County Observer and Monmouthshire Central Advertiser Abergavenny and Raglan Herald Usk and Pontypool Messenger and Chepstow Argus

LONGEVITY AND WEALTH. I The executor of the will, which bears date October 18, 1893, of William David, fourth Earl of Mansfield and Mansfield, of Scone Palace, and of Kenwood House, Hampstead, Lord Lieutenant of Clack- mannan, who died on August 2, 1898, aged 91 years, is his grandson, WilHam David, now fifth Earl of Mansfield and Mansfield. The late earl's personal estate in England and Scotland has been valued at £ 137,1142, .including 949,698 as the value of the effects at Kenwood House and Scone Palace, £ 14,704 as the value of effects elsewhere, and £ 48,500 as the proceeds of life insurance policies for £ 25,000, with bonus additions thereto. Mr. Robert Cartwright, of Aynho Lodge, 51, Augusta-gardens, Folkestone, who died on April 7 last, aged nearly 94 years, left personal estate of the value of £ 25,439. The personal estate of Mr. John Kirk Hope, of Edinburgh, senior partner in the firm of John Kirk Hope and Sons", 22, Queensferry-street, Edinburgh, who died on March 27 last, aged 90 years, has been valued at 9106,930. Personal estate of the value of E40,746 has been left by Mr. Thomas Newland Allen, of The Vache, Chalfont St. Giles, Bucks, J.F. and D.L., High Sheriff 1841, who died on March 11 last, aged 87 years, and the gross value of the whole of the estate has been entered at £ 214,497.

A SCHOOL OF ARCHITECTURE. The school of Architecture which was opened in Liverpool Jive years ago with 50 students now has 175, and it will presently stand first among schools of its kind outside London. These are not many. Of all the greater branches of art, architecture is stili the worst provided for in this country. But it is to be remarked that the Liverpool school attracts a great many more working craftsmen than architects' apprentices,who are doubtless.used in Liverpool as else- where, by all but the best of their masters, in the half- educated way that is too common. Even, however, in such a large city there are probably not enough students of architecture to keep an important school going; and with that subject modelling, carving copper and iron work, designing for stained glass! &c., are very fitly associated under one roof.

THE death of Mr. Ernest Clay Ker Seymer, which took place on Sunday last, will be very deeply re- c gretted by a wide circle of friends. He was the eldest son of the late James Clay, M.P. for Hull, and a brother of the late Frederic Clay, the accom- plished musical composer. He was educated at Harrow and in Germany, and subsequently joined che Diplomatic Service, and was attached to several Legations in various European capital*. He served under Lord Lyons, both at Wasninypon and Paris; and, in 1864, married Gertrude, daughter of Mr. Henry Ker Sevmer, the well-known member for Dorset. I

HOME HINTS. SPRING CHICKENS, &C.—Roasting is decidedly the beat and most popular method to adopt for the cooking of young birds, such as spring chickens, ducklings, turkey poults, and goslings, though there are various other methods which are equallydainty, and often t« be preferred when dealing with older birds. In pre- paring the young birds fop- cooking, great care should be taken, as the flesh is sb very tiender, and therefore easily torn. They are not generally stuffed, as the natural flavour of the birds is so very, delicate and delicious that the majority:of people prater it without any addition whatever; in that case, just season the insides lightly with salt and pepper, and smear them well with cold stiff butter, then fasten the openings securely, truss firmly and neatly, and roast either before a clear hot fire or in a well-heatdi brisk oven. When done enough, serve on a very hot dish, garnished round about with a full close border of fresh crisp watercress, which has been properly prepared, slices of fresh lemon, and little rolls of crisply fried ham or prime bacon, omitting the latter in the case of ducklings or goslings. Send to table very hot, accompanied by some goo^ sauce or gravy, and skilfully cooked appropriate vegetables in hot tureens. Note To serve with spring chickens or turkey poults, the most favourite sauces are espagnol, tomato, oyster, mushroom, bechamel, or bread sauce, and rich brown gravy with ducklings and goslings, tomato, applet sorrel, soubise, green gooseberry, or bread sauce, and brown gravy. To ROAST FULLY-GROWN BIRDS.Mese, as a rule, are considered to be greatly improved when stuffed with a well-made, pleasantly-flavoured forcemeat directions for which are given below-and as the birds require so much longer to cook, it is necessary to cover the breasts first with slices of very fat bacon, then with thickly-greased paper hi order to prevent the skin becoming scorched or too dark coloured baste frequently, and a short time before the cooking is finished remove the paper and the bacon, so that the surface of the birds may acquire just a nice, dainty crispness; then, when done enough, serve fowls, capons, poulardes, or turkeys on a very hot dish garnished round with a ring of very small sausages, plenty of daintily-fried, curled bacon, tiny forcemeat balls, and sprigs of fresh green parsley, and accompanied by bread sauce and a good brown gravy; or, if preferred, by any of the other sauces mentioned in connection with the younger birds. Ducks and geese should be garnished with a border of fresh, ciisp watercress, properly prepared, and slices or quarters of fresh lemon. Any of the sauces suitable for ducklings and goslings may be served if desired, but as a rule apple sauce and good brown gravy are preferred. When served cold, the dish should be tastefully garnished with sprigs of parsley and fancifully cut slices of fresh lemon and bright red boiled beetroot, and be accompanied by a well-made salad. A piece of boiled ham, bacon, or pickled pork should also be served with fowls, capons, poulardes, and turkeys. Ducks and geese are generally stuffed with sage and onion stuffing, a good recipe for which is as follows: Peel, blanch, and boil six or eight large onions, then chop them, drain thoroughly, and put them in a basin; add a rather high seasoning of salt, Sjepper, and powdered sage—or a few fresh sage eaves very finely minced—4oz. of breadcrumbs, the liver of the bird parboiled and chopped small, and about 2oz. of fat bacon cut into very tiny dice. Mix well and use. Or sometimes for a change apple, potato, or chestnut stuffing is preferred. To make a good forcemeat for chickens, &c., mix together tho- roughly with lOoz. of fine breadcrumbs, 8oz. of beef suet, the livers of the birds parboiled, 4oz. of lean cooked ham or bacon, and two tablespoonfuls of parsley, all very finely chopped, then season with salt, pepper, nutmeg, and lemon juice, bind with beaten eggs and use. Or, if preferred, use a stuffing of ordinary sausage-meat seasoned and flavoured according to taste. A FRICASSEE of RABBIT.-Prepare, cut up, and soak, as already directed, either one large plump rabbit or two small ones, then after drying the joints —which for a fricassés should be rather tmaller than usual-and seasoning them pleasantly, fry them in pure beef dripping for two or three minutes over a quick fire until the meat is just slightly browned and quite firm, then take them up, drain carefully, and set on one side until required. Fry in the same fat adding little more, of course, if' necessary-first some slices of prime streaky bacon cut about three inches long. then a cucum- ber cut and prepared as below, and last of all three or four medium-sized oniona cut into small dice. Set the bacon and cucumber aside for the present, but put the rabbit and the onions, with a bunch of herbs, into a stewpan and just barely cover them with hot stock or water which has been thickened to a smooth creamy consistency with flour or ground rice, and rather highly flavoured with mushroom ketchup, then bring to the boil, after which draw the pan on one side and simmer gently until the rabbit is quite three-parts cooked, when the bacon and cucumber should be added; add also a little more thickening, colouring, or seasoning if required, as the sauce should be very thick, highly seasoned, of a rich brown colour, and not too plentiful. When done enough, remove the herbs, dish up the fricassee in the centre of a firm potato border, garnish the edge of the dish with Freneh beans cut in lozenge shapes, which have been coeked in readiness, and nicely seasoned, and serve very hot. To prepare the cucumber, first peel it, then cut it in pieces about an inch and a half long; divide these in quarters and shape the pieces neatly, then sprinkle them well with salt and set them in a cool place for an hour, after which drain and dry them well, coat them with fine flour, and fry until coloured a nice brown. To THE MISTRESS.-Unlimited advice has been freely offered to the lady domina of our households as to the care she should bestow on the various de- partments under her charge. The parlour, the guest chamber, the kitchen, the pantry, the scullery, have all in turn been passed under review, and her duties, towards each and all, been severally pointed out to her. But it has been left to an Idle fellow full of Idle thoughts to say to the women of our homes, House keep thyself! Is not the hint a timely one ? My dear lady," he says, you may polish your furniture till it shines again, but the most valuable piece of furniture in the whole house is going to rack and ruin for want of being seen to. Pause and look within. Do you not see that while your house is in apple-pie order, you are making everybody wretched ?" It is indeed too true. Are there not thousands of women in the world who are willing to spend and be' spent toiling in the kitchen from morn- ing to night, and yet, as our author says, render the whole feast tasteless for want of a h, orth of salt; for want of a soupcon of amiability; for want of a handful of kindly words a pinch of courtesy ?" Truly in labouring much for the tfieat that perisheth we forget to look after the things that endure. In studying to please the senses, as if the world were made up of eating and drinking, and bodily comfort, we forget to appeal to sentiment, and fail to remember that a dinner of herbs where peace is is better than a stalled ox and hatred therewith." The true home, where "the children rise up and call the mother blessed and the husband, with a grateful heat, declares that a good wife is from the Lord," is not entirely made up of food and raiment and a never-ending sweeping and dusting, but in the brightness shed around her, who has its happiness in her hands, to mar or make-to frown on every pleasure or with kindly, sympathetic heart to seek to sooth every sorrow and make the bitter sweet. And this is no small task. It has been well said that it is easier to die a martyr than to live a saint, and the woman who manages to live above the petty cares and daily annoyances of a household, to endure patiently the contradictiou of sinners, in the shape of unruly children and careless servants, with perhaps a cantankerous lord and master to study and keep in tune, would need to be a saint indeed, and be con- tinually exercising restraint over herself and guard- ing against those too ready ebullitions of temper that leave°8uch a sting behind bridling the tongue, and ruling the spirit "as one that keepeth a city. A. L. O. S. in the Agricutural Gazette.

IT'S risky tr, r,n in debt. but many people are will- ing to run tlY, risk. AN American portable folding beat, recently in- vented, comprises two middle and two end sections. The two middle sections are hinged together so that one folds over the other, thus forming^ a cover. The two end sections are bolted to the middle sections, within which they are placed when not in use. Bolts lock the middle sections together when they are ex- tended, and are provided with washers to prevent leakage. The seats are so hung that they swing out of the way when the parts are folded. The oars are made in detachable sections.

A RIVAL TO ROWLAND HILL. From time to time we get fresh light upon the extent of Rowland Hill's services to posterity. There is a general concensus that his was the merit of hav- ing introduced uniform inland penny postage. But the French now claim to have been first in the field with postage stamps and stamped envelopes or wrappers. A French collector possesses a "billet de port pave," which enclosed a letter from PellissoD to Mlle. de Scudery, and in the French archives there is the text of a royal instruction, dated 1623, regulating the distribution of letters in Paris, and arranging for prompt replies by means of stamped papers, which are to be forwarded by the sender, ana which may be used to enclose or adhere to the written answers. The billets de porte paye," how- ever, soon disappeared, and it was not until the year 1848 that a law was passed making the use of stamps obliestorv.

ART AND LITERATURE. SIR ARCHIBALD HAMILTON DUNBAR has prepared ft revised chronology of Scottish History frem 1005 to 1625, with notices of the principal events, pedigrees, Church calendars, and dther information highly useful to students. Over 5000 references to authori- ties are added, there are four. maps and an index. The book will be called Scottish Kings," and will be issued by Mr. David Douglas. A FEW weeks ago a Leeds policeman got a painting accepted (though not hung) at the Royal Academy. Now it is announced that Mr. Balfour has granted a pension of E40. per annum out of the Civil List Fund to Charles Assheton, ex-policeman. Assheton was a policeman in the Merionethshire force. During his spare time he turned his attention to literature, taught himself Latin and kindred subjects, and pub- lished many books of exceptional merit. He won numerous prizes at the Eisteddfodau, wrote an ex- cellent history of Welsh literature, and is now en- gaged on a Welsh bibliograph. He retired from the force some time ago. THE panel which has been painted by Mr. Ernest Crofts as one of the series of mural decorations in the Royal Exchange in London has just been fixed in the place it is to occupy permanently. It represents The Opening of the First Royal Exchange by Queen Elizabeth," and is a gift from the Mercers- Company. This is the seventh of the paintings that have been commissioned, and an eight is still in pro- gress. It is to be hoped that opportunity may soon be given for the completion of the remaining panel*. MR. G. F. WATTS, who is now in his 83rd year, constantly exposes his canvases to the full rays of the sun, to let the light burn into the wet paint and dry with it. He believes there need be no fear of fading after a process that so severely tests the colours. Mr. Watts uses no maulstick, his brushes are of a great size and hardness, and he has always been more fond of stippling than of delicate brush work, often pounding the colour into his canvas to insure permanence. He has rarely worked directly from the living model, but modelled fragmentary studies in wax and clay for the particular parts of the figure required in hii picture. MUSICALLY, at least, Massenet is the man of the hour, by reason of his new opera, Ceadrillon," just produced in Paris. It is of the romantic school, or, as the French prefer to call it, a fairy tale." The composer himself is a bit of a fairy tale. He is the son of an old engineer officer of Napoleon's, who would have nothing to do with:a Bourbon, but Bet up as a blacksmith at St. Etienne. and in the wholesome atmosphere of the forge became the father of 21 children, of whom the author of Cendrillon is the youngest. With Massenet music was a vocation from infancy. At 21 he carried off the Prix de Rome, began composing out of hand, and has gone on ever since. FOR the first number of the Anglo-Saxon mamzine, Lady Randolph Churchill has been able to Secure some distinguished contributors. Lord Rosebery is represented by an essay, the Duchess of Devonshii* is to edit a selection from the letters of Georgians Duchess of Devonshire, a poetical drama is pro- mised from John Oliver Hobbes, a poem from Mr. Swinburne, and contributions are also to come from Slatin Pasha and Mr. Whitelaw Reid. Portrait illustrations, including the Queen, Lady Mary Wortley Montague, and Mary Sidney Countess oi Pembroke will be a feature of the number. THE summer exhibition of the Dudley Gallery Art Society is not marked by any narticular originality, and has no novel features by which it can be distin- guished from the previous shows under the same management. As a collection that includes a fail amount of sincere effort, mixed with a great deal that is futile and incompetent it deserves credit for a certain degree of good intention; but it is hardly of a character to awake enthusiasm. The best contri- butions are those of Miss Bernard, Mr. Donne, Mr. George Marks, Mr. Albert Stevens, and Mr. W. Nichols, who, in their various ways, work with excellent capacity, and with real appreciation of the obligations imposed upon them by the pursuit of the artist's profession; but the bulk of the exhibits betray the tentativeness of the amateur. PROFESSOR SAINSBURY, whose critical methods art once more being discussed apropos of his newly- published monograph on Matthew Arnold, has had rather a varied career. He was born 54 years ago in Southampton. He received his education at King's College, London, and Merton College, Oxford. Aftw leaving the University he received a post as junior assistant master at the Manchester Grammar gSchoot He remained three two terms, and then took the Senior ^Classical Mastership at the Elizabethan College, Guernsey, and a few years later he became headmaster of the Elgin Educational Institute. In 1876 he joined the ranks of the London journalists, and for a number of years he was a Saturday Re- viewer in the old slashing days. He was appointed Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature at Edino burgh in 1895. Two new serial stories-viz., "The Three Witchea," by Mrs. Molesworth, and "River and Forest" by Edward S. EllIs-are commenced in the July parfc of Little Folks. A painting-book containing numerous pictures in colours and copies for painting is pre- sented with this part. Mrs. Clement K. Shorler-);lu written a short story for Cas&elCs Magazine. It is called The Other Woman's Child," and appears in the July part. A NEW serial-story commences in the July number of the Quiver from the pen of Miss Cornwall Legh, the author of A Hard Master," The Steep Ascent," and other well-known works. The story is entitled Love-Light," and is illustrated by Mr. Fred Pegram. MR. HAL HURST'S collection of pictures and draw- ings, which is being shown at the Modern Gallery in London, would be astonishing simply as a record of indefatigable industry, even if it were without artistic interest. But it happens to be very attrac- tive in its technical qualities, and shows an extraordinary amount of resource and inge- nuity on the artist's part. He appears as a man of many styles and methods, an accomplished executant afraid of no task that gives the promise of pleasant results, and with an imagination so fertile tnat he can treat freshly and quaintly almost any subject that presents itself to him. More than 200 of his productions are hung in the gallery; and among these are drawings for. illustration, de- corative designs, fanciful notes of colour or incident, studies of dramatic motives, portraits, and somt posters with particular charm of manner. All art in one way or another worthy of praise and of thf respect of everyone who enjoys true versatility. THE news that the Council of the Royal Academy has (says the Globe) decided on an enlargement of its galleries is calculated to excite rather qualified satis- faction. The intention to provide better accommoda- tion for sculpture is entirely to be commended, for at present the space allotted to the display of examples of this branch of art practice is both inadequate and unsuitable; but few people will be pleased to heai that the lecture-room, in which sculpture is now housed, is to be once again given up to pictures, No one of average judgment wants to see more can rases hung on the Academy walls, as already there is an evident difficulty in finding enough good work to fill the galleries; and the addition of another room will only have the effect of still further lowering the average merit of the annual Shows It would be more to the purpose to surrender to sculpture one of the rooms which are now assigned to pictures, and to reduce by a little 'more careful selection the number of inefficient pictorial efforts that are given a degree of publicity to which they are not entitled. In this way justice could be done to the one branch of our art which is advancing steadily and creditably, without affecting injuriously the chances of the painters whom the public want to see. But some share of the added space must be allotted to the variations on the sculptor's practice, which properly come under the heading of decora- tive design. The Academy has hitherto shown no particular sympathy for the craftsman; and it might fairly begin now to recognise hie existence it the right way.

——- rIlE New York Journal tells the story ofMr. Miltoo Rathburn's fast of 28 days. It says he has achieved a 421b. victory of mind over idatter. That is what his total loss in weight amounted to after the fast, during which he not only successfully resisted the cravings of hunger and protests of anxious friends, but continued his daily routine of life and regularly transacted his business as though nothing tfnasual was happening. Mr. Rathburn is a man of wealth, i dealer in hay and grain at No. 453, Fourth-avenue, with a home in Mount Vernon. To reduce his weight, wnich at the time he began his fast, on April 24; was 2101b., and build up his general health was the sole motive which actuated this feat of perseverance and self-denial.

[ALL BIGHTS RESERVED.] i.osaura A TALE OF LOVE AND TRAVEL BY LADY STELLA KIRKLAND, AUTHOR OF The Lilies of Helen," Ulric," c., #c. CHAPTER I. I IT was a cold, starlit night, and Lord Somerville wandered aimlessly about the old-fashioned Spanish streets of Paerte, striving in vain to banish from his memory the witching strains of a woman's voice. He was making a tour of Spain, previous to returning to his ancestral halls in England, where he intended shortly to settle down to the pleasurable pursuits of a country gentleman. But now, after having escaped for thirty-three years the wiles and arts of Cupid, he is fain to confess himself in the toils of the blind god at last. On the previous night, Lord Somerville had gone to the little theatre of Puerte, to wile away an idle hour, and had there surrendered his heart, almost uncon- sciously to himself, to an unknown actress. When he had entered, a woman's voice filled the theatre with song; and, on glancing towards the stage, he found that it belonged to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even as he gazed spell-bound upon her, she turned towards him, her dark Spanish eyes, full of melancholy, met his, and his whole soul went out in passionate admiration to the beautiful cantatrice before him. Seating himself near the stage, he listened to her sing- ing with rapt attention, and he noticed that the dark Spanish eyes were fixed upon him, as the singer en- deavoured with the splendour of her voice to make some impression upon him. And she succeeded well, for he loved music with a deep devotion, and hers was a voice whose equal he had never before heard. He gazed, as if under a spell, into those eyes of midnight hue, where the fire of a passionate soul seemed slumbering; and when the curtain fell he hastened out, and stood with a crowd of watchers at the stage door. She soon appeared, leaning on the arm of a young Spaniard, whose eyes were fixed in rapt adoration upon her face. Lord Somerville watched them disappear down the narrow streets, then turned away with feelings of jealousy in his heart. That night his dreams were haunted by the dark eyes of the actress, and on awaking he made a mental vow that he would see her again and discover who she was. The night found him wandering up and down, outside the little theatre. As the town clock struck eleven, she once more emerged from the little side door, leaning lightly upon the arm of her companion of the previous night. Lord Somerville stood near her, and as she passed him she looked into his eyes for a moment, with an expression half mocking and half defiant. In a moment the young Englishman made up his mind to follow her. He felt he must speak with this splendid creature-hear that ex- quisite voice once again. After going about a quarter of a mile, her hand still on the Spaniard's arm, she stopped before a shabby house, and, motioning him to enter, turned away, saying in a voice loud enough for the English- man to hear: Nay, Lorenzo, go in and tend your sick father. I wish to be alone to-night. My heart seems on fire with a thousand wishes, and I do not care to talk nonsense with you." The man, muttering an angry reply, turned hastily away and entered the house, the door of which had been only partly closed. As he disappeared in the dark passage, she sighed, and walked on alone for a few minutes then stood still until the Englishman came up to her. When he reached her side she turned to him, and in a seemingly angry voice de- manded-" Signor, why do you follow me? A glance tells me that you are an aristocrat; what can the like of you want with a poor Spanish girl, whose face is her only fortune ?" The tone of bitterness touched the heart of Lord Somervilie, and he replied, in tones of respect, Senora, surely one who has the rare good fortune to possess a voice like yours cannot but consider her- self a very queen amongst women I" She laughed mockingly. "Alas, signor, 'twere better we poor women, who are doomed to poverty from our cradle, should have neither beauty nor talent. Our talents, when we possess any, expose us to temptations that dulness would never meet with and our beauty is only that of the butterfly or the Bower-as soon as it is touched by the world, its brilliance begins to fade." You speak with great sarcasm of the world, senora. I trust its sting has not been implanted in the heart of one so young." He had been walking slowly by her side, and won- dering inwardly what manner of woman this could be. Signor," she said, I had a sister, beautiful as a summer dream, who left her home and travelled to far-off England to make her fortune by her voice. Do you know what her fate was ?" Her eyes seemed to flash fire as she spoke. Nay, I could hardly tell what her fate was. But, senora, if her voice was as melodious and entrancing as yours, it should have won her respect ana fortune." Respect and fortunel" she cried mockingly. Yes, signor, this was the respect she—the poor Spaniard—met with in your stately England. A rich young nobleman stole her hot and innocent heart, took advantage of her imperfect knowledge of his cold language, married her after his own fashion, and then sent her home to die at the poor mother's door one winter's night-long, long ago. I was but ten years old; but I have not forgotten." It is a sad story," said the Englishman, gently; but one, unfortunately, too often repeated all over this miserable earth." She did not appear to heed him, but continued, as if speaking to herself: Yes-an outcast, miserable and scorned, her beauty tarnished, and her voice de- stroyed with tears, and sickness, and sorrow—now silenced for ever in the tomb." She had reached a dark and gloomy-looking house that was only lighted by a sickly oil lamp, fastened to the wall outside, and turning to him, was in the act of bidding him a hasty good-night, when he stopped her abruptly, saying: Senora, pardon my presumption in detaining you, and believe me when I tell you that I have never treated your sex but with respect and honour, and would therefore wish to become your friend. You have no idea how entran- cing your voice seems to me, nor the happiness I ex- perienced while listening to it last night. Can you forget that I belong to a nation that mur" be distaste- ful to you for the memories it must awaken, and grant me the favour of once more hearing you sing before I leave your sunny land ? Believe me, if ever it lies in my power to atone in any way for the sorrow of your sister, you shall not command me in vain." As he ceased, a gleam of triumph shone in her eyes, 'and turning, she said, in a slightly tremulous voice, Signor, if you are really so desirous of hear- ing me sing once more, come here to-morrow even- ing. But," she added, with a sudden thrill of pas- sion, remember this-that I am unlike other women in my nature, and if :ever regret should enter your soul for having met with me, do not forget that I warned you beforehand. So go your way, signor; you look good as well as noble, and I would fain save you from yourself." He laughed lightly, his admiration and interest were only more keenly 4wakened. "Beautiful lady," he said, I am no schoolboy, to be easily frightened, and even if, when I entered your house, you gave me a draught cf poison instead of wine, I could die happy if your sweet voice sang my dirge." You nave a flattering tongue," she said, with a mournful smile, but you may come again, and hear Ine sing; yet remember—there is a poison that kills the soul often, whilst the body lives on in pain that w worse than death. Good night, signor; and the next moment she had pushed open the door, and dis- appeared within. He stood for some moments watching the dark «Dd lonely-looking house, and turned slowly away, WOA 6uing deeP]y what manner of woman she was. As she wandered home to his hotel, through the narrow and crooked streets, the stars disappeared from the sky, a hollow wind whistled ground the weird-looking houses, extinguishing of the oil lamps on the walls, and a few flakes of snow began to fall. Her last ominous words seemed to echo and re- echo in his very soul: Do not forget that there is a poison that kills the soul, whilst the body still lives on in pain that is worse than death." What did she mean ? he asked himself again and again; but the melancholy wind, whistling through the narrow street, was the only answer he received. CHAPTER II. I THK next evening the young nobleman made his way through the narrow streets to the Spaniard's dwelling. He knocked lightly at the door, which was opened by an old woman with keen dark eyes and snow- white hair. She looked sharply at him for a moment, holding the lamp she carried high above her head. He saw at once by the resemblance she bore to the young cantatrice that this must be her mother. I have not the pleasure of knowing your name, donna," he said: but your daughter has done me the honour of inviting me to your house, and I trust you will regard me ns a frfend, even though I am an Englishman," and he offered his hand to the old woman with a pleasant suiUe. A look, as of pain, came into her eyes as he spoKe but she gave him her hand freely as she replied, "Come in, signor, yon nre welcome. Mv daughter, Rosaura, has informed me of your desire to hear her sing once more. Our name is Cousina," she said signi- ficantly, with some bitterness, as if she expected an English nobleman would not reveal his name. My name, Donna Cousina, is Igric Somerville," htJ answered simply, and at my father's death they bestowed the title of lord' on me." The ofa woman bowed slightly, and led him into a prettily-furnished parlour, where a wood fire was burning brightly upon the hearth. My daughter will be home directly," she said; "she is still at the theatre, but it must have closed before this, and she cannot be much longer away." Even as she spoke, Rosaura entered the room, looking like a very queen of the night, with her lace mantilla fastened by a high comb, and banging in graceful folds over her shoulders. Lord Somerville rose. I trust you will forgive my early arrival, senora," he said, but I have already made acquaintance with Donna Cousina, your mother, and I hope her daughter will accord me a welcome also." You are most welcome," she replied, with a bright smile that disclosed two rows of pearly teeth. Then drawing her hand away from his too warm clasp, she opened a little press, and spreading a snowy cloth on the table, placed wine, fruit, and cakes before him, inviting him to the repast with winning grace. Supper over, she took her guitar and sang song after song for him, with such passion and sweetness that he felt his soul steeped in delight; and when a neighbouring clock struck the twelve solemn strokes of midnight, he started to his feet in surprise, ex- claiming, Can it be possible it is twelve o'clock ? I have been here over two hours, and yet it seems as if scarce half an hour has elapsed since I entered the house." Rosaura threw her guitar aside with a rippling laugh. You flatter my poor abilities, milord.' I may come again soon, Donna Cousina ?" he said inquiringly, turning to the old woman, and taking her withered fingers in his strong hand. She gave a warm assent, and then he took the white hand of the Spaniard, and thanked her over and over again for the delightful evening he had spent. You will be pleased to see me again ?" he asked, looking into her beautiful black eyes with an expression no woman had ever seen in his face before. Yes," she answered softly, and he noticed that she grew pale as marble beneath his gaze. You are tired," he continued gently, and I have had no con- sideration to keep you singing for my amusement all this time. Pray forgive me, senora." It was a pleasure for me also, milord," she answered, with a slight touch of weariness in her roice. We shall be always glad to see you whilst you remain in Puerte." Which I hope will be for a long time," he made answer; and now good-night." And once more he took the white hand tenderly in his own. A few moments later he was gone; and as the door closed after him, the smile vanished from Rosaura's face, and turning to her mother she asked bitterly: Well, my mother, what do you think of the English lordling ?" He looks to be a good, as well as a rich man, my child," replied the old woman thoughtfully, as she gazed into the dying embers of the fire with a sad expression in her faded eyes. What, my mother ? Are you going to lose your heart to the proud English lord ?" and there was a ring of bitter irony in her voice. Nay, nay, my child," replied the elder woman, wearily but I am growing old, and the burning desire for revenge is leaving my heart. Fain would I think it were so with you also, Rosaura." My mother," said the girl, sadly, I have no wish to turn your thoughts from heaven; but for me, I shall never forget the night when I ran to the door, full of glee, to hear the joy-bells ringing for the Christmas dawn, and found dying on the door-step the sister who had loved me; or the horror of that night when she related, with her dying breath, the story of treachery and wrong and cruelty that had driven her home an outcast I Mother," she continued, almost in frenzy, tell on your beads from morning till night, and prepare to meet her beyond the skies. Mine shall be the task to avenge her I" The old woman shuddered, and crouching closer over the fire, muttered to herself, God pardon me for having encouraged that wild spirit of revenge, and may He stand between this fierce spirit and the ruin in which she would involve so bright and promising a future I" Then turning to Rosaura, she continued with great earnestness, My child, I am growing old and feeble, and when the feet stand on the brink of the grave, the mind can see things of earth more clearly, because they have] no longer influence over the heart or brain. Listen patiently to me for a moment. The nobleman who supped here this evening will learn to love you with the whole fervour of his manhood, and will offer you honourable marriage. Accept him, my child, and let that atone for the sins of his country- man who brought so much sorrow upon us in the past." Ah, my mother," she replied, what you say may be true. I love Lorenzo; yet I am determined to f-eacli Lord Somerville to.love me, and possibly induce t:m to marry me, that, through him, I may more easily discover the man who betrayed my sister-the black-hearted Sir Dallas Moreton I" Then, after a moment's pause, she continued with a laugh of forced gaiety, And oh, my mother, think what a triumph it will be to reign a queen amongst those fair English dolls I How, with my beauty arrayed in jewels and lace, I shall sweep scornfully amongst them, and smile to see them grow pale with envy I" Hush, hush, my child," cried the old woman faintly; that passionate heart of thine will wreck thy whole life, and thy future shall be as cold and dark as yonder wintry sky." And she tottered from the room, with bowed head and shaking form. Rosaura approached the window, and looking up to the black sky, where not a star was visible, cried bitterly from the depths of her passionate heart, Oh, my Lorenzo I love thee with all the burning fervour of my Soul, and yet I shall not wed thee, for I vowed this wild heart to vengeance long, long ago. And yet, ere I seal my fate with the Englishman, my heart shall be broken But enough," she exclaimed with a fierce gesture "I shall forget soon I ever had a woman's nature, and in yonder far-off England I shall live only for ambition-and revenge I" CHAPTER III. CHRISTMAS had gone, and the spring flowers were peeping above the brown earth, and still Lord Somer- ville lingered in the little town of Puerte. He had learned to love the proud Spanish girl with all the strength of his manhood, and his one ardent desire was to win her for his wife. And she—Rosaura—did she appreciate the affec- tion of her noble and generous suitor ? No; strange to say, she had grown to hate him with a bitterness that she could hardly account for, even to herself. But the thirst for revenge had so ingrafted itself into her nature, that she was determined to wed the Englishman, so that she might go with him to his own country, and there devote her life to discover Sir Dallas Moreton, and endeavour to wreak some revenge upon him that would be more bitter than death. But she hid her thoughts deep down in hei heart, as she wandered day after day in the green spring woods, listening to the words of love Lord Somerville poured in her ear. Her former lover, Lorenzo, who had also been the playmate of her childhood, she had dismissed; in a fit of passion and despair he had left Puerte, and for some months she had neither seen nor heard from him. It was evening, and the silver stars were already in the sky. Rosaura had been wandering all day, in a deep forest outside the town, and returned home weary in body and mind. On entering the little parlour she found Lord Somerville awaiting her coming. As she approached him, extending her soft white hand to him, he came eagerly towards her, and clasping both her hands in his, cried with a sudden impulse, Oh, my Rosaura, how beautiful, but how sad you look! This life is unsuited for one like you. Change it—or rather give me the power to change it for you. Be my loved and honoured wife, Rosaura, and let me take you to hapDV England, where you will be the courted queen of our aristocracy." His usually calm patrician face was lighted up with sudden ardour; the blue eyes were glowing and filled with longing, and as he held her cold hands in his, he tried to look into the downcast face, and read his fate in her eyes. She was as cold md motionless as a statue of marble, except that her bosom heaved with suppressed emotion. He asked the question again, with a ring of pain in his voice Aftera moment's struggle with her heart,, she raised. her eyes to his face, and said: If Lord Somerville can forget that it is poor Rosaura, the Spaniard, he would take to his home and his heart, then she will consent to be his wife." With the rapture of pure and deep love he drew her to his breast, covering her face with kisses, and promising her a future of wealth, honour, and happi- ness, in his beautiful English home. When his ardour had subsided a little, he looked doubt- fully into the pale, half-averted face, asking—" But my Rosaura, my beautiful queen, do you not love me a little in return? Why these pale, cold looks? Why do you turn away from my embrace 1" Milord," she replied, wjth an effort at com- posure, I cannot yet forget that I am only Rosaura, the poor Spanish maid, and that you are Lord Somerville." The reply satisfied him, and drawing her gently towards him, he said softly, You shall soon forgot, my Rosaura, when you find yourself the worshipped queen of our aristocracy, with a coronet on that marble brow." Her face flushed, and a light of triumph shone in her eyes, for was not her ambition about to be gratified ? and oh how she pictured to herself the regal splendour with which she should be surrounded in the land she was going to. But a crushing sense of misery overwhelmed her as she thought of the man she so passionately loved; and when Lord Somerville had gone, after a tender and lingering Good night "-before the warmth of his kisses had died on her lips-she flung herself face downwards on the ground, and sobbed and moaned in anguish of heart and mind-" Oh, my Lorenzo my lost, lost love I" she cried aloud. Oh, Santa Jesu 1 has my punishment already commenced?" For a few minutes she lay there, exhausted by the violence of her passion; and ao absorbed was she that she did not hear the door open, nor see the dark figure of a man enter the room, and advanced slowly until he stood looking down at her. Rosaura!" It was the only word he uttered but oh, the magic of that voice. With a low cry she arose and stood facing him, with swollen eyes and dishevelled hair, but still as beautiful in grief and tears as when rippling laughter made her face like a picture of sunshine. The'man before her was her lover, Lorenzo. He drew her into his arms with a gesture of despairing love, kissed the tears from her dark eyes, for he knew that it must be some deep sorrow that could thus move her. Oh, my love 1" he cried, in the flowery language of Spain, why those bitter tears ? Wilt thou not confide in thv Lorenzo, whose heart is a fountain of love for his Rosaura ?" Lorenzo," she replied, in calm despair, Rosaura is no longer thine, for this night she nas promised to wed the English lord." His arms fell from around her, whilst his face grew hard and cold as stone. Just God, it cannot be true I" he cried, stagger- ing backwards as if he had received a blow. It is too true," she answered firmly. You already know most of my reasons for the step I am about to take. You know also that I have loved you since the happy days of our childhood, when we wandered in the summer meadows, and you twined garlands of flowers for my childish brow, teaching this wild heart to love you with all its first pure and deep devotion. But oh, Lorenzo, we must part!— we must part for ever! My determination is unalter- able. I shall wed the English lord. Be merciful to me, and leave me to struggle in solitude with the demon that is raging in my soul. Never can I be yours-but never shall I be his, save in name." The young Spaniard looked at her, the file that was consuming his heart almost reflected in his eyes. He was tall and handsome, with a pure olive skin and curling dark hair; but there was a look of devilry in the full, dusky eyes, that showed what this man could be capable of doing were he once thoroughly aroused. After a long pause he forced her to meet his gaze, and the haughty woman trembled when she saw in his eyes the reflection of the fierce passion* that were raging in his soul. Rosaura," he said, with bloodless but composed lips, I well know when once you have determined upon anything, that even fate itself cannot change your resolution; but I know also that you have played with the heart of the man beforeyou. You drove me from your presence withcold and cutting words when last I sought you, and since then I have been a wanderer in distant lands, eating out my very heart in despair. I could not forget you, and I have returned, but only to lose you more completely than before. Yet, think that /am to be cheated so. No !—I oan bide my time. You love me, too," he continued passionately, and therein lies my power over you. Go wed your cold lover; avenge the sister who was betrayed. For that I honour you-it is your duty, for we Spaniards can never forget an insult. But when that is accom- plished, I shall seek you again; and remember these, the last words I shall say to you until we meet again, you will yet be mine She did not reply, even when he took her once more in his arms, and gazed long and passionately deep down into her dusky eyes, pressing his lips in a lingering farewell to hers. Then, without a murmur, he released her, and almost flung her from him. Had he looked back as he hastened from the room, he would have seen her standing like a frozen statue of despair, with her arms outstretched towards him, though her lips were powerless even to utter his name. And thus they parted. (To be Continued.)