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THE WASSAIL.
= THE WASSAIL. Wassail is a custom ctill continued in many parts of the country, and almost everywhere it is usual to place good cheer before visitors. Wassail," prepared from spiced wine, ale, &c., was formerly carried from house to house in a bowl or cup either by parties of men and youths or of women. For the origin of the term we are referred to the following story: When Hengist and Horsa came over to England at the request of Voltigern, Prince of the Silures, a banquet was given to Hengist in honour of the event. During the entertainment Ravenna, the fair daughter of Hengist, of whom Voltigern had become enamoured, smilingly offered to the prince a cup of spiced wine, saying as she did so, Was heal hlaford, Oyning," i.e., "Be of health, King;" to which he replied, "Drinc heal," i.e., "I drink your health. And that, as Robert of Gloucester has sung, Was in this land the first" waas-heal." The following song Wasselling," called a Carol for a Wassel Bowl, is still, or was recently, sung in some parts of England: A jolly Wassel Bowl, A Wassel of good ale, Well fare the butler's soul, That settetli this to sale- Our jolly Wassel. Good dame, here at your door Our Wassel we begin, We are all maidens poor, We pray now let us in With our Wassel. Our Wassel we do fill With apples and 'with spice, Then grant us your good will To taste here once or twice Of our good Wassel. If any maidens be Here dwelling in this house They kindly will agree To take a full carouse Of our Wassel. But here they let us stand, All freezing in the cold; Good master, give command To enter and be bold With our Wassel. Much joy unto this hall With us is entered in; Our masters first of all, We hope, will now begin Of our Wassel. And after, his good wife Our spiced bowl will try. The Lord prolong your lite. Good fortune we espy For our Wassel. This is our merry night Of choosing king and queen, Then be it your delight That something may be seen In our Wassel. It is a noble part To bear a liberal mind. God bless our master's heart, For here we comfort find With our Wassel. Much joy betide them all Our prayers shall be; still We hope and ever shall For this your great good will To our Waasel."
BEATRICE CHESTER;! OK. WOMAN'S…
BEATRICE CHESTER; OK. WOMAN'S FORESIGHT. OHAPTBB LV. SELF-DEVOTION. THEY were scarcely gone when a woman, dressed in black stole into Miss Chester's room, and stood before her It was our old acquaintance, Madam F-, who now was lodgekeeper to Miss Chester. Madam, forgive me, but what are they going to do With him?" "Him—who? What is the matter, my good woman ?" « My—Sir Wentworth Coventry. Did I not see him between two policemen when he passed the gate just now "Sir Wentworth is accused of shooting at Mr. Philip Oonsidine yesterday, and Mr. Philip- You remember that night near Leicester Square, no doubt ?" Whether it was the recollection of that night of peril, or from some other cause, we knc ir not, but XffnfUm F turned deadly pale. She seemed to be shaken from bead to foot with some terrible agony. At last she exclaimed, fervently- The chastisement has come upon me. Give me strength, ob Lord, to bear it!" Miss Chester bade her sit down, tried to console her, to soothe her; but though she succeeded in part in ealming her, Elie could not persuade her to reveal the secret of hw interest in this case. i "You will know soon enough, Miss Unester. If need were, I would tell you; but not now-not now!" And with these words she departed. Major Ellis, the officers of justice, and their prisoner, stood round Philip's bed, and, holding a dim lamp over his head, Major Ellis bent over and looked at Philip, mv poor Philip, can you speak to me ?" His dull eyes opened, and his lips formed the word ccY. Could you recognise the man who shot you in the wood-the man who must have come and looked at you when you were lying there ? A glove, not yours, Was found close beside you. You were lying on your back. Did ydu See any one ?" I did, the man who fired the gun bent over me when my eves could distinguish things again," was the low, feeble reply. Well, well, what then ?" He muttered that I bad not two minutes to live, Bad then he left me—to die." "Scoundrel! Philip, was this the man ?" And he seized hold of Sir Wentworth, and turned him round'into a position to face Philip. The two young men looked at each other. Their eyes met—the bright, blue, wild orbs of the one fastened their savage glare on the dull, dark mournful ones of the other, and for two minutes they bo*h regarded each other with a fixed and steady stare. Philip, was this the man ?" But Philip turned his head and eyes away, and a faint smile made his countenance beautiful as he did so. In lower and more earnest tones Major Ellis repeated his question, but this time the reply wat "I should like to be alone with Sir Wentworth for a few moments." The Major hesitated. He appeared afraid to' w™" his poor friend within the other's reach but, on Philip repeating his request, he retired, with the rest, from eat of earshot, but not from out the room. Oonsidine turned round again, and looked at the gloony, sullen faoe-beside him. He essayed to take -the young man's hand, but his strength was not suffi- cient, ana his fingers f9ll powerless by his side. "Listen. You need fear nothing from me. I do not em to guess even at the motive which impelled you to take my life. All I want to say is, that you will never be condemned on my evidence, for I will never give it. Tortures shall not draw it from me. If this can save you, you are saved. I am tinder deep obligations to Miss Chester. If this will repay her, I am satisfied. Tell her so. Tell her, because she loves you, you are BRfe, as far as I can give you safety." The other turned away, but tears stood in his great, sullen, despairing eyes as he did so. He could not bear to look on the face of the man so cruelly persecuted, end yet so generous and forbearing under it all. CHAPTER LVI. EXPLANATIONS. SIR WENTWORTH had scarcely left the house when Beatrice came towards it, calm and stately. A post-carriage and pair was at the door, and the landlord standing, with his hands in bis pockets, on the step talking to the post-boy. He saw Miss Chester, and took off his cap instantly. You have come to ask after the sick gentleman, miss? An hour ago, he was the same; but there's another doctor with him now, and I haven't heard yet how he's a gettin' on. They said a change was expected about this time. You'll come in and sit down, miss ?" And she went in, and sat down in the parlour, with a heart like a cold stone, and a pulse which scarcely moved. She bad not been there many minutes before three gentlemen entered-.Major Ellis and two strangers. The former was not surprised to see her; indeed, he bad expected her sooner, he said and then he intro- duced his brother, Dr. Ellis, and another army physician, who bad come from Manchester to give an opinion on the case before them. Yoti will be glad to bear there is a decided change for the better within the last half hour, Miss Chester, he said, still holding her hand; for she looked so white that he seemed almost afraid to let it go; and that, if all goes on favourably, he will recover yet. Is Miss Gordon with you ?" No," she said, with a violent effort, for her throat was dry and her breath short; I left her by the gate at the too of the lano. I shall find her there when I go back." There was a moment's pause, and then Major Ellis utterance to a burst of uncontrollable admiration Miss Chester, my poor Philip has in truth had a noble supporter and friend in you. Last night he was able to converse a little, and related to me the facts of this most remarkable case, as far as he knew them, and, ala"), your-If Here sbe interrupted him hastily, to ask if Philip hai recognised his murdezpr. The Major shook his head. I believe he will not. He maintains that he fell by an accidental shot and not by malice prepense. Still, if I cannot prove that piece of villainy, I can at least show the world what a scoundrel and impostor it has believed in as yet. Lord Lovett ought to have known better, my brother ought to have known better; they have all been most cleverly hocussed; and-and you, Miss Chester have proved yourself the only deep sighted and far-seeing one amongst them, since you suspected from the first that all was not right." Here Dr. Ellis interrupted his brother with— My dear Major, allowing all due praise to Miss Chester for her discrimination, still, I maintain, and must persist in doing so, that I was not to blame for the unlucky part I played in furthering the schemes of this young villain and his associates; for who, I ask, would not have acted as I did ?" "Twouldnot. There! I tell you frankly, I would have taken more precautions than you appear to have done in finding out who was the real owner of those papers before delivering them up to the first rascal that nad the audacity to ask for them. Miss Chester," continued the old soldier, hotly, the long and the short of it is this-my brother has been the indirect means of making a great bash of a very simple matter. He had' some most important documents to deliver into the hands of my young friend, Phil Oonsidine, entrusted to his charge by me. I merely said, as any other man would have said, I have advised Considine of your arrival, and that of the proofs of his birth and parentage, at such and such a time, and at such and such a place. He will be there to receive them from your hands; give them to him, and be sure you give them to the right person, too And then I described a ring minutely, which he would show as a proof of his identity. And my last words as we shook hands, at parting, on board the steamer were-, Be sure you give them to the right person.' Oou'd I say more ?—Could 1-" Your pardon, Major. Miss Chester, hear me. In very self-defence, let me state this. I arrive in England, I arrive at the hotel, and Mr. Philip Oonsidine, I am told, is there waiting for me. I have never seen Mr. Philip Considine—I have no idea in the world what Mr. Philip Oonsidine may be like, save that my brother once remarked he was a tall, handsome young fellow. I see Mr. Philip Oonsidine before me-a remarkably hand- some young man, with a fine head of curly black hair-" u A wig! Silence, Major, if you please how was Ito know that ?-and remarkably large blue eyes, of sweet colour and brilliancy. This young man inquires most kindly after my brother, speaks gratefully of the deep obliga- tions he is under to him, and then asks for the papers I am entrusted with by the Major for him. I am charmed, delighted with the looks and bearing of Mr. Philip Considine, which are those of a perfectly bred gentleman; but-no IV. mark my caution—I hint, in the politest manner possible, that I should like very much, before I deliver up my charge, to be fully con- vinced that it is Mr. Considine to whom I deliver them. With the utmost readiness he agrees with me that it is quite proper I should observe this caution, for,' he remarked, 'I think it not at all improbable another claimant will arrive before you leave this hotel, and demand them of you. But do not trouble yourself about him, and especially do not be alarmed at any extraordinary behaviour he may be guilty ef. He is butapoor half-witted cousin of my own, by my mother's side, perfectly harmless unless very much excited, and then I own it is dangerous to be alone with him. In one of his saner moments he understood me to say I was coming here this morning to ask for the documents so important to my welfare in life, and he immediately seemed possessed with the idea that he must come and claim them, as their possession would certainly be of the greatest benefit to him; and consequently, although I took safe measures to secure him before I came out, I think it not at all unlikely hG may find his way here and astonish you a little. Beware of, but do not pro- voke him.' And then he showed me the ring described to me by my brother, having the portrait of Lady Coventry concealed beneath the flat shield of gold, and also my brother's letter to himself, telling him of my anticipated arrival in England, &c. &c. Well, in con- sequence of this, I did not hesitate in delivering up the papers, and shortly after Mr. Oonsidine leaves the hotel. Scarce an hour has elapsed before the mad- man-" The madman! pshaw! I have no patience—the villain! And you believed him; and so poor Phil was driven away like a Brother, you are an idiot!" With these words the irascible Major left them to go and see Philip; and Miss Chester took advantage of his absence to slip away to join Miss Gordon. Ere long they all started by different routes for Coventry, to be present at the examination of Sir Wentworth. CHAPTER LVII. MOTHER AND SON. rHEY had gone patiently through the whole case at Coventry; and every succeeding witness had contributed something to build up the edifice of damning evidence against Sir Wentworth Coventry. The court was crowded trom floor to ceiling. It was & novel sight to see a baronet accused of murder, or something very near it, and the populace thronged every available nook and corner accordingly, and stood outside in a dense crowd, far away across the market- place, discussing in eager groups the various rumours that reached them from time to time. They had examined every one who had been in or near the fatal wood on the day of the murder. Miss Chester had sworn to parting with Sir Wentworth an hour before the boy Hathaway had met him. Miss Gordon swore to parting with Oonsidine at a similar time. Then came Hathaway's evidence, and then the story of the glove. Still the one thing wanted—a clear and definite motive for the crime—had not yet been elicited. Only hints had oozed out—a name stolen by fraud, a great inheritance filched from its rightful possessors, and the like-and so the prisoner was remanded for a week, and bail was refused. Then that whzih ingenuity had failed to do, Nature brought to pass; for a piercing shriek rang through the room, and a woman, dressed in black, whom we have known only as Madam F made her way through the crowd, and before any one could stop her, bad flung her arms round the prisoner's neck, exclaim- ing passionately in Frcach-" Oh, Valentin! oh, my son! we have met at last!" All Sir Wentworth's fashionable indifference gave way at once with a passionate impulse akin to hers who sprang towards him; he exclaimed: "My mother!" and strained her eagerly to his breast. There was a dead silence in the court-a silence such as follows when, in some great murder case, on which the interest of a victim is hanging, the foreman of the jury has come forward to declare the verdict; for truly the verdict in the case of Wentworth v. Oonsidine was being silently given now. There were tears in many an eye that had not wept for years, and many a clear manly voice was choked by sobs at that touching scene. No one attempted to part those two. The magistrates and officers felt that the meeting was too sacred for them to interfere with, and the lawyers knew that the strongest motive for the deed was suggested by the avowal that was then being made in silence. Few noticed a dark man, much marked with the small-pox, standing in a corner of the court, and none knew him, as we know him, to be the Chief of the Knave of Hearts. He had watched the case with the oloeest attention, and at times a sarcastic smile played along his lips. But when the woman we have described sprang into Sir Wentworth's arms, and, holding him there, gazed round upon the court with a look that seemed to pray that none would part them, then his countenance changed. He became deadly pale; his limbs shook beneath him and that brave, strong man, who had done deeds that the boldest might well have quailed at, trembled like a child. Oh, Heaven, it is my son!" he muttered and hurried away. CHAPTER LVin. JUSTICE. YES it was all true. Poor deserted Madam F- had found her son again. She had felt sure all along ever since that night in Lord Lpvett's hall, that Sir Wentworth Coventry and he were one. The avowal would have been his ruin, and so she was silent. Now, when all were turning away from him, calling him villain, murderer, she alone stood beside him, and believed bitn innocent. It was evening. Sir Wentworth (for he will still be called by that name) was sitting alone in the cell where he was to pass the next week. His mother had left him for a short time, when the door opened, and the Chief entered. There was no trace of the old pride of bearing on his face all he advanced towards the prisoner. Sir Wentworth leoked up with no pleasant expression on his face when he saw who it was. and burst out indignantly- "Well I hope you are satisfied now, Lucan. You see what your plots have brought me to." Lucan dropped on his knees beside the chair on which the young man was sitting, and covering his face with his bands, groaned aloud. What, you think you have gone too far, do you!" Sir Wentworth went on, brutally. Don't be a fool!" "Oh, do not speak to roe in that way!" was the reply, in so agonised a tone that the angry voice was silent perforce. After a pause he continued- Do you remember, some years ago, Wentworth, a little garret in Paris, high up near St Genevieve, from which you could see all across the roofs of the great city and beyond, the windmills ef Montmartre ?" Oh, yes. I remember!" "And do yoa remember your mother, and how proud she was of you, and called you her little prince ?" Y§s; she was here just now-will be here again before long." And do you remember your father at all ?" "No. I only recollect my mother used to weep often, and say she thought he was dead. I never saw him but once, and then my mother and he had a quarrel, and he struck her on the lips, so that her handkerchief was all red with blood." Lucan hid his face again, and groaned. And do you remember afterwards, when you were the cleverest and the handsomest of the Seine boatmen; how one gentleman always selected you in preference to others; and, when he saw how olever you were, had you educated, and said he'd make a gentleman of you ?" Ah to my cost I remember that! That was the beginning of all my troubles. Had I gone on as I began, I should be happy now-not what I am. Oh, that dear, dear river, and my jolly boat, and my gay friends, and my beautiful Paris, would that I had never left you!" And here it was the poor prisoner's turn to weep. Well," Lucan went on, I was that man, as you know. I led you away from your trade, and taught you all I ought not to have taught you—more shame to me. But one thing I did not know. Believe that at any rate." What am I to believe ?" That I never knew till to-day, that the son whom I used to play with in that Parisian garret was still alive." There was a dead silence for a minute, and then Sir Wentworth said: And I am he An heur after, as Lucan left the gaol, two men came forward, and one said, in French, I arrest you." Lucan made no attempt at escape. He knew that the keenest officer in France was then before him, and that he had been tracked down in a way that no future turnings and twistings could elude—tnat in a bureau in Paris all his misdeeds were duly registered in a large folio volume; so he stood still, and looked the officer in the face. Then he drew a pistol from his breast pocket. In another moment the Chief was lying dead upon the ground, and Madam F-, who was coming back to the gaol to bid her eon good night, was bending over him and crying, in a broken voice: Reginald—my husband CHAPTER LIX., AND LAST. LAST WORDS. IT was a bright summer afternoon, about two years after these events. A happy group was standing under the Coventry oaks, and merry laughter was resounding through the old garden, gay once more with flowers. But the group we speak of was grave rather than boisterous in its happiness. It consisted of three persons, Sir Philip and Lady Coventry, and Miss Chester. The latter was speaking. I heard only this morning from Madam F-. She sends good news of herself and her son. They are getting on very well in Sydney. He has a good situation, and seems reconciled to work." "Well, I'm glad indeed of that," said Philip, I am thankful that we did not prosecute, or do anything to prevent his having another chance." I don't envy his poor mother, with a son so spoilt as he has been," Miss Chester observed. But she always was singularly resigned to anything that might happen." I wonder did her husband's death affect her much ?" Lady Alice said, tenderly. After the first shock wae over. I think not, said Beatrice. She had cherished his letters and presents all her life, in the hopes of finding him the same as she once knew him. But when she found him to be the man whom she had learnt to dread so for the part he had played against Philip, she could not mourn deeply." Well, Alice, darling," Philip said, drawing his wife close to him, "we little thought, two years ago, that we should be so happy as we are now." Her only reply was to look up into his face with a pleased, contented smile. I am so glad you could come to us now, Beatrice," she said, presently. The first anniversary of our wedding would not have been complete without you." "No, indeed, Miss Chester. You dislike talking over those times I know, or I would tell you what I have told you a dozen times before-how very grateful we are to you," said Philip. Ob, yes. I know all that," she said, with a smile that was very nearly successful in its attempt to be gay. You give me too much credit. I like a good fight, and quite entered with spirit into the struggle against the General." Dear Beatrice, always unselfish!" was all Alice could say. I And then she went in, leaning on her husband's arm, a happy bride; and Beatrice followed, helping them to be happy, as in the old days when she had struggled so hard for them. And no one ever knew what she had given up for them. THE END.
NEAT DRESSING IS NOT CLEAN…
NEAT DRESSING IS NOT CLEAN HOUSE- KEEPING. Having often met Mrs. Prim in society, I thought her the neatest woman in the world; and probably should have always thought so if I had not, wery strangely, had access to her house. For, once, when I had praised the good woman, a mischievous girl whispered just loud enough to be heard (exactly as if she was trying to keep it secret-cunning rogue!) he ought to see her at home if he wants to know what neatness is." This ran in my head, and stirred up a host of busy fancies and wondering thoughts. Well, I do wish I could slip in some time, unexpectedly, and see if this fair show is a pretty piece of domestic impos- ture!" Who knows what is before him ? My wishes were gratified. For, that very night, I dreamed; and Mrs. Prim was the heroine of my dream. By that amazing power given unto dreams, I found myself the husband of Mrs. Prim-the very Mr. Prim himself. Methought my lady had gone out to spend an evening; and after sleepily reading a paper for awhile I retired to rest. Entering the room, there lay a stocking sprawled out at full length on the floor, its mate coiled up into a dump by its side, just as it was turned off the foot. In the middle of the room stood a stack of under-clothes, just as they had been stepped out of. Several pairs of shoes and several widowed ones, who long had mourned the loss of a companion, and had, for grief, doubtless, much run down at the heel, were sprinkled around the room promiscuously. The wash-basin, its contents creamed over with soap, stood in a chair, the towel lying half in it, the soap on the floor with a coat of dust be-feathering it. The wash-stand was covered with ends of candles, open and evacuated snuffers, scraps of fancy soap, a case-knife, a roll of brimstone, two tooth-brushes coloured with powder, the one red the other black; a shoe-brush, a snarl of black braid for shoe-strings, half a dosen empty perfume bottles, and a Bible. The bureau was as much beyond the wash-stand in condition as in original size. Every drawer but one was open in different degrees, like Peel's sliding-seale of tariff. If Homer asked help of the gods when beginning his epic, how much more should I ? He had only a city to describe, with a few armies, and the geography of earth and heaven; but I have a lady's bureau and all its drawers! The cloth, designed to cover and protect it from all scratches, had certainly been used for a towel at each corner, for there were the finger-prints. A pair of curls, several unmanufaotured wads of vagrant hair. an upset box of tooth-powder, two dispersed squadrons of pins- the one sort mere light infantry, the other full-grown dragoon pins- hair-brushes, one, two, three; two long combs, one fine comb, so old as to have lost many of its teeth, and to have turned quite grey; pomatum, oils, uncorked cologne, mille-fleur, lavender, patchouli, verveine, and a host besides; wristlets, hair-bands, ruffles, laces, lockets, rings, thimbles, elongated hair- pins, side-combs, back-combs, refuse curl-papers, a pair of curling- tongs laid down too hot, and making the cloth to blush brown under them; a bundle of tracts, several notes and biUet-doux, seals, wax, unrolled and unrolling spools of thread, several skeins of silk snarled and unsnarlable, a crushed cap or two, sundry ribbons, an odd volume of Hannah More's works, the rules of a philanthropic society, gloves a score, black, white, yellow, blue, and brown-and all this just on the top, for the drawers are yet to come! A tempest had evidently been dealing with these lower depths; for they were stirred up from the bottom. When, in dressing in hot haste, a collar had been sought, the sweet Mrs. Prim, beginning at one side, forced down to the other end each article which was not the one sought for; and then, returning, pawed them all down to the other side. Going to the next drawer the ceremony was repeated. Some of the drawers were emptied into others, and then the contents put back, by the handful, and kneaded down to their proper compactness. Once the candle—which was in a "melting mood"-was overturned into a heap of fine linens, but the mischief was effaced by shoving the ill-fated things, iu disgrace, far back into the drawer and deep under many com- panions. Many things were torn open to see if some- thing else was not in them. Stockings were unrolled and left, or a cotton and silk one rolled up together, a black one and a ioite. Thus much for the bureau; but it is only a Mnt and not a full description. My coats and over-coat, overhauled daily to see if a stray dress or underdress had not hid itself among them, were thus well trained to ground and lofty tumbling, and were becoming quite fledged with lint and feathers. Out of such a chaos Mrs. Prim would come forth the sweetest-looking creature and the best-dressed woman in town, when she was going into companyHew came she forth when only entering her own family ? With hair spreading in different directions, with a bestained and dirty dress, half hooked and half pinned with pins black and white, and with one of the backs of her dress an inch higher than the other; the skirt ripped out of the gatherings in spots, an apron tied on askew, ill- mated shoes, and no neck-handkerchief at all-for if the air is chilly when stepping out of doors the apron is drawn around the neck. Oh, what a waking was mine, when morning broke up the dream, and divorced me from Mrs. Prim! Really, I do not suppose suoh a person ever lived, or was thought of except in a dream. If it ever were true, out of dreams, I do not think that husbands would respect their wives; honeymoons would wane, men would not love their homes, things would go at sixes and sevens, young married couples would grow very indifferent to each other, wives would complain that husbands did not care for them, hus- bands would mutter something about being "taken in," both would learn to say: "I remember the time, Mr. Prim, when you would not have treated me so." And I, Mrs. Prim, remember the time when you did not look so." Well, my dear, whose fault is it, when I have nobody here at home half the time to care how I look ?" Well, leve, who wants to wade knee deep in dirt, and call that home?" "Well, sir, you are a proper man to talk about dirt-you are so neat your- self pray, sir, do give me a lecture; do show me how to keep things neat; couldn't you write a little book about it? it would be very nice, Mr. Prim!—neat Mr. Prim!—charming Mr. Prim! But as such things never happen there is no use in writing any more about them. 'J
MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS.
MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS. WHAT you keep by you may change and mend, but words once spoken you could never recall. OPINIONS grounded upon prejudice are always maintained with the greatest violence. THE body oppressed by excesses bears down the mind and depresses to the earth any portion of divine spirit we have been endowed with. MISTLETOE.—When the leaves are rotting on the ground, and the fruit has been converted into cider, the orchards of Herefordshire and Worcestershire still retain something of their verdant hue, and are green with what seems at first to be untimely foliage. But mistletoe cannot be unseasonable at Christmas, and there are those who would be glad to have it in season "all the year round." The supply from the West Midland Counties is practically inexhaustible, for it has been calculated that from 30 to 90 per cent. of the apple-trees are infested by this parasite, two or three boughs of which may sometimes be seen dependent from some old cankered limb. Its presence is at once the cause and the sign of incipient decay. The entire exis- tence of this parasite is full of interest, even though the mystery of its birth has been removed. Modern research confirms the accuracy of the old distich which expresses thus its origin: The thrush, when he pollutes the bough, Sows for himself the seeds of woe;" and perhaps the increase of mistletoe may be partly attributable to the disuse of its product (bird-lime), and the greater immunity which thrushes in consequence enjoy. From Herefordshire and Worcestershire between 200 and 300 tons of mistletoe are annually exported. THE DANDY CRAB.—A fancy of the quaint spider-crab, or "dandy-crab," as he is sometimes called, is to decorate himself with algse and sponges, and none but the most brilliant in colour seem to please him; thie, however, is not for vain display, but, primarily at least, for personal protection. When wishing to array himself, he finds some brilliant algse or sponge, and pinches it off piece after piece with nis long slender claws; these, when broken, are dipped in a glutinous fluid contained in the mouth, and are carried to the back and fastened securely. Sometimes, after he has attached a particular fragment, he reaches back his claw a second time to satisfy himself that it is secure. This practice is indulged in only when the crabs are young, and in the autumn, and its object is to bide the crabs from hungry sturgeons and skates. When placed in a tank with many animals, the crabs take the same precaution against possible enemies, and often cover themselves. Full-grown crabs are too large and hard to be shallowed, and are seldom seen fastening seaweeds to their backs. as they no longer have need of such protective covering. Two WARNINGS TO FAST YOUNG MEN.— Let me give the instance of two young men whom I saw at Dartmoor. The first was in a mercantile house in the City. He became enamoured with one of the painted and powdered decoy-ducks who are on exhibition at the premises of a notorious publican within a mile of Regent-circus. At first he spent a shilling or two nightly; but he quickly found that the road to favour with his inamorata was a bottle of Moet, of which she and her painted sisters partook freely, very often a second bottle, and then a third. The acquaintance soon ripened excited with the champagne, a diamond ring was promised, then an emerald, then eardrops and a bracelet. On Sunday a trap was hired, and this young man, who bad a loving mother and sisters at home, and a virtuous young sweetheart who was breaking her loving heart over him, disported himself at Richmond in the company of a gin-drinking and beer-drawing harlot. He told me himself that, from the time he first went to that tavern, he never went to bed perfectly sober, and that all his follies were committed under the influence of champagne. He at last robbed his employers in order to obtain money to supply this woman with dress jewels and champagne, and he is now ruminating over his wicked- ness on the bogs of Dartmoor. He had the mortifica- tion to learn from a friend, while awaiting his trial, that his inamorata, whom he supposed would be weeping over his downfall, used to sell his presents to keep a lazy, drunken husband, with whom she lived, after tavern hours, in a dingy lodging in Dean-street, Soho. He was also informed that his corner was filled up by another ninny, which ninny has probably arrived by this time at the same depot. The other fellow was one for whom I felt really sorry. At the time of his conviction he was on the eve of passing an examination for one of the learned professions; but be had been an habitue of the buffet of what I will call the Royal Grill Room Theatre, and a lounger at the stage-door of that cele- brated establishment. He made the acquaintance of one of the ladies of the ballet," a party whose mother probably lived in Short's Gardens," or Fullwood's Rents," and who bad been taught to drink gin from her babyhood in the purlieus of Drury-lane. The young lady had learned her lesson. When invited to supper she declined everything but fizz." Her suppers and those of her lover often amounted to a sovereign and a half. She was so good a customer to the landlord that a good word was spoken for her to the manager; and, as her lover, under the influence of champagne, promised to provide for her the hand- somest dress and boots the costumier could provide, she was promoted to the front row of the ballet. Here, adorned by jewellery her lover had eommitted forgery to obtain, and set off to the best advantage by the dress, boots, and tights he had bought for her, she attracted the attention of the Hon. Arthur Numskull, of. the Crutch and Toothpick brigade. She gave her old friend the cold shoulder at once, and he had the mortification to see her handed into the Hon. Arthur's brougham when the theatre closed. He went to the Royal Grill Room buffet and got drunk by himself that night. Going to his chamber in a maudlin state, he forgot to take some precaution, which would have deferred the revelation of his crime, and about twelve the nexf day and before he was sober, he was in Newgate.—Convict Life, by a Ticket-of-Leave Man. WHAT ARE You TO DO WITH A PERSON WHO IS IN A FAINT ?—What are you to do for a person who is in a faint ? If the patient has fallen on the floor, you should leave her in that position, and should on no account raise the head. If she has not fallen to the ground, but only back in a chair, put your hand behind her neck, and-depress ber head till you bring it right down between the knees. By this method, the blood runs down into the head, and this is just what you want: it is much better than lying the patient flat on the floor, for in that oase, as the heart is not doing its work, you woirt get the Mood pumped up to the brain. You may sprinkle a little water over the faee-a few drops will do as well as a larger quantity. When the face is pale and cold, use tepid water. A little ammonia or sal- volatile, or a bottle of smelling-salts, held under the nose, will often restore consciousness. Musk or camphor will answer almost equally well. It is a good plan to keep the hands and feet warm, and to chafe the chest over the region of-the heart with a little spirit or eau de Cologne. As soon as the patient can be got to swallow, you had better give some brandy and water, or sal-volatile, or chloric ether, or any other stimulant that may be at baud.-The Family Physician. SUPERINTENDENT GALVIN has put up a wire fence to guard the grass plot on the inner mall of Boston-common. It is almost invisible in the evening, especially if the eyes of the pedestrian who undertakes to make a short cut across the grass are obscured by claret puncb. An amusing incident of this kind hap- pened a few evenings since, while a gentleman was standing close to the fence, leaning on a cane, and thoughtfully smoking a cigar. An individual, with slightly irregular but rapid step passed near him, attempted to cross the grass plot, but, being brought up by the to him invisible barrier, floundered clear over it, landing upon all fours upon the grass on the other side. Starting up, he cocked his damaged hat over his left eye, and looking towards the smoker, said, "S'yar, ole feller; n'buddy kin trip me upn that way 'thout givin' me sasfaxion." And he advanced fiercely towards the supposed offender, when, encountering the wire again, he went clear over it once more, sprawling on his hands and knees on the red gravel walk, and badly fracturing one leg of his pantaloons. This seemed to have a different effect on the sufferer, for, gathering him- self up slowly, and looking at the smoker, who still stood quietlypuffing his cigar,he said," S'yar, ole feller, I'll call it square an' pay for th' drinks fow^I tell me hew'n thunder you can do that throw so easy." MODERN VENETIAN GLASS.—The question as to the substance which composed the "murrhine" vessels of the ancients, which Pompey is said to have first brought to Rome amongst the treasures gathered in his Asiatic triumphs, though greatly discussed, remains undecided. According to the highest authority, it was a material bearing a marked resemblance to glass, as is evidenced by the fact that the vases manu- factured in imitation by the glass artists of Alexandria bore the name of vitrum murrhinwm. Fortunately a specimen of this rare manufacture was found in the choice collection of Signor Alessandro Castellani, of Rome, in the form of a eantha/ros, or drinking-vessel, with two handles, both made out of the same piece as the body of the vase, and withoutra ioint. With his usual liberality, Signor Oastellani placed his cantharos at the disposal of the company, whose artists at Murano succeeded in reproducing it so perfectly, that but for the patina of age, which gives an adventitious charm to the original, the two are practicably undis- tinguishable, either in the nature of the paste, the workmanship, or the simple beauty of the form.— The Magazine of Art. AN ANCIENT RIP VAN WINKLE.-Epimenides is the original of Rip Van Winkle, whom Washington Irving and Jrfferson have made so real to us. It is told of him that once, when he was sent by his father into the fields to look for a sheep, he at midday turned out of the road, and lay down in a cave and fell asleep. Whether the cave was impregnated with gas such as helped the priestesses of the oracle into their trance, tradition does not say but Epimenides slept for seven-and fifty years. It is curious to think of this in connection with the fact that at the pret ent day scientific theories should be put for ward upon the possibility of prolonged suspension of animation by refrigeration, desiccation, or otherwise, When we think of the various animals that hibernate, and of those that are dormant for indefinite periods, we may reasonably allow that, for an occasional human being of exceptional characteristics to suffer suspension of physical functions, may, however extraordinary, be yet an occurrence on the believable side of the borders of the marvellous. When Epimenides awoke, he went on looking for the stray sheep, thinking he had been taking a brief noonday nap; but, as he could not find that long defunct animal, he went back through the field, where he found everything chansed, and the estate in another person's possession. In great perplexity he came back again to the city, and, as he was going into his owa house, he met certain folk who inquired of him who he was. At latt he found his young brother, who had now become an old man, and from him he learned all the truth. The theory must have been that such a sleep betokened the prophetic faculty, and that Epimenides had been a visitor to the Olympian halls while his body lay sealed from his use; for when he was recognised he became regarded as a person especially beloved by the gods. He was, as K. O. Miiller gathers from the ancient sources of information, A man of a sacred and marvellous nature, who was brought up by the nymphs, and whose soul quitted his body as long and as often as it pleased; according to the opinion of Plato and other ancients, his mind had a prophetic and inspired sense of divine things."—University Mmgaeine. CHARLES J. MATHEWS.—My father was of a remarkably sensitive temperament, quick in his speech and manner, and his nerves seemed hung on elastic wires, which the slightest touch agitated. The falling of a spoon on the sideboard, or the jingling of glasses, would shake him to the foundation. His irritability was excited by the veriest trifles, while he would bear real misfortune with philosophy. And yet, in the midst of a frenzy of passion, such was his keen sense of humour, that one touch of the ridiculous, like a drop of oil on troubled water, would restore his equanimity in a moment. My pony having lost a shoe, I on one occasion borrowed a very valuable thoroughbred horse of my father's to take me to town. I put him up at livery as usual, in the mews behind my office. In the course of the afternoon, fancying a ride, my father called on me to point out the stable. On reaching it. what was his disgust to find the horse standing, with all his mud upon him, just as I had brought him in hours before. In a frenzy of rage he laid about him. Where's Mr. Prioe ? Where's the ostler? Of all the shameful, dis- graceful things I ever met with! A valuable horse like this left without grooming! It's enough to ruin him! Where's Mr. Price? Where's the ostler ?" But no one appeared upon whom he could wreak his ven- geance. At last an old woman showed ber nose ever the staircase. Oh, here's Mrs. Price," said I. Very pretty indeed!" resumed my father. Here's a horse, worth a hundred and fifty guineas, left in your abominable stable for five hours with all his dirt upon him. It's shameful-you ought to be ashamed of yourselves! As sure as your name's Prise, I'll bring an action against you all, and make you pay for it!" And so on he went for another ten minutes, exhausting his passion in every invective he could think of, till at last it died out for want of fuel, and he came to a stop and paused for a reply, when the old lady, with a sweet smile, mildly asked, "Has anything happened, sir?" She was as deaf as a post, and hadn't heard a word. His anger was gone in a minute, and, in a fit of laughter, bolted out of the stable.-Life of Charles James Mathews, by Charles Dickens. SOCIETY NEWSPAPERS.—Society is kindly willing to take an interest in people of all kinds, and is not at all exacting in respect to their quality. It is not even necessary to be remarkable, or to possess any special claim to distinction in order to become a mark to these roving libellers. One of their chief fascina- tions is, that we "never know whose private affairs we may find under discussion m the current number which the traveller, weakminded and full of curiosity, if not approving, buys with such zest at the railway station. What be hopes for, no doubt, is to see his neighbour pilloried, or to gather some agreeable par- ticulars of the private history of his enemy. But he may just as well find out from the first paragraph that his daughter's engagement is broken off, or that his son has left the service for reasons totally different from those reported to the parent. Nay, for ought he can tell, it may be some schoolboy prank of his own which has been dug out of the past to be made the occasion of a malicious fling at one of his old friends-a thing wh;ch actually occurred some time ago; or it may be the deficiency of his balance at his bankers; or the fantastic changes he is making in his house, kindly assumed to be entirely beyond his means, and condemned accordingly -which form the subject of the comment. We cannot hope to occupy the position of showman, and exhibit the various phenomena even of one day's issue for the first time to the most unsophisticated reader; but we may at least point out with what impartiality and straightforwardness these assaults are made, and how perseveringly the newspaper of Society thrusts itself into every man's affairs-nay, not only into every man's, but every woman's and every child's, as shall be seen-no game being too small, no individual too harmless, for their notice. It is not given to every artist to slay a man with the sword; his heart may not be big enough, nor his person, for such a feat; but he can always score a woman with the plant of a pen- knife, and put a pin into a child and on the whole the spectators seem to like the fun in these oases even better than when more serious mischief is done; while, on the other hand, no reprisals are to be feared. "Horsewhipping is an antiquated amusement which has gone out of fashion, so that in moot cases there is absolute impunity for the literary chtffonnier to kick him is beneath the dignity of the only portion of the populace (in the polite classes) which ever had any turn for kicking—young men have learnt at school that it is bad form to fight; and thus the only safeguard is removed, and the tattler and scandalmonger may roam about all the doorways as he pleases. It is bad form" to do anything but laugh, even when the laugh may be, according to the vulgar, on the wrong side of the mouth.-Yrazer's Ha,gazine. STABLE FRIENDS. — The following case of animal intelligence has been communicated by Pro- fessor Schutzenberger of Strasburg to the Revue tfanthropologie. A gentleman owning a kitchen garden remarked that a basket which held" quantity of fresh carrots got quickly emptied. He spoke to the gar- dener, who said that he could not understand it, but would watch for the thief. A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when a dog was seen to go to the basket, take out a carrot, and carry it to the stable. Dogs do not eat raw carrots, so further watch was necessary. The ob- servers now found that the dog had business with a horse, his night companion; with wagging tail he offered the latter the fruit of his larceny, and the horse naturally made no difficulty about accepting it. The gardener seized a stick, and was about to avenge this act of too-complacement good-fellowship; but his master stopped him, in order to watoh further. The scene was repeated until all the carrots had disappeared. The dog had long made a favourite of this horse. There were two in the stable, but the other received not a carrot. AGROTID^B.—Stout-bodied moths, of about the middle size, or a little over or under; the thorax flat, broad, and square, with the shoulders obtusely angulated thorax covered with smooth hair or scales, and rarely with a slight crest, or raised in the middle. The antennte of the male are generally simple, though sometimes slightly pectinated; the tongue and legs are strong, and the hind-legs are rather long; the fore- wings vary in length, and are a llotle broader behind, with the tips nearly rec angular, but generally trun- cated and the hind margin is slightly rounded above the hinder angle.—European Butterflies and Moths. Vv E appreciate no pleasure unless we are occa- sionally debarred from them. Restraint is the golden rule of enjoyment.
REVIEW OF THE CORN TRADE.
REVIEW OF THE CORN TRADE. (From Bell's Weekly Messenger.") The weather during the past week having been exceedingly mild for the period of the year, and the value of wheat having exhibited a declining tendency in New York, the trade in this country has been greatly wanting in animation, and holders have had to accept rather lower prices. There has not, however, been any considerable pressure to sell, as the shipments from America have been limited, while the deliveries of British farmers have been only moderate. Stocks here are also light, but en the Continent there has been some accumulations, and it is now expected that there will be a diminished inquiry on Continental account for some time to come. This should have a tendency to promote ease in the market, but at the same time our wants are very considerable, and we are chiefly de- pendent upon the United States for an ample supply of produce, as Russia is not likely to be an exporter of any magnitude at least for the remainder of the season. On the con- trary, the accounts from Russia are of so unsatis- factory a nature that some districts will have to import, either from other localities, or from foreign countries. In any case, Russia ceases for the present to be a large exporter of cereal produce, and this fact exercises some influence over the trade. During the past three months of the present season the imports of wheat from Russia were only 304,622 cwt., against 2,102,604 cwt. in 1878, and 2,859,168 cwt. in 1877. The falling-off is therefore upon a very large scale, and it seems to be possible that the deficiency is be- coming chronic. New countries have made so vigorous a movement in wheat production that if Russia once loses power she will find great difficulty in re- gaining it, as trading with such countries as America, Canada, and Australia brings about more satisfactory results than is the case with such a tariff-bound country as Russia. The United States are now taking into consideration the question of a reduction of import duties, and we are much more likely to buy our food of those countries who will take our manufactures in return. The production of wheat in the countries we have referred to is likely, therefore, to increase, while there is ample evidence that those countries upon whom we used to depend for a supply of cereal food will not produce much more than they are capable of coneum- ing themselves. The weather during the past week has been re- markable, more especially as there has been an absence of rain, while the temperature has been high. Ordi- narily mild winters bring with them a heavy fall of rain; but fortunately we have had a comparatively long period of dry weather, and heavy arrears of agricultural work are less general. Ploughing and sowing have made good progress, and the general opinion seems to be that the early sown crops look promising. The Continental markets continue to be very mode- rately supplied with native wheat; but there are, in several localities, fair stocks of foreign produce, and the trade is consequently slow at barely late rates. In the United States there has been a great want of activity in the trade for wheat, and exporters have shown very little desire to operate largely. According to the last weekly return, the shipments to Europe had been only 300,000 qrs., while the visible supply amounted to 24,600,000 bushels. Malting barley of good quality commands a fair sale at full prices, but medium and inferior sorts have been dull, at barely late rates. Choice qualities are worth 44s. and 45s. per qr.; but inferior produce sells as low as 26s. to 28s. per quarter. New Zealand barley, of fine quality, is worth 39s. to 42s. per 4481be. Malt has been in moderate demand, but the principal inquiry has been for the better sorts. There has been less doing in Indian corn, and prices have receded about 6d. per quarter. American mixed, ex ship, is worth 27s. 6d. to 27s. 9d.; while for small parcels, ex granary, 28s. to 28s, 3d. is demanded. The last week's shipments from America to Europe were 160,000 quarters, while the visible supply was 16,000,000 bushels. The trade for oats has been decidedlv quiet, and, in some instances, holders have had to accept rather lower prices. In the trade for beans and peas less activity has been apparent, and the quotations have had a down- ward tendency. Flour has been in slow request, and prices have ruled somewhat in favour of buyers.
POLICE FRAUD AND CONSPIRACY.
POLICE FRAUD AND CONSPIRACY. In his charge to the grand jury at the opening of the December Sessions of the Central Criminal Court, the Recorder said: Thomas Titley, a chemist, in Charlotte-street, Fitzroy-square, was charged with unlawfully eupplying noxious drugs. The case was very peculiar in one respect, because of the circum- stances under which it occurred and the point of law which might arise out of it, but with which they had nothing then to do. As he bad intimated, the circum- stances under which the drugs were supplied were singular. No doubt suspicion had arisen with regard to the prisoner, but the plan adopted to detect him was one liable to very strong comment indeed. An in- spector of police, after communication with higher authority, it was true, wrote a letter which purported to be from a young man, who -represented the trouble in which he was in consequence of a young woman being enceinte. He stated that matters had become intoler- able, and he asked the prisoner to assist, him. The prisoner seemed to have objected to undertake any- thing of the kind until he had seen one of the persons concerned, and the next person introduced was a sergeant of police, who called upon the prisoner, and represented himself as the young man who had written. He was accompanied by a female searcher, who represented herself as the mother of the woman. Two bottles of mixture were supplied. It was very important that crime should be detected and that offenders should be punished—nothing, in fact, could be more important; but it was also most important that this should be done by a process so just and right that no comments or strictures could be made upon it, such as the very strong observations which might be made if those engaged in the execution of the criminal law- viz., the police-were at liberty and were encouraged to adopt a course such as they appeared to have done in this case. The object of the police was and should be to detect a man guilty of crime, but the course they bad taken was to be very greatly reprobated and was liable to be abused. In the first place, it might happen that an innocent person might be led into crime and oonvicted if steps such as these were to be taken. For what had they there? There was no young woman who was eneeinte, no young man, and no mother-the whole thing in common language was a fraud and conspiracy, and he did not know that it was not a fraud and conspiracy which would render the parties them- selves liable to the criminal law. He had no doubt that the parties themselves engaged in this transaction were all under the impression that any means were justifiable for the purpose of detecting persons guilty of criminal practices, but this was a doctrine which should not be pushed too far, and the means by which the detection was made should be pure and upright. He did not think the course adopted was to be justified in a moral point of view, but it was for the grand jury to say if the evidence of these persons was ample and properly corroborated. It might be open to observation hereafter as to whether the prisoner was supposed to know what the drugs were to be used for, when, in point of fact, they were not to be used. and there was no person upon whom they were to be used. He had thought it right to make these comments upon what, to him, wa: a very novel mode of attempt- ing to detect crime. The chemicals supplied were never administered, and, indeed, they never could have been, because there was no person to whom they could have been administered. There was a charge against two other men in respect of a case in some respects similar, but in it the evidence was obtained in the usual way, and was perfectly over- whelming. The grand jury, during the day, returned a true bill against some members of the police force and other witnesses for the prosecution for having conspired together to incite ThomAs Titley, a chemist, to commit an indictable offence-viz., the obtaining of noxious drugs with a view to procure abortion. A true bill for the last-named offence was found against Titley.
THE RETAIL NEWSVENDORS' GRIEVANCE.
THE RETAIL NEWSVENDORS' GRIEVANCE. The trade of a retail newsvendor is not a very profitable one, considering that the takings are almost all in pennies, and that the newsvendor who wishes to do a good trade has necessarily to work hard for his money, keep open early and late, and perform a good many journeys or pay other people for performing them. Just before Christmas he has a chance of making a little extra profit, owing to the popularity of the Christmas numbers of certain illustrated journals; but this year certain firms of advertising drapers and general warehousemen have spoiled the market, using the Christmas numbers for advertising purposes. The plan has been to buy up large quan- tities of these numbers at the publishers', print the advertisements of the firm upon the margin, and then sell at cost, or less than cost, price. Having paid 21s. for a quire of twenty-six or twenty-seven copies, these people sell them retail at IOtd., and even 8!d. Of course there is no possibility of a check on the part of the publishers, and the public get the advantage; but such a plan of advertising is hardly fair either to the journal whicli is advertised upon or to the newspaper trade in general. We cannot be surprised at the bitter oomplaints of the newsvendors.-Ecko.
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ANOTHER FOOTBALL ACCIDENT.—In the course of a recent football match at Sheffield, Mr. J. Hunter, son of a leading manufacturer, made a charge against the goal keeper, whom he knocked down, but falling himself upon his right elbow and arm, four bones were put out and one broken.
LADIES' COLUMN.
LADIES' COLUMN. DRESS AND FASHION. The dinner and evening costumes of this season are decidedly of the rich and costly order; not that the shapes have changed very much from those of last year, but more especially on account of the tissues themselves, and the profusion of luxurious trimming so very much in fashion." Scarcely a dress is seen that is not com- posed of mixtures of plain and figured materials, the trimming being generally of costly novelties in gold and silver embroidery, fine lace, beads, or flowers. No doubt by this means the costume can be arranged in various ways, so as to change its appearance; notably in the case of the fashionable black satin costumes and coloured jacket-bodices, where a different fichu on the bodice, and a fgured silk or plush train, changes an elegant visiting into quite a new evening dress. The new trains are made long and full, either round or square, and generally of a different material from the skirt, the most fashionable just now being of bro- oaded silk, figured, plain, and satin-striped plush, and cut velvet, trimmed with gold lace, Alençon lace, feathers, and flowers. The bodices are long, and pointed at the waist, and are generally made of satin, richly ornamented with lace and beads, and cut out low at the neck, with berthe, fichu, or guimpe of frilled lace, muslin, or crepe lisse. The sleeves are often made quite short, with just an epaulette of narrow plaited satin and a bow of lace and chenille flowers on the arm, the plait, being broader and close fitting under the arm. If the habit or jacket-bodice is worn opening over a front of lace or satin of a different colour, it is gene- rally composed of one of the many fashionable red or old gold tints, in figured silk, or plain satin with laco trimming, the sleeves being half long, with lace ends or falling cuffs. JS vemng dresses for young ladies are made with round skirts, the materials being either mixtures of voile de nonne, foulard, satin, and silk, or gauze and silk muslin over plain foulard or silk. Small patterns in figured silk, such as dots, small leaves and flowers are new for jackets, and for scarf drapery for the above dresses. Flowers as garlands, bonnets, and cordons are very much used for trimming. Walking costumes, composed ef mixtures of satin and plush in dark colours, such as Russian green, bronze, brown shades, blue and violet, are very elegant, the short round skirt, polonaise, and princess styles being equally fashionable. As to material, cheviot in small patterns, and mixtures of plain woollens with plaid patterns of sombre tints, are much in favour. Cloth dresses for cold weather are generally made with tunics open in front, and trimmed with five rows of narrow braid of dark colour; some, however, are trimmed with gold or silver braid. The bodioes are generally jacket-shaped, buttoning high at the neck. Opera cloaks in red or blue tints are often trimmed with chinchilla fur, and furs of all kmds are much in vogue. Mantles and jackets of fur are now made shorter than they have been.—" Augustinq in Truth.
SEASONABLE RECIPES.
SEASONABLE RECIPES. How TO OUOOSlC A GoosiL-Choose a young goose. This is more easily said than done, as geese are frequently offered for sale when they are much too old to be eaten. Thebreast should be plump, the skin white, and the feet pliable and yellow. If tbe last are red or stiff, the bird is old or stale. Although Michaelmas is the time for geese, they are in perfection in June; after Christmas the flesh is tough. A goose ought not to be eaten after it is a year old. To ROAST GOOSE.—A roast goose is generally filled with sage-and-onion stuffing. The way in which this is made must depend upon the taste of those who have to eat it. If a strong flavour of onion is liked, the onions should be chopped raw. If this is not the case they should be boiled in one, two, or three waters and mixed with a smaller or larger proportion of bread crumbs. It should be remembered when bread crumbs are used, room should be allowed for swelling. Truss the goose firmly, tie the openings securely, put it down to a clear, brisk fire, and baste it plentifully until done enough. A goose is both unwholesome and un- palatable if insufficiently cooked. Take it up, remove the skewers and fastenings, pour a little gravy into it, and send some good gravy, and either apple or tomato sauce to table with it. Garnish with lemon. ROAST SIRLOIN OF BHBF.—It is said by some modern cooks that a joint of meat should be first put near the fire to harden the surface and keep in the juice, and then drawn back from it to roast very slowly. The old mode of cooking differs in this particular of beginning at a distance of about twelve inches from the fire, and gradually drawing it nearer as the joint approaches to being thoroughly cooked. There is so much to be said in favour of the latter mode, sinoe a joint may be roasted with half the fuel used for the former, that the recipe here given is for the old method. Make choice of a nice sirloin weighing from twelve to fourteen pounds; dredge it over with flour and place it on a spit, at a distance of eighteen inohos, of course supposing the fire to be large and bright; baste unsparingly and sprinkle over it a little salt. When half done draw it a little nearer; con- tinue to baste and flour with a dredger. The meat should look frothy when served, and this can only be obtained by thoroughly hasting. Give it the usual tim-r-a quarter of an hour to a pound; a little longer if liked very well done, or the weather is frosty and the meat solid. ROAST TURKEY.—Pluck, draw, singe, and truss the turkey; tie a buttered paper over the breast, and hang the bird before a clear fire. Baste frequently while it is being roasted. Unless this point is attended to the meat will be dry and tasteless. A quarter of an hour before the bird is taken down, remove the paper, dredge a little flour over the breast, and baste it well with cold butter. This will make the froth stronger bhan if hot dripping is used. Let it brown brightly. Garnish with lemon and sausages, or forcemeat balls. Serve very hot. Time for a Turkey weighing ten pounds, about two hours. CHRISTMAS PLUM PUDDING.—Take one and a half pounds of bread-crumbs, half a pound of flour, two pounds of finely-shred beef suet, two pounds of stoned raisins, two pounds of currants, washed, picked, and dried, two pounds of sugar, a quarter of a pound of candied lemon and citron-peel, that is, two ounces of each, two small nutmegs grated, the juice of a lemon, and the rind finely chopped, a teaspoonful of salt, two ounces of sweet almonds, blanched and sliced, sixteen eggs, a glass of brandy, and as much milk as will wet it, but no more than that, as it makes the pudding heavy. It should be as stiff as paste. Mix all the dry ingredients thoroughly, then add the eggs and milk, and, last of all, the brandy. Boil it and keep boiling for ten hours. PLUM-PUDDING SAUCE.—Fresh butter and powdered lump sugar beaten together until the mixture becomes of the consistency of cream. NEW YzAes PpDMNG.—Take half a pound each of currants and raisins, and a quarter of a pound of sul- tana raisins, half a pound each of bread-crumbs, chopped suet, and moist sugar, quarter of a pound of boiled carrots, two table-spoonfuls ef marmalade, three ounces of candied peel, a little allspice, a few pounded and blanched almonds, three eggs, and a tea- spoonful of biandy; mix all well together, and boil for six hours. CHRISTMAS OAKE.-Beat one pound of butter into a cream, and mix with it three eggs well beaten, two pounds of flour, one pound of currants stoned and dried, one pound of sugar, five small teaspoonfuls of baking powder, and a quarter of a pint of milk. Put the mixture into a buttered dish, and bake it in a moderate oven. This is a very good cake, if intended to be used soon, but it soon gets dry, and should not be kept in a damp place. Time to bake about two hours. How TO BOIL A FOWL.—Get a large stone jar with a close-fitting lid, and having stuffed the fowl, using very small short skeweifc, put it in with half a pint of milk and water, or, better still, with good white stock, a little salt, and a blade of mace; place on the lid and tie it down. Then put the jar into a deep saucepan or small boiler, with sufficient cold water to nearly feach the neck of the jar set it oa the fire, and after it has slowly come to the boil, as the cooks say, allow it to simmer for one heur. A fowl so boiled will be very superior in flavour and appearance to one done in the ordinary way, and the stock in tbe jar can be made into nice broth or added to soup stock. ALE OVP.—"MIY two glasses of brandy and two glasses of noyeau with the juice of a lemon and a quarter ef a pound of pounded sugar stick a lemon with cloves, roast it before the fire, and when well browned, put it into a bowl with a piece of toasted bread; pour over them two quarts of hot ale with the spiced spirits. MULLED OLARET.-Boil for twenty minutes in a pint of water, six cloves, the thin rind of two lemons, a quarter of a pound of sugar, and a stick of cinnamon tour inches long broken into small pieces; add two bottles of claret previously warmed, and when the whole boils add a wineglascful of brandy; strain into glasses, grating a little nutmeg over each. I
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TEN days, or forty shillings," said the magis- trate and the prisoner, a sullen-looking fellow, chose the latter alternative, paid the fine, and was discharged. He walked moodily out of the court, but whep be reached the door, turned and showered a wholesale tirade of profane abuse upon the magistrate. Then he ran into tbe corridor; but before he could reach the street the officers gave chase. He was soon captured, and stood again at the bar. Forty shillings more," said the Court. The money was paid. If you had used more chaste and refined language," the magistrate continuedt waving the fellow away, you would not have been chased and re-fined." WHAT is the difference between a private residence and a shooting gallery ? At the first you ring the bell and walk in; at the second you walk in and ring the bill-if you can.