The North Wales Express

CHAPTER VI. X o w o li K E V J! B WIXIFKEI) stood looking after Lady Wrhittlesea aa she went rustling out of the doorway. The expres- sion of her face just at that moment was frightful. It was as if the evil spirit rose for an instant to the surface and glared forth—a spirit which meant robbery, murder, and such like. We would rather not reveal the quick train of ideas that coursed each other through her brain as she stood in that well-lighted room, and heard the wind outside dashing the sleet against the pane or when, a few moments later, she drew aside the curtain and saw- a woman slink down the street, her gown lagged, her bonnet battered—one of thoso wretched beings for whom there seems no place on our earth. For Winifred's thoughts just then were desperate. Put human nature, insufficient as it may be to any satisfactory end, has ever a touch of its original great ness. Winifred's nature had. Better feelings soon took the place of fierceness and despair. She would rather commit herself to the mercy of her wolfish foes outside, than lay a finger on what was not her own, or hurt a hair of I .:)dy Whittlesea's head. j IV or was she yet wholly battled. The morning's dawn might reveal some new posi- tion of a/iairs. Lady Whittlesea might relent, a hundred things might happen. While there's life there's hope," said Winifred. One resolve she clung to as a drowning man to a straw. She would not leave the house till she had seen the harsh old lady again, and wrung from her pome kind of recommendation—some word or line that might be a stepping-stone to another hearth, another home. In the meantime Vtinifred determined to make the most of the present. She ate a hearty supper and then went to bed. „ I will go to sleep too," she thorght, "in spite of what may happen to-morrow." And Winifred did sleep. She slept ealmlv and peacefully until the glimmer of daylight appeared through the handsome curtains that screened the window. Then she awoke and sat up in bod, her hands clasped over her kneos.. Her sleep ha*l refreshed her, and now, in full vigout* and consciousness, these woes that stood thick around her had to be met. Co d and hunger, hunger and cold! The words ran in her head like a chime of hells as she sat up, unwilling to leave her sofc downy nest and run full in their teeth. Still, after a time, she got up. She knew the thing was a necessity. She got up and dressed. The ground was white with snow and bard with frost. Winifred looked out to see. The water in her jug was frozen. Just as she had finished her toilet the housemaid came to tell her breakfast was ready. Winifred hastened into the breakfast parlour, and knelt down before the great bank of fire, as if she would get warmth enough to carry her through the day. Then she poured out her coffee and began the meal in earnest. K She was to take it alone. My lady is never down before twelve," said the girl; "but, please, James is to take you to the station as soon as you've done." The words almost choked Winifred, but she went on with her breakfast resolutely. I must eat to live," she said, as her husband had said before her. She did not hurry. Was she likely? She played with her tea-spoon and coquetted with bits of toast like a fashionable lady at her noon-tide breakfast. But delay has its limits. She was obliged at last to finish. The housemaid, who had become impatient, and was reconnoitring, carried away the things in haste. James is getting ready," she said. [ Winifred walked to the window. Snow had hegpn to descend, and thr> whole air was filled with large frozen flakes. The wind howled and tore alonjg the street. Nobody was visible. Scarce a dog would have chosen to turn out to-day. Winifred smUe-d as she stood looking at the play of the wintry ^eleme.nts. „ ^r~ They seemed, to her, benefactors. I will speak to her ladyship," said she, turning round, and stepping briskly to the door. Oh, but ma'am "Winifred rushed by, regardless of opposition. It is now or never, thought she. She walked straight on to Lady Whittlesea's chamber, and having tapped at the door, entered. Lady Whittlesea was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking the picture of crossness and ill-temper. Winifred went up to her and said, in a decided manner: You cannot turn me out to-day F" Lady Whittlesea looked at her as if struck dumb by surprise. "No," continued Winifred, firmly, "it might cost me my life to travel in weather like this." And she drew up the blind and revealed the whirling snow, which filled the air like a dense cloud. "See," continued she, "humanity forbids it." Lady Whittlesea looked at the snow and then at Winifred. "It is your own fault," she said, harshly. Why did you come ?" I came misled by the representations of other people," replied Winifred, in the same resolute tone; but this error of mine will not justify you in turning me from your door like a dog." (To be continued.)

TAKING HER DOWN. A NEW YOHK STORT. Two girls, both young, and one superbly beautiful, Eat conversing in a co-y sitting-room, in one of iNew York's most aristocratic mansions. The handsomer of the two, Maude Pierson, wore a travelling-dress of brown merino, and was evidently resting after a journey. In spite of a certain languor born of fatigue in her velvety black eyes, a pallor of the clear olive skin, and her unbecoming dress, the girl was undeniably a beauty, of a gorgeous brunette type. Her companion, passing pretty, was of the same dark tint, but smaller in figure, and far from possessing Maude's great beauty. "Tell me about everybody," Maude said. "I am fairly hungry for p«ssip, after vegetating nearly two years in that abominable countrv bole, with my aunt. She has left me fifty thousand dollars, however, so the time was not altogether thrown away. "Dead!" cried her companion. "You are not in mourning, and-why, Maude, you said you were going to Mrs. Ralston's this evening." So I am. Aunt Maria has been dead six months, and requested me not to wear any black, and to return to town in November. But, Cora, tell me the news. Who has been the belle of our set since I left?" You conceited girl laughed her friend. Pah What is the use of playing mock modest between ourselves. I would be an idiot if I did not know I was handsome. How is Fred Seymour?" One question at a time, though I can answer those two together. The belle has been the object of Fred iSeymour's special devotion since she made her debut last month. Mrs. Huruey introduced her. She is a niece, I believe, of old Mrs. Mortimer, who died three years ago, and left her all her money." But who is she ?' "Her name is Worthington—Esther Wortliington." Esther Worthington!" cried Maude, sharply. !• What is she like ?" Tall, slender, very fair, with brown hair and eyes, delicate features, and unmistakably a beauty. Sings exquisitely, and having been in Earope with Mrs. Mor- timer, speaks two or three modern languages." How old ?" About your age, I judge—twenty-four or fire." Maude broke into a harsh laugh. Mrs. Mortimer's niece she cried. Well, that is rich And s. Fred. Seymour is in love with her He is certainly N ery devoted. Everybody thinks it will be a match." A match cried Maude, in another burst of mocking merriment. Fred. Seymour and Esther Worthington W ell well! I tell you," she said, fiercely, "it will not be a match I will take her down What do you mean ? Will this belle be at Mrs. Kalston's this evening?" Probably. But do tell me, Maude, what you know about her." "I know enough to cool Mr. Frederick Seymour's ardour," said Maude, and he shall learn the truth. To think of that girl's daring to move in our set." Well, as to that," Cera replied, being handsome, accomplished, refined, and heiress to double your fortune, Maude, I cannot see where the audacity comes in, especially as Mrs. Hursey has her for a guest, and we all know how particular she is. The Seymours themselves are not prouder than the Hurseys." "You wait until this evening I suppose the [girl thinks nobody here knows her. I'll humble her She won't attend any more receptions after I've told my story." But what is your story ? You'll hear to-night." Tell me now," Cora said, coaxingly. No. Let me lie down awhile and rest, or I will look like a ghost this evening." A very brilliant ghost it would have been to resemble Maude Pierson, as she entered Mrs. Ralston's reception- room a few hours later. An evening dress of garnet velvet, cut to display the beautifully rounded shoulders and arms, and trimmed with rich black lace, ornaments of diamonds, and a cluster of white flowers in the jetty braids of hair, all heightened her queenly beauty. Look- ing across the crowded room she recognised her rival in a tall, slender girl, who wore white lace over peach- coloured satin, and ornaments of fretted gold. Fred Seymour was already in attendance, apparently, for he was leading this lady to the head of a quadrille just forming when Maude entered. The sight stimulated anew all the venomous hatred of Esther Worthington that had been roused by Cora's description. A cold-hearted, calculating woman, devoted to dress, wealth, and luxury, selfish to her heart's core, carrying the smiling face of a belle over a bitter envy of all more fortunate than herself, Maude Pierson had never felt the touch of womanhood as when her heart opened to embrace. the handsome face of Fred. Seymour. An orphan, dependent upon an aunt devoted to the frivolities of fashion, Maude's education had been superficial, and an I undue value had been given in her thoughts to the advantages of birth, position, and fortune. Miss Pierson was very proud of the blue blood in her own veins and Maude's success as a belle was as much a triumph to her aunt as to herself. When the long illness set in that drove Miss Pierson to the seclusion and quiet of a country home, her niece had begun to hope that the attentions of Fred. Seymour were more than those called for by the ordinary requirements of society. It had been a great blow to her to be suddenly whirled out of the vortex of city gaiety, to be buried alive in the little country-town where much of her childhood had passed, under her aunt's care. But she was far too politic to murmur loudly, and when her relative died, it was with the firm conviction that all Maude's tender care and devotion were dictated by warmest affection. It was singularly characteristic of Miss Pierson that in her will she stipulated that Maude should return to the city six months after her death, and weir no mourning. In one of their last interviews she said to her: ou will soon be 25 Maude, and you shall not bury yourself here next winter. It might ruin your prospects of a good match." And Maude, secretly exultant, wept copiously as she assured the dear aunt that- Society would have no charms for her were she to be deprived of her life-long companion." Yet the six mouths dragged wearily when the heiress thought of Fred Seymour. Would he love her better for her golden charms, or did he know her fortune, after all, was small compared with his own income ? Had some fairer face eclipsed her memory ? Carefully during the long summer did the beautiful brunette cherish her own charms, and gloriously they re- paid her care when she burst upon her old friends, more superbly handsome than ever, at Mrs. Kalston's reception. Esther Worthington, looking at her as she entered the room, turned to her companion, saying, in a low tüne. Is not that Miss Pierson ? Yes. Is she not handsome? Magnificently so I can scarcely imagine a more regal beauty. She was not a very pretty child, dark and thin. Will she recognise me, I wonder, as easily as I do her ? You were children when you last met?" About twelve years old, but we livel near each other for six years before that. Will she look down upon me now as scornfully as she did then? Hush, you pain me was the reply. Try to forget the dark days." Nay, for they make happy ones all the brighter," was the gentle reply. Bow to your partner For the music of the q jadrille sounded in the long room, and attention was requtred to the intricacies through which Miss WorthingtoD and her partner proposed to lead their set. When it was over, Esther, leaning upon her partner's arm, turned to find herseif face to face with Maude Pier- son. With a sweet smile she extended her hand. Have you forgotten me ? she asked. I L I I remember you well," was 'the reply, in a freezing tone, and I confess my surprise is very great to meet an almshouse girl amongst my friends." An almshouse girl cried several voices. J You may doubt me," saiu. Maude, answering them, but let Miss WorthingUn deny, if she can, that she was taken from the almsbouse to be the nurserv-maid of Mrs. Thurston, my aunt's cousin and neighbour. Let her deny if she can that she did a menial's work for years in their house. She may palm herself off as Mrs. Mortimer s niece upon strangers, but I, knowing her, decline the honour of her acquaintance." The delicate, beautiful face of Esther Worthington had grown very pale during this insulting address, but she drew herself erect as haughtily nsMaude Pierson herself, as that young lady ceased to speak. All you have said is quite true," she replied, and my only reason for concealing the facts you now force upon my friends was the request of my dear aunt, Mrs. Mortimer. Mrs. Hursey, Mrs. Ralston, and several other of those who honour me with their friendship, know well the family historv you force me to relate to our friends here. You will pardon me for obtruding my private affairs upon you, but since Miss Pierson has attacked my veracity I must defend it. My parents were married against the wishes of my mother's father, who carried his resentment to the grave, and cut my mother out of his will. When I was a babe my father died, and my mother, ill, feeble, penniless, was taken to the almshouse, where she too died. Her sister, Mrs. Mortimer, was in Europe at the time, and unaware of my existence. What Miss Prerson half so delicately told you of my childhood is quite true. I was taken from thealmshouse to fill a servant's place, b'jt my employers were kind, and I was allowed to attend school in the winter. I think they will testify that if my duties were menial they were fathfully performed, and I doubt if Miss Pierson can make a better loaf of bread, or tidy a house more neatly than myself. When I was thirteen my aunt returned home, and found me out. Since then I have been her charge, and the kindest love was lavished upon me until, at her death, I became the guest of my friend, Mrs. Hursey. I hope you will pardon me for taking up so much of your time, and if you desire, with Miss Pierson, to decline the further acquaintance of an almshouse girl, I can only accept your decision with some regret for a deceit that was only in accordance with the wishes of the dead." Stay a moment," said Fred Seymour, as the friends of the beautiful pirl would have pressed more warmly than ever around her let me speak one word. By the request of Miss Worthington, I have refrained from men- tioning the honour she has conferred upon me, and which is the crowning pride and happiness of my life. When I asked her to become my wife, to give me the priceless treasure of her love, she told me the story you have just heard, and I, too, joined my entreaties to those of her aunt. Not," he added, haughtily, that I valued my future wife the less, but that I understood that even in our best society, there are some ignoble enough to count her early misfortunes as a shameful fact, and ignore the beauty of character that could keep her heart noble, pure, and true, even in the lowly home to which the misfor- tunes of her parents condemned her. Miss Worthington, will you take my arm to the conservatory ? you are pale, and need rest." With an air of tender protection, of fond pride, he led her through the group of friends, who spoke warmest woids as she passed. Finding her a seat near the fountain, he said, in a low tone "I am glad they all know it, Essie, for a secret is a troublesome burden." But you—oh, Fred., if it shames you- Hush I never honoured you so highly, or loved you so fondly, as I did when that girl found her insulting taunts answered by your own digoified frankness. Wre will not speak of it a^ain. Rest here till I find you all ice, and we will ret 1m to our friends." Maude," Cora said, as the girls unbound their hair in their own room before retiring, "I don't think your ItttJe 'scene* was altogether a success. From the warmth of her friends, when Esther Worthingtoll re turned to the reception-room, and Fred. Seymour' devotion, I really imagine you placed that young ladt upon a higher pedestal of favour than ever, in your amiable endeavour to TAKE HER DOWN."

MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS. A POET OF THE PIPE.-It is a pity, I think that the poet prattles so much of wine and so little 01 tobacco. As a rule hj reserves his seriousness for wiiu and love and politics and mountain scenery, and vare delights of that sort, and only sings of tobacco, thf Universal Camcrado," with a half smile. So I makE apology for exhuming a lyric in which the subject is handled with decent gravity

RONDEAU. Pipe of my Soul, our perfumed reverie, A mild-eyed and mysterious eestacy In purple whorls and delicate spires ascending, Like hope materialised, inquiringly Towards the unknown Infinite is wending. The master-secret of mortality, The viewless line this visible life subtending, Whilom so dim, grows almost plain to me, Pipe of my Soul And as the angels come the demons flee, Thy artist-influence beautifully blending- The light that is, the dark that may not be, The great Perhaps above all things impending. Melts large and luminous into thine and thee, Pipe of mv Soul Evidently this rhapsody was written by a good and grateful smoker.—The Magazine yf Art. THE CLIMATE OF PALESTINE. — From its peculiar formation, the country possesses much variety 0: climate; that of the hill country has been compared with the climate of Italy, while that of the Jordan valley is decidedly tropical. The rainy season usually commences towards the end of October, and last till March, after which the air clears, and for months the bright blue sky is unbroken by a single cloud. The rainy season is still divided into the early and the latter rains, but they are rather a succes- sion of heavy showers than a continuous rain, and the annual rainfall is small, the average of seven years, during which observations have been taken, being' only nineteen and a half inches There are occasional falls of snow at Jerusalem and on the higher hills, but it seldom lies on the ground more than one or two days. Palestine is still visited by those sudden storms which are so frequently aliudel to m the Bihle, as on the occa- sion of the battle of Beth-horon, and that of Barak's victory over Jabin, King of Ha/or, in the Ltin of Es- dra 'tort the storm which caught the discip'es on the Lake of Galilee, and that which followed the discomfiture of the priests of Baal beneath Mount Carmel, when Elijah girded up his loins and ran before Ahab to the entrance of Je-reel." The writer was once caught in one of these storms in the plains of Galilee, and a short de- scription of it may interest the reader. Leaving camp one bright cloudless morning with a party of Arabs, his attention was called by h's companions to a small cloud in the west, no larger than a man's band, which, rising rap dlv, soon overspread the heavens and burst upon the party. The storm commenced with a furious gale, against which it was barely possible to stand, and this was followed by an almost instanta- neous fall in the temperature from 75 degrees to below freezing point, numbing the fingers, and producing all the unpleasant sensations of frost bite then came a torrent of hail, or rather sharp-broken pieces of ice, which no one could face, and all had to seek such shelter as they could, rolled up in their cloaks on the open plain. We had on this occasion full experience of the Psalmist's words, •' He caste th forth his ice like morsels, and who can stand aga'nst his cold?" and could realise the effect of those storms which came so opportunely to the assistance of the Israelites on the occasion of the two memorable battles mentioned above. With their backs to the gale the warriors of Joshua and Parak would be in comparative comfort, whilst their Opponents would be perfectly paralysed, for no soldier could have notched an arrow or drawn a bow in the face of such a storm as that wi.ich has been noticed above.—The JJible JOducator. ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON. — During the American war the captain of a little band of soldiers was giving orders to those under him about a heavy beam they were endeavouring to raise to the top of some mili- tarv works which they were repairing. The weight was almost beyond their power to raise, and the voice of the superintendent was often heard shouting Heave away There it goes Heave ho 1" An officer, not in military costume, was passing, and asked the superintendent why he did not render a little aid. The latt r, astonished, turned romdwith all the pomp of an Emperor, and said, Sir, I am a corporal You are, are you ? I ask your pardon, Mr. Corporal," and, taking off his hat, he bowed, saying, "I was not aware of that." Upon this lie dismounted and polled till the sweat stood in drops on his forehead. And when the beam was raised, turning to the little great man, he said, Mr. Corporal, when you have another such job, and have not men enough, send for your commander-in-chief, and I shall gladly come and help you a second tim-v' The corporal was thunderstruck. It ashiugtou.—London Society. RELIClotrs SECTS IN AMERICA.—TTE'igious eccentricity has always found a kindly and fructifying soil in America. The Northern an 1 some of the Middle States were colonised by the followers of persecuted sects, and a current of religious independence may be said to run in the Wool of a large proportion of Ameri- cans. This tendency is of course increased by tiie general habits of free iom wbieh spread through the whole system of society in the United St;>t.es, and which result in an excessive development of individuality in all matters A opinion. The emancipation of religion from State control has been attended by too many excellent results in the New World to 1 e open to any serious objection yet it may have fostered the multi- plication of religious bodies, by seeming to encourage the most extravagant assertion of the ri^ht of separat- ing from old, and creating new, communities for the pur j oses of worship and of faith. The despotic unity of Rome has found its t'ue a-utipodes in America, where religion is divided and sub-divieel like a polypus, which displays in every fragment a distinct and active life. Another influence conducive to the same effect is to be found in the heated air of perpetual di cussion in which most Americans live, and which, stimulated by a cheap, all-pervading, and not very cooi-he ided newspaper press, forces into rank overgrowth whatever oddities may from time to time arise, and forbids them to die out, as they might do in a more temperate atmosphere. Xot even in Germany and Holland during the of strugg ing thouglit-riot even in England, when Anabaptists, Quakers, and Mugglctonians jtruggled for pre-eminence in fanaticism—ha\e there been more numerous or more fantastic manifest ;tions of what is fermed the inner life. Shakers, Jumpers, and Ranters rant, jump, and shake their utmost in the cities of America. Spiritualism has there its largestfollowing, and its most effective mediums. It is there that Fne Love has been elevated into a form of mystical aspiration. It is there that women have been most powerfully moved, and have in bra most powerfully moved e thers. And it was there that Mor- nionism arose, to astonish the modern world by what professed to be a new re\'clation.-Cass,zl"s Illustrated History or tlte United States. THE IIOUSE WHEN ALONE.—When the house is alone by itself, inexperienced persons may believe that it behaves just exactly as it does when tLere are people in it; but that is a delusion, as vo 1 will discover if you are left alone in it at midnight, sitting up for the rest of the family. At this hour its true dispo-ition will reveal itself. To catch it at its best, pretend to retire, put out the gas or the lamp, and go upstairs. Afterwards come down softly, light no more than one LImp, go iuto the empty parlour and seat yourself at a table, with some- thing to read. No sooner have you done so than you will hear a little chip, chip, chip, along the top of the room—a small sound, but persistent. It is evidently the wall paper coming off and you decide, after some tribulation, that if it does come off you can't help it, and go oil with your book. As you sit with your book in your hand you begin to be quite sure that some one is coming downstairs. Squak, squak, squak What foliv There is nolody up there to come down; but there no it is o;i the kitchen stairs. Somebody is coming up. Squak —snap! Wdl, if it is a robber, you might as well face him. You get the poker, and stand with your back against the wall. Nobody comes up. Finally you decide that you are a goose, put the poker down, get a magadne and try to read. There, that's the door. You heard the lock turn. They are coming home. You run to the door, unlock and unbolt it, and peep out Nobody there But, as you linger the door lock gives a click that makes you jump. By day- light neither lock nor stairs make any of the"c noises unless they are touched or trodden on. You go back to the parlour in a hurry, with a feeling that the next thing you know something may catch you by the back h.iir, and you try to remember where you left off. Now it is the table that snaps and cracks as if all the spiritualistic knocks were hidden in its mahogany. You do net lean on it heavily with- out this result; bllt it fidgets you, and you take all easy chair and put the look 011 your knee. Your eyes wander up and down the page, and you grow dreamy, when, apparently, the bookcase fires off a pistol; at least, a loud, tierce crack comes from the heart of that pieie of furniture—so loud, so fierce, that you jump to your fe> t trembling. You cannot stand the parlour any more. You go upstairs. No sooner do you get the re than it seems to you that somebody is walking on the roof. If the house is a detached one, and the thing is impo-sible, that makes it all the more mysterious. Nothing ever moaned in the chimney before, but some- thing moans now. There is a ghostly step in ti e bath- room. You t'nd out afterwards that it is the tip dripping, but you do notctaie to look at that time. And it is evident that there is something up the chimney —you would not like to ask what. If you have gas, it bobs up and down in a pliai tun dance. If you have a lamp, it goes out in a blue explosion. If you have a candle, a shroud plainly enwraps the wick and falls towards vou. The blinds shake as if a hand clutched them; and, I finally, a eoleful cat legins to moan in the cellar. You do not keep a cat, and this finisi.es you. You pretend to rea l no longer, and, sitting whh a towel over your head and face, and hearing something below go Shew shew shew like a little saw, YOU believe in the old ghost stories. Ten minutes afterwards the bell rings; the belated ones come home th lights are lit: perhaps something must be got out to eat. People talk and ti 11 where they have been, and ask you if you are lonesome. And not a stair creaks. No step is heard on the roof. No click at the fiont door. No bookcase nor table cracks. The house has mi it< company manners—only you have found out how it behaves when it is alone.— American Paper. A FRENCHMAN'S ESTIMATE OF AMERICANS.— The more I see and mix with the Americans, tee more difficult co I find it to pass judg ment upon them, owing to the gre it variety of types. The Northemcr is very different from the native of the middle states. The Northerner, wiio is styiet a Yankee, is of the English type, with which are oombincd the sharpness and skill of the Jew—this mixture of pride, of coldness, and of Britannic stillness with Hebrew astuteness making the Yankee a nnijue pesonagc. The Yankees are English at lent, despite the scorn which the English show for them. They go to England to acq ire their t.istes, their manners, their customs, their fashions, and even their avcrsion to France and the trench. Much more civilised than their Southern countrymen, they approve of all aristo racy and all the gradations of rank which the English approve of, ant in what is called New England not many changes would be re- quired to establish there a form of government similar to that of Old England. In the Southern States, on the contrary, French tastes prevail but I regret to say that these arc very bad, because it is our revolutionary tastes which they have adopted, and it is these which they relish in u". They are vain and they are jealous of the superior Northern civilisation, which they will to destroy by means of ultra-democratic opinions. Such are the two dutinct. yet mingled races occupying the regio ) stretching along the coast from north to south of the United States. But a third race which is forming in the west beyond the Alleghanvs, on the borders of the Ohio, the Mississippi, and the Missouri, has also its special character, and it cannot easily be described at present. It is compose I of emigrants from the Northern ar.d Southern States, of Irr h and Germans. In my opinion it is destined to play the principal part in the United States, and to dominate the other two in the course of a few years.Soil; emrs d'an Dijilomate,par De Jiii court. TAR AND FEATHERS.—" Most people," said a prominent Renoite to a reporter, "doll't know what a terrible punishment tarring and feathering really is. They suppose that it is nothing worse than a badge of iofamy, rather im com lor table, p-rhaps, but not painful unle-s the tar gets into the eyes. This is a great mistake. IllClred to daub Jones. He was a disgrace to humanity, and he deserved what he got. But I had no idea until I saw that fellow plastered what a tough (leal the process is. We painted him all over pretty thick with a broom, and some enthusiastic vigilante poured a few gallons of tar 011 his head. Then the feathers, taken from a big pillow, were dusted on him, and he stood out, white and fluffy, in the starlight, like some huge and grotesque- looking bird. nehadtoputhisclotbesonoverthe whole mess, and then he was ridden on a rail for 50 yards or so, and we put him on a west bound train at mid- night, with instructions not to come back on pain of being ha.:ged. I taw him on the train. He was sitting with his head on his arms on the back of the seat in front of him. The tar was so thick on his head that it covered the hair out of sight, and his poll shone in the light of the car lamps like a black rubber ball iti-t dipped in the water. The poor fellow was moaning, and I could not help feeling mean at having taken a hand in the job. You see the body is covered with short hair, and when the tar hardens a little the slightest movement causes acute pain, as if one's beard were being pulled out by pincers, hair by hair. Then there is the stoppage of ail per piration, which would soon kill a man if he did not make lively time in getting f-crubbed. Besides, the smell of the tar turns the stomach, and about half an hour after a man is coated he must feel mighty sorry he was not hanged. Then comes the scrubbing with oil. It took two Chinamen and a darky three days in Truckee to reduce Jones to a mild brown. The rubbing makes the skin tender, and the body must be sore for weeks."— Virgin a Chronicle. I

LADIES' COLUMN. DRESS AND FASHION. The opera season in Paris being again in full vigour, some most charming toilettes may be seen warn by the habitual visitors to the Grand Opera. Says Madame de Marsy, in the Queen: On the evening when Mile. Snbra resumed the role of Beavgrand in the ballet called CoppTia" the house was crowded. Low dresse# abounded, and the toilettes were of a truly magnificent description. The Countess de Durfort wore a tea-roge satin dress the low, pointed, sleeveless bodice had a cordon of dark-red roses across it, commencing at the left shoulder, and terminating at the point; similar flower? in the luir, together with a large diamond and pearl butterfly; round her throat was a dark-red velvet ribbon, and a locket composed of a square sapphire set in diamonds; the earrings matched and long, buttonless Su'de gloves reached to the elbows. The skirt was embroidered to the knee with pearls and chenille, intermixed with jet beads in quaint shades of green. The marruge of Viscount de Simen- court with Mile. Pelletier was a very gay affair. The bride, who is 18, and a brune, wore, on the evening when the contract was signed, a pink Bengaline dress, the short skirt covered with alternate flounces of lace and white gauze embroidered with white silk pink Bengaline paniers, with a pink satin sash bow on the pouf at the back high pointed bodice, laced at the back; her black hair was twisted in a coil low Oil the nape of the neck, and amented with two natural roses a pink ribbon round the throat, tvith a turquoise cross suspended on it: turquoise earrings; pink silk stockings, and satin shoes. On the same occasion Mmc. Peitetier, the bride's mother, wore a long red moire dress, the open bodice filled in with flots of costly old Alencon lace, and bouquet of diamonds the ear- rings were also diamonds. Mme. de Simencourt, the bridegroom's mother, wore a satin and plush dress of the new shade of prune called "prune de Dumas," and which is tinged with violet; the bodice was covered with old lace, and the ornaments we emeralds set in diamonds; a tuft of pansics, with yello centres, in the hair. The Countess Flavigny wore a ry attractive and much-observed Yalois costume, entirely in black satin and lace, sparkling with jet. The demi-low bodiee was surrounded at the top with a high fraise worked with jet, and diamond stars were studded about the head. Mme. de Mettray wore pink satin and moire, trimmed with pink marabouts low bodice with narrow white lace fraise immense train pink shoes with high heels; gloves reaching far above the elbows and terminating beneath the lace ruffles. Mile. Pelletier, the bride's sister, a girl of 15, wore a white nun's veiling frock, with plaited skirt and paniers draped at the back under a large low, the veiling being covered with white satin pompons the high-gathered bodice was slightly open at the throat, and the round waistband was white satin. Hair in curls at the back, and tied loosely at the ends with narrow satin ribbon. A bouquet of white violets at the waist. On the authority of Mirra's Journal in regard to children's costume, coloured and white Ibnnela and cash- meres are the favourite materials for nursery and indoor dresses, which are made high, and either gauged or pleated front and back. The costumes for driving are of white embossed velvet trimmed with lace, of plush in pale shades, and of plain velvet; and for elaborate indoor dresses, put on for a few minutes in the evening only, there are pale-blue sicilienncs, embroidered with wreaths of flowers, pink satins, and expensive chenille fabrics. As soon, however, as the child grows a little older, and the attraction caused by its splendid attire is likely to be in- jurious and ercate feelings of vanity and self-conscious- ness, plainer dresses become the rule especially for out- door wear, when cloth, pluth, or velvet, in dark colours, are adopted. A suitable style of vftement for little girls or boys has a very long cape reaching below the waist ;"a good example is of seal-brown cloth piped with yellow satin; the vJtement forms a kind of pleated blouse reaching the knee (consequently showing no skirt with boys, and very little with girls), secured by a brown cloth belt below the waist, edged with a yellow satin piping. The long cape, gauged to fit the shoulders, is of brown cloth lined with yellow satin, and fastened at the nec-k by a brown and yellow bow. A brown cloth cap, with a stocking-cap crown, tipped with a yellow and brown tassel, completes the suit, which is worn by very young children only, between two and six years of age. It looks very pretty in navy or peacock bine, lined and piped with crimson or old-gold satin, and is sometimes edged with dark-brown fur, a fur band encircling the edge. All kinds of forms, all cuts, all ornaments are fashionable for little girls, and it is difficult, almost im- fashionable for little girls, and it is difficult, almost im- possible, to specify one mode more than another. How- ever, it may be faid generally, that plastrons are worn on most costumes, either of gauged surah or woollen material on plush, velvet, or woollen dres-es, and in pleated or plain velvet or plush, with silk and woollen materials. As to little boys, velvets of all kinds and plain plush are the materials, for full dress costumes I1nd suits, of which tb- following are representative examples. One for a boy of six is very elegant in nacaret velvet, with short bre-ches buttoning at the knee, the long velvet casaque open over a Louis XV. waistcoat of straw-coloured satin, with a jabot of tine lace. An I'tamine p'lerine and parcments of lace add to the richness of this picturesque suit, made in a style that will be much adopted for young boys' evening costumes this winter. Another costume is of navy-blue ottoman velvet, with knickerbockers gathered at the knees, and a straight blouse open to the belt with large revers of pale-blue satin, and tilled in with a pleated velvet plastron. The large square collar, with the corners resting on the shoulders, is also of blue satin, the parements and belt being of the ottoman velvet.

I USEFUL HINTS. SfurrnD Brov.N BREAD.—Curl a few slices of thin brown bread, well buttered. Fill them with any chopped well-seasoned cooked meat, bacon, sardines, &c. Dip them in butter and frv. BAKED CAHRA.K.—Boil until tender, drain and set aside until cold. Chop fine, add two beaten eggs, butter, pepper, salt, and three tab], spoonfuls of rich niilk stir well and Lake in a buttered dish till brown. Serve hot. BOILING RICE.—A correspondent of the Miller says Just put the rice into boiling water, with a little salt, and let it boil twenty minutes strain the water away, dash it over with cold water, and strain once more; put the rice back again into the saucepan and cover with a cloth, and let it stand near the tir;) until required for dishing up. Thus prepared, it is a delicious dish. We used to take four times the time and ten times the trouble, but we never had a -dish to bear the least comparison with rice prepared as above.—English Mechanic. BACON SANDWITHKS.—Obtain from any grocer what they call "parings," which are really the outer slices of bacon, and, thougi, e pially as good as the remainder, are often of a darker colour. For this reason these are often sold at 6d. per lb. Place them between very thin layers of bread, and, having previously piepared a thin batter of one egg to a gill of milk, immerse the sandwiches into the mixture then place them into a pan of boiling lard, fat, or dripping, and fry to a rich golden-brown, when the bacon will be sufficiently cooked. These, if trimmed nicely and served 011 a napkin, much resemble a thick pancake. ALCOHOL iN BURNS AND SCAr,Ds.-Saturate a soft piece of fabric with alcohol, Jay it over the burn, then cover it with cotton or fincJy-pi ked oakum. This is the most cleanly dressing that can be ad-ptc-d. it may bethought thatahohol applied to a burn will produce more pain; but try it, and you will be agreeably surprised to observe how quickly it will allay the pain. Subsequently disturb the dressing as little as possible- wet the occa- sionally with alcohol, and the result you will find better than by any other method. English Mtci.ajiic. FOR WmrKWAsi:.—The following recipe for white- wash is recommended by the United States Treasury Department to all the lighthouse keepers it answers for wood, brick, or stone Slake about half bushel unslaked lime with boHing water, keeping it covered during the progress. Strain it, and add a peck of salt dissolved in warm water, 3it. of ground rice put in boiling water Mid boiled to a thin paste, powdered Spanish whiting, and lft. clear glue dissolved in warm water mix thtse well together, and let the mixture stand for several days. Keep the wash thus prepared in a kettle or portable fur- nace, and when used put it on as hot as possible with either painters'or whitewash brushes. ROLLED IIERETXCS.—Choose the herrings containing the soft roc (the hard roes are usually larger), scrape, split open, cleanse, and carefully take OBtthe roc. Then with the thumb and linger of the right hand draw the backbone out. It usually comes out whole. Sprinkle with pepper, salt, and a little chopped green parsley. Roll up tightly, and tic with tape, leaving the fin and tiil outside. Have ready some water seasoned with a little vinegar, salt, and pepper, into whidi when boiling put the herrings. Simmer f,)r tp minutes. Serve on butt 'red toast, and garnish with the roes (nicely fried) and parsley or watererees POTATO Peri s.—T :k j any o ,1,de slices of cold meat, chop and season with peppei, vut, and cut pickles. Mash potatoes, making them iiro paste with an egg. Roll out with a dust of flour. Cut round with a saucer. Put your seasoned meat on one ha)f, and fold like a paft. Fry a light brown.

WOMAN'S WILL; Of, E N E R G Y li E W A IiDED, CIIA PIE II V. THE CL-.ISIS. stood up, rigid as a statue. Paring as pap XVas' her 1 ou-ago—audacity some would have 6«y it—was about; to he put to a test of unusual To all intents and purposes sho was an ljwU%r—au intruder whose natural fate would bo 0ininjOU8 cxpuls 011. hft, chances «hd iiu.ards oi' ar. adventuress stared *j>U in the tace. [j l.,t Winifred v,'i;; no novice. Iler heart, though her. did not fail her. In fact, lie actual atl Val of the expected crisis was rather a relief than ^ise. -Orn 6^00(1 UP» wo pfiy> rigid as a statue her lips th *jresse(l, and the lines about her mouth snoring ^■selves t'-s if they had been chiselled in stone. plate glass let into the wall behind showed her L Ir,i liirure, as she stood motionless, waiting to her fate. 1 -*hf! old lady bad entered the house, and her loud, voico was scolding below. Theiv was the \trr?ing sound of feet as Perkins hastened to meet I* mistress, and next there was the slow and toil- ascent of the stairs—a matter of considerable 'i^ulty and delay. v inu'red flinched a little as Lady Whittlesea I¡¡ '.ed by the drawing-room door; her short, asth- ^ic breathing being distinctly audit le. hut the l^^ient had not yet arrive The oid lady had to •f't'S-ed for dinner. lv 'inil'red sunk into a chair, and passed her hand f,r her forehead. Then rallying herself—■ k is v cowardly I am!" she said. "After all, k is v cowardly I am!" she said. "After all, >R. ''Ut a woman against a woman Pn hour passed, perhaps the longest in Wini- []„ j K u ho'ie life then a door close by opened, and Whittlesea, evidently supported by 1 erkins, olit it,-e. •<,?. out into the pas-age. Ito lrllfrcd felt a inist-swim before her eyes. She hi lip, leaning her hand on the hack of a chair. 1) Ie ^^Ihrnatic, breathing again became audible, and u ^°ther moment Lady Whittles™ was standing jj'1e doorwav, face to face with Winifred. Wfl8 dressed in a black satin gown, and had ^.collar of point lace, and cuffs of the same ex- "'te material. Her gild-headed stick afforded L the support she needed, for, turning to 4' n" s^le as addressing a dog j^^downstanrs. J erkins." meek »nd submissive, retired, leaving, ait vllfterwurds said, the two to tight it out together. ^Ow \V;,uiir».d fairly beheld her antagonist; ohe sound the depths of the perilous sea over she had chosen to sail. Calm and resolutGj, i0 prepared to contend inch by inch for tho r.pho had wrested from her untoward destiny. ye outl-- ing land was all the darker and drearier contrast. old lady, with the help of her sticlr, and with Pu'-S an<^ rcint>'j hobbled to her chair, and her hands clasped on the gold knob at the °f lier sticV, and her eyes fixed on Winifred look of defiance. 1 What made YOU come her" ?" she aaked at "fUli. r ^rametooSer your ladyship my services," re- '1 1T'inii're i, respectfully, and avoiding the J'vxious word companion. r q Indeed And who wanted your services.. pray ? .(¡tl't I am sorry for that," replied Winifred, in the respe tful tone. '• I have come a long way to (erthem." 'You had best have kept at home," said the old ?y angrily. 41 have iao home returned "Winifred. I hoped J Wve found one with your ladyship." That's a pretty joke," and Lady V/hittlesea I ""Ited EcorriftilIv.- "As if my house was open to one who chose to come into it. That trick has lf,n, P'aved before but it won't do, young- lady, it C!J, t ùo ''I'ardon me," interrupted Winifred, hastily, I tQid that your ladyship required the attentions ith person, or I should not have ventured j. ,s^ep I have taken. You were absent when I ilitv llnt^ (^l not suppose a few houra liospi- •ou^d he denied me in the depth of winter." Jacl-'U^ph Scumbled the old Ldy, rather taken au I WIth Winifred's coolne.-s. Mre. Horace sent On." Sul'pose ? There is no need to ask that quoS- w'as silent. She was afraid to utter the 0 Untruth of saying that Mrs. Horace had sent ^'is circumskinee could alone account for I 'l'US\(k.ï 4 j j8;°raea sr-nt you no doubt," continued the ^oul [' ^e sent' a companion once before, but 3Ur t not l,ave her; so you may just pack up etteryoui,S hiriy, and be off. The sooner the received this injunction with impertur- C;dmness. Orro"rf»l"* you wi-1 al ow me to remain till to- L W' Kl'd she. It is late, and I am a stranger atu °w"crry. Your ladyship must remember that ;(>h "gentlewoman, and unaccustomed to sue for a Th S 8, ter>" added Winifred, with dignity. T-T °:(^ lild>' was evidently disconcerted. 1 lUrriph!' said she, in a dissatisfied tone. Tt t'lf,0,?""28 ^lat stupid l-erkins. Perkins is getting \V^'l-.nua^0^» or would not have lot you in." « rlull< 'l coloured ueeply. 1 regret exceedingly." cried she, "that I have ced myself in so painful a position. I had no ?a" and the tears came into her eves. 7 ith th at soft Hush of colour on her face Winifred beautiful. ,It is painful, and it serves you right/' said Lady Jjjttlesca, angrily. here was a momentary pause. Lady Whittlesea, ^ning on the head of her stick, surveyed Winifred, .Winifred kept her eyes steadily fixed on Lady ^'ttiesea. j pay Mrs. Horace off for this," said the old y at length, and with great acerbity. lifted was silent. She thought silence would j er safest policy. 'MY *L'Kn ^le footman swung open the door. )usl-ner i3 served, your ladyship," said he, pom- Us y. J HUIhph said Lady Whittlesea, desperately ;io0yf(i- I"here is no end to the troubles and pu,ss °f life. You want your dinner, I suppose Y' U<T ^e' !l(^rcgs'nS Winifred. JJ. ^°j indeed," said "Winifred boldly. I have "(Yh n any^'ing since morning." of course! of course! But it is all of a cc* ai] of apiece repeated the old lady, getting \pK the help of her stick- Jnifred off ered hex- arm to assist Lady Whittlesea ^stairs. The old lady would have refused it, her foot happened to car-ofi on the edge of an onuin; she was in danger of falling if Winifred Mot caught her. After this little mishap she °wed herself to be conducted into the dining- °?\ The savoury odour of the dinner was most to Winifred, whose long fast was beginning upon her. The footman, had not dared to take upon himself the responsibility of laying the table for two. But when he saw his lady enter, leaning on Winifred's arm, he rectified the error with adroitness. There was not much conversation at the dinner table. Under the circumstances it was hardly likely. Once Lady Whittlesea said abruptly: What is your name F" Winifred Godfrey," was the reply. Humph grunted the old lady, who was any- thing but pacified. After dinner, however, she suffered V, inifred to lead her back into the drawing-room. Perkin3 remained wholly invisible. Lady Whittlesea, comfortably placed in her easy chair, her ffet on an ottoman, and a couvre-piea tucked carefully round her, prepared for her after. noon's nap. Perhaps the tact and skill with which Winifred performed all these little offices mollified the old lady somewhat. She looked up into her face, and said, having reference, no doubt, to the journey Winifred was supposed to have come You can go to sleep too, if you like." Winifred thanked her courteously. But her head was too full of schemes to allow of sleep. She sat basking in the wsrmth of the glowing cinders, and rejoicing in the temporary comfort by which she was surrounded. If I can only stay," she thought, "my fortune is made." Winifred's imagination, ever fertile, conjured up bright visions of the future. It entirely depended upon Lady Whittlesea's will and pleasure whether those visions would be realised. Presently her ladyship awoke, and as it was get- ting dark, she exclaimed pettishly I wonder that stupid Perkins does not come and light the gas." It was a delicate operation, but Winifred was skilful and neat handed. She lighted the gas and drew the curtains, and made up the lire. Then she eat down opposite Lady Whittlesea, and began to stitch at some slight work she had taken from her pocket. Lady Whittlesea, still half inclined to nod, sat gazing sleepily at her.: By-and-by the footman brought in the hissing urn, and set it on the table. Then he carried in a small tray, with a delicate tea-service of the finest porcelain. The tea-service was for two persons- Lady Whittlesea and Winifred. Winifred rose and made the tea without being asked, and as a matter of course. Lady Whittlesea, now thoroughly awake, gave a kind of grunt, whether of approbation or otherwise, Winifred could not determine. Winifred handed her tho cup of tea, and fetching a stand from the farther corner of the room, placed it by the old lady's side, that the might keep her warm position bv tho tiro. This time tho old lady said Thank you." After tea was over, and the tea things removed, Winifred took up her work again. The old lady sat- b'inking at her as before. The genial warmth, the ease, the luxury of her new position, eausod Winifred to sink into a state of tranquil enjoyment. Her two gaunt enemies, cold and hunger, might be waiting on the threshold out- side, but hero they could not enter. Just at this moment Lady Whittlesea suddenly exclaimed: "I shall start you off the first thing in the morning." Winifred did not reply. Her natural tact con- vinced her that expostulation or entreaty would only rouse Ladv Whittlesea to anger. If meekness, silence, and tacit attentions did not succeed, nothing would. Her heart did not fail her even now.?'It would have felt more sanguine, however, could she have seen the current of Lady Whittlesea's thoughts. "Humph! "Well I can't say i dislike the young person. She seems to have a grain of common sense, which the other hadn't, and I should not so much mind. But I won't be brow-beaten by Mrs. Horace. No' I won't." And Lady Whittlesea rang the bell with a sudden clash. Up came Perkins. t erkins, come and put me to bed." Yes, my lady." "And see that Miss Godfrey goes the first thing in the morning. Do you hear P" Yes, my lady." Good night, madam." This was addressed to Winifred. "You w,ll be cured of breaking into people's houses for the future; and as for Mrs. Horace Winifred did not hear the last of the sentence. It was uttered to Perkins in the passage.