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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] WHICH…
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] WHICH WAS THE HEIRESS? OB, THE CURSE OF ADRIAN BLAIR. By EDITH C. KENYON, BY EDITH C. KENYON, Author of JacFs Cousin Kate," The Squire of Lonsdale" A Poor Relation," etc. etc. CHAPTER XXV. I A FALSE REPORT. I "AND SO you know, Dora, Lord Herbert thinks it will be no use saying any more to you about the matter. He is convinced that after speaking as you did, you do not love him." "Not love him?" repeated Dora in an inde- scribable tone. Not love him Why, Douglas, the very servants love him, everybody, everybody, Douglas," she repeated, everybody loves him." "Everybody? Does that mean you?" Dora turned away her poor plain face, that he might not see the painful blush which rose to her very brows. Oh said Douglas, sits the wind so ?" and he laughed pleasantly. "Douglas, I made a mistake that night," said Dora. I—I was so silly-I thought Doris loved him." "And so you gave him up for her ? You quixotic, generous girl! He looked admiringly at her. I I I Well, you see, Doris always comes first with me," said Dora. "Douglas, you don't know all that she has been to me When I was a child, and ran away here, she took me under her protec- tion, induced her father to let me stay, and afterward", got him to allow me to have every educational advantage at his expense. Always, always, she has been my kindest and best friend." Except Lord Herbert," suggested Douglas slyly. Lord Herbert has been very good to me," said Dora, Oh, how can he care for a plain-faced, disfigured girl like me You have a voice," suggested Douglas, Doesn't the poet say, Who has a singing voice is richly dight ?'" But what's a voice," said Dora, longing for more than that to bring her lover. 0 Her voice was ever soft." Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman, quoted Douglas again. "There, that's Shakespere," he added. At that moment a maid came running in, "Oh Miss Dora," she cried, the master's killed What! exclaimed Douglas, aghast. Oh, what are you saying ? cried Dora. "Bill has just run over half distracted, Miss, to say Master and Mr. Adrian Blair's been fighting again, and master's killed." Miss Dora cried Legott, hurrying in," my dear young lady, try to bear up. "• This is awful news indeed "Awful!" repeated Douglas. Here, keep up, Dora, I'm off to see for myself what has happened. Mary, don't stand crying there. Tell me where your master is ? Lor, sir Mary was thinking the Rector, Mr. Scott, would be better able to answer that question than herself. Speak Tell me where he is ?" repeated Douglas, excitely. "It happened in the Summerhouse, so Bill says," replied the maid hastily, Oh, yes, Master Douglas, sir, do go and see if it is really true." Douglas tore off, snatching up his cap as he did so. He had no purticuiar love for his step-father, still this was an awful thing which had happened to him. He had not himself been aware that Mr. Adrian Blair was in the neighbourhood, much less in the Summerhouse in one of their own woods. Of the former fight between the cousins on the night of Adrian Blair's first appearance he had heard only a faint outline, and was unaware that the latter afterwards wandered through the wood, sought shelter in the Summerhouse and fell down the stairs into the cellar, where he lay until dis- covered by Mrs. Smith. He had not been a kind step-father to him, nor a good husband to his mother, but in relation to Doris, whom Douglas dearly loved, Mr. Blair had shown himself more amiable. Where was Doris ? Surely she did not know this cruel thing which had happened. Doris 4n orphan Her happy, childlike face clouded with sorrow Her beautiful person clothed in mourning The thought filled him with conster- nation as be ran on. Arrived at the Summerhouse, he ran lightly up the steps and into the room, where the first thing that he saw was his step-father, sitting up, with two black eyes, swearing lustily. The sight was so unexpected that Douglas invol- untarily uttered a cry of amazement. What the dickens are you here for, you pale- faced nin-come-poop?" cried Ambrose Blair, turn- ing his wrath upon the new comer. Were you in the conspiracy against me too ?" Conspiracy against you! Me No, no," ex- claimed Douglas. Then why have you come here with that scared looked upon your ugly phiz ? "They told me you were dead—killed in a fight!" replied Douglas, who was used to being called ugly by his affectionate step-father. He was in truth rather good-looking than otherwise, and perhaps he knew it-anyway he was content W¡th his appearance. 1 Sorry to disappoint you, my boy sneered his step-father, "but I've not gone yet. No, not yet." Well, I'm glad of that!" Are you ?" Ambrose interjected the question Suspiciously. "Yes. But surely, father, you are hurt. Doctor," turning to the medical man, can you not do something more for him 1" "Well," returned Dr. King, there hasn't been much time lost. He had only just come out of the most deathlike swoon lever saw when you arrived. Now I ought to put a few stitches in that wound on hig brow "Blast you if you do I'll have no stiches. If you want to try your sewing powers you must do it on someone else!" cried the Squire, I Now, Doris," turning to her, and speaking in a loud domineering voice, I mean what I say; you must not, shall not-" Papa," entreated Doris, can we not settle the matter in private? Please say no more until We are alone." Pooh! you did not disobey me in private, Miss, and in private you shall not be reproved. What I say, I say openly; Dr. King will do for a Witness fil "Excuse me, Squire," interrupted the doctor, Pitying the girl's distress and confusion. I wish to hear no more. As Miss Blair rightly remarks, private matters should be settled in private. Now let me put some sticking-plaster on that head, and bind up that arm, then I will be off." Be off now!" cried Ambrose Blair, rudely, H Yon are not wanted here young man Douglas, clear him out, will you 1" The doctor's patience had been great, but he could not possibly remain after that. He there- fore, bowed and left the room. Douglas followed him down the steps, saying apologetically, You mustn't mind the governor. It seems to me his brain is a little affected by all this fighting and knocking about. It's the first time in my life I've heard him rough with my sister." Dr. King laid his hand kindly on the youth's shoulder. Douglas, I'm not offended," he said. It may be as you say, and I will come again when I'm sent for. But just one word of advice to you. Don't cross him now. Let him say what be likes. Words break no bones-he might be dangerous if opposed." "Dangerous! How ? In what way?" Well, I fear his mind is a little off his balance to-day. He looks as if he would stick atfnothing. Listen The Squire was storming and raging at Doris. Give him up," he was saying. Give Archie up, you are no child of mine A hoarse laugh seemed to the listeners to proceed from some bushes at a little distance. However, they saw no one, and their attention Was diverted by the sight of Doris running down the steps and getting into her carriage, She was Cl'ying as she did so, and sorely needed the helping hand which Douglas hastened to bestow, whilst Dr. King thought it better to withdraw. Father may get home as he can," said Doris, tossing her pretty bead, and gathering up the *eins. I shall not take him with me now." He's a brute began Douglas. "You must not say that," corrected Doris, although her tears fell again at the memory of his brutality. "How did he get there?" muttered Douglas, placing the rug carefully round her knees. "I don't know. Someone must have been a traitor," cried Doris. Yes," she repeated, "some- one must have been most treacherous." "You don't say so. Why- "Mr. Douglas," interrupted Mrs. Jones, run- ning out, Oh, sir, please come quick, the squire wants you." Douglas hurried back into the Summerhouse, and Doris drove rapidly off in the direction of her home. She was feeling very sore and angry with her father, and exceedingly indignant against the person, or persons unknown, who had betrayed to him that she was going to meet Archie Scott in the old Summerhouse that morning. Who could have been so unkind, so extremely unkind as to have informed him about it? It was not likely that Adrian Blair had told anyone, and Archie, for his own sake as well as hers would not trust their secret to anyone. She herself had taken no one into her confidence-but Dora. Yes, she had told Dora all about it. But Dora could not have betrayed her secret. No, Dora could not. Secrets of hers were always as safe with Dora as with her- self. Dora was most conscientious. Conscientious? Was that it ? Dora disapproved of her meeting Archie. Had she then conceived it to be her duty to inform Mr. Blair about it ? Just then, to her surprise, Doris perceived the covered carriage she had met on her way to the Summerhouse passing along a by-way through the wood, and she distinctly heard Adrian Blair's voice speaking in great excitement. "You have no right to take me away against my will," he was saying, "and when Jakes has helped me back you have no right to frustrate my plans. You-" "You had better hold your tongue," said the sharp incisive voice of Mrs. Constance Blair, the more wildly you act, the more wildly you talk, the easier it will be for me to get you taken care of for the remainder of your life How dare you talk to me in that way ? I am as sane as you are expostulated the sick man. Then prove it. Act sanely Doris had flung the reins to her page and was now running up to the carriage. Mr. Blair Mr. Blair," she cried, "I am here. Tell me what you have to say to me ? Mrs. Blair, please allow him to do so." "Driver, drive on," cried Mrs. Blair, putting her head out of the carriage window, and not looking at Doris, "for goodness sake drive on," she added. "No; stop, stop," cried Adrian, in a smothered voice, as if pliysioial force were being used against him. "Stand back, Miss," said the driver, lashing his horses, which bounded forward and dashed out of sight, round a turning of the woodland road. Doris felt deeply mortified. That Adrian Blair had something of importance to communicate to her she felt certain. But it was equally clear that his wife-who was just then the stronger of the two-was determined that he should not say it. Returning to her pony carriage, she got in, so absorbed in thought as not to hear the wondering questions which the astonished page ventured to put to her about what had happened. What was the important matter Adrian wished to make known to her, which his wife was equally deter- mined that he should not know ? Presently she met Dora, who was wandering about without her hat, looking this way and that way amongst the trees and winding paths in the park. When she saw Doris her face brightened and she exclaimed, "Oh, Doris, have you seen your father ? We cannot find him anywhere." He is at the Summerhouse." "He is at the Summerhouse repeated Dora. Oh, how in the world did he get there ?" 1 don't know." What did he go there for ? "It has occurred to me," said Doris, looking searchingly at her, "that you may know that better than I do myself." "I?" Then, looking at her, Dora suddenly suspected her suspicion. Oh, Doris," she cried, "let Will walk home, I want to drive back with you. "Thank you," said Doris, "but just now I prefer to be alone." She drove on, cvstting Dora to the heart by the action. The girl stood still, looking after her as she drove on, as if she could scarcely believe her eyes. Was it Doris, her more than sister, who suspected her of such intense meanness'? When she reached the house, she at once sought an interview with Doris, who by that time was half repentent of her angry treatment of her. Dora, tell me, and of course I will believe you," said Doris, Did papa tell you to keep watch over me and inform him of anything that passed between Archie and myself ? The girls were alone in Doris's dressing-room at the time. Yes," replied Dora, "he did, but—— He did! He did! And you told him of this meeting ? Well, Dora, I could not have believed it of you if anyone but yourself had told me." I did not tell him one word," protested Dora. "I refused to spy upon you. Never in one little moment was I disloyal to you, Doris." There was such truth and sincerity in her tones that Doris could not doubt her. She held out her hand, and Dora caught it passionately in both hers. 1 "Doris," she said, "you little know what you are to me. I would do anything, anything in the world for you." Well, then, do this," said Doris, quickly—even as a child she had always promptly made use of Dora's proffered assistance-" go to Mr. Adrian Blair. He is at the Alexandra Hotel at Biadford"— Doris had recognised the carriage as being one which belonged to that hotel, and, therefore, con. cluded Mrs. Blair was staying there-" and get him to tell you the great secret he is wanting to tell me, but which his wife is determined I shall not know." But, Doris," began Dora Oh, do not answer me with 'buts.' Ifyou love me, and are true to my best interests, go-Dora, go at once, or you may be too late. Something tells me that what the man wants to make me acquainted with is of vital importance to me and Archie. Mrs. Adrian Blair will not allow him to tell me, but she might let you have a chance of seeing him." Then Doris told Dora all that had passed that morning, and that she thought Adrian, after having been carried off from the Summerhouse once, had in some way contrived to return for the purpose of seeing her, but that his wife hac'w followed him, and again carried him off with her. ? She could hardly have asked Dora to undertake a commission more distasteful to her, for these people were her father and step-mother, and, in their presence, she could never get over her childish dread of what they might be going to do. However, she consented, for from her very child- hood Doris's commands had always been law to her, and law which must be obeyed. CHAPTER XXVI. DORA LEARNS A SECRET. MRS. ADRIAN BLAIR was a clever woman. She was not often defeated when she had a purpose in view. If she seemed to be for a little while, it would still be discovered that, after all, the seem- ing defeat had ended in a very telling victory for her. And thus it was now, when her husband defied her in one of the most earnest wishes of her heart, the apparent failure she experienced was not long in strengthening her position. Doris drove Dora to the railway station in the village, after she had wrung a promise from her that she would do her best to ascertain what Mr. Adrian Blair wished to communicate to her. Then Dora went to Bradford by train, and took a cab at once to the Alexandra Hotel, which is some dis- tance from the station. On her arrival there, for- tunately for her purpose, on asking for Mr. Blair, she was mistaken for the trained nurse who had been sent for, and was at once taken up to his room. Mrs. Blair had gone to lie down, and he was quite alone, tossing upon his bed, and swearing not a little at the increase of pain resulting from his having been knocked about so that morning. When he discovered that the new-comer was not the nurse, but Dora from Waddington Hall, he was both astonished and delighted. Having praised her much for her courage and wisdom in coming to him, he made to her a long and startling communi- cation, and, just as he concluded, his wife, entering the room, overheard the last sentences* "Very well, Adrian and you, Dora," said Mrs. Blair, in her usual cold, calm tones, listen to me." She then placed the situation, and the con- sequences which might arise from different courses ¡ of action, before them, in such a light that they both felt that it would be difficult for them to materially alter existing arrangements. Indeed, as she listened, it became plain to Dora that she could scarcely tell Doris the very startling com- munication her father had just made, nor did he wish it now. With a deep groan, he owned that, after all, his wife might be right in saying that it would be better for Doris not to know it. Refusing to say what she would do upon further consideration, and looking very reproachfully at them both, Dora went quietly away at length, and returned to the station in the cab, which was waiting for her. As she passed through the crowded streets, her mind was filled with a deep sense of injury. Why, oh, why, had these things happened ? Surely a curse must have rested upon her all her life Yet why had it been permitted ? Was she a sinner above every other sinner that these things should have happened ? Adrian Blair had been so busy, considering the advantage and disadvantage it would be to Doris if certain facts were made public, that he had not at all considered the matter as it affected herself. Was there, indeed, anyone in all the world who really cared for her welfare? Yes, there was Doris, only Doris in all the world who really cared what became of her. She began to think of all Doris had been to her ever since she could remember anything at all. Doris, the pretty, imperious, and somewhat spoilt child, had patronised and caressed her by turns, as it suited her caprices. And then, when she was herself neglected and forlorn, a poor little disfigured waif, Doris alone had been kind to her, and she had almost worshipped Doris. She remembered her sufferings and misery after Doris had been taken away from her to Waddington, and the joy Doris's letters had been to her. Then the misery which resulted in her running away to Doris came vividly to her mind, and she recollected, with emotion, how lovingly Doris had received and welcomed her, with open arms, as she stood shivering and trem- bling behind the shrubs at Waddington, after singing Doris's favourite hymn, with the hope of bringing her out, and how loyally Doris had stood by her with the Squire, making him take her in and treat her as a member of his own household Doris had always been very good to her. Was it possible then ? Would it ever be possible that she herself could ever be anything but good to Doris? To cause her pain, grief and suffering would be heinous indeed, after all that she had received from her. Shall I plunge Doris into the deepest distress, that I may procure my own advancement?" she said to herself. Could I do it ? To shove her down into the lowest depths that I might rise to riches and poverty myself ? No- no-no-a thousand times no. But Herbert ? Well, if she does not love me as I am I care not for his love He has gone away now, perhaps he will never come back. Well, if so, I can bear it. When I refused him I did it for Doris's sake. Oh, I shall never lose by doing anything for the sake of Doris." When she was sitting in the train, however, on her way to Waddington, the matter assumed a slightly different aspect. Was Mr. Blair right in thinking the knowledge of the secret he imparted might smooth matters for Doris in respect to Archie Scott ? Or, on the other hand, was Mrs. Blair correct in saying that that matter would come quite right without it ? "A love trouble," said Dora to herself, judging from her own experience, a love trouble is the worst of all troubles to bear. Better far to be poor, homeless and neglected, than to be crossed in love After musing about this for some time, she made the mental resolve that she would wait a little time, and see how how things went on, before taking any important step. At the station at Waddington, she found no one to meet her. Doris had evidently forgotten, or neglected to provide, for her escort home. Well, Doris did not know all that she had been doing, and intended to do for her. Doris had forgotten to send to meet her all the same, that young lady was eagerly awaiting her return. With a light shawl wrapped about her shoulders, she was waiting for her in the carriage drive, although it was almost time to dress for dinner. When at length Dora appeared, walking briskly towards her, Doris flew to meet her, and embraced her there and then. Oh, Dora, you angel she cried, "I am glad to see you back. I have such good news for you. What do you think ? Oh, what do you think ?" "What can I think until you tell me?" said Dora, laughing, and releasing herself from Doris's arms, which almost threatened to stifle her. Why, papa has quite come round. He has altogether recovered his-well, his temper. When he got home again and was comfortably on his couch in the library, and Dr. King-for whom he sent again-had dressed his wounds and made him comfortable, he went to sleep, and I believe he had a dream, or something, whieh made him fear he was going to lose me. So he sent for me, and was just-oh, Doris, he was just charming! He says that Archie is not a bad sort of fellow-and if lie likes to ask me again, say in a year's time-you know it is quite true we are both very young- papa will favourably consider his suit. That's what he says, now that he is cool and has time to think calmly about it. Oh, Dora, darling, is it not delightful Very delightful for you, dear," said Dora. Her face was very pale, but her voice was calm and untroubled. Now she knew what she should do. Mrs. Blair was a clever woman. This was exactly what she expected. You see we may meet occasionally, papa says now, but of course we must not correspond. And I am to have a season in town, and meet other men, and all that sort of thing, before I decide finally. Do you know, Dora, I think papa is very wise. Not that I shall ever change in the least, but it will be nice afterwards to think that when I chose Archie I knew a little of the world, had seen other gentlemen, and could compare him favour- ably with them." Doris was quoting a little from her father now, and she did it in a tone of no little importance. And meantime, Doris, does Archie know all this?" "Archie? Oh, dear no. You forget, we don't quite know where he is. Oh, poor fellow, poor, poor fellow-I'd quite forgotten when he left us he was under the impression that he had killed papa. Oh, dear, I am afraid he will be very unhappy." What a chHd she was Although only the same age as Dora, her mental qualities were very much more undeveloped. Her imagination was poor, and her knowledge of the world absolutely trifling. Dora could scarcely conceive how the torture of mind in which Archie left her could for one momen t have been absent from her thoughts. I've been so busy thinking and planning for our future happiness," exclaimed Doris, "that I quite forgot his present distress. Oh, Dora, dearest, tell me what I should do ?" 44 Hadn't you better send a note to the Rectory, asking old Mr. Scott to kindly acquaint his son with the fact that your father is still alive?" "Dora, you are satirical I am sure the news will have got there already. And Archie will stay about until he hears. Oh, dear, I wish Archie to know what papa says now, but how am I to tell him when I may not write ? Perhaps your father will write ? Yes, I'll get him to do so now, whilst he is in a good humour. By the bye, what news have you brought me from your father ? Dora winced. She had thought the question long in coming, and now that it had come she was j not prepared to answer it. j 44 Oh, Well, I have not much to say about it," she 1 said. J "But the secret. Tell me the secret!" "I cannot tell you." I You cannot ? Did you not hear it ? Yes, but I cannot tell it to you." j Cannot ? You mean you will not?" I will not, then, if you will have it so." Dora was tired, and feeling not a little tried, she spoke less pleasantly than usual. You are cross," said Doris, snappishly. "I am very tired, dear." "Ah, forgive me!" said Doris, more amiably. I know you have taken a great deal of trouble for me, and I am not ungrateful; but what is the 1 use of all the trouble if you will not tell me the secret?" ) .441 do not feel I can. Hark! that is the first bell for dinner. I shall only just have time to dress," and, so saying, she flew upstairs to her own room. (To be continued. )
HOOLEY-LAWSON CASE. I
HOOLEY-LAWSON CASE. I MR. HOOLEY'S MISFORTUNE. On Monday the Hooley-Lawson case was resumed at the Old Bailey before Mr. Justice Lawraiice. Mr. kiooley, who went into the witness-box to give evidence on his own behalf on Thursday afternoon of last week, was further cross- examined by the Solicitor-General. Asked as to Mr. Bradshaw, who had a charge on his wife's farming stock, Hooley said Brad- shaw had made £ 50,000 through him, and was now going round the world enjoying himself. (Laughter.) He bought back Sir Henry White's Consiruction shares because he was dissatisfied. The Solicitor-General: Did you not complain to Lawson of the loss involved in the transac- tion?—Hooley: No. And you were content to lose your money without complaint?—Yes, like a linnet. That has been my misfortune. I have lost £50,000 without complaint. The Solicitor-General desired to ask questions as to the affidavit of Lawson in the action brought against the latter by him (Hooley) and Bradshaw last year, but Mr. Isaacs objected, as this was subsequent to the date alleged for the conspiracy, but said later that it was more for Lawson to object to, as it affected him. The Judge said he could not exclude the document. Hooley said the affidavit contained a tissue of falsehoods. The Solicitor-General: It charges you with fraud?—Hooley: Yes; and Lawson told me that he was obliged to make this charge in order to induce the Court to allow him to defend. And you continued on friendly terms with him until May lastY-Yes. He owed my wile 'between £7,000 and C8,000, and I was getting it from him little by little. This concluded the Solicitor-General's cross- examination of Hooley. Lawson asked a few questions in his cross-examination, and Mr. Isaacs proceeded to re-examine the witness, who, in reply to questions said that under his bankruptcy the whole of his wife's and his own property had been seized by the creditors. He had since repaid many of his private creditors their debts. This concluding the re-examination of Hooley, Lawson proceeded to call evidence on his own behalf. Mr. Charles Chadwell, civil engineer, was called to speak to the value of the Blackpool Electric Tramway scheme, which was promoted by the Construction Company. He knew well that the company had other contracts and schemes in hand, and if all had turned out suc- cessful, their geese would all be swans. (Laughter.) Mr. Greenhill, from the office of Messrs. Sims and Sims, solicitors, gave similar evidence, and said there was nothing uncommon in a company giving £2,000 for £1,000 to raise money to carry out schemes. It was a gamble, the witness said. The Solicitor-General: Who pays in the end? —The Witness: Well, the public if the com- pany is a success-the shareholders if it is not. But would the public know anything about these transactions?—Well, they are getting to know something now. (Laughter.) In reply to the Judge, Lawson said he had two other witnesses, but their evidence would not take long. SPEECH OF MR. RUFUS ISAACS. The Hooley case, which was resumed on Tues- day for the seventeenth time before Mr. Justice A. T. Lawrxnce 8It the Old Bailey, was then brought within measurable distance of closing. Evidence for and against the prisoners closed after the examination of one more witness called by Lawson. Mr. Rufus Isaacs, K.C., then addressed the jury for the defence of Hooley. Hooley was the man, he said, who had made millions, and more often had lost. He was not the man who had settled the money upon his wife and family. Having amassed wealth with a facility and in a period unexampled in our time, he had lost his millions, and his wife and family were now entirely dependent upon the friends of the days of his prosperity. The only evidence against him was that of Paine, who had been 80 fortu- nate as to induce the Treasury to prosecute, and who desired to avenge himself upon Hooley for the loss of money he had sustained in his deal- ings with the Construction Company. His losses appeared to have distorted his mind and cor- rupted his conscience, and it was the most charitable thing for them to assume that he, in consequence, lost his head. His evidence was absolutely unreliable as to events taking place four years ago. He Emitted his mind was con- fused, and his own simile eamo aptly in illus- tration, for in reference to the matter Paine said n ? it was like a coat which might fit or not fit, ae- cording as a man stood. So it was with Paine's memory. It fitted or it did not fit just as it suited the case for the prosecution. The evidence was not sufficient, he would not say to hang a dog upon-it would scarcely suffice to justify a hair being burnt off the dog's tail.
UNIVERSITY OF EDINGURGH. I
UNIVERSITY OF EDINGURGH. SIR DONALD CURBIE GIVES £ 25,000. At a meeting of the Court of the University of Edinburgh, on the 12th inst., Principal Sir William Turner announced that in reply to an appeal which had been made for funds to enable a site to be purchased on which laboratories and other educational buildings could be erected, and for making further financial provision for an extension of the teaching staff and for the promotion of research, Sir Donald Currie had subscribed £ 25,000. Sir Donald Currie wished the revenue to be applied to the remuneration of a staff of lecturers. An option was also given to apply £ 5,000 of the amount towards the purchase of a site for the new laboratories should it be necessary to use a portion of his gift for that purpose. The Uni, rsity Court recorded their thanks to Sir Don&M Currie, and in order to associate his nanu- permanently with the fund they resolved to designate it "The Sir Donald Currie Lecture- ship Endowment Fund." The Principal also announced that in response to the appeal made to other friends subscriptions by them to the amount of £ 15,000 had been intimated to him.
THE SCOTTISH KIRKS.
THE SCOTTISH KIRKS. ROYAL COMMISSI CV APPOINTED. The King has been pissed, on the recom- mendation of the Secrt y for Scotland, to appoint a Royal Comm.sMon to inquire into matters connected with the Free Church and the United Free Church. The Commission will be composed of the Earl of Elgin, K.G., G.C.S.I., G.C.S.E. (chairman), Lord Kinnear, and Sir Ralph Anstruther, Bart. The Sec- retary for Scotland has appointed Sir John Cheyne, K.C., as a Commission of one to inquire into and deal with all questions of interim possession between the Free Church and the United Free Church.
I |ROCHESTER'S NEW DEAN.
ROCHESTER'S NEW DEAN. The King has been pleased to approve the appointment of the Venerable Ernald Lane, Archdeacon of Stoke-on-Trent and Rector of Leigh, Stoke-on, Trent, to be Dean of Rochester, in succession to the late Very Reverend S. R. Hole, D.D. Archdeacon Lane, who is an Oxonian, was ordained priest in 1863, and has been Archdeacon of Stoke since 1888.
HOME HINTS. j
HOME HINTS. j Unless a dress is wanted very limp, it should I be dried before starching. Muslins, prints, and other coloured or patterned washing goods should never be dried in the sun, as everything ¡ fades much worse when it is wet, on the same principle that white goods are set to bleach (or fade) still whiter in the strong sunlight. They should, however, be dried as quickly as possible, a breeze being nice for this. Closely woven goods require less starch to stiffen them than materials that are loosely woven. I Pineapple Salad.—Pare one small sugarloaf I pineapple, and cut it into small cubes. Mix II lightly in one cupful of finely chopped celery, one cupful of chopped walnut meats, and one cupful of orange pulp cut small. Shred one I head of bleached lettuce very finely, and form it into cups or nests on individual plates. Mix one cupful of mayonnaise with one cupful of whipped cream, stir it lightly through the pine- apple mixture, and fill carefully into the little nests or cups. Garnish with halved walnut meats. If the combination of mayonaise and fruit is not liked, a very delicious dressing may be made with the well-beaten yolks of four eggs, a small cupful of sugar, half a cupful of lemon juice, and a cupful of whipped cream. I Brown Paper for a Cold.—The "old woman's r remedy for a cold on the chest, a sore throat, I or a bruise, which consisted in an application I of brown paper steeped in beer or vinegar, I owed its efficacy to the heat-retaining properties of the paper. A wet pad of this description, so far as the surface next the skin is concerned, acts almost as well as a, layer of w,et linen rag, protected with a thick covering of flannel. I do not give it as a novelty, for it is an old-estab- lishedt fact that brown paper of the commonest kind is an effective non-conductor, and may be advantageously used as a covering for beds, or to eke out scanty clothing. It is a simpLe sug- gestion, but an effective one. Potato Savoury.—Carefully boil some good mealy potatoes, then peel them and rub them through a, hair sieve—pound this flour up in a mortar with some very finely-chopped parsley, a squeeze of lemon, some cayenne pepper, a few fillets of anchovy (just enough to season), pepper, and salt. thoroughly mixed, whisk in the whites of two or three eggs beaten to a stiff froth, have ready some boiling fat, oil a dessert spoon, and drop spoonfuls of the mixture into the boiling lard the white of eggs will make them puff out to the size of walnuts. As soon as they have coloured slightly and pufled, out they are done, and should be served very hot on a dish lined with fish paper, and surrounded with either fried or fresh parsley. Tea Rolls.—Scald one pint of milk in a double I boiler, and, when lukewarm, put in half a yeast cake or half a cup of liquid yeast. Break one tablespoonful of lard into small pieces and drop them into the milk, together with one tablespoonful of caster sugar and a. pinch of salt. Stir these together till the lard is melted; then sift in enough flour to make it into a stiff batter. This should be done early in the morn- ing, about eight or nine o'clock. Then allow it to stand till tea-time, when small pieces should be shaped into little round cakes and baked in a quick oven. As soon as they are done, split them and butter while hot. HAND-REARED INFANTS.—Mother's milk, the food of a very young infant, contains no starchy body, but a variety of sugar known as lactose. Nature, therefore, does not provide at this early stage of life any materials for the diges- tion of starch. The immense importance, therefore, of securing that a food intended for young babies should be perfectly starch free will be at once apparent. Cow's milk is much more difficult for the baby to digest than human | milk. This difficulty arises chiefly from the fact that the casein, or curd, of cow's milk is usually more abundant and harder to digest than the corresponding substances of human milk. Untreated cow's milk yields a tough, leathery kind of curd, which most infants are unable to digest; this sets up irritation of the stomach, and gives rise to vomiting, diarrhoea, and the child fed on such becomes peevish, fretful, and rapidly grows flabby and anaemic, and exhibits all the symptoms of mal-nutrition. Mellin's Food, added to diluted cow's milk, will so change the curd that it becomes soft, spongy, and easy to digest, and, in fact, it so modifies the milk that it may be employed to replace human milk from birth. Superior Pea Soup.—Put a quart of split peas to soak in cold water overnight, then next day drain and wash them well, rejecting any that nyp (hscolour-ed; put them into a. stewpan with a little chopped onion and celery, half a dozen large sound potatoes peeled and slieed, a piece of prime pickled pork, and three quarts of stock, and bring to the boil; then skim very carefully, draw the pan on one side, and simmer gently for two or three hours until the peas are quite soft and thipork thoroughly cooked, after which take up the latter and keep it hot; rub the soup through a sieve and return it to the stewpan with a pleasant seasoning of finely powdered dry mint or thyme, and stir until it boils, then serve in a hot tureen. Serve the pork separately on a nice hot dish, garnished with a border of skilfully Voiled Brussels sprouts or finely chopped cab- Rage and accompanied by mashed and seasoned I potatoes. If preferred, of course, the pork ca.n be dispensed with, in which caRe half a pound of lean raw ham or bacon should be added with the vegetable-.—"Agricultural Gazette." To Keep the Hands Soft.—A very good pre- paration for keeping the hands soft is one made up of eaual parts of cocoa-butter, oil of sweet aTmondsC and refined white wax. These three things must be all melted together, and: allowed to stand until ouite cool. A small quantity must be 1 ubbed on the hands at night, after which it will be ar, well to put on a pair of gloves, other- wise the application rubs off on to the sheets, and not only rrreases them, but does the skin no good all. The gloves worn must 7'ot be tight. and to admit of plenty of ventilation the inside of the palm of the glove should be c-, j out; they will be more comfortable if the tops of the fingers are cut off also. When t-henands ar"1 very rough a.nd red, as is so often the case in winter, they will be very much benefited by being washed in oatmeal water, instead of with soap, unless they are very dirty. The best way of-making this is to have some good oatmeal, and boil it in wter for about two hours; then, when it has been strained off through muslin, the liquid! must be used for washing the hands a little fine starch may be added to the oatmeal, if liked. The less the hands are wee heel, provided that they can be kept clean, the better it is for the skin there- fore, when any kind of housework is done, such as dusting, gloves should be worn.. Simple Remedy for Sleeplessness.—How many people, suffer from sleeplessness, especially in these days of rush and worry To procure sleep it is a very bad thing to fly to the use of nar- cotics, for," when taken frequently, they gradu- ally lose their effect until larger doses ape taken, while the effect on the general system is a very bad one, for, instead of-feeling refreshed in the morning, there is often a feeling of depression, and a headfche is almost the inevitable result- As a matter of fact there are other things that can be- taken for the cure of sle.,eples,sneiss be- sid'es narcotics, and an especially one is the ordinary, very-much-despised onion, a thing which is so often objected to because it leaves Tuch ? uastv taste in the-mouth. As a matter of fact in sDite of the nasty taste that is so often left'behind, onions are really sweetvers of the breath-after the local effects have passed away —beinr such eood correctives to stomaeh <js. orders One small onion eaten at night wyl oft™ induce sleep, as onions have a particularly sooth'g effect upon the nerves without any of the "effects that are produced by the taking nf drills To remove the taste, a little parsley may be eaten, or a few drops of eau deCs»ogne mi a 'ump of sugar. A few drops of eau de Cologne on su^ar. before going out m the even- ing, is a good eye-brightecer. ing, is a good eye-brightecer.
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Women talk of owing other women a call in about the same way as men do wiio owe another man a grudge.
-ART AND LITERATURE. .---
ART AND LITERATURE. Miniature painting in England really came in with the Stuarts. Long journey travellers were few. Art was a part of the daily life of the cultured nations. 21asterpieces in hand by the great masters formed an item of news. Often these pictures were paintings that even the king's gold could not buy. Hence some times "pictures in little" were made of the nobler works. In this way arose the art of miniature paintings an art whose golden age is still here. For in the Quest Gallery in London, there is under arrangement an exhibition of miniatures set in gold and in choice jewels. The collection includes works by, and after, the masters, as —Gainsborough, Reynolds, Romnev, Cosway, Hoppner, Downman, Lawrence, Greuze, and others, and also by miniature painters of to-day. Among the latter are miniatures by Mrs. Ger- trude Massey, of H.M. the King's pet dogs and of other canine favourites. Collectively, the last-named bear the title "The Roll Call." The latest volume in the Library of L*serai Stories (George Newnes, Limited) is "The Story of British Trade and Industry," by James Burnley. Mr. Burnley possesses the enviable gift of being able to make an interesting narra- tive out of a. subject which necessitates the statement of many facts and figures in a cir- cumscribed space. In the hands of a less skilful writer such a narrative would be somewhat monotonous recital of statistics, but Mr. Burnley has contrived to invest it with all the charm of a romance, and to make this little work not only profitable but pleasant reading. The story sketches the history of British trade from the time of the Neolithic Briton down to the present days of Tariff Reformers and Free Traders, and is compressed into a handy pocket volume of 224 pages. It is in the light of the industrial past that present-day problems s.hould be studied, and we know of no work which contains so complete a survey of the com- mercial history of this country in so small ft compass as the one before us. At a time when a National Shakespeare Memorial is spoken of, and when people are looking forward to a great Shakespeare Com- memoration in March of next year, an interest- ing anthology of the poets who have paid tribute to Shakespeare makes its opportune appearance. This handsome volume, published by Mr. Elliot Stock, is entitled "At Shakes- peare's Shrine," and has been compiled with much painstaking devotion by Charles F. Forshaw, LL.D., F.R.S.L. Dr. Forshaw is certainly entitled to claim that it is the most exhaustive work of its kind yet produced, although it is necessarily and avowedly incom- plete. It is no light task to select poetic tributes of sufficient merit from the countless poems that have been written in honour of the Bard of Avon, and it must be acknowledged. that the learned doctor has shown much dis- crimination and good taste in his work of com- pilation. Nearly one hundred and fifty poets are quoted, from Shakespeare's contemporaries down to living writers. The value of the work is greatly enhanced by the inclusion in it of an essay by Dr. Richard Garnett, C.B., F.R.S.L., on "Plays partly written by Shakespeare." The annual volume of "The Quiver," which is just published is fully equal to any of its predecessors. To say this is to award it the highest praise possible, for "The Quiver" has always maintained a high standard of excel- lency. Among the contributors to the present volume are, the Dean of Gloucester, the Arch- deacon of London, the Archdeacon of West- minster, the Rev. Canon Hay Aitken, Chris- topher Hare, Raymond Blathwayt, Katherine Tynan, May Crommel-in, and Elizabeth L. Banks. The contents are varied and interest- ing, and, while specially suitable for Sunday reading, are entirely free from the maudling sentimentality that disfigures many works of the "goody-goody" class. For Christmas presents for the young of vary- ing age nothing could be more appropiiate than the handsome annual volumes of "Chums"—for the boy.3—full of stirring adventure stories and other accepta,ble illustrated reading matter; "Little Folks" —with pictures on nearly every pago— tor the girls and younger boys and "Tiny Tots"; —for the nursery pets. They bring enduring joy to those for whom they are designed, and in each case are right up to the high standard eet by the publishers, Messrs. Cassell and Company, Limited. An alliance has lately been arranged between' the proprietors of two art galleries which have made a high reputation by the consistent excel- lence of the exhibitions held in them-the Dutch Gallery and the Holland Fine Art Gallery—and the united concerns will for the future be car- ried on in London by Mr. Van Wis&elingh and Mr. VanHoytema in partnership as "The Dutch Gallery, (Limited)." The first ex- hibition of the new firm has just been opened. It includes a number of well selected pictures and drawings by British and foreign artists of the highest repute, and is admirably comprehen- sive. Among the more memorable works on view are examples of Corot, Fantin-Latour, Har- pignies, J. F. Millet, VoIIon, Daubigny, C. Jacque, Jonkind, James Maris, Bosboom, Josef Israels, Mauve, Th. de Bock, and other repre- sentative foreign masters; and among the con- tributions by British painters there are some splendid drawings by Mr. F. E. James, a couple of important landscapes by Mr. Mark Fisher, a specially notable canvas by Mr. Buxton Knight, and other things by Mr. J. M. Swan, Mr. C. H. Shannon, Mr. B. Priestman, and Mr. Peuper- corn. Mr. W. B. E. Ranken, whose paintings and drawings are collected in the Carfax Gallery in London, is a young artist of some promise, but as yet of somewhat incomplete performance. He shows much ingenuity in imitating the work of certain of his predecessors, and when n,eas learned to apply this ingenuity to the expression at his own ideas, he should, be capable of in- teresting achievement. The best of his oil paint- ines in this exhibition are the cleverly suggested "Portrait of Miss Ranken," and the freeJY". handled group of figures in a landscape, "Pro- menade," a not unpleasant piece of artificiality. £ His water-colours have more independence, adel, are truer in their observation of nature; txie- most noteworthy among them are the well treated stretch of distance, "A View," the sunny sketch, "The Farm," and the pleasant note, "In Suf- folk." It will not be long before the books oa the British Mission to Tibet begin to make their appearance—the wonder is that they have-not begun before this. Already there are three books of the kind in preparation—two by special correspondents with the expedition., and the third, which Mr. Murray has in hand, by LICUL. Colonel Waddell, ChiiCf Moeàical Officer'with the Mission, who is calling his narrative "Lhasa and its Grand Lama Unveiled." To Lieut.-Cplonel Waddell, who had already written a. book on "The Buddhism of Tibet," and was well-known as an authority on the subject, the expedition must have been intensely interesting. Probably the first hietory of the expedition, however, will be Mr. Edmund Candler's narrative, entitled, "The Unveiling cf Lhasa," which Mr. Arnold is to publish shortly after Christm&g.. Mr. Candler, it may be remembered, was. the, first Englishman to be wounded in the sudden ettack made on the Mission at Guru in the early days of the expedition. Fortunately 14r. Candler was able to resume his work as a special correspon- dent in a remarkably short time, and to be ore- sent at the entrv into Lhasa. The third work, which Messrs. Hurst and Blackett have an- nounced under the title of "Lhasa: The Tibet Expedition, 1903-4," is from the pen of Mr. Per- ceval T andon, who acted as special correspon- dent 10 the "Times." Mr. Land'on's hook will include an introduction by Colonel Younghus- band, d appendices by the experts of the Atis- eion, containing the chief ^information acquired: on matters of geology, politics, -v-tcia! his- tory. —„
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A marriage at an exceptionally early age—so far. at least, as the British Isles are conoerned- was made at Melton when a girl of fourteen was wedded to a man of twenty-two. The nuptials of the very youthful bride, who hails from Harby, in the Vale of Belvoir, took place in the local registry office.
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One of the oddest sights in New York City is the picture-gallery of successful waifs in the rooms of the Children's Aid Society, on East Twentv- second Street. There is none other like it in the world. Hundreds of faces look out of their simple frames. They are of every nationality, type, age, and colour. Since 1853 more than 20,000 waifs and strays have been placed in families by the society, situations have been found for some I 25,000 more, and over 5000 runaways and losts have been returned to shelters.