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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]! THE…
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] THE MURDER AT E4 N -6 NUMBER THIRTEEN: A Boinaitce ofillodern Life. BY JOHN K. LEYS, Author of The Lindsays," &c. dsc. CHAPTER III. THE MISSING LETTER. WHAT do you mean to do?" asked the Major. X'! Nothing What business is it of mine?*' The Major's face fell. 11 1-1 thought that Protheroe being such a friend of youis, you would naturally take an mterest in the matter, and that as you are a lawyer, you would give him the best advice in your power." My dear sir," I said, with a laugh, we lawyers are said to have faces of brass, but we have HOD vet cot the length of offering our Qtcitt-ixwm vices. We wait till we are asked. We are not New Women." But as you are such friends I should have thought you would want-that is, that he would want to see you at once." Very possibly but you see he has not called yet, and I don't see why he should trouble to call on me before office hours. It is quite possible that he may be able to explain his presence at Number Thirteen in the simplest manner. Why should he want to see a lawyer at all ? And if he does, it is very likely that he may prefer one with more experience than I can boast of." Fearful of overdoing it, I said no more, but pro- ceeded with my dressing with the greatest com- posure I could assume. For I need hardly say that I was only talking to put the indefatigable Major off the scent. No question of professional etiquette, I knew very well, would be allowed to interfere between my friend and me. If I served him it would be for love, not money and I was only waiting until the Major should take himself off before I rushed over to Charley's rooms to tell him what I had heard, and to ask him how he came to be in Vinet's house at that time of the morning. I was positively afraid to go till the Major should leave me, for I quite expected that if he knew I was going to Protheroe's he would want to come with me, and, failing that, he would pester me with questions that I could only escape by quarrelling w ith him outright—a thing I did not wish to do. I delayed my dressing as long as I could, hoping that my visitor would take himself off; but he stayed on, (discussing the mysterious occurrence in all its bearings, and hazarding numberless conjec- tures, till I was literally forced to ask him to stay to breakfast. Major Bond stuck to me till I went to my office at ten o'clock as usual. As soon as I had opened my letters, and given a few instructions I hurried off to Charley's lodgings. He was t. A mad idea tormented me. Could it be that ha had absconded ? No! To suppose that would be to believe that he might be guilty of the murder- II. thing I was very far from doing. And yet, when I remembered Charley's hasty temper, his hatred for Vinet, the provocation he might have received from his successful rival, I trembled to think what he might have done. I left word for him that I should like to see him if he came in, and that I would be in my office all the morning. One reason why I was anxious to see him was that I might warn him that the fact that he had been seen leaving the house of the murdered man at a time when all decent people except sweeps and policemen were in bed and asleep, would be known all over Eastcliff in the course of the day. When I went out for lunch I went round to the police-office, thinking that if I could see Superin- tendent.Smith, _whom I knew very well, he would me if anything new had transpired iri connec- tion with the crhtie at Sea View Gardens. I did not see him, but I was told that the revolver with which the murder had been committed had been found close to the body, and partly hidden by it. It seemed to have been the intention of the murderer to make people suppose that the case had been one of suicide and, indeed, that is what would have been commonly believed, had it not been for the fact that the doctors-a second one had been called in by the police-were both emphatic in declaring that the fatal wound could not possibly have been eelf-inflicted. On my way back to my office I passed the Royal Hotel, and standing on the steps in the act of lighting a cigar, I saw Lord Ormidale. He was a tall, thin young man, a year or two older than myself, rather slow, and highly correct in all his movements. If Ormidale had a fault, it was that from his earliest boyhood he had had an exaggerated idea, not so much of his own impor- tance personally, as of that of the order to which ne belonged. I verily believe that he thought that peers who disgraced their rank by frequenting low amusements, marrying actresses, or figuring in the Bankruptcy or Divorce courts, ought to be executed on Tower Hill. He would have objected to hanging them because it was a vulgar punish- ment. Ormidale recognised me at once as I came by. He was the same simple, kindly fellow he had been at Harrow, only a little more dignified and correct I in his demeanour. We greeted each other warmly, and were sorry that we had both had lunch, so that we could not lunqh together. I could not even join him in i stroll on the sea-front, as I had promised to remain in on the chance of Protheroe's calling on me. I felt sure that he had not been home since I had called at his rooms, or he would have been with me long ago. Since you can't come with me, I will go along a bit with you," said his lordship. You have lived here some time, haven't you? he asked. For the last five years," I said. Ah Do you happen to know a family of the name of Braithwaite ? Good old Cumberland family, I believe, though the father is something in the City." I looked at the peer as he spoke. He was blushing slightly, and was nervously examining the end of his cigar. "Oh, yes, I know them," I replied. "Every- body here does." His lordship frowned at his unoffending cigar, and I was sorry I had put, it just in that way. They visit with townspeople, then ? Certainly. With the best families in the place." Ah I-I had been given to understand that they had been a little more exclusive." Miss Braithwaite is very much admired," I P,ut in. Ah Plenty of lovers I suppose?" ■ The tone was jocular, but the underlying manner betrayed a certain nervous anxiety. "Not more than any pretty girl has a right to nave," I answered and then to put the poor man more at his ease I added- She has a companion staying with her-not exactly beautiful, but a very nice girl, and I should think with a will and a mind of her own." My remark was not very apposite, but it seemed *° do something to relieve Lord Ormidale's mind, I proceeded to hint, as delicately as 1 could, jjnat MigS Braithwaite's behaviour, in spite of her beauty and her numerous admirers, was absolutely irreproachable. I thought Ormidale looked at "ce embarrassed and pleased, and I tried to think of another subject of conversation; but my com- panion broke in with— "D'ye know, a very extraordinary thing hap- pened to me to-day. While I was ap lunch it «ame into my head to ask the waiter to see if there were any letters for me. I can't tell why 1 it, for I certainly was expecting none. The an came back and said that there had only been j one which I had had. Now, I had had no e ter, and when I came to make enquiries, it urned out that there had certainly been a letter or me—I suppose it was the title that made them otice it—which had been delivered by hand the 'g before. And some stranger, a well-dressed ?ame hotel shortly after I arrived, a ked coolly up to the letter rack, and appro- priated my letter. The hotel-porter saw him in the of taking it, and he said, it seems, that I had asked him to bring it up with him, and as he walked right on upstairs in the direction of my I bedroom, the man did not interfere. I don't blame | him but it is very odd f "It is odd," I echoed, and a strange foreboding | crept into my mind. I suppose the boots | would know the man again?" I asked after a | pause. I He says so; but, of course, the fellow will j take care to keep out of his way for some time to j come." We had gone as far as my office, and then turned back to the hotel. We were only a few yards from it, when a man whom I recognised as the porter of the Royal Hotel came up to Lord Ormidale and, said, pointing to some one who was a little way in advance— "There is the man who took your letter from the rack, my lord "Where is he? Which is he? Fetch a con- stable, will you ? cried Ormidale, hurrying on. Nonsense, Simpson I cried, sternly. You are quite mistaken." No mistake at all, sir," said the man, sullenly. Lord Ormidale turned to me for an explanation. "I know the man he means," said I; "knew him ever since I left school. We were at Oxford together. He is one of the best fellows that ever lived." haven't mentioned his name," said Ormidale, drily. His name ? Protheroe-Charles Protheroe." It was the first time I had ever spoken that name with a feeling of shame. 441 hardly know what to say," said Ormidale. "The man is very positive." "And I am just as positive thai my friend is incapable—utterly incapable, of stealing anything whatever." It is not quite the same thing, is it ?" Let me see him," I urged. He may have taken your letter under a misconception, and be willing and anxious to return it. Let me question him, and if lie does not satisfy you, I must leave you, I suppose, to take the course you think best." "To ;-hia Oimidale agreed, and I hurried aftel my friiiiid. CHAPTER IV. I A STRANGE SILENCE. i I had lost sight of Protheroe for a moment, while I had been speaking to Lord Ormidale, and to my surprise and annoyance I could not find him. After searching for him for some time in vain, I went back to my office. Later in the afternoon I put away my work, and set out for Egerton Villa, the house in which Charley had lodgings; but I had not gone fifty yards when I met Major Bond, his face shinirw with suppressed intelligence. Well, Major, what is it now t" J Have you heard the news?" "None since I saw you." You C3,n't have heard. It happened only ten minutes ago. Your friend Protheroe has been arrested I felt as if I should fall down on the street, and it was with a great effort that I pulled myself together, and answered with some show of com- posure— The police are always making blunders." The Major only shook his head. "Why, Major! it was only this morning that you were saying something to the same effect." "Ah, it was different then I could not believe that Prot-heroe could be the guilty man, and I thought it would be a good deed, and an interest- ing thing too, to set to work and prove his inno- cence by finding the real criminal. But, I am sorry to say, that Protheroe has cut his own throat, so to speak, and made it practically impossible for any one to believe in his innocence, by trying to bolt!" inonserge !'I Fact. He was arrested when he was on the point of stepping into the London train. What should he want to go to London for at this time of the day, without luggage?" If that was the only reason for his arrest-" Not at all! The police questioned his land- lady, and ascertained that he came home between four and five in the morning, which shows that the sweep was perfectly right. Your friend will have to explain his presence on the spot at the time of the murder, and also his attempt to escape; and I think he will find that a particularly difficult thing to do." He will, no doubt, find it a particularly easy thing to do both of them," I replied with some heat, for I was indignant at the Major for assum- ing so easily that my friend was a murderer; "but I am by no means sure that, supposing I am his legal adviser, I shall allow him to utter a word. You don't understand these things, Major. It is not for an accused man to explain his conduct. It is for the police to prove him guilty-if they can." There was a lot of "bunkum" in what I said, and I knew it but I was bound to show fight for Pro- theroe. Then, seeing signs of mortification on the Major's round face, I added-III am obliged to you for coming to tell me, though. I shall try to see him at once." And you will let me know if-if he can clear himself, won't you ? I shall be anxious about it till I bear from you." I You may depend upon it that I will confide in you everything that I am not forced to keep secret by my professional honour"—that is, everything I don't mind the whole town knowing," I added to myself. In less than an hour I stood in a prison cell, with Charley Protheroe grasping my hand. The sight of his disordered hair and dres;t, nis wild, st-aiing eyes, the whitewashed cell and heavily-barred window, affected me so much that I could not, speak. It was Charley himself who first broke the silence. You didn't expect to see me here, did you, old man ? •' "No; but since you are here, the first thing we muse do is to get you out again as soon as possible." 0 I spoke with a cheerfulness I was far from feeling, but my friend only answered with a faint smile, and an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Come now," said I, seating myself at the table, and pulling out a pockeb ink-bottle and some paper with a business-like air, You make a clean breast of it. Tell me the whole thing, all that you know they mean to bring forward against you, as well as the points in your favour. Or rather, give me a plain, unvarnished narrative in the first place, and you can call my attention to the various points afterwards." I dipped my pen in the ink but Charley sat on the edge of his bed, silent. "Come, I am waiting," said I. "It is awfully good of you, old man, to take so much trouble, and it is only what I expected from you but I am afraid it is of no use." No use ? Nonsense I don't believe you killed Vinet, whatever people may say. I shan't believe it till vou tell me so with your own lips, and then I should believe that you were so exasperated that you didn't know what you were doing. But in order to be of any use to you, I must know all about it. Tell me, now, what took you to Vinet's house last night?" I wasn't there at all." Not there at all!" No." The answers were of the hard, dogged order, such as one hears from an unwilling witness in a court of justice, and I was certain that they were not in accordance with the truth. I was be. wildered, and pained that Protheroe should treat me in this fashion, and I did not take any pains to hide my feelings. „ T Why should you deny it to me, Charley,. 1 said in an injured tone. You were seen leaving the house at four in the morning and, as if that were not enough, your landlady says that you were out all night." Oh, well, if you will have it, I was there. aCharley," said I, much moved, "surely you can trust me ? It you have killed this man, I shall not shrink from you, much less betray you, on that account." He was silent, keeping his eyes bent on the floor of his cell. If you wish any one else to defend you- I don't care to be defended at all-that's the truth." But that is madness Come now, my dear old fellow, tell me all about it." Charley sighed, lifted his weary eyes to my face, .d keeping them fixed there, said, in a strange, monotonous Toiee— I "As I was on my way home last night, j • thought I would look up Vinet, late as it was. I wanted to see him "About what?" About the lawn tennis handicap." The excuse was so evidently manufactured that I disdained to notice the fact, and merely said- 44 Go on." An old woman opened the door to me, and she said that Mr. Vinet had not come in. Would I wait for him? I said yes, and went in. I waited in the sitting-room for a quarter of an hour and then the old woman came back and hinted that I had better go. I said I wanted to see Mr. Vinet particularly, and she said that she did not sleep in the house and that she wanted to go home. I said she might go if she liked, but I was not going away till I had seen her master. She muttered something I did not catch, and went out of the room; and a minute later I heard the street door bang behind her. I didn't know whether she had gone for a constable or not. But it got quite dark, and no one came. I had been playing tennis all the morning, and I was 1 a bit tired, I suppose, and the big chair I had selected was fairly comfortable. Any way, I fell asleep. I was awakened bv the bright sun shining in at the windows. When I looked at my watch, I found that it had run down. So I thought t,he beat thing I could do was to get up and go home. That's all." How much of this was I to believe ? And what could be the man's object in trying to deceive me? You never saw Vinet, then?" I asked. Never. I didn't even know whether he had come home; but I supposed that he had come home, and had gone to bed without coming in to the sitting-room." "You didn't hear any revolver fired, then?" "No; but there is nothing surprising in that. A revolver makes a sharp but not a loud noise, and I was on the other side of the house, fast asleep." Charley," I said, after a long pause, I think it is best to tell you plainly that I do not know whether to believe you or not. I cannot believe all you have told me and I can only say that I hope you have an adequate reason for trying to mislead an old friend, who is doing his best to serve you." "Good God, Jack!" cried Charley, through his teeth, don't make it harder for me than it is." "What is it, Charley? Can't you tell me?" I said in an altered tone, leaning over to him as I spoke. No, I can't," said he; and there was an end of it. "Well," said I, rising to my feet, "all I can do is to wish you a happy deliverance from your troubles, and to say that any hour of the day or night when you wish to see me, I will gladly leave everything else and come." "Thank you, old man," said my friend, in his old cheery tone. There is just one other thing," I said, as I rose to go. "I would not think of bothering you about it at such a time but I pledged my word, in a way, for you, and at any rate there is no harm in asking you the question-Lord Ormi. dale » My friend's face changed as the named passed my lips, and my heart sank. Lord Ormidale told me that some one had come to his hotel (he is staying at the Royal) and-to speak plainly-purloined a letter of his, pretend- ing that he, Lord Ormidale, had sent him for it. And I am sorry to say that the hotel porter swears that you were the man who took the letter. Of course, it is preposterous to imagine that you would do such a thing, but I had to promise Ormidale that I would see you, and "The porter must have made a mistake," said Charley, interrupting me. "Of course. I knew it must be so I suppose I may tell Lord Ormidale from you that you know nothing about his letter ?" "Yes; you may tell him that," with a laugh No hang it all! In this matter I can afford.- perhaps it is better policy—to be sinoere. I took the letter." "You did? Good heavens! What for? Do you know Ormidale ?" Never saw him in my life. But I had a reason for taking the letter. I considered that I was justified in doing so." "My dear fellow, think what you are saying Nothing on earth can justify a man in interfering with another man's correspondence, much less in taking possession of a letter that did not belong to him." You think so ? All I can say, then, is that I don't agree with you." "He must be mad," I said to myself—" quite i mad But there was plenty of method in his madness. At any rate," I said aloud, you will give me the letter to hand to Lord Ormidale ? I answered for you, remember." I am very sorry, Clavering, but it is impossible. I can't give you the letter." "You mean that you won't." I mean that I can't. I burned it." You burned it And am I to tell that to Ormidale ? Just as you please. It really doesn't matter a straw whether you tell him or not; but I'd rather you didn't." "You will at least tell me what was in the letter ? Surely he has a right to know that ? Good heavens Clavering, what do you mean ? cried Charley, glaring at me out of his great hollow eyes. Do you suppose I read the man's letter? Of course I burned it unopened." "But there may have been something of value in it." I knew very well what was in it; you may be sure of that!" May I ask who wrote it ?" "Since I see you have guessed already, I may as well acknowledge to you that it was written by Pierre Vinet. But that piece of information I must beg you to keep to yourself." There was no use in tormenting the poor fellow by putting any more questions; so I renewed my offer of help, if at any time he should change his mind, told him that lie must not lose heart and hope, and after this ineffectual attempt to cheer him, I left him. The clouds seemed to be gathering thiek around my unlucky friend. I could see that this affair of the letter would tell heavily against him if it became known; for it made it Elain that he had been interested in preventing /ord Ormidale and Vinet from holding any com- munication with each other. It seemed—and I shuddered as I recognised the possibility that not- withstanding the faith I still had in my friend's innocence it might be true—that he had taken the Frenchman's life rather than allow them to meet. Not satisfied with the fact that Vinet's lips were for ever sealed, he had by his own con. fession stolen the letter, lest any word from the dead man's mouth should pass to the other's ear And this was Charley Protheroe It was in- credible—unless—unless he was doing all this for another, for one he loved more then himself, more than his life-for Ida Braithwaite Then could she be the murderer ? Equally in- credible She, a gentle, timid, inoffensive girl barely out of her teens—it was impossible But then my thoughts took another turn. Grant- ing that the girl was innocent, that he was not sacrificing himself in order to shield her, if he were himself guilty, why this strange, this unnatural reticence? Why these clumsy attempts to deceive me ? I could have taken my oath that if Charles Protheroe had committed a crime, no matter of how grave a nature, his first impulse would have been to confide in me, in the full assurance that his secret was safe with me, and that, innocent or guilty, I would do my best for him. And yet, I could well believe that murder is like no other crime, that the fear of the scaffold might make it impossible for a man to confess such a crime even to his own intimate friend—even to his own lawyer. On the other hand, Charley had plenty of brains, and he must see that he could take no surer method of securing his own conviction than that he was adopting. I was grieved to the heart for him, but I could do nothing. It was a jungle I could not penetrate -8, knot i could not untie. The last thought I had during the waking hours (and they were many) of that night was that I ought, if possible, in Charley's interest, to see Ida Braithwaite next day, and learn whether she could throw any light upon the matter. Would she do so ? Charley not being her j accepted lover. She owed no special duty to him. j Supposing him to be guilty, she could not clear j him. And if it was she that was the criminal, how could I expect her to put the rope round her neck to save my friend, before the very last moment —before he had been tried, convicted, and sen- tenced ? Yet, I thought it could do no harm for me to see her. (To be continued). I (
HOME HINTS. 00
HOME HINTS. 00 Plaster casts may be cleaned by rubbing all over with a mixture of beeswax, turpen- tine, and ammonia. All the dirt will come off when this polish iti removed, first with a brush and finally with a soft cloth. A good liquid starch gloss consists of five ounces of glycerine and two ounces each of spermaceti, gum Senegal (cheap gum arabic), Lc and borax in forty-nine ounces of water, mixed and boiled together. Two or three teaspoonfuls of this are added to a quarter of a pound of boiled starch. Calf's Tongue.—Procure a fresh calf's ton- gue, scald and clean it. Pub into a stewpzin and cover with good stock, add an onion, carrot, and sweet herbs, simmer slowly for three or four hours. When the tongue is quite cooked, cut it in half lengthwise, and lay it on slices of buttered toast. Make a. rich brown gravy with the stock, flavouring it with tomato, and pour over the whole. To clean dirty white marble take a lump of soda about the size of an egg and put it, to- gether with a tablespoonful of soft soap into a pot containing half a pint of water. Stand this pot in a pan of boiling water on a fire until the contents boil. While hot, paint the mixture on the marble, leave it for a day or two, and at the end of this time wash it off with warm water and a clean flannel. People should never go in the early morn- ing to get boots and shoes fitted. For in the latter part of the day the feet are at their maximum size-activity and standing tend to enlarge the feet. If people would re- member this rule there would not be so many complaints of shoes when worn being tight which when fitted seemed perfectly comfortable. In cleaning linoleum do not use soapsuds as for scrubbing a floor. It stands to reason that soap is going to injure the varnish and the finish. In a house where there is plenty of milk, a cloth wrung out of skim milk is the best means of taking up the dust and brightening the linoleum. Where milk is scarce or needed for food use lukewarm water, to which has been added half a cupful of kerosene oil or some good furniture polish. Milk Scones.—These should be made when sour milk or butter-milk is procurable. Rub an ounce and a half of butter or dripping into one pound of self-raising flour. Add a good pinch of salt, two ounces of currants, and two ounces of caster sugar. Make into a dough with half a pint of sour milk or butter-milk. Cut into rounds or fancy shapes, brush with beaten egg, and bake in a moderate oven. These scones can be eaten either hot or cold. Liver and Bacon. Take half a pound of bacon, cut in thin slices, and the liver in nice square pieces. Mix a little flour with pepper and salt, and rub each piece of liver in the fiour before frying. Fry the bacon first, and then the floured liver in the bacon fat. Fry for half an hour, turning the pieces sepa- rately to get them a .rich brown colour en both sides. Make some thick gravy with a teaspoonful of flour, salt, and pepper, and chopped parsley in the pan. Serve with a good dish of mashed potatoes. j Cream of Celery Puree.—Stew the celery until very tender in salted water, and pulp it through a sieve. To three pints of veal | stock or chicken broth, allow one pint of the celery pulp-if stock is not available, use equal parts milk and water, nicely flavoured with pepper, mace, and nutmeg. Thicken with cornflour, and boil all together until perfectly smooth and blended. Pour into the tureen, and at the time of serving stir in a gill of cream. A few chopped pictachio kernels scattered over make the dish look more attractive. Mildew and iron-rust are almost indelible unless they are taken out at once. One of the most successful methods of removing mil- dew is as follows: Mix half a cupful of soft soap with equal quantities of powdered starch and salt. Squeeze in the juice of a lemon. Spread this mixture on the mildew spots, on both sides; spread the spotted cloth on the grass and let it lie in a strong sun one day and remain until the next morn- ing, then turn it over and let it bleach another day on this side. Take the cloth up and rinse it well. Of course, such stains can .only be removed from white goods, as this stain era.dicator would remove the colour from coloured goods. Stuffed Steak.—Spread two pounds of steak out on a board, mix six ounces of bread- crumbs in a basin with a little chopped parsley, one small onion (chopped), one egg well-beaten, a little stock, and pepper and salt to taste. Spread on to steak, roll up and tie with tape. Lay on a meat rack on a dripping tin, and put plenty of dripping on top. Bake in a hot oven for thirty minutes, and then put into a lower shelf and cook one hour and a half. Remove tape, and put the steak on a hot dish and pour gravy round. However simple a meal may be, there should be no half-way work about food that is to be ^served hot. Fish, like soup, cannot be servea too hot, and roast meat should sizzle as the knife makes the first incision. Nothing' is appetizing whsn lukewarm. Among meats lamb suffers most by being carelessly served. It is simply spoiled un. less served crackling hof. Tf the kitchen range has no plate-warmer, put a thick paper on the back of the range, or on the bottom of the oven, if that is not in use, and set the dishes to be used on the paper, which will prevent their being cracked by the heat. Vegetable dishes and sauce tureens can be filled with hot water while the vegetables are being prepared. Above all things serve gravies as hot as possible, taking them from the fire the very last thing. Two cautions are necessary to amateur whitewashers; do not use the wash too thick, and do not expect it to look well if applied over dirt. The first thing to do is to scrape away old lose material, to wash with water to remove smoke and dirt, and then to plaster up any crevices. Two thin coats are better than one thick one, and do not try to judge of the success of the work until it is dry, for whilst still wet the work will look patchy and opaque, but it will appear solid enough when dry. To make the whitewash, take two cakes of common wlutmg; a pound of size, a cake of laundry blue, and a tablespoonful of alum. Mix the whitening into a thin paste by pouring warm water on it; then add the size, previously melted in a saucepan over a fire; next, the blue, pre- viously dissolved in water; and, finally, the alum. This will cause effervescence, and when this is over strain it through a fine sieve or piece of canvas. Add water to make it of proper consistency for use. You may give a deeper tint of blue by actding a larger proportion of laundry blue and using less of whiting. J The art of serving fruit artistically should be studied quite as much as the art of serv- i ing it palatably. No one will deny that the appearance of a dish has a great deal to ck> with one's enjoyment of it. Fruit properly arranged form a handsome centrepiece when Sowers are pot available. Red apples make a pretty dish when wiped with a damp towel, and arranged in a fruit dish with some sprigs of green here and there among them. Oranges and apples are nice served together, also pears and apples. In serving bananas, cut the ends from the fruit, and serve whole, with oranges, pears, or plums. Another way is to peel, slice, and serve with sweetened whipped cream, or alternate slices of sweetened bananas and oranges form a delici- ous dessert. 1
GARDEN GOSSIP. j \
GARDEN GOSSIP. j f Planting Hardy Stuff.-Violas, pansies, and any other hardy plants such as pentstemons i may be planted at any time now. Lots of people j fail to grow the latter with any degree of sue- j cest3 because they do not treat it with sufficient liberality. Rotten manure, leaf soil, rotted turf, and artificial manures should be freely added to the ground into which the pentsfcemons are to be planted. The results will be really splendid. I ¡ Humea elegans.—This delightful plant is I often starved at this season. It is one of those j plants which require to be steadily grown on and repotted from time to time ae it needs it. Plants at this time in 7-inch pots should be given a shift into those 2 or 3 inches wider, gene- rally the least vigorous into the large size, as they will go without another shift, while the strongest ones will require repottiiig-int,o 11- inch pots. Great care is essential in the appli- cation of water after repotting. Roee of Sharon.—This may fairly be described as one of the indispensable plants for growing under trees, for it will thrive and flower grandlv in such a position. At the end of March or early in April it should always be given some slight attention, especially in the removal of dead pieces and the trimming of all others to one uniform height not very far above the sur- face of the ground, and they will then throw up vigorous plants that will flower splendidly. Planting, too, may be successfully carried out now, choosing rooted sucker growths from 6 to H inches in length and placing them about 5 i inches asunder. j Old Roses.—It is not unusual in old gardens to find scraggy old bushes which for all the re- turn they make might as well be reduced to ashes and used as manure, but which by means of a drastic use of the knife renew their youth and become again productive. Here, too, some judgment is needed. Sometimes the cutting in need not go beyond the main shoots, which if cut hard back will produce strong young material on which to rebuild the future plant. Occasionally the plant requires to be cut over to within a few inches of the ground, when three or four young shoots will be pro- duced. The chief thing to be remembered is that the rose, like most shrubs, respond to a vigorous use of the knife. vigorous use of the knife. Manuring Roses —It requires some judgment to manure established roses properly, as it is quite as easy to over as to under manure. When animal manure is applied at this season it should be well rotted and not deeply buried. After young growth has commenced, surface dressings are valuable pigeon manure for ex- ample, and dried blood in powder, sprinkled evenly over the surface, and either hoed into the soil or left lying till dissolved by means of dew and rain. Planting Gladioli. — These plants make a superb display when they flower well, and where they do not it only requires a little persever- ance and ingenuity on the part of growers to persuade mem to do so. They are not plants for thin, poor soils, and it is in this direction that the cause of most failures lies. Unless the soil is naturally deep and in thoroughly good heart, it should be taken out to a depth of at least 2 feet, and good soil containing well rot- ted manure in the lower spit should take its place no manure must be so placed as to come into contact with the corms, which ought to be J planted about 6 inches deep. Sowing Seeds for Lawns.—The present is a suitable time for sowing grass seeds for the formation of new lawns. The land to be sown ought first to be deeply dug and properly levelled. All deep rooting weeds, such as docks and dandelions, should be carefully picked out as the digging proceeds. Procure a fine, even surface by carefully raking after the land has become firm. All stones should be removed before sowing takes place, as if these are left on the top they will play havoc with the machine when the time comes for mowing. I How to Treat Eucalyptus Globulus.—In the southern counties this plant may be grown in the open borders with great success. In shel- tered positions specimens will survive severe winters if the stems are protected by haybands when hard and prolonged frosts occur. But (according to the "Gardener") many plants are neglected as regards pruning while still young, or about five feet high. If long branches are left to grow naturally, they become too weak to withstand severe gales of wind, and some sup- port is necessary. Early in April cut back the longest branches; new shoots will grow* the result being a sturdy specimen which will re- tain its form without the aid of stakes to sup- I port it. < Strawberries in pots.-It was at one time considered that the production of strawberries in pots was a feat only possible to those who were favoured with the most elaborate of con- veniences; but amateurs have learned from personal experience that, with proper care, they can do something substantial in the culture of early strawberries, even though they may have to enlist the aid of various expedients to do so. At this season of the year the plants are mak- ing constant calls upon the supply of water, and neglect in this direction will be followed by decidedly unsatisfactory results. Many plants will be standing on dry, warm shelves, and those who are unable to be constantly looking over them would be wise to stand each pot in a saucer so that it will have the benefit of the water that passes directly through the soil. A little weak liquid manure may be giyen -at in- tervals. Cloth Shrects.Irl the culture of fruit trees on walls, cloth shreds may be said to play two important parts, one of which is appreciated by the grower, while the other is not. For securely attaching the growths of young or old trees to walls that are not specially wired, it is necessary to have shreds of some sort, and or- dinary cloth ones are commonly used-this is their useful purpose. The reverse of the case is seen when the shreds act as ideal nesting places for insects. Here the pests can lie warmly ensconced in a more delightful home than that with which nature would provide them, and they are not slow to avail themselves of its attractions. Fruit growers who utilise ordinal'.) cloth shreds should keep this in mind, and if they have the slightest suspicion that in- sects or their eggs are present in the supports, they should instantly remove them, and consign them to th- hre. The best way, however, is either to have the wall wired or to use medi- cated shreds. Radishes.—A garden without its radish bed is scarcely fit to be called a garden, so highly appreciated and so easily grown are these little roots. The main thing in the culture of radishes is to provide them with a soil 'and a f position in which they will grow rapidly, as* when the progress is slow they are apt to be I strong in flavour and stringy in the flesh. Very small sowings, at frequent intervals, are much preferable to larger ones rarely. Celery.—The main batch of this important crop may now be sown. Where large quanti- ties are needed it is a good plan to sow thinly on a partly spent hotbed, drawing the plants as needed. This does away with pricking off. Small quantities may be sown in pans or boxes.
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OA33EE LrL/ 3 POPULAR ltl ¿.1 mus-ion OVER OE ELLJrOrJ COPIES ISSUED. Never before has such value in music been offered. All copies are fail music size, well printed, on good paper, and equal in every respct to those usually L sold by Music-Sellers at Is. 4d. Cut this list out for future reference. You need only give the number of the song when ordering. FRIGE 2N, E-: T. Of all Music Sellers and Newsagents. Tonic Solfa givers with aii Songs. S PIANOFORTE. DANCE MUSIC. i39 The Carlton Caks Walk Theo iionheur. ) 95 "Happy Days" Rosa i 96 "All at Home" (Lancers) 69 Enchanting Hours (Waltz Cotillion) Austin St. John. 86 Dreams of the Dance A. Trevelyaa. 25 Golden Hours -'(B ar;i,Da).) Ezra Read. 36 Flowers in May" C.Rosalind. 33 "Little Mary" (Schoitischc) Dudley Roy. 60 "Somebody" „ Alan iklacey. 150 "Belle of the Ball Felix Burns. 26 "Alexis" (Mazurka) Ida Hampden. 70 "Sparkling Cascades „ L. Williams. 30 "Sweet Rosemary" (Waltz) Theo Bonheur. (Mandoline part) 38 Whispers ot Love J. Stein. ¡ 40 ''La Belle Marie" Theo Bonheur. (Society Dance) 105 Rosebud and Snowdrop" „ W. Smallwocd. 147 "Sweethearts" Mark Emrey. 154 "Over the Waves J. Rosas. r 145 "Fairy Wedding" „ J. W. Turner. 146 "La Sympathie O. Comet tan t. 28 Love" Knots .(Polka) T. Graham. 34 "MaChere" „ Alan Scott. 44 Laughing Niggers Ezra Read. 155 La Pergola" „ E.Marie. 29 "Dinah's Birthday" (Descriptive Picce) K. Waldeman. 59 "A Day in London" Frank Adlam. 148 Airs of all Nations" I." Ezra Read. 149" 11, 11. I I 24 "Brave Boys" (March) Theo Bonheur. 35 "King Edward" C.Rosalind. 41 "Yeomen of the King" Ord Hume. 48 "March of the Israelites M.Costa. 46 ''MarcheauxFlambeaux" Scotson Clarke. 58 The Royal Review W. Smallvood. 63 "Imperial Crown" John Neat. 27 "Jolly Japs" ThelmaGraham 99 "Dreams of Heaven" C. D. Blake. 100 "The Wedding March" Mendelssohn. 47 War March of the Priests" „ 152 "Republican Guards" Ed, St. Quentin. 156 "Grand March" C. D. Blake. 144 "Norwegian Bridal March" Edvard Greig. SONGS. I i "When Roses Wake H. Trotere. *02 "The Roses Awake Again" „ (Companion Song) 63 "The Silver Lining" 5 "The Lifeboat Theo Bonheur. S25 "Out in the Bay" <204 "LaSerenata" (Violin Obb.) C. Braga. 4 "Just Once Again M. Wellings, "As Time Glides On „ 7 "The 1Ian in the Submarine" J. Stein. 10 "Sleep on Mammie" (With Billijo jr, rt) 9 "A Fisherman's Fact" Oscar Verne. 64 "Orange Blossom" (With Banjo part) „ 11 Killarney (Violin or Mandoline obb., ad lib.) M. W. Balfe. 21 "Excelsior" (Duct) „ „ 134 The Heart Bowed Down" „ „ 52 She is a Sensible Girl Harry Dacre. i54 "Trailing" If 55 Down by the Ferry" „ I 61 "Faith" (Sacred) Ed.St. Quentin. I 74 Lead Thou Me On" (Sacred) „ 75 Down in the Depths Below" 2 "I Live for Thee T. R. Olleren- shaw. 8 "Long Ago H. Baron. t3 "Kathleen Ma:vourneen" F. N. Crouch, 15 "The Moon has Raised her Lamp Above Sir J. Benedict. (Duet from Lily ef Killarney ") 131 "Eily Mavourneen" 16 Swanee River" (With 1 st and 2nd Mandoline and Banjo I parts) S. C. Foster. 17 "Alice, Where Art Thou?' (Violin Obb.) J. Ascher. 18 "Nazareth" (Violoncello Obb.) C. Gounod. 66 Margarita" (Violin Obb.) 20 I' Arise, Elijah," and "O Rest in the Lord'' (From "Elijah") Mendelssohn. 22 "Ever of Thee" Foley Hall. 23 Larboard Watch (Duct). T.Williams. 51 "Trust Me Once More L. Lennox. 62 Sweet Genevieve H. Tucker. 65 "You and I" Claribel. 67 "When the Heart is Young" Dudley Buck. 71 "Teach Me to Remember" EdithFortescue 76 "Till all the Years are Done" J. Ord Hume. 81 Hark, the Sound of Church Bells Pealing Frank Adlam. 82 The Song that Reached My Heart Julian Jordan. 83 "All's Well (Duet). Braham. 84 Juanita" (A Song of Spain) Hon. Mrs. TT Norton, f 91 "Home, Sweet Home" Sir H. Bishop. (Violin Obb.) 92 Auld Lang Syne » j. L. Hatton. 103 Maid of Athens h. R. Allen 107 The Road to the Fair W. M. Hutchi- son. i°9 A Robber King" Aynsley Fox. no iaken by Storm" Odoardo Barri. 1I2 A Ray of Llght F. L. Moir. VrF Maude V.White „ V of Llffht Henrv Pontet. 117 Answered" W. Slaughter. no "Ronald Ray" L_ Nellie 121 !TTi^e Everything" Cotsford Dick. 123 • Wooing by Proxy" p. Mullen. 126 Across the Crystal Sea C. F. Lloyd. 128 "Loves Way" Gerald Lane. 130 The Roamer Arnold Bruce. 132 "Tom Bowling" C. Dibdin. 135 "Friar of Orders Grey W. Reeve. 136 "Only to See Her Face Again" J. E, Stewart. 137 When There's Love at J. H. Home" McNaughtcn. Many of the above have hitherto been published only at 48, All these Songs may be sung without fee or licence. CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, London.