firmly or time allowed for the soil to become thoroughly settled, as it will sink much more in such places than where only the top spit has been disturbed. Lay the turves down carefully, getting the edges to meet neatly, and then rolling and beating them down to an even level. The beater is useful for bringing down any bumps," &c., but its too free or unnecessary use is decidedly inj urious. In dry weather a good watering (hould be given almost daily until the grass has taken root. Where the ground is low and damp it should be drained, and in such cases an excellent plan is to put down 2in. or so of fresh, sifted coal- ashes first, and to lay the turf on this. Turf may be thus laid in almost any season except in hot, dry summer weather and during sharp frost. But where good, clean turf of the required quality cannot be obtained, or only at an excessive rate, the only alternative is to sow down the plot with the best grass-seed, of which a suitable mixture of several fine varieties is sold by all respectable seedsmen. The best times for sowing are the end of March or early part of April, and again in the early autumn, towards the end of September or early in October. If the ground is properly prepared, the seed good, and the young grass well looked after when up, there will be a nice close sward, if not a very strong one, by the end of June or July from seed sown at the end of March. Prepare the ground exactly as for laying turf, but the surface must be raked very fine and level, and a sprinkling of soot or bone-meal, just to give the young plants a start, is advisable if possible. Sow the seed evedy, at the rate of about fo^r bushels to the acre, and rake it in well, or cover with a light sifting of good sandy soil. Protect from birds by means of netting, black cotton, or scarecrows, and in very dry weather water it occasionally with a fine rose, but do net set a foot on the ground-if it cair be avoided—until the grass is well up. Cut it the first time or two with a light and very shary scythe, and afterwards with the machine set rather high. It is a great mistake, in all cases, to set a machine too low, as it cuts the life out of the grass, and lays the I roots bare. Again, do not sweep up or remove the cuttings, unless very heavy, but let them remain, especially in hot weather, when they shelter and nourish the turf. The beauty of a lawn raised from good clean seed I is the almost perfect absence of weeds, while it is very seldom that really clean turf can be obtained.