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MISTRESS BETTY CAREW: BEING…
MISTRESS BETTY CAREW: BEING SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE BASS, SURGEON OF E.M.S. "RELIANCE." By Mary Gaunt. I JSOOKS BY THE SAME AUTI-IOR "Dave's Sweet- heart"; "Kirkham's Find"; "The Moving Finger"; 11 Deadmaies," &c. CHAPTER -XVII.-(Continued.) Betty looked at her. one was fond of her Serving woman, but after an was said and done ehe was only a convict servimg woman. She had no right to question her about her relations with CBass. "Eunice," she said gravely, "see to Mr. Wil- liams' supper. I will have mine in my room Ikere," and she closed the door as if that settled ,the question. Eunice stood for a moment regarding the closed ijoor helplessly. What chance would this fair igirl have when men's blood was up, and every moment the danger grew nearer. She went into tthe yard and stole behind the barn, and there Hacked on, fur side out, was the wild cat skin. The end would come to-night, most certainly. There was no escaping it. Crane spit forcibly and looked at her and grinned. A shout from the house sent her running back. Williams had returned, sullen and disagreeable, and there was nothing for it but to set out his evening meal as quickly as possible. He swore at Eunice, but took no notice of his wife's ab- sence, and when he had finished he stretched him- aelf out on the couch and closed his eyes, {Whether in sleep or not she could not say. Then she spread a napkin, and by the other Sdoor took in a tray to Betty. The girl sat in an Tupright chair by the window looking out across 'the garden. The year before Mr. Cayley had Ziven her some dahlias, and she was now looking at the gorgeous flowers. She had looked forward 4o their blossoming when first she saw the green leaves, but her husband had taken care to spoil all her simple pleasures. She ate her supper inechanically, and the sun was so low the shadow of the house stretched right across the garden. Eunice watched her and her heart sank. How CthouJd she help her? How could she help her. And the minutes were flying away. This man swould certainly never see another sunrise. Then she took a desperate resolution. She went to the bedroom door with a face white as her own oif, and with knees that trembled under her. She felt that she must give Betty some idea of the danger that threatened, even though it cost tier her own life, or Simon Burton's life, whieh ;was a far more important thing. "Madam," she began tremblingly. Betty rose to her feet, shocked at the sight of &er servant's white face. "Why, Eunice! what's the matter? Are you ill t Eunice took the cue at once. "Yes, madam, I am very ill I think. If you tould spare a moment-" "Sit down. Stay where you are," shouted jlWilliams, rising to his feet and kicking open the Sdoor that was between them. "Let the old hag iworry it out herself. They're for ever malinger- ing, these convicts. Even if she die, it's no j pnatter." Betty looked at him contemptuously. "Eunice looks ill," she said, "and she does not malinger. I must help her if I can, and she left the room without another word. I But Eunice was not in the kitchen, and Betty crossed the yard to the little slip of a room she fead shared with her husband. There on her bed J .sat the old woman rocking herself slowly back- wards and forwards. "Oh, Eunice! Are you in pain?" "No, madam, no. But, oh, my pretty, will you 110 down to Mistress MacArthur's. Go to-night, ,,so now." "Eunice, do you know what you are saying? ou must be dreaming if you are not mad. I fdare not ride through the woods at night, even lif Mr. Williams would allow me, which he cer- itfcainly will not. "Don't ask Mr. Williams, but go. Go now." "Eunice, do you know what you are saying?" "Only too well. Go now, for God's sake! or pity's sake "Eunice, you must be ill. Tell me what is it? The old woman wrung her hands. "Ah, dear gib dear! was ever unlucky woman in such a jplight? My dear, my dear, the place is doomed, and I would save you if I can. By the morning it will be too late." A glimmer of light broke in on Betty's wonder- ment. Such things she had heard discussed as a possibility more than once. In a settlement where the bond outnumbered the free there was always one danger looming on the horizon. "A rising among the convicts," she cried. f,But there is only Crane and Orleans here now, and Mr. Williams is a trained man and more than a match, for them." "Yes, yes," said Eunice, eagerly. "Of course he is more than a match for them. But you had fbest be out of the way. It will be no place for a ,-woman once the Indians come in. "The blacks said Betty, and she put her hand !Ôn the old woman's shoulder. "Then it is a regular plot, and Simon Burton is in it." "Oh, madam! madam!" "Tell me, tell me now at once." Betty spoke .authoritatively as became the mistress, and when -the pity went out of her voice Eunice was her- self again. "I was a fool," she said sitting up and look- ing at her with hard eyes. "A man cannot serve "two masters, but I had got fond of you and would ,save you if I could. My duty was to Simon Bur- -fton, and I have betrayed him." Betty softened a little. "You have been good to me," she said. "And I can understand you want to help your husband. JEunice, indeed, I am more than grateful, but I r, tnust tell Mr. Williams that danger threatens him. I could not go away myself and leave him to be murdered. I must tell him. Help me to con- sider what we shall say. I do not want any one to suffer because he has been hard on them." The other sat up with the weary resignation of ■old age. "They trusted me and I have betrayed them," she said. "If you tell Mr. Williams I have be- trayed them, there will be murder done, any- way. Crane and Orleans will be sent down to Parramatta to get a thousand lashes each, and shooting a man outright is nothing to that." It was true enough. That would be their fate, a suspected conspiracy and a conspiracy were much the same thing as far as punishment was concerned, and the girl looked in shrinking horror at the alternative presented her. "What can I do? What can I do?" she moaned. "Let things be," said the old woman coaxingly. Let things be. Ride down now and tell dainty Mistress McArthur how your husband has treated you and see what she will advise. I warrant she is as clever a woman as she is a kind one." "I can't. I should know you were killing him here, and though he has used me ill enough I cannot he a party to his death." "You said yourself, madam, he is more than a match for the two men here." "Ah, but not a match for Simon Burton, especially if he brings the savages in." "You cannot wonder if Simon hates him," flashed out the old woman. In truth, Betty did not. But, indeed, she bad no desire to defend her husband, only she could not see him murdered without warning him. And Eunice understood her feelings thoroughly, and understood, too, that the feelings of the ruling class would prevail. She would never throw in her lot with the convicts. If any one was to be sacrificed it must be the unfaithful servants, ■though they had been goaded into sin* She leaned back against the mud wall and looked at the girlish figure in the deepening dusk. The sun had set and the darkness was sweep- ing down swiftly. "I will try and get Mr. Williams to come away with me," said Betty. "You'd best keep your breath to cool your por- ridge, madam," but Betty crossed the yard to the main building. Her husband was looking out of the window ) puffing great clouds of smoke, and he turned round as she entered. "Why is not my supper cleared away, madam? "Eunice is not well," she said lightly, and he looked at her in surprise, for her tone was not that of an injured woman, indeed, she had for- gotten for a moment the scene of the afternoon in the new and pressing danger. She will be able to do no work, she must have rest. Will you take me back to town with you to-night?" "What d-d foolishness is this," said Wil- liams, rudely. "I came here to rest in my own house. I do not propose to go down to the Cove to-night. Betty put a light hand on his sleeve. "You are not really tired of me," she said, archly, though she felt her gaiety rang false. But once he would have done her bidding. Would he now? "It was but a foolish jest that the wine carried too far that you played on me this after- noon. You owe me some reparation, surely. I am weary of being here. Will you take me down to the MacArthur's to-night?" Betty drew her breath in sharply. She had failed, she knew, she saw suspicion in his eyes. He brought his hand down on the table with a sounding smack. "Before God," he said, "I am sick to death of you and your fine lady airs. I curse the day ever I saw your face. You have brought me no- thing but ill." "I brought you not even myself willingly," flashed Betty, moved to deepest anger. Why could she not go away and leave this man to his fate? But she could not, and if she would save him and herself she would have to tell him the truth. It seemed to her the only way out of the difficulty. She stood and looked at him a moment, then she drew herself up. Could she save Eunice and these two men, criminals though they were, would-be murderers though they were? They would have been peaceful hinds under another master. "I want to get away," she said. "I am frightened here. When I was outside just now I saw a little blackfellow slipping through the f Pn ce. He always comes to me for broken meats, but he did not come to-night and he slipped away when I saw him. That looks bad." "It would," mocked Williams, "but it happens to be a lie. What are you lying to me for, madam ?" "I have never asked you to do anything for me yet, prayed Betty earnestly, "only take me away to-night." I'll be hanged if I do, unless you give me a better reason than that." He had right on his side. Betty felt she was asking a most unreasonable thing, and yet how save him and how save his servants as well. "There's something at the bottom of this," he said, angrily. "If the Indians come we must defend my gear. Do you think I can afford to lose it?" "If there are twenty or thirty of them, how ccxuld we?" "Three men and two women under shelter against such poor creatures! Why I could hold them single handed, I believe," said Williams. "Could you-can you trust tile servants?" Williams wheeled round, and Betty knew she had betrayed Eunice even as Eunice had betrayed Simon. "Whew! So the wind is in that quarter. A convict rising, and you will have me got away and have them raid the farm. A nice wife I have gotten for myself. Here, where's that old woman ?" He put his hand on Betty's shoulder and thrust her back into the room, then going to the door he shouted aloud, "Eunice! Eunice!" Betty suppressed an inclination to call out "Don't come," and then the obedience of long years of servitude asserted itself. Across the yard came Eunice as quickly as she could. "What devil's business is thia now?" asked her master. Quick, make a ole&n breast of it if you don't want to find yourself in. the stocks." Eunice turned reproackful eyes on Betty, sad old eyes that said, "I have done my little best for you and this is my reward." "Eunice," she said, quickly, "knows nothing of it. What are you dragging her into it for? Surely I may be afraid without telling my as- signed servant," she said, with an effort at haughty indifference. "You may," said Williams, grimly, "but as I know you it is not likely. You're thick as thieves with Eunice. Do you think I haven't seen that. Come now, what's going to happen to-night or to- morrow morning?" "Nothing is going to happen that I know of," said the old woman, apparently with dull in- difference. It had grown so dark they could hardly see each other's faces. "Bring a light, commanded Williams, and she brought in a lamp from the kitchen, set it in the middle of the table and stood where the light fell full on her face. "Now what is this? "Nothing, nothing," she smoothed her apron down. She would retrieve as far as possible her false step. However sorry she might be for her mistress, she could not throw in her lot with this man. Since Mistress Williams would not take the chance she had given her, she would have to dree her own weird. "Nothing," said Williams, hia anger rising, "nothing. We'll soon see if it is nothing." He picked up a heavy decanter by the neck. "Now, Eunice Burton, what about this convict con- spiracy that neither you nor this wife of mine know anything about?" and he held the decanter threateningly over her head. "Mr. Williams," cried Betty imploringly. "What about this conspiracy?" The old woman looked at the threatening de- canter, quailed a little before it and then ap- parently made up her mind. "I know nothing, sir, just nothing." "What about this conspiracy? asked Williams again, as if he had never heard her. "Mr. Williams, Mr. Williams," prayed Betty, "that decanter is heavy. You may do her a hurt, and she put her hand on his arm. He jerked it off easily, for he was a powerful man. "That rests with herself," said he. "What about this conspiracy, Eunice?" "Nothing, sir," she said again, and down came the bottle crash against the side of her head, and she dropped like a stone. A piercing shriek burst from Betty's lips, and she flew to the old woman's side and raised her head. She gasped once or twice, and looked at Betty with unseeing eyes. She had received her death hurt. "She is dying, she is dying," sobbed the horri- fied girl. Williams had gone a little further than he in- tended. He had only intended to scare the old woman, but the brute beast in him could not resist the blow when she defied him. "She brought it on herself," he said, half- apologetically, "she most certainly brought it on herself. She's dead, madam. Get up and stop that snivelling." She was dead, certainly she was dead, even Betty's ignorant eyes saw that, and she smoothed down ner hair and closed her eyes. Only a convict serving woman, but Betty had grown to love her more than she knew, and it seemed to her that she had certainly brought her to her death. She had betrayed her, she had put her in Williams' power, and she rose to her feet with a shuddering sigh. "What now?" she whispered. "What now?" said Williams, recovering his equanimity, "well now, I don't mind taking horse as you so kindly suggested a quarter of an hour ago, and starting for Parramatta." "I see, I see," breathed Betty, scarcely above her breath, "a face at the window." It was Crane's face, and it vanished as she spoke, but with one movement Williams put out the light, then went softly and closed the shutter, while Betty, alive to the danger of the situation, barred the door into the yard. The three rooms apart from the rest of the farm bui1 lings were built for possible defence, and in a aioment or two Williams and his wife were safe from any- thing the two convict serving men could do alone. "The mischief is," said Williams, "they'll bring in all the bolters that have been hid in the woods for the last six months, to say nothing of the Indians." "What will they do?" breathed Betty, as her husband, having made sure they were safe for the present, felt about for tinder and steel and lighted the lamp. "They will burn the place, they will kill me, and for you-well, madam, you may guess your fate." They were facing death together, but they were as far apart as the poles. I CHAPTER XVIII. FLIGHT. It is true fortitude to stand firm against All shocks of fate, when cowards fight and die In fear to suffer more calamity. "The horses are in the stable," breathed Betty. "And much chance we have of getting them." "There are only the two men. You are a match for them both. They have no firearms." "How can I be sure of that?" said Williams. "Besides, the man who lies hid has the advantage, just as the man in the house has till they fire it." There came a sudden knocking at tHe door, and they both started. "Who's there? called Williams. "Me," said Orleans, and the Servility had gone from his voice. "Well, what do you want?" "Mistress Williams," was the unexpected reply. "Many a good turn she's done us, and we're agoin' to burn you out in a jiff, as soon as the others come along but we've no quarrel with her." "And if I give her up? asked Williams. "She'll come to no harm with us. We ain't so sure of any other chaps that might come along: "Why, she'll run away and swear to the lot of you," mocked Williams, and the other man laughed back. "I reckon we can take care of that. Put her out of the door, and I reckon I'll take as good care of her as ever you done." "You must give us time to think," said Williams. She doesn't want to come. "Then I reckon," said the mocker, "as it's the first time she ever hankered after your society. Plenty of time. I'll give you half an hour. Williams turned and looked at his wife. She lay on the sofa with her face pressed against the pillows. She looked white and miserable. "Do you want to go?" he asked, sullenly. "They evidently don't think there's the smallest chance for me." "Your only chance is to get up and fight them now—now, while they are only two," said Betty, wearily. It seemed to her that she had gone through so much of late it would be quite an easy thing to die, provided only the death came quickly. "How do I know there are only two of them? I am convinced I shall be killed the moment I go outside. The woods may be full of Indians with ears like hares. You yourself saw a boy slipping through-" "That was a lie to make you start for Parra- matta. I understood from Eunice the attack was to be to-morrow. She wanted me to get away, and she would not have suggested that if the woods had been full of Indians." Still Williams looked doubtful. "There is no trusting these people." "There are only two of them, unless Crane has gone to bring the others, and say there is no longer need for delay. We could get away now. "We might, but it is a terrible risk." "Let me go, then," said Betty. "If you will no fight when I do believe only Orleans is there, let me go, then, if I can get away I might slip down to Parramatta and get help." You might do that/' said Williams, thought- fully. "But you'd be as thankful for my death as Orleans himself." Betty smiled. Only," she said, "I would do my best to keep you from being murdered for my own sake. Do you think I want to have blood on my con- science?" "We are doomed here," said Williams, pacing the room like a caged beast. It is our only hope. Are you there ? he asked, raising his voice. "Here," said a voice with startling suddenness, right under the window. "Mistress Williams will collect her gew-gaws and be with you in ten minutes. I will open this door and let her out." "If you but show yourself in the doorway," said the warning voice, "I will let daylight through you." "You have no musket." "Stand in the doorway and you'll see." Betty gathered together a few belongings, and a cloak and hood, for the night was just a little chilly. She had reached that stage in her life when nothing seemed to matter much. She could not be much more miserable and shamed than she had been as Williams' wife, and if death come, well, then it would come. And yet somehow when she saw him standing there, waiting for her, she pitied him. "I am sorry," she said, helnlessly; "make a rush for it when you open the door." But Williams shook his head. "If you can get away, or can in any way get news to Elizabeth Farm, I can hold out," he said. "But you will not." "I will, indeed I will, if I possibly can. I will not live with you again-never, never. I will be a servant in Mistress MacArthur's house, I will do anything rather than live with you but I will save your life if I can. Be sure of that, be very sure of that." He looked at her face, but she turned away. She was leaving him to a lonely watch which would probably end in death, but he should never touch her lips again if she could help it, and something of her feelings he read in her face, for he stooped and kissed her hand. "I suppose I haven't been the best of hus- bands, Betty," he said, "but you scorned from the first what many a woman would have been proud to have. Good-bye." "Good-bye, and I will save you if I can," Then he opened the door and thrust her out into the darkness, and she heard it bang behind her. (To be continued.)
PRESIDENT CASTRO. I
PRESIDENT CASTRO. I The Venezuelan Congressional Hall at Caracas was crowded on Saturday, when President Castro read the Message announcing his resignation of the Presidency. The members of the diplomatic body were present. After reviewing the conditions of the country, President Castro denounced the errors of his countrymen and said Internal discord must end, or else the country will reach a shameful dissolution." Regarding the inter- vention of the foreign Powers, he said that it was brought about by a league of people who, unable to submit their claims to the impartiality of the tribunals, employed force, and that because he re- fused to submit to the Anglo-German exactions, they, acting in collusion with General Matos, endeavoured to get rid of him. "Now that the sovereignty of the nation is safeguarded," he continued, I deliver my abdication in order that you may proceed legally to call him who should take my place, so that there may remain to no Venezuelan the slightest pretext for hostility to his country, or connivance with the foreigners, who, without any ground save force, fell upon unfortunate Venezuela, trampling under foot reason and justice, to the detriment of civilisation and the beautiful conquests of right. With head uplifted and with tranquil conscience, I return to the efforts of toil with honour and dignity. All the energies and possibilities of my life are at your service, should it become necessary to arise and defend our country against the attacks of foreigners. All the glory I ask is to beho1" Venezuela becoming respected, prosperous, tappy."
MUNICIPAL SHEEP FARMING. I
MUNICIPAL SHEEP FARMING. I Torquay Town Council has successfully carried out a sheep-farming experiment. It possesses over 2,000 acres of land around its reservoirs on Dartmoor. During the financial year just clos- ing it bought 190 sheep for Y.243, sold 112 in the market for E226, and still has 151 sheep and lambs worth CM5 12s. Councillors claim that the experiment has paid, and shows a credit balance of £ 250. Consequently the town council is about to go in for sheep farming on a large scale, as well as for colt breeding.
[No title]
As a memorial to Archbishop Sheldon, it is proposed to restore the ancient church at Ickford, Bucks, at a cost of £ 1,680. The Archbishop, who wan formerly rector of the parish, initiated the scheme for the re-erection of St. Paul's Cathedral after the great Fire of London, and contributed £4,000 to the work.
I THE WOMAN'S WORLD.
I THE WOMAN'S WORLD. We often have a garment that is worn out, but are anxious to preserve the pattern. Do not rip it apart, but cut every piece as close to the seams as possible,, iron it quite smooth, lay it on your paper and cut a pattern by it, allowing for the seams. You can do it quickly, and will then have a pattern that fits. The lining of silk waists is often quite good when the outside is worn out, needing merely to be cleaned at the neck and wrists. While it would not pay to put them in heavy cloth bodices, they can be utilised with but little work for the foundation of pretty silk or light woollen waists. Waists of light coloured silk that have become soiled can be cleaned by washing in gasoline. All ladies aesthetically inclined, writes "Fan- freluche" from Paris to the "Morning Leader," are wearing queer new jewellery. There are rings wrought from strange-coloured gold and in- crusted with transparent enamels and green stones of varying shades, which represent large spiders, goblins, and curious water animals, sug- gestive of the unknown regions of deep green seas. These are also made into buttons sold in sets of threes, and into waist buckles and brooches. They are generally executed to order by de Monbel to carry out the idea of some gown specially designed for the wearer. The most out-of-the-way stones are used for these orna- ments, slabs of rough opal stone, flat blister pearls, uncut turquoises, being more specially in demand. Umbrella handles and the tops of reti- cules and purses are also made in these designs incrusted with chrysoprase, amethyst, topaz, or even violet quartz crystals, with excellent effect. A new kind of jewel for the hat which is neither a brooch nor a buckle, but a kind of jewelled motif to fasten down long ostrich plumes is also in vogue. In many cases the motif is continued down the length of the stem of the plume in delicate Rhine stones or seed pearls. Beautifully artistic is the fashionable Parisian notepaper, in delicate tinting, with a sculptured head or figure at the top or left side. Quite dis- tinct from this, however, are sheets in curious blues and greys that suggest clouds floating over the surface, on which have been stamped sprigs of almond blossom and other Japanesque effects. But far more extraordinary is the lace notepaper. Here, on a pale heliotrope or green ground, is the print of a very lacy white handkerchief, reaching almost to the edge of the paper, the envelopes to match appearing like a handker- chief folded in four, the lace point coming over on to the flap. This new stationery is varied, and is bought according to the style of the lace-as a box of Brussels lace, or Renaissance lace. Nothing is more affected by fashion than old furniture. Twenty years ago the Louis XIV. style was everywhere sought after. At present that style is of comparatively little value, and the Louis XVI. enjoys general favour. As an ex- ample of this the "Burlington Magazine" men- tions a Louis XIV. work, which at the disposal of the Duke of Hamilton's famous collection in 1882, fetched £ 12,000. To-day it is not worth a quarter y of that sum. The reasons given for this are curious first, because this kind of furniture is ill-fitted to resist the climate of the New World, and it is the Americans who are chiefly respon- sible for present prices; secondly, because most fine pieces of furniture have been very frequently reproduced by our modern cabinet-makers, whose copies, save to the most practised eyes, are ab- solutely equal to the originals: and it is always unpleasant to pay fifteen or twenty thousand pounds for a piece of furniture of which your neighbour has purchased the fellow for a few hundreds. Here are some valuable "tips" on manners:— The illness of a friend should be the occasion of leaving cards with "To inquire" written on them as soon as possible. If the invalid is a lady, and a vory great friend, leave one of your own cards and one of your hus- band's. In the case of a mere acquaintance the husband's card would not be jeft. If the invalid is a man, leave one of your hus- band's cards only, with "To inquire" written across it in the same way. Cards "To inquire" are never sent by post, though, if necessary, it is allowable to send them by a servant. If the illness lasts some time, cards should be left about once a week. In the case of a slight illness, these cards are acknowledged by the invalid calling on the sen- ders as soon as she is sufficiently recovered. Wedding-favours are worn on the left side; they are given to the guests before they leave their seats in church at the conclusion of the ceremony. At the re-marriage of a widow favours are not worn. The bride's mother walks up the church be- hind the bridesmaids, leaning on the arm of her son or some other near relative. The bride's relations sit at the right-hand side of the church, the bridegroom's on the left, thus being at his right hand when ho walks down the church with his bride after the service. The bridegroom generally wears a flower in his buttonhole; he does not wear a wedding-favour. When paying visits of condolence always wear black. A visitor in colours is incongruous in a house of mourning. If you are leaving cards on a mother with grown-up daughters, turn down the top right- hand corner of the card to show that the daugh- ter is included in the call. A foreigner sometimes turns down the end of the card. This simply means the card was left in person, not sent by a servant. If you happen to be in the drawing-room when a visitor is announced for a guest, she should in- troduce her to you, but you should make an ex- cuse to leave the room after a few minutes, and not return till the visitor has left. A "county house" should always be "Liberty Hall." People in a country house should feel and un- derstand that their pleasure makes that of their hostess, and as long as they are punctual at din- ner and luncheon, and behave as "ladies and gentlemen," they will be free to enjoy and amuse themselves as best pleases them. As the days begin to grow longer and spring weather is expected (says "Fanfreluche") Parisiennes, in view of what they call "le foot- ing,' which simple English people merely call walking, are setting to ordering many new cos- tumes provided with a "jupe trotteur." This jupe is merely the short skirt, tight fitting round the hips and waist, and broadening out some- what near the hem, which generally clears the ground above the ankles. Of necessity, when a skirt is short and broadening out at the bottom, it always suggests the idea of the "jupe cloche." or the bell-shaped skirt, and at the beginning cf each season, for the last three or four years, the ominous word "crinoline" is continually being brought forward by those who pretend to be in the know; the short skirt, narrow at top and broad at bottom, certainly shows a dangerous tendency. There is no doubt that the short skirt is popular. It is so extremely convenient and practical in every way. A very favourite model for the short skirt is the hip-yoke model, which has a flat yoke, into which tight kilted pleats are set and fall limply to the lower edge. This skirt is now not only made in tweeds, Cheviots, and cloth, but also or thinner materials, and trimmed with a certain attempt at elegance. Thus, for instance, a pale lilac cloth "trotteur" was made with three flounces at the lower edge, each flounce being headed with a ruche of taffetas of the same colour. The skirt fell just down to the tops of the dainty boots with which it was worn, and was decidedly bell- shaped. It had a small bolero of the same cloth, trimmed over the shoulders with wide braces of Oriental embroidery. These braces rose from the waist line behind, crossed the should&rs, and terminated on the bust with large motifs of silken "passementerie," and long ends and tas- sels falling almost to the knees. The wide sleeves were edged with a similar motif of embroidery and long hanging tassels. The blouse opened in front ever a chemisette of Venetian point lace, which lace reappeared on the sleeves as large "bouffons" and cuffs.
I HOME HINTS. I
I HOME HINTS. I Enamelled iron articles can be easily cleaned with a damp flannel on which powered pumice has been sprinkled. Rub the surface of the enamel lightly. Strengthening Jelly.—Put one ounce each of sago, ground rice, pearl barley, eryngo-root, and gelatine, previously soaked, in cold water boil gently till reduced one-hrlf. Strain and set aside till wanted. A few spoonfuls of this jelly may be dissolved in broth, tea, or milk. It is nourishing and easily digested. Fried egg and rice are popular for breakfast. Parboil some nicely-washed rice, then simmer till cooked in some good stock or gravy with half a tea- spoonful of curry powder, cayenne, salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice. Set on a hot dish with fried eggs on the top. To Keep Fish Fresh.—If fish is found to be slightly touched or tainted, the best thing is to steep it for a short time in dilute Condy's fluid, which destroys the tainted particles, and leaves the fish perfectly sweet and wholesome, and with its natural flavour unimpaired. When restored to freshness, cook it at once. Condy's fluid leaves neither taste nor smell of its own, so that its use cannot be detected, while its action is easily veri- fied. Rabbit Salad.—Cut the rabbit into fillets, remove the bones, rub the salad bowl with an onion or garlic, and lay in the meat pour over a puree from half a tin of tomatoes rubbed through a sieve, or use tomato sauce sprinkle shalot or tar- ragon vinegar over, and a teaspoonful of spiced vinegar. On the top arrange lettuce, garden and water cress, radishes, and, if the rabbit was stuffed, cubes of the stuffing. Serve with the cruets and a moist sugar for those who like to mix their own salad dressing. How to Make Gruel.—Ingredients One table- spoonful of oatmeal, one pint of boiling water, two tablespoonfuls of cold water, and sugar or salt. Mix the oatmeal smoothly with the two table- spoonfuls of cold water, then pour on the boiling water gradually, stirring it all the time put it into a small saucepan, bring it to the boil, and let it simmer for half an hour, stirring it very often to prevent it burning, and to make it smooth. Serve it with sugar or salt. If the oatmeal is very coarse, the gruel should be strained. Rico Cake.—Required lib. flour, lb. rice flour, 2 ilb. sugar, ftlb. butter, four eggs, two teaspoonfuls of baking-powder, one teaspoonful essence of vanilla, salt and milk. Mode Beat butter to a cream, add the yolks of the eggs and the sugar beat very lightly. Then add the flour (after being well dried before the fire or in the oven), baking- powder, pinch of salt, vanilla, and sufficient milk to make a nice thick batter. Beat up the whites of the eggs to a stiff froth, and add them last. Mix all very lightly and bake for two hours in a moderate oven. Veal and Ham Pie.—Cut up 21b. of good veal into cutlets and -ilylb. of boiled ham or lean bacon, pepper and salt to taste, and place in layers in a deep piedish sprinkle a few savoury herbs amongst the meat, and add two hard-boiled eggs cut in slices. Pour about half a pint of cold water in the dish, and cover it with a light piecrust, ornament it with leaves, and brush over with the yolk of an egg bake it in a hot oven for an hour and a half, or longer. When it is taken out of the oven some rich gravy should be poured in at the top of the pie, through a funnel.—" Spare Moments." Moths in Carpets.—If the moths are in a carpet, turn it back and iron on the wrong side with a good hot flat iron. Then sprinkle the floor under- neath liberally with turpentine, pouring it into the cracks in the floor if there are any. Rub the turpentine in, and then you can turn back your carpet. Repeat this treatment two or three days. Some people sponge the right side of the carpet with spirits of turpentine before ironing. The spirit must not be used near a light or fire. House Plants.—Palms, and plants of a like nature, should never be left standing in water, or the roots will gradually rot. A far better plan is to stand the pot once a week for half an hour i< enough lukewarm water to completely cover it. Except in very hot weather it will need no water between these soak-ings, and in damp, muggy weather once in ten days is often enough. Rc-. member that plants breathe through the pores in the leaves, and if these are choked with dust they are sure to grow sickly. To Control the Mouth.—It does not seem to be generally understood that the lips, more than any feature of the face, are amenable to control. Many young people especially have a habit of allowing the mouth to remain open. This gives a foolish and vacant expression to the face. If the lips are coarse, thick, and puffy, these defects are accentuated by keeping the mouth open and it follows, therefore, that persons with thick lips should specially cultivate the habit of keeping them closed. It is not at all difficult to acquire. Things Worth Knowing.—Hors d'ceuvres aro relishes served to each guest before the soup— usually on small glass or china dishes. Bad cooking causes many ailments. Salmon, herring, mackerel, and eels, being oily, are the least digestible fish, and should not be given to invalids select for them whiting, sole, plaice, or flounders. A pinch of alum added to the vinegar when making red cabbage and onion piokle ensures that delicious crispness without which the pickle is thought but little of. Great care should be taken not to break the skin or rootlets of a beetroot before it has been boiled, or the colour will all run into the water, leaving the beetroot anything but appetising to look at. Should, however, the skin be damaged or cut, sear the part with a red-hot poker this will harden the outside, and so prevent the colour escaping.—" Evening News." The Front Door-step.—The young servant, usually through ignorance rather than carelessness, cleans the front door-step in the very way that experienced servants will tell her not to do it. Sh. adopts the habit of working her hearthstone in circles, with the result that when the step is dry, the mark of these circles is apparent. The trained servant cleans the step by working the hearth- stone from right to left and left to right, in straight lines, and before putting away the hearthstone she wipes it with her wet flannel to rub off uneven accumulations at the corners. Welsh Rarebit.—Take half a pound of cheese, one ounce of butter, a tablespoonful of ale, a little salt and mustard, some buttered toast. Put the butter in a pan, and when it has melted put in the cheese, sliced, the seasoning, and the ale; and when all are incorporated into a thick cream, pour it over and serve hot. Sunday Pudding.—One pound of bread-crumbs, ten ounces of suet finely shredded, half a pound of raisins stoned, half a pound of sultanas, six ounces of castor sugar, the grated rind of a large fresh lemon, and four eggs. Mix thoroughly, and steam in a mould or basin, from four to five hours. Serve with either custard or wine sauce. Coffee Buns.—Three-quarters of a pound of flour, three ounces of, btitter; rub the butter into the flour with the hand, then put in a table or desert- spoonful of yeast, two eggs well beaten, half a pint of warm new milk mix all well together. Let them stand to lighten, then add three ounces of pounded lump sugar and bake in little tins. Cheese Straws.—Three ounces of grated cheese, three ounces of butter, three ounces of flour, the yolk of an egg, cayenne, and salt. Mix all into a paste, roll out very thin, cut into narrow strips of equal lengths, twist and lay on a greased baking-tin, and bake a light brown in a quick oven. Cheese- biscuits may be made in the same manner, and stamped out with a round or fancy cutter. Lancashire Hot Pot.—Ingredients Six mutton cutlets, three sheep's kidneys, one onion, six or eight potatoes, salt, pepper, curry-powder, gravy. Place the cutlets at the bottom of an earthenware dish or stew pan, then a layer of chopped kidneys and an onion cut into thin slices, then a thick layer of sliced potatoes sprinkle over these a little salt, pepper, and curry-powder put a few whole potatoes on the top of all, and pour in some good gravy. Cook in a quick oven: Boiled Lemon Pudding.—Quarter of a pound of suet, one lemon, crumb of a half-quarten loaf, quarter of a pound of loaf sugar, two eggs, half a wineglassful of brandy, same of sherry, half an ounce of citron peel, and twelve sweet almonds. Grate bread, add suet finely chopped, citron peel and almonds cut finely or pounded. Beat eggs briskly for fifteen minutes, add brandy'and sherry, beating briskly all the time. Then add the sugar -crushed-and, lastly, the juice and rind of the lemon. Mix well with dry ingredients, tie down in a well-greased mould, and boil for four hours.
. ART AND LITERATURE.
ART AND LITERATURE. The London Library is bringing out a new cata- logue of the 220,000 volumes on its shelves. The last catalogue was issued in 1883, but in a few years it became more or less obsolete. From March, 1895, to March, 1898, on an average 00 volumes were listed daily. The new catalogue contains something like 2,170.000 words, and runs to 2000 pages. The total cost of preparing the M.S. copy and printing and binding an edition of 3009 copies has run into £ 4250. The announcement is made that the popular periodical, "Navy and Army Illustrated." has been acquired by a syndicate, which has also pur- chased The King." The two papers are to be amalgamated, and on and after the 4th of April will be published by Messrs. George Newnes under the title of The King and his Army and Navy." Commander C. N. Robinson, R.N., who has so ably edited The Navy and Army Illustrated" from its start, and "The King" also for some months past, will conduct the combined paper, and the principal features of each publication will be retained in it. For two vacancies in the Royal Scottish Academy 26 painters and 10 architects were nomi- nated. Mr. John Bowie, portrait-painter, and Mr. R. S. Lorimer, architect, Edinburgh, were elected. Mrs. Batson in her" Book of the Garden" has a story of a bookseller, who, when asked for Ibsen's Doll's House," said he did not stock it, but would get it with pleasure. It is in the Juvenile Series," he said," as, of course, you know." It reminds one of Punch's" music-seller, who when asked for Moses in Egypt," replies that it is not in stock, but he has got "Ehren, on the Rhine." Mr. Gilbert Bayes, who is (the H Morning Post" remarks) one of our most promising sculptors, will send an important work to the Royal Academy this year. It is an elaborate composition, entitled the t; Fountain of the Zodiae Belt," and consists of a stone base, with bronze fittings, surmounted with the bronze figure of a girl, which suggests the title. In front is a small basin, and on the three other sides are stone seats. This, the work of two or three years, will be accompanied by two smaller exhibits, both in bronze. To the New Gallery he will contribute two statuettes, one an Egyptian figure called Invocation," and the other the head and shoulders of a Knight. Both are of bronze, but the latter is fully coloured and gilt. When the Leeds policeman, of artistic fame, suc- ceeded in getting one of his pictures into Burling- ton House the comic papers fell ravenously upon the obvious jest, and pleasantries about a genuine Constable were as common as black- berries in autumn. The other day, however, the harmless jape was repeated, in all good faith, in another form, at the Winter Ex- bition at the Royal Academy. Two old ladies were admiring a landscape, and, on consulting their catalogue, they found it was a Constable." Of course, you remember, my dear!" said one to the other, that clever young policeman, whom there was so much talk about! This is one of his pictures. It's really quite good, isn't it ?" Some time before her death the late Louisa Lady Ashburton commissioned Mrs. E. M. Ward to paint several pictures. Lady Ashburton's com- missions included replicas of two full length family portraits, one of her grandfather, Lord Seaforth, and the other of the Hon. Frederica Mackenzie. The originals formerly hung in the Gold Room of Kent House, Knightsbridge, and Lady Ashburton wished for replicas in order that she might present them to Colonel Stewart Mackenzie, in whose house in Scotland she wished them to be placed. The other pictures were studies of the interior of Kent House itself. la the principal one Mrs. Ward showed Lady Ash- burton seated in the dining-room of her house, with Watts's portrait of her daughter, the late Lady Northampton, hanging on the wall in the background. All the pictures, which were not quite completed at the time of Lady Ashburton's death, were shown at Mrs. Ward's studio a few days ago. They attracted a large number of visitors, and the artist received many compliments on the excellence of her work. In his census, supplied as a supplement to the Oxford facsimile of the Chatsworth First Folio .of Shakespeare, Mr. Sidney Lee enters 156 copies, and mentions two reported lest. Eight private persons are the happy possessors of perfect copies —namely, the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, the Earl of Carysfort, the Earl of Crawford, Captain Holford, Mr. A. H. Huth and Mr. B. B. MaeGeorge, and Mr. C. Scribner and Mr. W. A. White, of New York. The copies belonging to the Earl of Ellesmere, Mr. F. A. Newdigate, M.P., and Mr. E. E. Harcourt Vernon alone seem to have been from the first in the hands of the family who now possess them. Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan owns three copies, the Baroness Burdett-Coutts and Lord Amherst of Hackney have two each, and two copies form part of the estate of the late Adolph Sutro of San Francisco. The copies are thus distributed in public institutions London, 12; New York. five; Oxford, four; Cambridge, three; Strat- ford-on-Avon, three; Manchester, two; and one at the following places: Birmingham, Blackburn, Durham, Eton, Plymouth, Glasgow, Dublin, Auck- land, N.Z., Cape Town, Sydney, Berlin, Padua, Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, Providence, R.I., and Washington. The British Museum and the New York Public Library have each four First- Folios; the Victoria and Albert Museum, three; and Trinity College, Cambridge, and the Trustees of Shakespeare's Birthplace, two each. Duriryg; the first year's work of the British and Foreign Bible Society 100 years ago they spent £ 69, and thought they had a big thing. So they had, but they were to do more. Last year they spent £ 241,143, and since the foundation of the society they have expended £ 13,000,000. Those are big figures, but when translated into numbers of books they are bigger still. The society last year issued over 5,000,000 copies of the Scriptures, and since its commencement a total of 180,000,000. Seven thousand volumes are sent out from London alone every day of the week through every week of the year. The output from all the society's depots, including London, averages 16,000 copies per day. A sensational scandal in the art world of Paris is threatened. The "Presse" reports that the police recently raided the showrooms of a. leading dealer in works of art and antiquities and confis- cated a number of articles of doubtful authen- ticity. The dealer suspected that the authorities. had been put on the scent by certain of his rivals in business, and made inquiries which confirmed him in this belief. In his turn, now, he has decided to expose to the authorities certain art frauds which he alleges to have been committed with impunity in Paris for years past, of which many amateur collectors, both in Europe and America, have been victims. Even the State itself, he asserts, has not escaped, but has purchased more than one fake for the Louvre and other museums. In one instance, involving a purchase of 400,000 francs in value, the indignant dealer claims to be able to give irrefutable proofs of manipulation. Under the title of Happiness Essays on the Meaning of Life," Professor F. G.Peabody has translated (just published), a volume by Professor Carl Hilty, of Berne University, who is widely known in Germany and Switzerland for his many important works on political sub- jects, as well as for a series of books on the inner life. This volume of essays is one of the latter, and the book makes it appeal especially to "the hesitating, the restless, and the dissatisfied— they who are so beset by the cares of living that they have no time for life itself." Professor Hilty's reflections are marked by a deeply spiritual tone Mr. W. Eyre Walker, a member of the Royal Society of Painters in Water-Colours, has, in the galleries of the Fine Art Society, an exhibition of water-colour drawings of Woodland, Moor, and Stream," which can be sincerely com- mended. It is especially remarkable he-cause the artist possesses an unusual capacity for elaborating detail without losing the breadth and simplicity of his general effect. His drawings are precise and minutely finished, Z, but they are at the same time full of atmospherie quality and'eharm of subtle illumination. They are soundly drawn, and the subjects they repre- sent are generally well selected; and they are in their quiet way decidedly pleasant in colour. The show is an attractive one, and is not wanting in variety.