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{ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] For God and i Labour. (THE STORY OF A GOOD WOMAN'S SIN.) BY C. HALL FEILDEN. AUTHOR OF INA Good Marts Sin" When the Tempter Fails," &C., &C% CHAPTER VII. I ""MY TRUSTED FRIEND, MR. HERBERT BLAKE." I Herbert Blake had not allowed the grass to ;grow under his feet since he had discovered the means by which he. could hold Sir Donald in his power. Even the journey up from London had been useful to him. So far as Sir Donald was concerned he was in a rather more or less apathetic condition. Re- joaorse for the way in which he had spent his mis- guided youth had struck him. He felt that he was going back to his old home to take up a position which he little deserved. The noble brother who had been a credit to the family had met with an untimely death, and aow the old father, who had made the name almost ,&- household word, in spite of all forms of hard- ship, had gone the same way. And so it was that he was willing to acquiesce In anything that his companion said. Blake was a man of the world. He knew when lie had not said enough, and he knew when he bad said too much, and it was seldom that he Spoke without an object. he had t h rown out Throughout the journey he had thrown out some judiciously worded remarks of sympathy towards Sir Donald, but as the train neared Biacktown Station he knew that it was necessary fo come down to business. I l'Sir Donald," he said, half mournfully. "I know how you feel old man. One can't receive a double shock like this without being very (much upset, and it grieves me to have to trouble you with anything else, but there is one point which it is necessary that we should con- template. When we reach Rainsford Hall, and Bus I say in all due deference to you, there JwiU be some people who will look upon you as air interloper, old man. For three years it has been common knowledge that you had no right to go near the place at all. Even before then, I !believe you were not looked upon exactly as one of the household; in fact, you have told me yourself you were very seldom there, so you must remember you can scarcely expect to be Xaceived with open arms. For the same reason, any friend of yours will be looked upon in the same light as yourself. Now, according to our compact, we have to pull together. You have my word that I shall not give you away." This last remark was said with emphasis, and for the first time the younger man seemed to appreciate that he was being spoken to. He understood the meaning of the expression. "I have been turning the matter over in my fbind, and as we shall be having solicitors, doc- tors, and all such people there, all of whom are Hot only suspicious of one another, but will be doubly so of you, I therefore think that it would be as well if you introduced me as the son of an I old friend of your late father's." Rainsford Hall stretched itself out to the heavens in a manner which little tokened that inside lay all that was mortal of the late owner and the heir to the estates. Over such a para- dise as this it scarcely seemed possible that any gloom could ever cast its shadow. These thoughts would have appealed to any ordinary man on entering the lodge gates, but it was not so with Herbert Blake. In the great oaks and the massive buildings which he saw before him-in the splendour of the parks and the magnificence of the lawns, there was nothing to him but money. The ivy which crept around the entrance to the hall, the porch which the gigantic Corin- thian pillars supported, all looked to him like so much gold. As the carriage which bore them to their destination pulled up at the front door of the house, a little wizened man stepped out to pneet them. He approached the carriage in a deferential manner and spoke in a servile way, which de- noted that his presence at Rainsford Hall was not altogether disassociated with pecuniary gain. "Sir Donald Barclay?" he said, extending his hand. "I think-I met—you—some years —ag0-" The words were said in a hesitating manner, and the young man was not slow to notice it. "If I remember, sir," he replied, quietly, uYou are Mr. Ladyman, my late father's solici- tor." "That is so," the legal gentleman returned. An almost imperceptible nudge from Blake reminded Donald of his companion's presence. fCPerhaps you know Mr. Blake?" Donald said. "He is the son of an old friend of my father's. He has kindly consented to accom- pany me here to-day from London. An un- fortunate circumstance caused me to requisition his services. I may as well be candid with you, Mr. Ladyman. You, of course, know the re- grettable incident which caused me to leave home some three years ago. On that occasion my father gave me E100, with the intention that if I were worth my salt I could prove what a pan could do. At the same time, he told me that if ill fortune attended me and I was unable to make headway, as a last resource, I ;was entitled to call upon Mr. Blake for his as- sistance. During the period that I have been ;away from here I have not taken advantage of this opportunity until this morning, when I lead of my father's death. I was penniless, practically, and without a friend in the world, jand then it was that I called upon Mr. Blake, 4<>nly to find that he was dead. It is his son hiere, Mr. Herbert Blake, who has been more an a friend to me in the hour of my trouble, land has insisted on accompanying me back." The solicitor looked at Blake and Blake re- turned his gaze. They shook hands, but there rwas no cordiality in the grasp. Both men's Itands were cold and icy, and from that moment tthere was an unspoken feud between them. As quick as thought Blake dismissed the ap- parent sign of suspicion as he linked his arm in that of the baronet's. "lily father was an old friend of Sir Robert's," the said, with an air of dignity. "I never had the honour of being in his company myself, but perhaps if I may be privileged to take my father's place, Donald, I should esteem it a favour if you would allow me to accompany you into the death chamber." It was a hint to the lawyer to lead the way, and he did so. To the right of the hall, at the end of the corridor, was the long dining-room. In there the great dinner had been spread in jantieipation of the return of the hunting party. tt was the room which two nights before would liave resounded with shouts and cheers when Sir Robert would have- announced that his son Basil was to take his place in the commercial 4world. But now everything was so different. The loom had been divested of all its finery, and an the centre on two biers lay the coffins con- taining the mortal remains of father and son ose lives had passed away within such a short atime of each other. The great candles burned dimly as the three approached. Herbert Blake and the lawyer drew aside to allow the younger man to pay his last respects tfcoifche dead whom in life he had so disrespected. Reverentially he bowed his head and kissed Ins brother's cold brow, and then he moved on to ":where his father lay. Three years ago in that very room a stern Pént: had turned him out into the world to Make the best of his life. In those days the Sace had borne the hard lines of a man who had flight the stern battle of life, but as Donald spoked down into the placid countenance his oueart forsook him. It seemed like sacrilege evltf to him to prefes his lips on the face of the man who could have done so much for him. And as he turned away, with a sickly feeling, he found the ever welcome arm of Herbert Blake ready to support him. "The funeral will take place to-morrow," Mr. Ladyman said, as he was bidding them fare- well. "So far, Sir Donald, we have been un- able to discover any will, so that you will be left in possession of the -estates and the busi- ness. I have acted as solicitor to your father for the last thirty years, during which time he has never given me any instructions whatever as regards the disposal of his property, although on several occasions I have had the temerity to suggest to him that he should do so. You are the possessor of vast wealth, Sir Donald. You are a young man; take care that what your father has taken years to build up shall not fall into the hands of friends who may drag you to your ruin. Good-night." For some-reason, best known to the solicitor, whilst making this last remark, instead of look- ing at the baronet his eyes had been fimed upon Blake. And Blake knew that if he had no other ene- mies in the world he had at last found one to contend with-the one man who would have to be removed from his path before he could ab- solutely consider Sir Donald Barclay his in body and soul. 1. CHAPTER VIII. I THE SECRET DRAWER AT R UNSFORD MILL. I For th e, last seventeen years Joyce Rookston's life had been peaceful and tranquil. No cloud had appeared on the horizon to mar the serenity of his happiness. As day succeeded day he had discovered that he was more and more passionately fond of the girl who looked upon him as her father. But aince she had recounted to him the facts of her dream, some impending feeling of danger seemed to overshadow him. What if by some chance the secret which he had borne in his heart all these years should at last be dis- covered, and she should be taken from him. Never before had he allowed himself to give way to superstition; but, try as he would to look at things in a practical way, he was unable to do so, and as the day wore on he made up his mind that by some means or other he would ascertain at least whether there was a drawer marked "No. 3" in the late baronet's private desk. If he discovered that such was the case, he would then believe that there was some importance to be attached to the fact. But how to arrange the matter was far from easy. He pooed up and down his little room with deep lines of thought furrowing their way across his brow. Then he came to a standstill as an idea occurred to him. He knew the night watchman at the Mill—Joe Fennell-very well. Often, when he had had nothing else to do, he had put in a few hours with the old man, to help him to while away his tedious watch. One other fact he remembered, and that was that Joe was not at all averse to a good glass of grog. So, when Grace returned to the Mill that afternoon, after dinner, she carried with her an invitation to Mr. Joe Fennell to spend the even- ing at the little cottage with her father. < The supper had been a great success. Joe was a lonely old bachelor. He had never known the real comfort of home, and Joyce Rookston's hospitality was most acceptable to him. Grace had retired to rest, for she had to be at the Milt by six o'clock in the morning, and late to bed and early to rise would soon have got rid of her charming complexion. "You are a lucky man, Joyce," the watchman said, "to have such a daughter as that. I dare- say you will feel sorry when the day, comes for her to get married. You won't want to part with her, old friend, will you ? Again a shadow came over Rookston's face. "I won't part with her," he said fiercely. "Oh, that's all very well," the other said; "but you mustn't stand in the way of a girl getting married. "It isn't marriage I fear," Joyce said, after a pause. "I should not mind her being wed to an honest man, whoever he was. But don't let's talk about losing Grace." And so saying he helped, his guest to another glass of punch, which to-night Joyce had made perhaps a little stronger than usual. So far as he himself was concerned a more cautious observer than Joe Fennell would, per- haps, have noticed that he was exercising con- siderable care as to the amount which he was drinking. Still, the watchman was not of a suspicious nature, and the more he had to drink the more well-disposed he became towards his host and humanity in general. "What time are you due back, Joe?" <f0h, I am always on duty at midnight. I have never failed yet. 'No?" said the other. '4I suppose the one you fo to relieve would be a bit upset if you kept him waiting long. Is he the right sort?" "Oh, yes, said old Joe. Bob Yates is a good fellow. I don't think he would mind much if he sat up all night-still every man deserves his sleep. So far the information was useful to Joyce-he had discovered that Fennell was due back at midnight, and that he was to relieve Bob Yates. And so they went on drinking and talking about I)ld iime&Joyce doing most of the talking and Joe most of the drinking. Gradually the old man's eyes began to droop, and his speech grew a little thicker. He pulled himself together as well as he could, but Joyce helped him to another tumbler, and this last one did all that, was required. Rookston saw the effect that the liquor was having upon the man. "Well, Joe," he said, "Do you think it is time to be going?" "Ah, well, the other said', interspersing his words with hiccoughs, "the best of friends must part," and then, supporting himself with his hands on the table, he endeavoured to raise his ponderous body from the chair. But Joe had underestimated the power of the potion. "Well, Joe," said the other, "you must be getting old." Joe's face bore a worried look. tel,t is a goodish way from here to the Mill, he said, scratching his head1. I don't know exactly how I am going to get there, Joyce." "I have got an idea," said the other, after a ause; "it is raining prettily heavily, and vou 'Non't e&m very safe on your legs—I hardly like the idea of you going up to the Mill at this time of night. If anything happened to you I should never forgive myself-I am younger than VI. u- let me go on and take your place just for the night. I will leave word for my daughter to call you and get you a bit of breakfast in the morning, and then you can come and relieve me before anyone is about." There was no need for Joe Fennell to reply- i. n fact, it would have been an impossible feat. lie was lying back in the comfortable arm-chair with his mouth wide open, snoring as hard as possible. In an instant Joyce Rookston was a different -pan. To-night he had one of the most important items in his life to see through to its conclusion. To-night would tell him whether he was in the position to keep the girl whom he had so grown to love or not. Hastily scribbling a note to Grace to reform her that Fennell had been taken ill, and had stayed there all night—also that she was to waKe him early in the morning, give him some break- fast, and send him off to the Mill, and that in the meantime he had taken his place, he put on a heavy coat and turned out into the open marsh, and so wended his way on to the Mill. Arrived there, he found it quite an easy matter to satisfy Bob Yates as to his object being at the Mill. "Poor old Joe," Bob said, sympathetically; "he always was too fond of his grog, and it is very good of you, Mr. Rookston, to take so much trouble. Not that I would have minded sticking up all night. Well, good-night to you. And then Rookston was left alone in the, w a i ch. man's room of the great Mill. On the different pegs round the walls were keys labelled according to the different rooms to which they belonged. He scanned them all through, until at last he came to one marked Sir Robert Barclay's room. With feverish fingers he took it down fHlm its peg; then he lit a lantern, and journeyed alone the huae corridor. He was in the best part of the building, where the offices were situated, and he calculated that the room he required would not be far away. He was quite right, for he came to a standstill before a. door on which was marked, U Sir Robert Barclay—Private. » Perhaps his hand shook a little as he turned the key in the door. An exclamation of gratitude escaped his lips as he found that the lock yielded, As he entered the room he placed the lantern down upon the floor, and locked the door aftfr him. Then he took a cautious survey of the interior. There was only one desk in the room- it was open—and his heart fell as he realised that undoubtedly the solicitors had been tneie before him in the endeavour to search for a will. As he scrutinised the desk he noticed that the drawers were numbered, and an uncanny feeling came over him as he pulled out the drawer marked "3." The contents had a most unassuming appear- ance—simply notepaper and envelopes. Still, that there was a desk in the room, and that that desk contained a drawer marked' "3" bore out the statements of his daughter's dream. Surely there was some importance to attach te such a coincidence. He pulled the drawer right out, and then the next one to it, and as he compared their respec- tive depths he found that number 3 was slightly shorter than the other one. This at least was a clue. Pushing his hand in the place from which he nad taken the drawer, he tapped the back with his fingers. A hollow sound. greeted his ears. For the next half hour he pulled and sounded every little board in the desk. At last, aa one of the supports slightly yielded, At last, aa one of the suppo a little secret drawer flew out from the back of No. 3. As it did so it disclosed, very tightly packed, a small bundle. This he extracted, and placed hastily in his pocket for fear that pos- sibly someone might discover him. Then push- ing the secret drawer back into its position, and placing the reat of the desk in the condition in which he had found it, he crept stealthily out of the room and down stairs into the night porter's office. By the glimmer of the lamp he ascertained the contents of the document. It was the last Will and Testament of Sir Robert Barclay, leaving all his property, barring a small annuity which was to go to Donald Bar- clay, to Basil Barclay and "Grace, daughter of Mary Cartmell, whom I married under the as- sumed name of Robert Weston, at St. Andrew'a Church, Kilburn." Accompanying it was a small photograph of Mary herself. Rookston knew it only too well. He placed the papers back hastily lA hia pocket, and then set to thinking. "So this is to be the end of my life's dream," he said to himself. Seventeen years ago I stole the child from its mother in the hopes that I might take some frightful revenge upon Robert Weston. I knew he was acting a false part I tracked him to Lancashire and found out who he was. How I gloated over that knowledge, for I alone in the world knew of his secret marriage. I could have blackmailed him so heavily, and if he had prayed for the rerturn of his child I could have kept her from him. And now this is my reward. Instead of keeping Grace for the sake of denying her to him, I have grown to love her, dearer than I could ever have loved any child of my own. And this will is to proclaim to the world that she is the daughter of Sir Robert Bar- clay and heir to half of his vast fortune. She will be taken from me, and will live in a great house where I should never see her. She would grow to despise me for having taken her away in her babyhood. What is the little money to hor which I have slaved for and saved in comparison to this vast wealth." And so his meditations ran on every moment, cursing his fate for ever having grown to love her. Then a sudden thought struck him. He tried to reconcile it with his conscience. I "Grace is happy," he said to himself, "Grace is happy—she has never known anything dif- ferent. I am everything to her. If she receives this great wealth, fortune-hunters will hang around her, and eventually she will be lured into some marriage which she would rue to her last day. No, I will keep my little girl. When she marries she shall marry the man whom she loves, and money shall not enter into it at all. The man who is worthy of her must fight for her, thinking that she is poor. Until I wish it the world shall never know that my little girl is daughter of Sir Robert Barclay and heir to a million of money. (To be continued.)

I THE STRANDED BATTLESHIP. I The operations for the refloating of the stranded battleship Montagu were abandoned on Monday on account of the bad weather. The Duncan and the Mars were ready for the towing off, and the Montagu was lively and afloat, rolling with the swell, but at 5.30 it was decided to abandon the attempt, owing chiefly to the dense fog and rain, the heavy ground swell, and the strong south- westerly breeze. Naval experts have been inquiring whether the Admiralty should not have left the salving of the ship to associations which devote both time and money to the study and the practical demonstration of restoring to the active list ships which in former days would have been regarded as derelicts. It is reported that the Montagu is more than strained all over. Bulkheads, decks, and other parts of the ship have started, and the vessel is at the present time little better than a sieve.

I STRANGE & WONDERFUL I I- *"—— I I XGGS 100 YEARS OLD. ] In felling a large tree some days ago in Cirencester, Gloucestershire, a bird's nest con- taining four eggs was discovered enclosed in a small hollow near the heart of the trunk. The sap rings showed that nearly a century had elapsed since the eggs were laid, and it was obvious that the hollow had closed automati- cally. The eggs were intact, but slightly I faded. I FEARSOME OBJECT. J The motor boat Togo has been creating a sen- sation in New Zealand—mainly on account of her remarkable appearance, though she has done well as a racer. At the native carnival held at Rotorua, Auckland, the natives were scared by her fearsome-looking war paint, and regarded her as a devil-boat. The Togo is fitted with a 24 h-p. Ailsa Craig motor, is 27 feet long, and has a speed of 18 miles an hour. I u ANIMALS WEAR SPECTACLES. I Many birds are provided with natural spec- tacles, a transparent membrane called the third eyelid. The third eyelid, when not in use, lies folded in the inner corner of the eye. Two muscles work it, spreading it over the corner or folding it up again much more cleverly than a man can put on or take off his spectacles. But for its third eyelid the eagle could not look at the sun. The spectacled bear belongs to Chili. Its latin name is ursus ornatus. It is black, and around its eyes pale rings are drawn, which have exactly the appearance of a pair of gog- gles. I AN AMMONITE. I Here is a picture of an ammonite that lived curled round in a shell, just as a nautilus does at the present day. It is difficult ,to believe that there am 200 different kinds of ammonites. Soma time ago people thought they were little petri- fied snakes, now they know a fish lived inside. When found in different soils and cliffeth-ey look quite different from one another. At Folkestone they qook all pearly, which is really just what their ehelle looked51 like when they were aJive. Then, it taken from a chalk cliff at Dover, they are white. When there is any iron in the soil ammonites often have a polished metal look. THR MAN-FISH. 1 There Used to be tradition's among the bailor* of mermaids at sea, half women and half fish, and there are fishes which may have given rise to the belief from their resemblance to human beings. One of these is called the man-fish. This animal' inhabits the mouths of the Amazon, Orinoco, and other South American rivers. Its name-man,atee, has reference to the peculiar form of its swimming paws; these- are composed of soft -parts, and a membrane which enfolds the bones of the hand& and fingers; but in the manatee four flat nails are seen attached1 to the edge of the paw. The tail also is peculiar, being about one-fourth the length of the body, and oval shaped, not unlike that of the otter. The head is round, attached to the body without a neck; the muzzle, in which the nostrils are placed, is large and fleshy; the upper lip cleft and bristled at the side; the lower lip much shorter, and the mouth small. When seen .at a distance, with the anterior part of the body out of the water, they are eometimes taken for some creature approach- ing to human shape. The effect has been deepened by the thick-set hairs of the musdle, giving somewhat the appearance of human hair or a beard. THE COW TREE. I Cc It's sap is a milk—much to be preferred to the finest, cow's milk," is the strange state- ment of a Central American explorer, in speaking of a tr.ee which he discovered, and which he has named the cow-tree. The sap is highly nutri- tious, and will mix with water, hot or cold, and never curdles in coffee, cocoa, or tea. It keeps good for a week, even in that hot climate, and has the taste of oew's milk with a suggestion of cinnamon. It is rather thicker, and has the feeling in the mouth of liquid gum. If left standing for a time, unctuous cream arises, which, when dry, has the consistence of wax. I have drunk large quantities of this sap. In- deed, whenever possible, I always choose it in preference to cow's milk." ANCIENT FIREARMS. I One of the first firearms of the pistol pattern is shown in the accompanying photograph. It is a very crude arrangement, the stock being en- tirely different from that of to-day's make, and the hammer, instead of on the top of the weapon, U underneath. The barrel is nearly 14 inches in length and an inch in thickness. Its calibre is about .48 and it is loaded with powder and ball much in the manner of the old style musket, with a ramrod. MADE INTO FURNITURE. I At the birth of a Japanese baby a tree is sometimes planted, and this must remain un- touched until the marriage day of the child. When the nuptial hour arrives the tree is cut down, and a skilled cabinet-maker transforms the wood into furniture, which is considered by the young people as the most beautiful of all ornaments Of the house. 1 PRAYING BY MACHINERY. "They pray by machinery," says a globee trotter, speaking of the lamas of the Buddhist country in Western Tibet. "There one finds continually by the wayside altars, images, pray- ingwheels, praymg-flag6, and other queer ing-wheels, Most of their devotions are literally carried on by machinery. Wheels containing rolls of prayers are turned by water power, and every time the wheel revolves it is supposed to be working out the salvation of the man who puts it up. On the tops of the houses wave flags inscribed with prayers, performing a similar function, while many other artifices are em: ployed.

I HOME HINTS. I Bread and butter or sandwiches may be kept fresh and moist for many hours if wrapped in a cloth wrung out in cold water and kept in a cool place. A spoonful of vinegar added to the water in which fish is boiled will make the fish firm and tender. Finger-marks on paint can be removed by rubbing them with a cloth moistened with a little paraffin, but the paint should after- wards be rubbed with a clean cloth. When carving salmon, and all short- grained fish, cut it lengthwise; use a broad fish slice to avoid breaking the flakes. When meat is tough, soak it for about six hours in equal parts of vinegar and water. Sponges may be successfully cleaned by rubbing a fresh lemon well into them, and rinsing several times in lukewarm water. Here is a good method of relieving sprains. —Well bathe the part affected with water as hot as can be borne. Them wrap in a com- press of wet cloths, covered with oil silk. If honey has become sugared or candied the pot may be stood for several hours in hot water, when the honey will become smooth and clear again. Both time and trouble can be saved in scalding fish, by first pouring hot water over them, until the scales begin to curl. Then scrape quickly and wash in several waters, taking care that the last water is cold and well salted. To get new boots to take a bright polish it is a good plan to rub them with half a lemon, leaving them to dry thoroughly. Broiled Sardines.—Drain and wipe one dozen sardines, broil over a clear fire two minutes. Arrange on platter and serve with brown sauce. Heat one-and-a-half table- spoons of sardine o.il. Add one tablespoonful of flour, one cup of brown stock or water. Add half a teaspoonful of lemon juice and a few drops of table sauce. To Renew Oilcloth.—Dissolve a little ordi- nary glue in water and apply it over night with a flannel. By the morning it should be hard and dry, with a fine gloss of surface. Salad Dressing Without Oil.-A half table- spoon salt, a teaspoon mustard, I-L 2 table- spoons sugar, half tablespoon flour, few, grains of cayenne, yolks of two eggs, Ii tablespoons of melted butter, three-quarters cup of milk, quarter cup vinegar. Mix dry ingredients, add yolks of eggs slightly beaten, butter, milk, and vinegar very slowly. Cook in double boiler until it thickens, strain and cool. 'This is an old tried and true recipe, and if made as directed it will keep for j months in a cool place. Baked Cod Steaks.—Two thick slices from the centre of the fish; a dessert-spoonful of either vegetable butter or good olive oil; a teaspoonful of made mustard; a little minced parsley; pepper, salt, and half-a-teacup of fine bread-crumbs. Pour a little oil, in a flat bak- ing dish; brush the fish all over lightly with mustard, and put them in the dish, side by side. Season the breadcrumbs with the pepper and salt, and sprinkle them over the fish. Pour a little more oil on the top, and cook in a quick oven for about twenty minutes. "Milk Sorbet.—Put a quart of water en te boil, and add three-quarters of a pound of sugar, half a pint of-the strained juice of fresh lemons, and lastly a pint and a-half of milk. Strain through a jelly bag twice, and serve with plenty of ice. Brush the hair for five minutes at a time twice a day, using long, even strokes. At night part the hair and let it hang in two loose braids. Once a day rub the scalp with the fingers to stimulate the circulation. The brushing is absolutely necessary for the hair attracts dust and dirt with fatal facility. Whitewashed walls are best for the kit- chen, as in cold weather the steam arising on wash days dampens the paper much faster than it will dry, and so loosens and causes it to drop off. Some persons prefer painted walls and ceilings, but nothing is neater than lime whitewash. Lemonade.—A good bottled lemonade may | be made as follows: Put two ounces of cream of tartar and the thin rind and juice of two lemons into a stone jar. Pour several quarts of boiling water over them. When cold, add Ob und and a half of lump sugar, and a btclpl,of-ba;lm leaves. After a few hurs, strain and bottle the lemonade, corking it down tightly. French Buns.—Take 31bs. of flour, half a pound of' butter, and two eggs, make a dough with these ingredients and warmed milk. Let it rise some time. Then work in half a pound of currants, half a pound of sugar, and some candied lemon rind cut very fine. N%en: well mixed, make into buns, and again allow to rise. A quarter of an hour will bake the buns. They may be brushed over wita milk oi-be sprinkled with castor sugar. Scraps of bread are also apt to become a nif they are allowed to accumulate. The following is a good way of getting rid of some of them. When the oven has been heated. and is just cooling down, place the crusts on a baking tin and let them brown slowly. When nicely coloured put them on a newspaper, and rub well, then sift and put away -for use. Then they will be ready for covering iboiled ham or meat cakes and many other things. Potted Meat.—Potted meat made from freshly cooked meat is very nourishing and most useful in hot weather. Beef from the shin at fourpence or sixpence per pound is quite nice enough for this purpose. Place it in tepid water and bring slowly to the boil, with an onion, some herbs, and any soup vegetable you have; directly the meat is r done, drain it. Mince finely with a little fresh butter, passing twice through the minc- ing machine, season with cayenne pepper, salt, white pepper, and a pinch of allspice. Place in pots, cover with dissolved butter, and set aside till required. Children's teeth require care from the very first-not only when the second teeth are coming. A soft brush should be used, for should food be allowed to lodge in the teeth, decay will soon begin. As soon, as- the child is old enough to use the brush itself, it should be taught to use it regularly night and morning, and should look upon this part of the toilet as essential as the daily bath. Ink stains are ruinous to clothes, carpets, and tablecovers if allowed to dry in and be- come firmly fixed. Woollen material does not at once absorb the ink, so much of it may be scooped off with a spooon, or sucked up by means of renewed pieces of damp blotting paper held to it. Then sprinkle thickly with table salt, and sponge off with lukewarm water. Cotton or linen material should be stretched over a basin, half-full of eoured milk or buttermilk, the stain being allowed to dip right under the milk. Sweet milk may be used if buttermilk is not at hand, but it takes longer to remove the stain. If the stain is obstinate the material should be laid tightly over a basin of boiling water, and salts of lemon applied.

GARDEN GOSSIP. Pegging Down.—In these days of informa2 flower gardening there are many scores of beds filled with such free growing plants as Phlox Drummondii and Verbenas, and exceedingly beautiful they are when in full bloom but if they are allowed to grow naturally they assume an aspect of untidiness which need not neces- sarily be associated with informality. It is im- perativ that these tendencies should be held in check, and this can easily be managed by care- fdly pegging down the growths. This operation ? is also advantageous in encouraging lateral is z  so growths to develop, and thus we get a larger number of flowers on the plants. If the work is done carefully at the outset, it will not be necessary to do more than look over the plants occasionally for a stray shoot afterwards. The sooner it is done the better. Chrysanthemums.—Of all the plants grown in British gardens, none makes more incessant demands upon the skill and time of the cultiva- tors than these. In spring, summer, autumn, and winter there is always something waiting to be done, a.nd the man who keeps up to date with all the details is the one who secures the. best results. Watering is of paramount importance at this time of the year, and it is common to have to give two or even three supplies in a day. Liouid manure should also be given once or twice a week, according to judgment, and it should always be weak, and as varied as possible. If the pot6 are standing on an ash bed, they should be twisted occasionally to prevent the plants from rooting too freely through the hole at the bottom of the pot. Snapdragons.—These are among the indis- pen sable plants in the town garden. That they like good soil none will dispute, but in some of the poorest soil to be found in London they flower magnificently, although they do not make very grand plants. The present is an excellent time to sow seeds, from which may be grown fine, strong plants for blooming in good time next year. If there is sufficient space for a consider- abLe number of plants, seeds should be sown in separate colours, but if only a few are required a packet of mixed seeds from a first-class strain will give every satisfaction. A seed bed should be prepared in the usual manner, by adding some leaf mould and sand to the ordinary surface soil, and the seeds dropped at intervals of about two inches; of course, the seeds may be sown more closely, but they usually germinate well, and the work of thinning is apt to be neglected, with the result that. we get weak plants. Violets for Winter.—During the hot weather it is imperative that the Violets now growing in reserve beds to make fine-plants for frame culture in winter, shall have proper and unremitting attention. It is folly to prepare the ground we'll, put out vigorous young plants, and then allow them to suffer from red spider to such a degree that they are more than half ruined. In dry weather it must be one of the routine opera- tions to see that the plants never become quite dry at the roots, or the leaves will quickly be- come a prey to red spider, which may be a com- paratively easy pest to prevent, but is a difficult one to extir" pate when once it has become firmly established. Hoeing, too, must receive constant attention, and any weed6- that are among the plants and cannot, therefore, be hoed out, should be removed by hand. It is most desirablie that the entire strength of the plants should be concentrated in one fine crown, as by this means the finest blooms are assured. Of course, all dead! and decaying leaves should be picked off directly they are c, een. Neglected Roses.—Those who enter fresh houses at the June quarter often find neglected roses in the gardens. In order to gain some good blossom in late autumn, it will be advis- able to cut back some of the hybrid perpetuals, polyanthas, and teas, but not all of them, in-, case the old trees should not get up sufficient -vigour, even when mulched round and liquid manured, to form new bud shoots. All old dead wood should be cut away from every tree, climbing, standard, or bush. The soil should be cleared of weeds, and forked lightly up all round the roses, and, if the weather is dry, the ground must be thoroughly soaked with water before any mulch is applied. Fresh stable manure may be used, but should not be heaped round the stems. Sweet Pea Blight.—This terrible disease is on the move. Pea blight first shows itself on the lower leaves, in the form of pale blotches, which rapidly spread over the whole surface, when the leaves collapse. If left alone, the blight will, in a few days, attack all the foliage and even haulm, and encompass the complete destruction of the vines. In dry weather the disease does not produce prominent spores, but a wet spell will see the bluish mould showing on the dead foliage. Badly affected vines will be of no prac- tical value, and should be pulled out and burnt. Where the spots are not numerous, it is best to pick off the affected leaves and spray the plants with Bordeaux mixture or potassium sulphide solution. The latter is made by dis- solving loz. of sulphide of potassium in 4 gal- lons of water, in which a little soft soap has been dissolved. The soap is essential, or the foliage of peas will throw off the spray. Culi- nary peas are also a prey of the blight, and no time should be lost in stamping it out. Peaa should never be planted where the disease haa appeared, as the spores rest in the soil during the winter, and attack the plants as soon as the warm weather comes along. Winter Greens.—Ground which has been oc- eupied by potatoes will not need any manuring. Forthwith level it, tread it down firmly if the weather has remained dry, and then put out the young plants in rows, 2 feet apart for large broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and autumn giant cauliflowers, and 18 inches asunder in the rows. Savoys, kale, and early cauliflowers should be about 20 inches from row to row, and 16 inches asunder in the rows. Cottager's kale is a most serviceable vegetable for amateurs to grow. It is very hardy, and may be planted in the most exposed positions. Indeed, all kinds of winter greens are better for being grown in open places and in firm ground. One can make the plants hardy by giving them the right kind of treat- ment. Very often southern counties are visited by severe frosts without any snow to cover the ground and dwarf plants growing on it. When this condition obtains, there is much slaughter of winter greens. < Mignonette for Winter.—Within the next week or so prepare a few pots of soil for sowing. Five or six-inch pots are the most suitable for conservatory work, though pots of larger size are used, and the resulting plants produce arm- fuls of fragrant Mignonette during the following February. A good variety should be chosen, and the seedlings should be thinned to about half a dozen in a pot when they are fairly through the soil. After sowing, stand the pots in a shady spot, but do not cover them; protection will not be required for two or three months. Sound loam, to which a third of well-rotted manure is added, will grow Mignonette perfectly, though in some cases it may be advisable to mix lime old mortar with the soil. Cordon Gooseberries.—Those who have Goose- berries trained in cordon form on walls having a northern aspect may reasonablv expect to have a supply of late fruits. It "is, however, necessary that some cultural attention be given to the plants during the summer, if they are to bring their present burden to perfection, and also lay the foundation for good results next year as well. If there is a suspicion of dryness at the roots, thorough soakings of water should be given, and they will assist the buds as well as the fruits. The latter, too, should be thinned, so that those left shall come up to good size. Then it is necessary to keep a keen and constant look out for visits from any form of insect pest, clearing them off the instant they appear. Sum- mer pinching of the young growths must be kept Well in hand, so that the buds on the spurs, as well as the fruits themselves, shall have the utmost benefit derivable from light and fresh air. It is, as a matter of fact, only by attention to these details that the plants are kept comw ftantly in excellent condition.

I HORSE WITH A GRUDGE. I At an inquest at Toothill, Essex, on a man named William Fitch, who was kicked to death by a horse, it was stated that the animal which caused the injuries was the quietest one in the stable, but had a grudge against another horse. When brought to the stable the old horse went for the other, and Fitch, being in the way, received the kicks which proved fatal. He died in agony shortly afterwards.

I CLEVER TRICKSTER. A very clever development of the confidence trick was experienced at the Old Bailey when William Dorrington, who is only twenty-five years of age, was convicted of defrauding three persons. According to the prosecution, Dorrington waited near banks for persons to come out after changing a cheque, and after they had gone away some dis- tance would run up to them and tell them there was something wrong with the signature to the cheque, and that they had better bring the person who had signed the cheque to the bank at once. The money would then be handed over to Dorring- ton, and subsequent inquiries at the bank would reveal the fraud. Mr. Perceval, who defended, pleaded for leniency on the ground of his client's youth and the fact that he had not been convicted before. There was no doubt prisoner had associated with persons older in years and crime than himself and been led to practise this confidence trick. Twelve months' hard labour.