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OUR UNWELCOME GUEST.
OUR UNWELCOME GUEST. BT MRS. MONTAGU. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] CHAPTER I. THE WREN'S NEST. "FOE sale, with immediate possession." I was looking for a. house, and the advertisement caught my eye in an out-of-the-way corner of the uaily Comet; looking as if it had arrived at tho office too late for classification, as indeed it had, Mary and I Were young beginners in housekeeping; we had only! married a few months, and had been con-, tented to begin our life together in a lodging of two, rooms till such time as we could afford anything better. That delightful time was to come when I was made head clerk at our place of business, with a salary of many hundreds a year, and the power of living out of town, and indulging in a season ticket to some place of unsurpassable loveliness. We amused ourselves very often by talking about what we should do when these golden days came found, and in the meantime we were very happy on £150 per annum, and the comforts we had managed to gather round us in our little home. Mary was the best of managers, though she had been brought up to something very different from our tiny first floor In Whittingham Grove—why a grove I never could make out; there never seemed to have been the vestige of a tree within a mile at least of it; perhaps the Person who gave it its name had lived in a grove some time, and liked to perpetuate the memory of that pleasant time. It was handy for me. I could walk to my business over Southwark Bridge in dry weather, and get an omnibus in rain I did not often indulge myself so far as that, for we had agree that we must be ex- ceedingly economical it we were to get on at all. Our Carriage had come about rather sooner than we had intended for Mrs. Hunt, Mary's mother, had been offered a situation that promised her a comfortable home and many comforts that she needed now, and we advised her to accept it and let us begin the world on our own account. My darling's father had been in a good position, aQd had been ruined by unwise speculation, into which he had been persuaded by his partner. He never held up his head after the crash that drove them out of their nice home, to begin again in a cottage of IlIx rooms, and an income on which many a working man would have felt poor. And when he died his widow and daughter had to eke out their scanty means as best they could, and hold up their heads amongst the people who had known them all their lives as bravely as might be. They had been brave, and everybody loved and respected my gentle darling and her refined mother; and when we were; married, Mary and I, we left Colesworth for London, amid the good wishes of the whole population. My bonnie Mary had been so good to everybody. But this has nothing to do with the story of what happened to us afterwards. We per- suaded Mrs. Hunt to take the home that Lady Avers- dale offered her. as.her housekeeper. A sweet lady she was, too, and good to everybody she came near and we went into our two rooms, and were as happy as mortal creatures could be. And all of a sudden it came to us—the happiness We had coveted, the home we had longed for, season ticket, beautiful place, and all. I woke up one morn- ing and found myself a rich man. An uncle of my father's, my godfather—a man of whose existence I scarcely knew—had died and left me a fortune, not enough to make a millionaire of me, but enough to start me in life comfprtably, and to take our mother back to live with us. There was no need for me to fear my mother-in-law's presence in our home. Mrs. Hunt was only an elder edition of my Mary, and we should want her soon. There would be a grandchild for her to nurse and spoil; and we had been consider- ing how we could possibly economise, 80 as to have her to live with us, and yet not let her feel the want of anything she had been accustomed to. I read the lawyer's letters in a dazed sort of way, feeling like a man in a dream. Five thousand pounds was not an immense fortune, but to us it seemed un- limited. The will set forth that it was left to me be- cause I had never sought him out or toadied him in any way; and I was enjoined not to lose it on the Stock Exchange—an institution of which my revered relative had the greatest horror. When I had actually realised that the money was mine. Mary and I took counsel how we should use it. Invest £4000, and make a fair start with the other," Mary said, That is what I should do, if it were mine, Harry. It is yours, my darling," I returned, hugging her. We had not left off that remnant of our honeymoon days yet. Yours, every penny of it, as much as it i# mine. Then we will buy a house," she said decisively house we resolved to buy. We looked about us cautiously. I was not going to situation The money would most pro- & y enable me to take a good upward step in the same ouse, but I should do nothing rashly, we would get ourselves a comfortable home first. The legacy came in ^u&ust, and with the first days of the new y ar the fresh link in our chain of happiness would come. How glad I was of that money for Mary's sake. She worked hard enough already in our tiny home, and here would be double duty when there was mother to tend and care for. She could have servants now, and everything that would be needed, and more than all, her mother. The only thing to decide was —Where should our house be ? We thought it over and read many advertisements hut we had not found anything that seemed nice," as Mary put it. when I came upon the notice of the Wren's Nest" in our daily paper. Oh, Harry, do let us go and see it," she said. It must be lovely." And, indeed, it did seem so from the advertisement. It was described as a cottage, with garden, within a few minutes' walk of a station. The proprietor had lived in it himself, and bad built and furnished it. The furniture could be had at a valuation. If he furnished it to suit the house," Mary said, reflectively, when we had spelt over the notice for the twentieth time at least," the things will be sure to fit and look well. I think it is worth looking after, Harry." I thought so too, and wo resolved to go and see the Wren's Nest without delay. I asked for a day, telling mV employers what had happoned to me, and they were polite, and bade me take what time I wanted, and talk to them afterwards about what I intended to do with the rest of my new fortune. A man with £4000 to invest is much moro important than a clerk with only his quarterly pay to depend on. So Mary and I took our day—a lovely autumnal one—and went to Summerfield, as the village was called where the cottage was situated. A local book- seller and newsagent, whose shop was also post office and general gossiping place, had the key, and scnthis boy to show us the way. Is there is no caretaker in it?" I asked wonder- inglv, knowing it was a furnished house. "Well.no; not living there," ho said. It is well looked after. I go in most days, and Mrs. Grainger, the woman who did live there, sees that nothing gets damp or spoiled. Mr. Hathaway is very particular, and he was very angry when Mrs. Grainger wouldn't stop there any longer. I didn't quite know who to recommend that could go, so we haven't had anyone there since." Why did she want to leave it ?" I asked. Some- how I wanted to know everything that there was to be told about the place. Ah! that's what I don't know sir," the man replied. She came up here all of a sudden one evening, and said she was going to sleep at home that night, and left the key with me. I was curious, and I went to the house, and looked all over it, but I could find no reason for her acting so. I fancy she must have had a drop of drink, and so got nervous. The little girl couldn't tell anything either, except that her mother came all of a sudden after dark into the kitchen where she was, and pushed her straight out of the house, and came after her arid locked the door. It was drink I expect, sir. It does make a person nervous; though I never heard that Mrs. Grainger was given that way." It is of no consequence if everything is in good order," I said and Mary declared that she wouKF rather have a house that had not had a charwoman bivouacking in the kitchen. They always left a smell of grease and drink behind them, she said. It was a. lovely place no advertisement could have set that fact forth too strongly. It stood back from the road a little way, and the fore court was a miracle of neatness and floral beauty even at this late season of the year. Mary was delighted—so was I. We ex- plored the (fbtside of the premises first. There was a good srardea behind: a lawn. and a kitchen garden behind it, well planted, and ail neat and trim. I re- marked on the good order to our youthful guide, who said that the agent would allow no neglect. The gentleman who had built the house was very fond of the place; but since his wifo had died he had not cared to live there, and had gone away somewhat suddenly. I checked this sort of conversation. I could bear all about that some other time, and I did not want to listen to tales about death and sorrow this bright day when we were looking at what might be our future home but boys are not easily repulsed, and th.s one was full of importance at being deputed to gui e us through the place. Mrs. Surtees died quite sudden she did," he said apropos of nothing, as we were a miring the pleasant garden. They did say as how-" Ah, never mind Mrs. Sturtees now," I said some- what sharply and with a look that silenced him for the time, I can hear all about that some other time. We will go into the house now." The lad handed me the keys as if he wanted me to have the honour of opening the door myself. You need not stay if you don't want to," I said. We will lock the door carefully, and bring the keys back to your father's shop; we shan't run away with anything." There ain't anything but the furniture, and you can't take that away," he answered shortly. If you really don't want me, sir. I dare Bay fattier does." He seemed relieved, I thought, to be dismissed. j Doubtless we were not exhilarating company. He went of! whistling, but stcppedto.Bpeak to someone at the pate, t caucht a They didn't want me to go inside, thank good- ness. It was making me feel creepy, I can tell you." You're an ass, Tom Wortley," another voice said, and then the two lads scampered off together. What did it mean ? I looked at Mary. Her face was all one beam of delight. She had found the home she had been picturing to herself, and her mind was made up. I could see that in her eyes. It is the very place, Harry, if it isn't too much money," she said, as the door opened, and we went in, to find the same exquisite order inside the house t that had appeared in the garden. We inspected the I kitchen first-no trace of dirt—no sign of any I bivouac." The woman had removed her belongings, if she nad any there, and cleared away all signs of her occupation. We looked over everything, and Mary began to arrange in her own mind how she would have things when she was mistress of this earthly paradise. The well-appointed kitchen had a charm for her, as it has for most women. It was some time before I could get her out of it and into the brighter parts of the house. She was charmed with everything. The furniture was all in such perfect taste. The hall on which the sitting-room doors opened was as pretty as any of it. It was bright with plants and pretty matting, stained windows, and rustic furni- ture. Tho drawing-room was elegant, and bore traces of a woman's delicate hand in all its arrangements. I could well understand the feeling that drove the be- reaved husband away from a home where everything must have spoken to him so directly of his lost darling. The last room we entered on the ground floor was evidently the ordinary sitting room. It was so pretty and cosy that Mary said she should dream of it, and if we did not have the house it would haunt her all her life. It was not luxurious, but so comfortable r everything seemed to have been gathered there that could make it a cosy nest for two people, and I think the sight of it decided us on the purchase of the place at once. There was only one thing I did not like in the room —it had a window over the door. Mr. Surtees had been in a great measure his own architect, and some- how that corner of the hall was left in uncomfortable darkness in the building. To remedy this the window was made it lit that bit of the hall by day, and was not particularly unsightly. I don't quite know why I did not like it, but I didn't. There was an odd thing about that room; it had never been dusted, while all the rest of the house was as clean as hands could make it. The dust lay thick upon every bit of furni- ture in the sitting-room of the late Mrs. Surtees. Mary exclaimed in dismay at her gloves after she had moved something to get a better look out of the pretty bow window. It had been an oversight doubtless, but it was odd. CHAPTER II. IN THE GLOAMING. IN my visits to the lawyers about the Wren's Nest I learned from the lawyers the particulars of the death of Mrs. Surtees. Her husband had been passionately fond of her, and had furnished the place exactly as she had wished. She was a delicate woman, suffering from heart disease, as they afterwards discovered, and he indulged her every whim. They had not been in possession of their new home many months when the sad event occurred. She had been particularly well for some days, and only that morning had superintended the unpacking of some glass and china, the arrival of which seemed to cause her great delight, being mostly articles that she herself had selected. Amongst them were the globes on the gasaliers in the two downstairs rooms. The fancy for other than plain glass was at its height then, and some delicately-tinted and engraved articles had been chosen. I remembered, when he was speaking, how both Mary and myself had admired these glasses, and wondered, if we broke any of them, where they were to bo matched. It was in the sittipg-room-the cne with the little window over the door—that poor Mrs. Surtees died," the lawyer said, looking at me and I resolved not to tell Mary that fact—at least not at present. I heard she died suddenly," I said. Awfully," he replied in a moment. And it seems impossible to get at the cause, unless it was over excitement caused by the coming of the crate of glass and the unpacking and arrangement of it after- wards. No one can tell what will kill a person af- fected with any heart complaint." Poor thing," I said. What a pity." Aye, it was a pity Surtees—we are friends as well as lawyer and client—was like a man distracted when he returned home at night. No one had been with the unfortunate lady except a servant, and her account of what had happened was odd and un- accountable altogether. It was getting dark, it seems, and the two women had lit the gas in the hall and sitting-rooms to try the effect of the new globes. The girl had pulled t he gasalier down low, and was fastening one of the glasses which seemed loose, when suddenly without any warning her mistress shrieked out,' Look, look,' and pointed over her head to the door behind her. Her face was awful pale,' the girl said,' and she fell as she spoke.' She was dead before she could be raised from the floor, and her husband only came home to find her a corpse." It was a gruesome story, and made me feel some- what uncomfortable. Mary should not hear it; I was determined on that. What was she looking at ?" I asked. Was there anything to frighten her r" Nothing; there was no one in the house but the girl, a faithful servant. She must have shaped her mistress's cries into words, for there was absolutely nothing to seo when she turned her head in the direction of her pointing hand. I don't wonder he never liked the place afterwards, poor fellow; the shock almost drove him mad. Of course there was an inquest, and it was sufficiently proved that the cause of death was a weak heart. It was a wonder the poor lady had lived as long as she had." Mr. Surtees was in a very bad state of health for some time," the Jawyer said when he had told me the story. He fancied himself affected in the same way. In one of his letters to me he used the odd expression, I shall die of what killed my darling, if I live there.' Only going abroad saved him from becoming a con- firmed monomaniac." I completed the purchase of the Wren's Nest on very advantageous terms. Everything was to remain as it was, and Mary and her mother were to take possession as soon as the elder lady could get away from her situation. Mary was as happy as queen, arranging and packing up, and I had hard work to make her remember that sho must not overdo herself in her excitement and pleasure. The day before we were to finally move I went to Summerfield and hunted up Mrs. Grainger, and got her to light fires and open windows, and do many little things that were needed; but I had great diffi- culty in persuading her to go into the pretty room where Mrs. Surtees had died." You'll bo having a servant of your own likely, sir," she said, and I leave it for her, if you please." But I am going to sit here this evening," I said, I am going to sleep in the house." Ilad'nt you better wait till tho family are with you, sir ?" she said, with a queer frightened look on her face, "It will be lonesome like." I laughed at the idea of being nervous in an empty house, and remarked that she herself had slept here long enough. "I had my girl with me, sir," she said, "and I wouldn't do it again for a thousand pounds money down, that I wouldn't." Why not if" I asked but she only shook her head, and said if I pleased she would go home, there wasn't anything more to do that she could see, and it was getting dark. I am just going to light the gas," I said," you had better stay and have a cup of tea there's a good fire in the kitchen." I put up my hand to the gasalier as I spoke, and she started back with a sort of gasp. I couldn't stay and see you do it, sir I couldn't," she said, and bolted out of the house without further ceremony. She "must bo mad," I said to myself, or drunk. Ah that's the solution of her conduct. Heigho I wish Mary was here." I did not do much that evening but sit by the fire and doze. I had been very tired with our pack- ing, and I was half sorry that I had made up my mind to stay there; it was erie. I thought a good deal about Mrs. Surtees and her death in the very room where I was sitting, and I was moreover possessed with the notion that a shadowy face was looking in at me from the window at the top of the door. It was all nonsense. That part of the room was rather dark, for I had only lighted one burner of the gasalicr the one nearest to the fire-and I could see the light in the hall burning brightly. I got up twice while I sat there, and went out into the lobby to satisfy myself. There was nothing, there but the moment I sat down again by the fire I was haunted by eyes. I would have left the house and gone to the little village inn, but I did not want to set all sort of gossip afloat, so I went to bed very early, and dreamed of Mrs. Surtees. Doubtless it was the thought of her that had made me uncomfortable. Mary and her mother and a nice fresh-looking servant-girl came the next morning, preceded by a van load of our worldly possessions, and we spent the day setting the house to rights. Mrs. Hunt was almost too happy for words, she could only coo over her daughter like a mother dove, as I told her; and Mary was as bad. I forgot all about the eerie feeling of the night before, and sat down in the parlour with a thankful heart when they had all gone upstairs to bed. The pretty room looked ten times prettier now that there were traces of my darling's presence about it. and I thought myself the happiest fellow in the world as I sat there musing over the dying fire. As on the preceding evening, there was only one burner alight Mrs. Hunt and Mary both declared it was enough for the room, the three made it too hot-and it suddenly occurred to me to try the effect of an illumination. I lit them all, and the light flashed out all over the room, till every corner of it glowed with brightness, and every little ornament and bit of colour took a deeper tone and doubled its beauty. I was standing with my face to the fire in a reverie, when somethmg-I fancied it was a sigh, but I never knew-made me turn my head quickly: I think if-I were to live to the end of all time I could never forget the sensation of that moment. It comes back upon me now in times of depression and illness like the touch of an icy band. I saw what had killed Mrs. Surtees 1 knew it as surely as if she herself had come from the other w-ild to tell me. Looking straight af | me irom the window over the door was the face of a woman—a wild weird face, with anguish unutterable stamped upon its writhing features. The eyes looked imploringly in mine, the lips quivered with unspeakable pain, and the long wavy hair seemed as though lifted by an unfelt draught of air. "Who are you ?" I gasped out, after a moment's transfixed gazing, and a mocking smile seemed to pass over the lips. After 1 know not how long a pause, I rushed out into the hall. There was no one there. The gas was burning brightly, and the dooi was locked and bolted as I had left it. I went back. There was the haunting presence again, and, in a horror of fright that I should have deemed impossible, I went upstairs to the room where my wife was peacefully asleep, little dreaming what had come to pass in the few moments that had elapsed since I left her. I could not sleep. I tried with all my might to think it was an illusion; to hope almost that I was going to be ill, to account for what I had seen. It was too real, and the night passed away in feverish tossing and debating with myself as to what I should do to prevent Mary from being terrified as I had been. She remarked on my pale face and abstracted manner at the breakfast table but I let her think I was pondering over my money affairs, and she asked no more questions. As soon as I could get away without remark, I went into the village and sought out Mrs. Grainger. That worthy woman was in the midst of a family wash, and came to me with her arms all over soapsuds, asking what she could do for me. "You can answer me a couple of questions, Mrs. Grainger, if you please," I replied. Out of the hear- ing of your little ones, please," I added, for two or three carrotty-polled youngsters were hanging about; and she ushered me into her not very clean kitchen, and got rid of the children by dropping them outside and bolting the door. "Now, sir, what is it?" she asked. "I'm rather busy, which people is that hard about the washing, and never thinks as we poor women has any legs and arms to be tired." I won't detain you," I said, I want to know why you refused to sleep at the Wren's Nest any longer, and why you did not clean the sitting-room out like the rest of the house ?" She began confusedly to say something about her own home being neglected and so forth, but I stopped her. That was not the real reason," I said, show- ing her half a sovereign. I want the real reason, and I must have it." She looked at the money, and then into my face. She was a shrewd woman. I don't think that I need tell J'ou, sir," she said, quietly. You know." I don't know," I said, I come to you for informa- tion." And you shall have it," she replied. You have seen her, I can see you have. The poor dear walks, and I would not spend another night in that house to be Queen of England to-morrow." It was not my fancy, then. I turned cold and chill as I listened to her. She told me how she had seen it, and how her blood froze, and had then and there gone out of the house with her little girl, returning to it no more, except in broad daylight and well attended by her children. She had told Mr. Wortley, at the post-office, and he had called her a fool, and threatened her with all sorts of pains and penalties if she ever breathed a word about it to anyone. Would I please not let on that she had spoken. I promised, and went home very heavy at heart. I was not superstitious but here was a fact, and I did not doubt that Mr. Surtees himself had also seen what we had witnessed. Mr. Hathaway, the lawyer, had misunderstood his letter, and attached no particular meaning to those words about dying of what had killed his wife. What should I do? How should I tell Mary ? My little home looked very bright and pretty as I entered the gate every light seemed to flash a welcome to me out in the darkness; it was the last house in the world from its outward appearance to hold an uneasy spirit. Tea was waiting for me; and Mary and her mother were sitting by the bright fire in loving converse. There was no haunting face looking in at them no wild eyes to scare their light hearts and make them unhappy. Perhaps it was only to me that it would come. I thought I could bear itr-though the idea of seeing it again made me turn chill all over with a sick fever—so long as they were left in peace. CHAPTER III. DAYLIGHT. THE days wore on, and no second appearance of that haunting face came to me. We came and went in and out of our little cosy room, and no one saw the dreadful eyes or the agonised mouth, though they were ever in my thoughts. I did not dare to tell Mary. I was terrified lest the whispers that were about concerning our home should come to her ears let her but get her trial well over, I thought, and I would sell the Wren's nest and take her far away from Summerfield, no matter what it cost me. The time came, and it was while the Christmas bells were ringing in the day of days in our Christian church—the day that should bring peace and goodwill to all who believe the story of that first Christmas, that a little daughter-a second Mary, I told myself— was laid in my arms, and assurance given me that her mother was quite well—as well as she could be. I went upstairs with such thankfulness as I had never felt before in my life, and kissed my darling's pale face, and saw her sink into refreshing slumber even while I stood by her side, and then I betook my- self to the deserted parlour where the fire had been made up for master," and everything left ready for a refreshing meal now that the anxiety was over. But I could not eat; the wild weird face was there again with a mocking smile on its white lips, and a dreary triumph in its eyes, as if to say—make the most of your joy. and gladness, they shall be short. I turned off the gas and went upstairs to the room that had been prepared for me, worried beyond measure. What did it mean ? What could it portend ? Mary was well, and the baby was healthy and well formed. I could bear it, I thought, if it only came to me, and had no one else seen it I should have deemed it a freak of an over-excited imagination, and gone to a doctor for advice. But Mrs. Grainger had seen it, too, and the village was talking about it. If I could only keep it from Mary's knowledge we would get away as soon as ever she was able to travel. I did manage to keep the secret, though my mother- in-law spoke to me more than once in the week that followed about what she called my undue anxiety. Mary was so well, she said, there was no reason for it; I should have her downstairs very soon, and I should see that there was no occasion for any alarm. She did not know—how should she—that I dreaded my wife's return to the sitting-room beyond every- thing that I would have taken her away from the house without allowing her to enter that fatal apart- ment if I could have done so. No other room in the house was visited. Our horrible guest contented herself with staring in at that particular window but she did that with a horrible vindictiveness, as it seemed to me. I never was a superstitious man, but this singular apparition —for it was nothing else—completely mastered me. I could not find the clue, and I began to wonder if there really was anything to cause the spirit of the late Mrs. Surtees to haunt the place where sho had lived. Then I reflected that it was not Mrs. Surtees, for the odd words in her husband's letter to Mr. Hathaway pointed to the fact of his having at some time or other seen the face, and I immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was the cause of his wife's death. It was a tangled skein, and I could not unwind it. Eight days had passed since the birth of our treasure, and the New Year had come in snow-clad pure and white, and Mary was well enough to sit up at her window and talk of coming downstairs again, and the baby was thriving, and exhibiting a power of lungs I should have thought impossible in so tiny a creature. W hen, after they had put my darling to bed, and I was sitting by her side while the nurse went downstairs to her supper, there came a hurried knock at the door. Mrs. Hunt went to see who it was, and I heard the nurse's voice say, The master, if you please, ma'am, I must speak to him." I went out on the landing, and she drew me into the next room and shut the door. Mrs. Aspinall must not hear," she said and her voice came in broken gasps. She must not be wor- ried. I came to tell you, sir, that I must leave the house." Leave the house How my heart sank as I re- peated her words. I guessed only too well why. Yes at once. I could not sleep another night here for anything that could be offered me. I will send for my things. Mrs. Aspinall is very well, and can do without me now. I don't want any money, sir; only let me go." But you have not told me why," I said, striving with all my might to speak calmly, and failing signally, for she saw my agitation and answered it not my words. Is there any need to tell you, sir ?" she said. I see there is not. I can read it in your face that you know of this terrible presence in your house. Oh, it was cruel, cruel, to bring me here unprepared for it. I shall never get it out of my head—never, never—it will haunt me all my life. What horrible thing has been done here ?" Nothing," I said, there is a mystery; I have tried to fathom it in vain. I did hope that you would not have seen it. It will be explained away some time I have no doubt. In the meantime will you not stay with Mrs. Aspinall; we will not ask you to come downstairs again if you do not like it; the appearance whatever it is, has never been seen anywhere but in that one spot. My wife will be sadly put about by your leaving in this way." Nothipg that I could say was of any avail. I might make what story I liked to my wife," she said, she was able now to do very well with only her mother, but sleep another night in my house she would not." She put on her bonnet and walked off there and then towards the village. She could catch a tnin home, she said, and Jenny, that was our handy maiden in the kitchen, would pack up her things and send them after her. She did not want to make mischief, and she would say nothing of the cause of her sudden leaving," Feeling dazed and stupid, I turned away from the door after she had walked out. There was no sound from upstairs, and I concluded that Mary was asleep. I must call Jenny and tell her that Mrs. Duckworth had taken herself away, and that she must be pre- pared to do all she could for this one night at least, and we would get her help in the morning. The gas was was out in the parlour now, and I called her, but no answer came; I went into the fatal room, and stumbled over her lying in a dead faint just inside the door. To pick her up and turn up the gas was the work of a moment, and I laid her on the sofa feeling as if the whole world were tumbling to pieces. I under- stood what had made her faint, and her first words confirmed my suspicions. Oh, master, have you seen it ?" she wailed out, when I had given her some water and shaken her up in a fashion that would have edified a doctor very much, as a remedy for fainting, had there been one to see me. U Hush," I said, "be a sensible girl, and don't do anything to frighten your mistress. What has alarmed you ?" The same thing—the wild face, and the dreadful eyes looking in at her as it had looked at me; and as the nurse had seen it. It would drive us away from our home, and perhaps leave us miserable, nervous creatures for the rest of our lives. That s right," I said, as Jenny sat up, and felt for her disarranged cap, and generally shook herself straight. Now, then, tell me a'l about it." All about it was that Jenny had come into the room, after Mrs. Duckworth's hurried exit, to turn down the gas, like a careful girl as she was and then as she touched the last burner she saw the face look- ing down at her, and knew no more. I eant stay here any longer, sir," she said. "I should never be fit for anything in this awful house." What should I do or say to her? What was to he come of us ? I could only beg of her not to say a word about it on that night at least; when we heard Mrs. Hunt coming downstairs. She came into the room loooking a little astonished, as well she might, at Jenny s dishevelled appcarance-for the girl was generally the neatest of dressers—and asked where MM. Duckworth was. "Mary is fast asleep," she said, but baby will want her soon, and—Oh Harry Look, look." I had turned up the gas to the full when she came in, and there, looking down on us was the evil face. Jenny sank trembling down on the sofa and hid her face. Mrs. Huntclung to me, trying with all her might to suppress her agitation, lest a sound should reach Mary upstairs; and I inwardly cursed the fate that had brought us to this dreadful house only to he worried in this terrifying fashion. » Don't be frightened," I said. It is—I do not know what it is. I have seen it several times. It is confined to this room. Come out into the kitchen, and I stopped in the middle of my speech in utter ) amazement. With a touch of my hand I had laid the ghost, and understood it all in a moment As I was supporting Mrs. Hunt and trying to soothe her I pushed up the gasalier to the ceiling. I happened to be looking towards the dread apparition as I did so and as the light moved upwards the face elongated itself, became a muddled mass of lines and curves and finally vanished. Nothing but shadows, tinted dlass, and reflectDns-a veritable ghost illusion on a small scale—and I had never discovered it. I am afraid Mrs. Hunt thought that I was mad, for I sat down on the sofa and laughed quite hysteri- cally. "We may bid it good-bye," I said, "it will never trouble us any more." She looked as if she thought the worry of it had turned my brain. But I pulled down the gasalier and demonstrated how the ghost had evolved itself out of the pattern of the wall-paper outside and the reflec- tion of the pretty globes we had all admired so much. Up and down I drew the light, Jenny staring in amazement beyond speech, and laid the ghost for ever. I'll have the carpenters in to-morrow, and have that window blocked up," I said and I did. Mary was very glad when she came downstairs that the window had given place to a shelf of fantastic crockery. It was much prettier, she said. It was some time before we ventured to tell her the story of the ghost, and why Mrs. Duckworth had gone away in that un- ceremonious fashion. I wrote to Mr. Hathaway and explained it to him but there is no reasonable doubt that the same disturbing vision that had so nearly spoilt our lives for us was the cause of Mrs. Surtee's death and all Summerfield believe to this day that the Wrens' Nest is haunted, and wonders how we can possibly live in it.
WILLS AND BEQUESTS.
WILLS AND BEQUESTS. The will (dated March 13, 1888) of Mr. Robert Hampson, late of Enville House, Bowden, Cheshire, who died on Aug. 16, was proved on Oct. 1, at the Chester District Registry, by Richard Hampson Joynson, Edward Walter Joynson, and Richard Clif- ford Smith, the nephews and executors, the value of the personal estate amounting to upwards of £146,000. Tho testator gives £5000 to Miss Augusta Van Voigt; £1000 each to the children of Mrs. Emily Gaddum, Richard Hampson Joynson, and Edward Walter Joynson £7000 to Miss Edith Mary Barratt; JE2000 each to Richard Clifford Smith and Edward Walter Joynson; J6500 to the Manchester City Mission; JE200 to the church at Aberfoyle, Perthshire; £2000, upon trust, in aid of the stipend of the minister there all his interest in the house, lands, farms, and shooting at Aberfoyle to his sister, Mrs. Mary Jane Smith; and other legacies to rela- tives and servants. He gives and devises Enville House, with the lands and premises adjoining, the furniture and effects therein, and his land in Canada, to Richard Hampson Joynson. The residue of his real and personal estate he leaves between John Hampson Jones, Emily Mary Smith, Marion Beatrice Smith, Henry Theodore Gaddum, the Rev. Robert Trousdale, Richard Hampson Joynson, Edward Walter Joynson, and Richard Clifford Smith, in equal shares. The will (dated March 7, 1883) of Mr. Emanuel Boutcher, late of No. 3G, Hdye Park-gardens, and Grateley House, Grateley, Southampton, a member of the firm of Boutcher, Mortimore and Co., of Ber- mondsey and Liverpool, who died on Sept. 14 on board his steam-yacht Fiona was proved on Nov. 30 by Mrs. Emily Isabella Boutcher, the widow, Wil- liam Emanuel Boutcher, the son, Foster Mortimore, and Alfred William Lafane, the executors, the value of the personal estate being sworn to exceed £DI,OOO. The testator after directing that he is to be buried in wicker or some other material that will not arrest decay, gives his land in America, all the money in his house, at his banker's, and due to his estate from his partnership business, to his wife and five children, as tenants in common numerous specific bequests of stocks and shares in companies to his children; £500 each to Foster Mortimore and Alfred William Lafane, and all his cigars between them and his son Emanuel. The residue of his property he leaves to his wife and son, William Emanuel, in equal shares. The will (dated July 2, 1881), with a codicil (dated Oct. 5, 1886), of Mr. William Rivington, late of No. 39, Phillimore-gardens, Kensington, who died on Nov. 12, was proved on Dec. 1, by Mrl. Jane Rivington, the widow, the Rev. Thurston Rivington, the son, and Charles Robert Rivington, the nephew, the executors, the value of the personal estate exceeding f 79,000. The testator bequeaths £ 100 each to the Incorporated Church Building Society, the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, and the Society for the Propa- gation of the Gospel in Foreign Paits; JE200 to the Society for tha Employment of Additional Curates; £500 and all his household furniture, plate, &c., to his vife, and legacies to his nieces. The residue of his property he leaves, upon trust, to pay the annllitlsum of £ 1710 to his wife for life, and the remainder of the income to bis five children, William John, Thurston, Sophia, Mrs. Dorothy Leach, and Mrs. Alice Brewster. On the decease of his wife, he gives £ 8000 each to his daughters, Sophia, Mrs. Dorothy Leach, and Mrs. Alice Brewster; £12,000 to his son Thurston, and devises his freehold land and houses in St. John's- square, Clerkenwell, to his sons, Thurston and William John. The ultimate residue he leaves to his said three daughters, his son, Thurston, and his daughter Mrs. Susan Jane Chappell, in equal shares. The will (dated April 16, 1883) of Mr. William Baker, late of No. 43, Warrior-square, St. Leonards- on-Sea, who died on October 14, was proved on December 1 by Mrs. Catherine Baker, the widow, Frederick Arnold Baker, Peroival Alleyn Nairne, and Walter John Frederick Tomlinson, the executors, the value of the personal estate being sworn to exceed £ 35,000. The testator bequeaths £ 200 and all his furniture, plate, carriages, horses, wines, and con- sumable stores to his wife and £200 each to Frede- rick Arnold Baker, his brother George Baker, Mrs. Rowsell, Cecilia Tomlinson, and Lieutenant-Colonel Nairne. The residue of his real and personal estate he leaves, upon trust, for his wife, for life, and on her decease he gives £6000 to Frederick Arnold Baker; £1000 each to his nieces, Maria Lance, Ida Tomlinson, Edith iomhnson, and Elizabeth Tomlinson; £400 to Percival Alleyn Nairne; f500 each to Walter John FrederIck iomlinson and his brother George Baker; 0 to the Middlesex Hospital; and numerous ot er legacies to his rela- tives. The ultimate residue he leaves to his nephew, Frederick Arnold Baker. The will (dated Nov. 21, 1882) of Frederick Gunton, late of the city of Chester, who died on Oct. 6, was proved on Nov. 23 at the District Registry at Chester, by the Rev. Frederick Gunton and the Hev. Charles Forster Gunton, the sons and executors, the value of the personal estate exceeding £27,000. Tin testator gives his consumable stores and wines, and the use, for life, of his household furniture to his wife, Mrs, Julia Gunton .and certain gifts of silver plate to his three sons, with a wish that they will keep them in the family- The residue of his real and personal estate he leaves, upon trust, for his wife for life, and at her death between his children—viz., Frederick, Charles Forster, ™™as Octavius, Lucy Amelia, Elizabeth Julia, and Edith Emma, in equal shares. The will (dated Feb. 7, 188,), 0f Mr. Thomas Mashiter, late of Priests, near Romford, Essex, who died on Aug. 20, was proved on Nov. 29, by Miss Julia. Mashiter, the sister, the Rev. Robert Helme, and John Nesbitt Malleson, the executors, the value of the personal estate exceeding £ 23,000. The testator be- queaths £500 to John Nesbitt Malleson, JE300 to the Rev. Robert Helme, £ 250 to Peter Reynolds, and lega- cies to servants and others. He devises his real estate, upon trust, for his sister Julia Mashiter, for life, with remainder to Robert Helme, forlife.with remainder to his first and other sons, according to seniority in tail. The residue of his property he leaves, upon trust, for his sister, for life, and at her death it is to bo invested in freehold property, and then to follow the trusts of his real estate.—Illustrated London
GOSSIP ON DRESS.
GOSSIP ON DRESS. So COMPLETELY have Parisians adopted our English pustom of five o'clock tea (remarks the fashion coirespondent of the Pictorial World) that it has nearly become a thorough in- stitution. It has several very real recommendations for French ladies. First, it brings them together less trammelled by the more formal restrictions of society, for which they profess unbounded respect; and, secondly, it gives them a capital opportunity, of which they have only too readily availed themselves, for creating and dressing in special costumes devoted to the occasion. These are extremely original, and have provided an immense field for invention both for ladiei and their dressmakers. The range of materials employed is very large for example, rich plushes, velvets, brocarts, all of the most gorgeous colourings, whether light or dark. Sometimes it is a really Japanese fabric worked over with suns chrysanthemums, and sacred storks and such have all the brilliant colours that give these Oriental fantasies their peculiar charm. Then they are further trimmed with exquisite lace, and the inner dress is either com- posed of that or tulle, gauze, or lisse, beautifully worked with pearls, beads, or embroideries of bright- coloured silks. These inner dresses generally fall in one piece from the neck to the feet, and therefore must be draped; and to secure elegance of form the material must be thin and soft, such as crepe de Chine. The loose appearance which is given to such costumes is entirely superficial, for the dress is most carefully fitted beneath, or the flowing folds would not pose themselves gracefully. There has been also quite a return of the long wide-pointed sleeves of the Middle Ages, which are particularly well suited to this kind of costume. They open high up on the arm, disclosing a close-fitting under-sleeve of the same material as the inner dress, or "lévite," and very often of the same stuff as the lining. With such dresses no kind of tournurc, or cushion, is worn, though a frill of very stiff muslin is occasionally put in its place, just so as to prevent the heavy folds of the outer garment falling too flat. As AN example of how to make such a dress in very plain materials, we should have a Vel-Vel velveteen in deep but bright Royal blue. This has a levite of cream surah, or, if preferred plainer, it might even be of nun's veiling. The front is made quite loose and puffy and, if of the thin woollen material, the skirt is pleated very fully. If, however, the inner dress is of surah, it may be veiled by a drapery of embroidered net, or lisse. The sleeves are opened in pointed, or pagoda, form, showing large puffed under ones of the lisse or veiling. A very beautiful dress may be made of blue-gray cloth over an under-dress of seal-brown plush or velvet. Both the cloth and the plush are richly bordered with cream and gold passementeries. The cloth is turned back with revers of seal-brown velvet, and the lower half of the sleeves is formed of the same. However plainly French ladies dress for walking out, they pride themselves on having a very ornamental costume for afternoon tea, in which to receive their guests. THERE is a pretty little elegancy of which I must speak, because this winter, like every other portion of our attire, it has greatly developed in variety and decoration. This is the muff. We have long been accustomed to have muffs that matched our dresses in fur, cloth, and other materials but now we have them to go with our bonnets, and, since so many of the latter are made of cloth, the muffs follow suit accordingly. This is such pretty easy work for young ladies who are the possessors of a good deal of surplus time, that I will describe two or three as models. Imagine, then, mesdemoiselles, a cloth of that soft shade of blue called hussard." This is embroidered with gold thread or gold-coloured silk. It is arranged on the top in a puff with a bow of blue ribbon, from which a piece of the same traverses the muff to the front, but lower down, where it ends in another bow. A bright coloured bird is placed in the upper one, and gives a pretty finish to it. A MUFF that would make a lovely Christmas present for a married lady is made of either ruby or chaudron velvet. A flounce of handsome black lace is laid across it lengthwise, the heading being gathered in three lines, with a row of jet beads on each line. A broad band—that, is about two inches wide-of ribbon velvet is brought round the middle of the muff, thus tying the lace up into pretty draperies, the outer edges of the flounce falling quite straight, and ends in a large bow on the top. It is a most elegant affair. As a simpler one, and quite within the work- ing powers of not very experienced sempstresses, is one of black velvet (or it might be of any other colour preferred). The velvet is set on very full at each end, to look almost like a frill. Then a plain piece is laid round the centre, that is so graduated as to appear to tie like the pointed corners of a handkerchief at the top. One long corner is allowed to hang over the front, and this is worked with a pretty design in gold, of holly or any winter plant or flower. A long hang- ing bow droops from underneath, and gives a more "ully trimmed appearance to it. THE ballandevening party season is (says a writer in the London Standard) once more with us, and women are exercised in their minds on that all-important question—what to wear ? There is plenty of room for choice in materials, the difficulty lying rather in making up the mind which materials to select out of the many. For girls' wear nothing has been really found to displace tulle, net, and gauze tulle rank- ing this season again as first favourite. For dancing it is unquestionably the most worn, whether in plain white, or in colour—plain tulle, neither figured, nor spotted, nor spangled, but unadorned. There are varieties, of course; tulle sprigged with chenille, flowered or dotted, as also striped tulles but plain will be most patronised. Mousseline de soie is a useful material, and Japanese crepe, Egyptian net, and gauze de Valencia have all their admirers, as also the rather stouter veilings and the Sunshing, Shanghai, Nagpore, and Pongee silks, which are, especially the latter, admirably suited for young girls' dresses. A new shade of salmon pink, a rather dull-toned blue, sage greens, twilight and moonlight grays, tan, bronze, and pale yellows are the favourite colours in these flimsy fabrics, the bodices being usually of silk, or velvet, matching the tulle in colour, or else of a deeper shade. For such dresses, the more simply they are made, provided the cut of the bodice and hang of the skirt are both perfect, the better. FEATHERS are still fashionable for trimming, taking the form of one long feather, set on the point of the left shoulder, and following the outline of the bodice, to the waist. Natural flowers, if well-mounted, and the sorts chosen which do not easily fade, never become vulgarised. Artificial flowers on the con- trary, are not so much used this year. In richer materials, for matronly gowns, there are silks, bro- cades, plushes, and velvets of the very richest and handsomest descriptions, their richness being still further enhanced in the making up by the addition of the gold and coloured embroideries, heavy passe- menteries, and delicate fine gold and silver or steel braidings which now form an important part of most dresses, being introduced either in front or side panels, shoulder and neckpieces, or for the lapels and revers seen on the Directoire-cut gowns, which style lends itself well to heavy materials, to brocades and brocatelles, velvets, and fancy cloths, which last are now employed for evening as well as afternoon costumes. The revers, or rather lapels, are not so wide on Directoire evening gowns as on those for day wear but large buttons of either gold or silver are given a prominent place, and lace is generally used for trimming the waistcoats being finished off with a sash on one side, or being pointed. ONE remarkable gown, in white velvet, had the revers, deep white cuffs and pockets of light sable, the old-fashioned kind, and a long waistcoat coming below the points, where the coat was cut away, of white moire, with frills of fine old lace, the skirt being also of moire. Another coat was in grey brocade, on a Roso du Barri ground, over a white satin skirt, silver galoo outlining the revers, cuffs, and pockets. THE real .Empire gown, with the deep sash and round waist—provided the waist is not placed just below the arms, and absurdly abbreviated—is a simple form of dress, and can be made in rather rich or inexpensive materials. In the soft Pongee white and delicate coloured silks, now so much employed, it looks well. The plain gathered skirt, with deep lull ruche round the bottom, and slightly fulled bodice, fastened with a wide, long-ended sash, is a by no means extravagant dress, and suits a young girl well. A pretty example recently noticed was in white Pongee silk, made as above de- scribed, with wide white watered silk sash and bows on the shoulders, white roses, tied with the same ribbon, composing the bouquet, or rather posy. A more elaborate Empire gown is of pale turquoise blue silk, with bouquets of blush roses and brown leaves on it, in raised embroidery; the bodice is nearly as short-waisted as were the gowns of our grandmothers wore, and is fastened round the waist with a wide scarf' of soft pink silk, tied in a large bow just beneath the arms, the long ends being fringed out. The puffed sleeves have pink ribbon bows on the points of the shoulders, and a posy of blush roses, tied with pink ribbon, is carried. A REALLY lovely dinner gown is made of cream brocart, a heavy ribbed make, on which is a raised design chrysanthemums in shaded yellows the back brea°dth of the train, a panel on the right side towards the front, and the brettles on the bodice being of yellow shaded satin, taking in the principal tints" of the flowers. The panel back, and bretelles are just outlined with narrow bands of gold and white passementerie. Another yellow and cream white costume is of moiré, and white plush. In this the moird, pale yellow, is used for the petticoat and the bodice, the plush for the perfectly plain train; the front breadth of the jupe and the vest are of the richest geld and white embroidery, and the moire sleeves short and full, set into bands of plush, headed with the gold and white trimming; the lining of the very long train is of soft yellow silk, matching in colour the moire. COMBINATIONS of black and white are as fashionable as ever. Here is an example, a dress for an elderly woman of black velvet, white satin, jet, and lace; the bodice and train of the velvet, the petticoat of I the satin veiled in front with fine black Chantilly. There are fevers from the shoulders, to the bottom of the petticoat of satin, with a lovely feather design ] worked in the finest jet on them. A diamond agrafe joins these revers at the waist, confining the full folds of lace, and similar ornaments fasten the top of the full lace sleeves which fall to the elbow, and there end in deep frills, which fall below narrow, jetted white satin bands. The train has revers also, which widen out towards the bottom, and match those expressing the front ef the gown. A SECONP matronly-looking dress is in claret- coloured velvet, with soft blue-grey silk front; the silk arranged in small diamond-shaped puffs, tiny steel stars marking the points of the diamonds. This gown is cut Princesse shape, the black folds, which form the train, being most artfully manipulated. A fresh-looking evening toilette is of the palest pink satin covered with sprigs of myrtle, shaded from the trnder green of the young shoots to the deeper green of the old leaves. White silk gauze is the material of which the front of the dress and bodice are composed, this arranged in narrow folds or pleats. Myrtle-green velvet is effectively used in trimming both bodice and sleeves, the latter teing cut open from the point of the shoulder to the elbow, one arm showing through the opening In the gauze, which is outlined by tho velvet.
GARDENING FOR THE WEEK.
GARDENING FOR THE WEEK. FLOWEEING and ornamental-leaved plants that are at all tender in constitution suffer so much when employed in house decoration from the effects of dry air and heat, and the deposit of carbon upon them where gas is burnt, that those of any value should be systematically removed at every opportunity, and be brought in again as may be needful to render further service. When people are fatigued with festivity, they are apt to leave this and that till the morning; but if the best of the plants can have attention, even to the exclusion of other things of some importance, it will be well, because they may be kept a long time in fair condition with a little care; whereas neglect favours speedy death, and the dead do not come to life again very often. It is not needful to take plants out into the open air, or to return them to the plant houses. To be sure, if they can be all properly housed as soon as the revel is done it will be better but for mere keeping removal to any cool room, or hall, or sheltered shed, will generally suffice. The main point is to get them out of the hot dry air, and to do this without incurring a chill either to the plants or those who remove them. Early next day they should be attended to, and all that need water should have it, so as to allow time for the surplus moisture to drain away, leaving the pots all clean and dry for the next dressing-up. AH plants doing duty in heated rooms should be very carefully looked after as regards watering, for the soil in the pots soon becomes dry, and the effects of a dry air are aggravated by the exhaustion of the roots. As a rule, flowers that are nicely set up should not be in the least disturbed they last the Jonger the less they are handled or shaken. AMPHICOMA ARGUTA is a beautiful greenhouse bignoniad, scarcely known. It is an evergreen, and forms a shrub twelve to twenty inches high, and resembles a pentstemon when in flower. The flowers are lilac, and are produced in the open border in August. ANDROMEDA PHILLYREÆFOLIA is one of the smallest of the race it is from Florida. It has exquisitely- beautiful dark green foliage, and flowers freely requiring the same treatment as azaleas in forcing. CINERARIAS AND CALCEOLARIAS for specimens may now want a shift; they must on no account get pot- bound, or they will bloom prematurely. Water on fine mornings, and beware of green-fly and mildew. CLIMBERS in greenhouses may now have special attention to reduce their dimensions lay in wood for next summer's bloom, and clear the walls and trellises. PELARGONIUMS to be cautiously watered and allowed to rest. Specimens may be tied out, and stock struck late may be shifted and kept growing. CHRYSANTHEMUMS may be disposed of very easily by setting aside in a cool greenhouse one store-pot of each variety it is intended to propagate, and destroy- ing all the rest. That is our way of wintering a large number in a small space. Good stools in six-inch pots will furnish any number of cuttings when required. People who have no glass can pack the roots close together under a wall or fence, when some dry straw can be thrown over them during severe frost. COMPOST.—Every cultivator of flowers should secure now a good supply of turf from a loamy pasture, and of bog, peat, or silky yellow loam in which the common brake grows plentifully. These should be stacked up in high ridges like walls, so that the frost will penetrate the whole mass, and the grass will rot quickly. MANURE, roughly spread among choice shrubs, will assist in protecting their roots from frost. In spring the manure can be levelled, and all rough stuff raked off. This is a good time to make banks and rockeries, as during frost the wheeling can be done without harm to the walks. RHODODENDRONS that have been many years planted require a little refreshing at the roots, and this is the best time to do it. A mixture of very rotten cow-d\mg and leaf-mould is an excellent surfacing material, or two or three inches of rotten cow-dung only will do nothing stronger must be used. This is a job that may be done during frost better than while the ground is wet. ROSES require protection, and hitherto neglected, must have attention at once, as we are now ap- proaching the season of real winter. Plantations of roses should now be mulched with half-rotten dung, which will protect the roots from frost; snow will carry much of its goodness into the ground. Roses to be planted should be got in without delay while there is yet a chance of fair weather, as if neglected now it will be better to defer planting till the end of February. All newly-planted standards are to bo securely staked. In damp soils iron rods are the best stakes, as they do not encourage mildew in the soils, as wooden ones do. TENDER PLANTS in tho open ground, such as fuchsias, erythrinas, bouvardias,oxalis, alstroemerias, Japan lilies, Watsonias, and other rather delicate bulbs in the peat-bed, must have some protection, such as coal-ashes piled in the form of a cone over their roots, or heaps of moss put over, and kept from blowing away by means of hoops of willow rods. FRUIT-TREES of all kinds, both in fruit garden and orchard, should now, if necessary, be pruned and painted. For the latter purpose a mixture of lime, soot, and clay, to the consistence of paint, will answer well; or use Gishurst's Compound according to the directions which accompany it. ASPARAGUS, SEAKALE, AND RHUBARB will now be coming in plentifully from the forcing-beds. If these beds are allowed to get too dry, the produce will be neither good nor plentiful. But they may be moist on the surface, and yet dry at the roots of the plants therefore ascertain by stirring the soil with a trowel in the middle of the bed, and if dry give a good soak- ing with tepid water. Make up fresh beds for suc- cessive supplies. In ordering in roots for forcing, take care either to plant immediately on receiving them, or keep the roots moist with moss or mould, or they will be much injured by the action of the atmosphere. COMPOST should be prepared in quantity, as there Is now a chance of getting it well frozen and several times turned before the winter is over. The benefit of attending to this at once will be immense in the culture of specimen plants, and, in fact, with what- ever requires a good compost, well pulverized, and free from vermin. It must be remembered that com- posts frequently turned at this time not only get frozen, which kills the vermin, but the robins and thrushes explore it every time it is thrown up afresh, and they, perhaps clean it more effectually than frost. DEEP STIRRING and successive frostings of the soil are immensely beneficial, and there will never be much success in the culture of vegetables where there is any fear of hard work in winter. The outdoor work of this month must be regulated by the weather. When the ground is not fit to be trodden on, get together all the clippings of hedges, prunings of trees, &c., for charring, and keep the produce under cover to use as needful; it is a most valuable top-dressing for peas and other early crops, both to stimulate growth and prevent attacks of slugs. During frost, wheel out dung, ready to dig in at the first oppor- tunity. PEAS AND BEANS may be sown now in frames, to transplant when the season is sufficiently advanced. These will be useful to replace any outdoor sowings destroyed by frost, and to mend and patch the rows that have suffered damage. The best way to sow for transplanting is on strips of turf, which can be lifted out and laid in the rows when the transplant- ing takes place. WARM BORDERS sloping to the south under brick walls may be sown with Horn Carrot, Early Short- top radish, white mustard, golden cress, Beck's Gem beans, Hammersmith lettuce. During sharp weather dry litter and hurdles will protect them very efficiently. VEGETABLES IN SEASON include beet, broccolis, brussels sprouts, carrots, endive, lettuce, mushrooms, salsify, seakale, spinach, tomatos, and turnh- Gardeners' Magazine.
A QUEER STORY.
A QUEER STORY. Rather an odd tale this, but it is going the rounds in Paris. It is related that a certain Comte de W who had once upon a time been aide-de- camp to Kosciusko, was attended in his last years hy an old lady who is called Georgette. In the month of July last there suddenly appeared upon the scene a distant relative of the old man. The individual is said to have much busied himself with poisons, and one day in the month of August the count, in the act of sitting down in his armchair, was hurt by a needle. An hour afterwards he experienced a numbness which speedily developed into general paralysis, and a few days later he died. The relative inherited the for- tune of the deceased, and the attendant took up her abode with a friend but she has just denounced her late master's relative, on the ground that the needle was poisoned, and it is reported that the individual is "wanted."
[No title]
WoMAK Have vou been a tramp long ?" Tramp. Pretty much all "my life, ma'am; it runs in the family. My poor old father was a professional for 27 years, but the other day he struck big luck. Woman: "Did he come into an immense fortune. Tramp: Welt er—not quite. Some influential friends of his got him into the poorhouse.'
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IlluBtr: cX Evening and Ball Dresses Post Free, JAMES SPENCE & Co., ;;S1 PAUL'S CHURCHY", LONDON, E.C. WHEN WRITING, PLEASE MENTION THIS PAFER. JTORPHTS WALNUT POMADE. A Triumph »» » H*lr Darken# Not » dr*. Kutore* with certainty and ■ once the former yovtfcful colour ot GRSY HAIR- Tour Colour** £ Men, Light Brows, Daft Blown, and Black: Per pot, 1,8 and 2 6. ■ nee the former yovtfcful colour ot GRSY HAIR- Tour Coloun- £ en. Light Btowu, Daft Blown, and Black: rer pot. 1,8 and 2 6. TVrORPHY'~S ORIENTAL DEPILATORY IT I POWDER renurTM ipeedlly, eatlly and effectually, all Hair pur- Inll the llpl, bAnd., and cheekt. Guaranteed harmless PUpAred with great Mre, 1/- per packet. N.B.—Tell your Chemist or Hair Dreeeer to procure none other than Mo*rHT*», or «end Postal Order to the linker, EFGEN ■ MORPHY, Hair and Skin Bpedalitt, 10, South Audley St., Ma; (air, London. UNION LINE-FOR SOUTH AFRICAN GOLD FIELDS. rriHB UNION 8.S. Co.'s MAIL PACKETS till from I Southampton e^-ery *lf,«rr* « Friday ior South African Ports, calling at Liihon and Madeira. Return Tickets Ieeued. Apply to the Union Steam Ship Company, Oriental PIM*, South- ampton or 11, LMdcnhall Street. London. Apply to the Union 8teAm 8blp Company, OrieDtAl PIM*, South- ampton or lI, LMdcnhall Street. London. f HOW TO EHSUBE HEALTH."—A medical work giving Prescription* and Instruction# for the Cure of all kind. of Pebilltj port-free, two ttMipa. A<1dreee Dr. Ih 8 !I' !l\, ■>». I..onedllJe 6111 Ire, Garnehury, London, Ii. IRON BtTILDIKGa ADd ROOFING, New MId 8*cond-h*fid Chains, Mission and Cricket Pariiiont^ Cottage* JWyWIju 8Iron Building* here on View. j p Btock. of Iron KooBnt In HABBROV»-b WORKS, South BermoT'.dtfy Station. London, S.H. JuH PubKiheS. Saxtholomftw's Xllustrat*4 Quid* to Bis ToikUl and other Baths. Price M — Bartholomew's Medical X^etnr* on the Curative Action of the TurkJah and other Bathe. Delivered ha- fore the Learned Societies, Woteminater Hall. London. Price M. Sent post free from hi* establishment! tm Brisiol, Bath, air- mlngham, Manchester. Worcester, and Leicester London. Ti n 11 IT Tl TITI 1 T1 148 Rats aeatroyea Dynsmaynerio* o* F 0 UUP D E AD»SonfSan d y ed a.'send^B tam pe and try it. nr llr~ n fVi 'wateriuan » .Ntw GaiiiclCor the Chessboard* !• n r l/r n\l 3/fl, 6/ or 10/5. Beware of Imitation*. Of all Fancy 11 L W LHUI. Dealere. Wholesale Jaqges ft Bon. London. ENTIRELY SOLUBLE and NOT FABINACEOUB. MELIIN S FOOD FOR INFANTS AND INVALIDS. and Bone- Per Bottle. a forming Element* FOR THE HEALTHFUL REARING OF HANDLED CHILDREN, AND THE PRESERVATION OF tMFAWT LIFE. A Bample sent post free on application to FT mfi I IN Mori HOW/ Works. Peckham. 8.E. VjitAJN i'i'iij MONUMENTS XJL from £ f», <\arn«jre psild. Inscriptions accurate *nd beautiful. Dang apn t'nerp from ♦ W. liKO^K. ffcnlpfoTjA PKK>. V y o-r jjAuAXJLL,LEb. AH those requiring New or Second-hand fTi Tables, Requisites, or Billiard work done. W should, before going elsewhere, seed for New Price List, Cloth and Cushion EnbbeT Samples, to HENNIG' BROS 29, High Street, Hlooinslmrv. I.on'lnn. W.C. IS''?. | HAMIItTON'S INVERNESS CAPE. Best Make only. 2 £ 3, and 3 £ Guineas Cash. Two measures only required, Cheat and Hei{Jht. Forwarded, Carriage Paid, for remittance with orJer. E'E;oiD FOR rATTKENS. HAMILTON & Co., Civil & Court Tailors, 21, Bedford Street, Strand, hondon. HAIR. Made up at. 2/- per oz. by T. S, BROWN: COMBINGS Hairdresser, 3, Leece Street, Liverpool. "SPECIAL JURY" Cases5 yrs. 7 yrs. f5 yrs. old. WHISKEY ) doz. 2J/- W- :1()/- Carriage pd. (Irish ami Scotch), United KingdnllJ for Caloh witb Order. Xmas Presents." P.P.O. to W. ,T. JrnY, Belfaet- lor CJtlltLSIMAS ItECOKATIOXS. ARDENBRITE GOLD FAINT. Brilliant—Untarnishable. Sold everywhere from 6d. T. 1'AviTT ell BOSS, Southampton Row. London. W.C. SELLERS' Excel all other3 DATPMT ^01 ^oc^nSs> "Under vests. PAlLWl Petticoats, Pants, KMC Boys' Suits, Cardigan MACHINES Jackets, Ac. SELLERS' Practical Treatise on Knitting. Indispensable to oil users of Knitting Machines, post free lOll. SELLERS' Sewing Machines are the Most Durable and Eeliable in the World for all purposes. SELLERS' New Patent Oscillating Shuttle Sewing Machine is the Fastest, Quietest, find Most Durable ever Invented. W. SFLT.bbs & SONS. Airedale Works. Keighley, England. n A C ET 6d" of aU Grocers. II ft ■ En Rich Fruity Flavour with Chops, Steaks, &c. Q A BI !■ P PETER TYEER, 70, Long Lane, V H U M Borough, London, S.E. MELODEONS New Illustrated Price List, Irte CONCERTINAS "AMFBELL & Co Pllfl! Trongate, QU.<t;ow. DRIVING- BANDS r°MACmNESINa Best Quality, India Rubber and Canvas, 60 feet X inches, eudlcfs, 65R. ditto, feet x S Inches, 75i Ca6h with order. Carriage i«id. Every Belt guaranteed to wear well and be Of the best quality. R. A. LISTER & CO., Machine Band Manufacturers, DURSLEY. T/ondon Ofllce 73A, QirgEy VICTORIA STREET, K.C. MORAIITT, the INFIRMITIES of MANKIND, and SOCIALPimiTT. Depicting the various sufferings entailed or All whoi ti-Anagress N&ture's Uwi, How to avoid roiacry and live toa b^pp? old ate. Rules And remedies given for the cure of the various complaints of manhood. F»e for two a Una m. Addresa, Dr. GROOM, 44. Great Charles St., Birmingham. A perusal of this work will demonstrate to the nervous and Debilitated bow_they_«agj)egom^gtrong and heAlthy without quackery. A ne Uniy Lamp of the Future. Unprecedented Success. Public Appreciation is the Only True Test. For Cleanliness, Economy, Simplicity, md Absolute Safety, use no other Lamps but those constructed with Postletliwaite's Patent Excelsior Single or Double Wick Burners They neither boil the oil nor ba.ke the wicks as many )ther burners do, hence the number of accidents. They keep the oil perfectly cool and are therefore absolutely safe find free from danger, they give nearly ouble the light from the same amount of oil. or as nuch light as any ordinary burner with about half the consumption of oil. The cost of the light given with three bnrners is a.bout one third the price of gas at 3. per 1,000 ft. Mnnufaotured only by THE EXCELSIOR PATElI1 LAMP & BURNER CO., Stauifortli Slrpcl, Birmingham. A ii >1 Snlil bit fl." Deiler*. Crescent" Gold Pen, 3L PLUMBE, Distr. Eecrr., Sutton, Mansfield. No Agents. :AND-IN-HAND FIRE AND LIFE OFFICE, 26, New Bridge Street, London, E.C. The Oldest Insurance Offiee-I nstituted A.D. 1696. Minimum Bonus Returns:- Life 45 ] Pcr cent, per annum. Accumulated Funds, £2,280,73I. Applications for Acyenoles are invited. OPEIt'S PLASTERS, a safe and sure cure JLV> for Coughs, Afthma, and Bronchitis. Of all Chemist! ana Patent Mfdlrtne Dealers. TEA Agents in VilllLgea & Town. who can Invest & Sovo- TT ■■ reign can get a Sovereign blell: In Bonuses, create a I P U good aRovereien aweek. (ANew8y»- B tern. no loss or risk.) D. DoMON,30,.Tewry St., Lnndnllo CHILBLAINS by Kerpod quick as magic. Box CURED sent post free for 1.6. KOLA Welcome Present to Inralids, Dys* mTrtnAT A1*l> peptics. In decorated tin box, free ff' UUUV/UiJaIII. 1/6. CHRISTT'b. 35. Lime Street. B-&_ B IEfiBEl H MAKXE^, y ffi El ^A5sociation of Medical lilettricians), R1 IS f°r his ^nv Medical H'ori, entitled Bj |vc Powers of Electricity," Bj I whjch will b« sent post free to any address on HS| H api lication. T. e treatise contains !ull particulars 99 33 of the treatment of the various ills that flesh is ■ heir to. It also contains a selection from the S thousan's of testimonials recei\cc! in favor of a Harness' Ktec-ropathit Kelt a; d other ■ S curative appliances. Please mention this paper. 1 MR. C. B. HARNESS 1 3 on all matters relating to | K;ixro|r,CTproF £ p II-WPiyEss is like rr.auna. It is to be gathered in grams and enjoyed every day it will not keep; it cannot be accumulated nor need we go out of our- selves, nor into remote places to gather it, since it is rained down from heaven at our very doors, or rather within them. -————