Denbighshire Free Press

NICE DISHES. MTJTTOX PIE.—The remains of :1 coW leg, Join. or rock of Inato): popper and Mit to taste, two bhd", of ponncled mace. dssssrtspocn^ul of chopp'C'fi pr-rs'^y, -'jiio tc»3-sj>^oriiuL of n.jiK.od savourv horlxt. when hlced a little minced onion, or eihallo* tbre-3 or four mtatoos. one tcacupful of gravy,"Vr.tsl-. C.'o'xl mutton may be made, into wrj ^ocd pies if well reasoned and mixed witl! a tew i' tnc iotc i-> used, outfit into very thin iF t''u> loin or nock, into thm cucIot«>. Pin, some at tho bottom of a dish, seafon weil with pepper, salt, mace, parslcv, and herbs, then Liut a ljve3- of potatoes sliced, then more mutton, 6° on till the disfh is full: add the gravy, cover with cmst, and bako one hour. SWKETBRK^DS A LA Tri.,n the eweet- broods r-nd soak them in warm water till white, Bianch them in boiling water, and then place in cold water. When quite cold, dry them, and place them in nice pieces in some white stock. Stow for half an hour. Now beat up the yoke cf two or three eggs with some cream, a lit.tio finely-chopped parslcv, a little grated nutmeg, p. pper and salt. Add to this the stock from tho sweetbread*, and make it hot. Place the sweet- breads in an entree dish. pour over them the ,l'(C!, and garnish with little rolls of fried bacon. I'ROH.KD MACKEKEL. — Split and bono a Mitckerel, spread a little butter over it, and i.-kie with popper ard sait. Broil it before i i- lira. Melt, a tablespoonful of butter, and it is brown add to it a tablespoonful of i*s:K»n juice, and mix the two well together. V' hem the mackerel :.i thoroughly cooked, pour ■1 melted butter and lemon juice over it, and ,w, 'i10f; lici

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL AEEANGEMENT. THE HOUSE IN HARLEY STREET. BY J. S. FLETCHER. Amtkor tit Vither-i in Israel," Daniel QUa."D" "Thf Thrashing Floor," "(irftiid Illations." The Harvest UOOR," When Charlfw the Firiit Kins." Le., &c. [COPYRIGHT.], CTZAPTKR I.-OX KPSOU DOWNS. Ag the lipid of eighteen enme fishing into t'isw reard tho plope of Tattt-iiham Corner, Kicaard Goulburn hfld his breath and fttrrdaM hin From lii.4 placo in one of iV<np«r "R thfl top ft (to- of the ceiirp- htlllw little more than a confusion of eolffnr. Most of the animals struggling for victory seamed to him to he browns or chost- nnt: being ejuits inexperienced in anything r^lsiiafl t« racing matters, he wondered in a vague nrl at fUhio. kow it wag that nor.? fir were .r.r or white. But lie *a," our% mora coucernsd hit then in endearortrin* to pick out from the various colours of the jeckey*—the txrquoise-blues, the purples, the bluo and whites, the whites, the black ptuti reds, the golds, the maroons— a certain white iackst with violot sleores, ov6r which, &x a qinck nervous glance at fan> mmmi Wd k im, there would be a red cap. "Can yoti P" where Mountain Apple is?" he timidly inqnired of a very sporting-look- ing gentleman at his elbow who. unlike him- self. was provided witk a pair of field-glasses, and was diligently followififf the progress of the on-coming TUKII. U Is he anjtrhera i I)-- ? TTie Sfentleman with the field-glasses QHmfKjflK a reply without deigning to look at his questioner. Can't yer see for yerself ?" he said. He's bloovqix' Well in front—that's wht-re he is." Ad WtosyRipt, well goin' te win, if you t#.vwlk um!" Mtalaimed another snorting: gentl^- mt its *I*" proximity. lbli' me! I/ook how he's g<jin'! And where's Norman III., I'd like to know—yah "Out af it. my bey; out of it!" Raid the r«*ti«Sia* with the field-glasses. Out of it-thflt' where lie is, and no error. Hero Y'ove! Mountain Appla wins!" Q*»lk«v» skoufed as lewdly as any of them as Mo red cAp PHrmoHating the white and viole,t fla.she<l past at the head of a swirling mass of colour. It M\med to him that all the worli had suddenly irone mad and was Y,-Ili*g Mountain Apple!" at the top of its vttic*. A suddea magnificent delirium of g]»d*««# awr.ed him. and he only stopped Bkawttmg to begin laughiag. TIO 'walk who wanted to know wltere Nor- MMt lal-L- kaW gat t", turned a gloomy faco "119. Wi. aNd scowled scoffinglv. Don't you langh too soon, my lad!" he said. "faint over yet. I've seen some gwod "1M go down at the end." It v" wtll in front here, anyway,v re- torted Goulburn with Ha. hauteur of one- and-twenty. And winning easily, too." U Oh. was it*" said tke othar, imitating (;O%ttl"N i*to*s.tioH. Well, 111 lay yar kaW-s-qwid it hasn't!" Tka reatleman with th« field-glaaea end- rtenly closed them with a snap. And vou'd rtykf," ke paid, decisively. It's a bloomiw' entsider that'p won. that's what it is. Where's yer rbantiuk now?" A *ileac« had fallen over the seeth- inr. fftraggline. perspirina: crowd, which, but a moment before, had been straining it Inn if a to their utmost. There was nothing to show that a popular favourite had passed the poit lirsf-,mon were already beginning to realise, with a species of electric Rense rwhr tflt cm racecourses, that the unexpected had happened. Tka lamab,rA are goiug up," said some,. body (Waw with the field-glasses adjusted them to his eyes once more and gaeed down the oonro*. Sixteen. Nine. Three," he read out, staccato fashion. T,ld Yer it was an out- sider. Sijnorinetta—that's it. Hundred to one H Taw re i-,Rrf- it isn't number cix instead of :ixte**?" C fim ulK- I'tc nan looked at him for the first tima and mw the ladJs white face and anxious eyes. Aad without a word he shrugged his fko«W«ra <?«Hternptuously and began to elbow hill way through the people about him. How Richard Oonlburn got off the stand he could sever remember. Something seemed to creek in his brain; something seemed to seise nw his heart; something seemed to make h'*w 1 in the region of his stomach. With pit knowing how he got there, he found himself standing in a comparatively lonely part of the Downs, realirin* that the Derby of lf08 wom over and that he had IOfit-Iost iri-e tn-" the losing owners had lost. Now tliers are all sorts of ways in which one may feel about losing the Derby. If you ar? a very wealthy personage and love horpe- racing for its own sake, and wisely abstain from betting on it. your chief sadness in los- ing the race, as owner, is that you have not won the Blue Ribbon of the Tnrf. If you are a reyrtlsr backer of horses, makinsr a profes- sion of the wiost doubtful calling in thp world, you will he disappointed,when.for all vonr care and study of hand books and new, papers. your horse comes in a bad third, or a worse eight. If you are a poor man, know- ing very well that you cannot afford to stake even a sovereign on a horse, and you do so and lose, that sovereign will be commen- surate with tll- amount of the odds which -o)n "1:11. Tt will rnny- it all the worse in the last (' if you merely got two to one on the favourite (which was nowhere) while your neighbour had a hundred to one on some un- known beist-wliieli won easily. You will Righ, Oh—if I had but known what was go- ing to win!"—but quite uselessly, for there is no more tiseless form of regret than that of being sorry aftor the event is over. It is al- most as useless—if not quite as much so—as moralizing on the foolishness of betting at all But this is what "Richard Goulburn—as was, after all, not unnatural, seeing that he was very young, and by no means a philosopher—exactly did now that the excite- ment was over, and he had time to think. He flung himself down on the ground near an almond-scented clumn of brilliantly- coloured gorse, and smote his fists together. What a fool I've been!" lie groaned. What a fool! And what shall I do now?" That, of course, is what all young men placed in the same predicament would say. And his next remark—with the exception of the proper name included in it—is one that has been voiced more times than once by more young men than one would like to reckon the number of. "I wish I'd never taken Bassett's advice! And yet he said Mountain Apple was a. certainty—a dead certainty. I wish I'd never known Bassett!" Then he groaned again, and rising from bis recumbent position, began to pace up and down the quiet patch of ground amongst the gorse brakes into which he had accidentally strayed. ITe was walking to and fro, with bent head and hands clasning and unclasp- ing themselves behind his back, when he suddenly heard himself addressed by what was without doubt the voice of a young woman: "I am afraid you are in great trouble!" Goulburn started, turned, and stared about him. the colour rising to his cheek at the thought that he had been observed. He had believed himself to be alone; now, looking round his retreat, he saw a girl of something about his own age, who, shaded by a scarlct sunshade, sat in a sort of nest amongst the gorse. He perceived at once that she was a girl of refinement, and—judging from her dress and appearance—of some position: as to her looks, good or bad, he formed a hasty .general impression of a mass of hpstmÜ-hnrd hair under a large picture hat; of a pair of large brown eyes; of a pretty Face, and of an expression which was just then somewhat anxious. Goulbnrn, himeelf the descendant of good tock, instinctively uncovered his head. He 'as conscious that he began to bluah. I—I didn't know that anyone was there" FP said, lamoly. I thought I was alone." But you er« in trouble," »aid, eturning to her firat remark witk tree pminine persistency. Goulbnrn made a feeble attempt to emife, lid succeeded in making a wry face. Yes," he answered, I'm pretty badlj it." You've lost your money in bcttingf" Hr nodded his head. Could you afford to lose it?" she asked, noking at him with interest. No he replied, promptly. Then why did you risk it?" slw inquired. Because I wanted to make it much more, nd believed firmly that I should win," be eplied. The girl inspected him narrow5y. H> was straight, cloan-limbod young man, open of 'ace, bright of eye. and with a certain gimplc nndour about him that appealed more than ais generally handsome appearance and good looks. His flannel suit and straw hat were llol the best and quietest taste; he spoke and moved like a gentleman. Sli* be-gan W be interested in him "Will it really make very much diffprence?' the asked. I mean to say—you aren't ruinec t-ntl going to blow your braioa out, or any- thing of that «oit, arc you? Becauae you- well, you don't look what: Uy e&lib poor, you know." Goulburn langlietl. "Ah, but I am!" he replied. E,R I II.T, I am. I'm only a clerk with a very modest ■inlnry. 'rhnt'ti why I ought not to haTe been M foolish &n to risk any money on a home- racc. And His face suddenly darkened, and as if some new thought had struck him, he lifted hi« hat in nlenee, and was about to move off, when she stopped him wit-h a gesture. "No," she c-aid. "I wish you wouldn't ?o. I'm eure you are in greater trouble than you've Raid—and—well, when one *eee anybody in trouble oue naturally feel* that one would like to help them IíNI i'lar as 8lW aan. Don't you think eo ?" Goulburn Avas looking at her very steadily. "I don't think everybody does," he ftaid, slowly. "I haven't met many people who did. But then my life's been epent amongst men who care nothing for anything but themselves and money-making. No—I don't know anybody who'd care to a trouble of mine—mo^t people I know would say they'd no time to listen. Certainly, there's Ch ris Acpinqll-he would." "And who i« he?" ehe a«ke<l. "Oh! a fellow-cleirk, and my beat friend- But he's as poor as I am." She looked at him steadily for a while, and then pointed to the bank on which nhe Rat with a gesture in which there wae some- thing like authority. I'd be glad if you'd mt down there and tell me all about it." tht- said. I would like to know. And I'm absolutely sincere in wanting to knew. Don't throw away sym- pathy when it's shown to yon." Goulburn hesitated a momentor two; then, with a sudden glancc at the girl, which in reality, and as she eaw, conveyed, a recogni- tion of his belief in her, he eat down in tho place she indicated. Well, it's thin way," he Kaid, though I'm an awful duffer at telling a story con- secutively or clearly. You ef*, I not only lctft my own money but iM)m money which, in strict truth, wait not really mine." He saw a sudden ftioili of colour come into her cheeks, and hit; own flushed hotly. "Oh!" he Paid. "Don't think that I— fitole it, or got it in any di*kon«?t way. I believe—yw, I'm pure—that legally the money reolly is min; but, you #KH\ I've always looked upon it as being somebody I'm afraid this is very muddling— anyway, you my father w<«-t a poor country clergyman—very poor indeed. Whon he died, a few yearn azo-lly mother had then been dead several yeare—we did not expect a penny, and we werw quite surprised to find that he had left a little piece of landed property—n "1111111 farm, in fact— which, it turned out, had been in kin family for some generations, and WH* entailc-d. I don't know how it was that he Jieve-r spoko to me of it—perhaps he meant to, and had no chance, for he died suddenly. Well, of course, it came to me. being the eldest and only son, and the income from it-foi.tv pounds a year—is paid to me. But from the first I have always considered one-half of thMt He v; v the listener nodded comprehendingly. < I see," she said. And how old is your sister?" U She is twenty-two. ond I am twenty- four," he replied in a grave fashion which finggested to his hearer that he thought him- self very old a,IHI wise.. She is a governess in Soutih Kensington. But, you know, governesses are not well paid, and the twenty ponnde a year from the little farm is very woeful. She always had a good holiday with it. And that is why I am so angry with myself, because He paused and turne,d his face away and Waf; silent. "Yes." said the girl. encouragingly. "Because I put her Mciley-th,- twenty pounds—and mine on Mountain Apple for the Derby-win or place—and he was fourth." The girl fingered her parasol and seemed to reflect. "Was it with her consent?" she asked C-fter a short silence. H ?:o." he replied. frankly. "She knew nothing about it. You R(ie. I wanted to give her such a splendid Eurpr-:t;e. If I could explain. Yets." she said. II Explain—tell me everything." Goulburn had broken off a sprig of 170r<:e "!)'! was unconsciously stripping it of its bloom. He seemed to be thinking of two things at once, and the girl notiW (hat when he spoke of his y.icter his face grew eoft. even to the point of wilfulness. "Well," he continued, at last. "I did want to give her a real surprise. She's very fond of travel, you know, mv rister-li 'r name's Maisie—and she's talked for a long Iiine of how l'¡lw'd like to go to Sweden and Norway and Denmark during her summer holidays—she has nearly two months' libertv. And I've wondered how I could make some money for her. And one day week I was talking to a chap in our office—-chap named Ba^sett, who knows everything—' regular sharp man of the world, and I asked him if he thought I could make a bit on the Stock Exchange with the forty pounds. Then he 6aid that one could do much better and with less risk on the turf. and strongly ad- yisnd me to have it all on Mountain Apple- both ways—and then I shouldn't lose any- thing in any way, because he said it was "a perfectly absolute certainty that if it didn't win outright it wa.s bound to be in the first three. And you know everybody in the office knows B.?-ssett to be a real sportsman—he's gone hunting and he goes to see prize-fights; and so I believed him. Indeed, I thought it was quite a favour to get such a tip from him." He paused and locked at her somewhat 6hylv. as a child might have done. Do you think I was a big faolF" he said. The g-irl laughed. I think you are a refreshingly innocent young man." she answered. You said you were a clerk—that's something in the city, isn't it? What are you in—sugar, jute, wheat, coal or what?" "Tea," he answered. H I'm with Pepper- all and Tardrr-w. ill Mincing Lane. A very old firm-and not too strict." She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. l';n glad I met you." she said. "You're much more interesting than the racing. After two races I couldn't sit pn a drag in the blazing sunshine any longer, and I ran away on my own account, and 'found this little oasis—into which you came, 'like one distraught,' as some poet or other remarks." "T am glad to have afforded you amuse- ment," he replied with SOllie touch of hauteur. Nov, don't get up to mn away," she paid. "You mavn't think it. but I'm one of those persons who liko to have their own way. and I've some more to say to you. So pit Ftill-iiniess you think T am too insistent on your obedience, or wasteful of your time." No," he answered. You have been very kind in sympathising How do you know I sympathise with you?" she said with a somewhat roguish twinkle of her eyes. "I never said I did." No," he answered, but—you listened to ine." She nodded her head as if in approval of the answer. That's discerning of you," she said. "I like d iscernment—especially in young men who seem to need it. Well, listen; here's my judgment on the matter. First, I think you were very foolish to stake your money on auch fin uncertain thing as horse racing, and by taking Mr. Bassett's advice. If Mr. K-i.s,sett knows so much about horse racing, why hasn't Mr. Bassett made a fortune for himself?" NVell, but surely," began Goulburn. She shook a dainty finger at him. Don't interrupt," she commanded. Because you know very well that I'm right, and so you should listen in silence. Then I think you were very wrong in using the money intended for your sister. Because. you see, however good your intentions were in respect to making more of it, you've lost it." Goulburn nodded his head miserably. "Yes," lie said bitterly. "That's just the worst of it. It doesn't matter how you con- demn me—you can't make me feel worse about myself than I do." I'm not condemning you. I've nd known of a good many things done in what some men call business that were a million times wickeder than your little bit of thoughtlessness. If you take somebody else's mciii'v without their leave, and speculate with it. and prove successful and share the profits with them handsomely, that's all right every time; if you're not successful and the money's gone, it's all wrong, very much wrong, for you." Gouiburn had watched her inquisitively dwring this speech. He smiled as she finished it. HI think," he said, with the half-shyness which she had already noticed in him. "I think you must be Amcrican." She smiled. No," she said, "only half American—on my mother's side—though I have lived in the States a good deaL And what made you think so, I prayf" Something in what you said. It sounded like the smart things you hear of sometimes as having been said in America," he said. I should think you are good at giving a'vice." HI am—very good. Let me give you some." "Yes?" let me lend you twenty pounds." Goulburn uttered a hasty exclamation. He sprang to his feet, and stood with flushed cheek and amazed eyes staring at her. She returned his gaze with unmoved composure. Lend—me—twenty pounds he repeated. What do you I mean what I say. Let me lend you twenty pounds." But why should you?" "Why should I? That's obvious. So that you can pay your sister." Goulburn suddenly saw that she was not joking, but in sober earnest. She had a curiously-shaped purse in her hand, and her fingers were already on its clasp. Goulburn felt himself blushing hotly: he drew away from her. "Oh. no, 110;" he said. "I—I couldn't —I—please don't suggest such a thing." Now don't be silly. I'm not insulting you, though you are admittedly stonev- broke. by offering you five shillings. I said, quite politely, and in quite friendly fashion, Let me lend you twenty pounds.' I further explained why I wished to lend you twenty pounds." Goulburn was still obviously puzzled. He put his hands in his pockets and began to dig a hole in the sand with the tip of his right boot. He kept his eyes intently fixed on this hole as he made it. "Well?" she said, when he had remained thus occupied for some time. Are you r;(\;Yl", to rerjain silent?" it's awfully kind of you." he said, hurritxlh'. Of course, I appreciate such kindness immensely, but. of course, it's im- possible. Why, you don't even know me, and —— The girl yawned. I am wearied of smug British conven- tionality," she said, with mock pathos. It's so dull. Now listen to me—listen to some common sense. See, I'm going to tick certain points off on my finger. First. I believe yon told me the exact truth: there- fore, I believe in your honesty. Second, I should like you to be a)le to give your pister her money at once. as I gather you always have done. Third, you can't—be- cause you haven't got it. Fourth, I have. nud will lend it to you with all the pleasure in the world, because I happen to be a very rich woman, and sometimes like to use my money sensibly. Fifth—yes, there is a fifth reason." What is it?" asked Goulburn. Well." she said, looking away from him for the first time, I shall feel hurt if you don't." Goulburn set to work on the digging process again. You will completely spoil the toe of that boot." she said, presently. "And it isn't necessary." He looked np and faced her squarely. Yerv well." he said. "You shall lend me those twenty pounds on the understand- ing that I pay them to my sister to-morrow and—make a clean breast of it to her. She nodded thoughtfully. That's honest of you," she said. "She'll understand." And that you allow me to re-pay you as quickly as T can. I shall be eager to do that." he said. somewhat proudly. "Oil. of course," she replied. Then, un- dasping her puree, she handed him soma notes, after which she rose to her feet. "There! And what a fuss about nothing! We could have done all that in two minutes if you hadn't been so prim and proper." Will you please give me your name and address?" he said, producing a pocket-book and a pencil. She hesitated a moment. My name is Moira Philliniore, and I am staying at Claridge's Hotel," she replied. But I shall not be there after to-morrow. They will always have my address, though." Goulburn drew out a card-case and handed hor a card. She looked at it at first care- lessly, then with a close scrutiny, and she suddenly gazed earnestly at him. Had you ever an uncle named Nathaniel?" she asked. Goulburn laughed. "Poor old-Uncle Nnt!" lie said. "Yes, I had. I can just remember him. He went to the United States when I was a boy, and we never heard of him afterwards. Why?—is it possible that you ever met him?" No." she answered, but I have heard of him—through friends. This is a small world. Now I must go. You go that way-I this." With a smile and a wave of her hand she had gained the other side of the clearing before he could say more. She paused on the bank; turned, and flashed another smile on him. I said this is a small world!" she called to him. "So, au revoir!" Then she was gone, and Goulburn set off across the downs to the station. And as h went he said to himself more than once; "Au revoir!" (To be Continued.)

— -j*-?- tT e A bottle «ir» j&j 'W) 2 Kul'ons of jjEj £$ iil dellciouc homemade M Leo,or ado. Producsf. solely •v/SB Frust RIIC: S:IG:IN i; IÆ TVTORFOLK BROADS. HOLIDAYS, Inexpensive. 11 Yachts, Wiserries lor Hire; 150 p ge Caia'ogue FREE, Postage 2J.—K. BVdE & Cû. 10. Basinghall St., London. f l^V'Wwv.l d I B9 *a ]Bri#test | for every girl and woman is the day when she Socks we! feels well and IS well; but with most of the fair sex such days are rare. Instead, they suffer from a painful languor, have a terrible weakness in the back, head. aches that make everything seem blurred and a ceaceless aching in the limbs. These and other trials afflict the sex, all through lack of the Good, New Blood nature is calling for. Dr. Williams' Pink Fills for Pale People have given the joy of real robust health to thou. sands of women happy to-day, because these pills create Rich, Red Bleed that makes weak I ones well and strong. This has been proved repeatedly. Miss BKKTHA ELKY of 23, Y\"inc;mill Street. Church Gresley, Stafis., states:— My liie wa once full of p::in and weaknesses. My blood was weak and mv joints and back ached Sis though I were 011 a rack. I was seldom free from Headaches, euralgia aud Acute Indigestion. At last I took Dr. AYilhams Pink Pills. Every dose made me better and brighter. My blood became richer in time I lost every trace of my ail- ments and was well and cheerlul." Pr. Williams' Pink Pills for Pille People have cnre.1 countless Cfises of }¡.n,crnj:1" K:ooil 1 ti.\piers* Kczetna, Indigestion,Hhe,'Jinatism, St »'itus' OIUICO, Nerve Troubles and Ladies' Ailments. Sold by (leaders or direct from I >r. WiUiiMtm' Merticiue Co., 46, Hclborn Yitù lWt, Uunlou, 2s. per box; ISs. Vd. 5 to;* six l>oxty». liut mind, you iiiKet have j Or. WILLIAMS' PINK PUIS

HIGH HEELS. In the feet TRnity too often pave a price which i, dangerously expensive. The high-heeled shoe is made in doSanoe of the relation it ought to bear to the anatomy of the foot and to the direction in which the pressure of the body's weight falls upon it. The boot or shoe, that it may not slip upon the foot, which by the high heel is deprived of its usual purchase of direct downward pressure, is made to hold with undue firmness just abovo the back of the heei. Chafing of a (lelioatk skin is readily produced. This, though in iteolf a trifle, may lead to graver troubles. Inflammation of the leg with abscees formation not infrequently follows, and the ex- citing cause has been traced to the patient's shoe. Abscessee forming around some neglected trifle of this kind have e-ometimes ended fatally. When will women ceaóe to offer upon the shrine of vanity personal case, grace, comfort, and health 2 CARRYING AN INVALID. Carrying an invalid can easily be managed by two people of average etrength. They should join their hands crosswise, so as to form a firm seat. If the invalid is lifted on to this, and put his arms round the nocks of the two persons, he may be carried with perfect safety up and down stairs. FIRST AID REMEDY FOR BURNS. The usual treatment recommended for burns and scalds is that of lime-water and oil. As Hmfth points out, however, one might die from exhaustion from pain before either of these in- gredients could be procured and properly pre- pared for use. A remedy wirhin the reach of everyone, which has been thoroughly tested and found to answer in every way, ie suggested. At the very first possible moment grasp a handful of bird such as is used for cooking purposes, and smear it over the burnt surface. This answers until the regular remedy can be prepared. which consists dimply of a. paste of flour and lard made as soft as it can be handled. This should bo spread about half an inch thick upon a cloth and applied to the injured parrs. Let it remain until it begins to crumble, which can be readily ascertained by raising the corner of the cloth. The application must then be renewed, great care being necessary in taking off the old plaster that the surface of the skin ip not broken. The number of applications will depend upon the nature of the burn. TO CURE HEADACHE. A heavy, dull headache, situated over the brow, and accompanied by languor, chilliness, and a feeling of general discomfort, with a dis- taste for food. can generally be completely re- moved, says the Family Doctor, by quietly sip- ping-a two-grain doso of potcsic salt dissolved 1:1 half a wineglass of water, the whole quantity being taken in about ten minutes. THIN HAIR CAUSED BY CUTTING. When one's hair shews the first evidence of thinning out most people rush to th? ba?:bers shop and have it clipped, with the thought that ir will come on again in greater luxuriance. This is a fallacy, saya Dr. Leslie Pbilkps. The cause of baldnefs' in man is to be found in the fact that ho cuts his hair. In men the hair is habitually cut short from childhood, while in women the converse is almost universally true. In boyhood and manhood, by clipping and cutting the hair, wo remove the gentle traction on the bulb and foiliclo which the natural weight of be hair exorcises, and which consti- tutes the essential and natural stimulus neces- sary to secure due innervation and vascular supply to the hair-producing structures. Loss or, vigour, and. finally, mere or less pronounced atrophy, is the inexorable result, modified or delayed, it may be, by collateral circumstances,' predi.-positions. or condition". Dr. Phillips warns ladies against wearing their hair short.

BITS FROM BOOKS. RUSKIN ON DICKENS. Ruskin's "Letters" (George Allen), ae they are edited by Mr: E. T. Cook and Mr. Alexander Wedderburn. are always delightful veudipg. Plain crkicisms, whatever the topic, art:stic/or literary, are pungent enough. Th* following-is a good example: Dickens was a pure modernist—a of tho eteam-whisrle party par excellence—aixl had n) understanding of any power of ajiLtiLiitv except a sort "f jackdaw lentnnont kr cathedral towers. He knew nothing of the nob;- r power of superstition—was essentially n. stage )1r !or. t' and used everything for, tho effect on th > pit. His Christmas meant mistletoe and J)1,H"J;-¡- neither resurrection from dead, nor rving^or new stars. nor teaching of wise m:r,, nor rhpp- horde. His hero is essentially the ironmasterin spite of hard times, he has advanced by influence every principle that makoa them harder—the love of excitement, in classes, and the fury of business competition, and the distrust both of nobility and clergy weich,_ wide enough and fatal enough, and too justlx; founded. weeded no apostle to tho mob, grave teacher of priests and noble* themselves, • for whom Dickens had essentially no word. FOUR WINDMILLS ON THE HILL, 11r. J. Griffyth Fairfax's Pootna" (Smith; Elder) shew both originality of idea and skdfui construction, as the piece entitled J he Four Mills will prove There are four windmills en the hill And a stream tivjt glides bc'ow; The heavy wings cf the null are stiil, And the stream has ceased to The mills are four in the of r,,iin '1 hey are Love. licpo. Four, and And the turning of their wings Le^an :S, With the passing wind of fate. Or soft they wheel, or loud thuy whirr •. And a music always make. So long as the stream of life's astir, And the destim-l wind a,,vuke. But when the water will no more glide, „ And the wind witldJOids i" breath, ,.we The miils-. arc, hushed on the dark bia-5d. And xh:- heart is culm in d ,.th. v;». v RELIG ION IN THE nr^-I. In "A Parson in the Australian Bush," by- C. H. S. Matthews. 1..A.. late Yiee Pr incipal of the Brotherhood of the Good Shepherd, N.S^V. (Arnold), occurs a severe indictment of tho "tÕ Church of England—a charge of its haying-* failed to adapt itseif to the ciraunistanres' of the Southern Cross, and to keep r,I.icc, tho spirit of the time: 1" I do not want to give a false impression. I do not mean to say that there no religion in thø,ø': Australian Bush, or that Au.falians arc a speci- ."t ally irreligious or immoral neople. tlie con- trary, I hope to make it plain that there, is an,, enormous amount of "natural Christianity, i!: we] Australian Bush. But I do say that die."failure of the Church to bring "the' public opinion "of,g^' Heayen" to bear on the scattered f'cmmunitieø of her children has in many cases resulted in a disastrous lowering of moral standards in the'' Bush. ':t But why. then. has the Church faiied? '• Well," says Mr. Matthews— there are many causes, but failure has boon dufe,5" I believe, in' the main, to this: that here: n,s" elsewhere, she has been conservative where shft ought to have been radical, and radical where she ought to have been conservative. PRINCIPALLY ABOUT HUSBANDS. In ljl;s Faj!owfic>ld' Fortune'' (Ca,, 11), Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler has many clover Ðpij (.; & grams in homely phrase, of which the following are well worth quoting: It don't do to pamper men too much. Let 'eaf have their own opinions about things as don't matter to nobody, and give 'em the victuals as they fancy; that's all right and proper, and be- having as a good wife should: but when it comes to turning your own plans topsy-turvy just to suit their whims, it's a different thing. I'm sure if Peppercorn were to search the world over he'd never find a wife who'd interfere less with his politics and more with his digestion than T do. Bless you. Peppercorn, says I. it don't 1'. matter whether food is taxed or whether it isn't it as long as it don't disagree with you." Nobody seet» what's in a man's heart except his wife and his Maker; and I doubt they find it advisable to overlook a good deal that they see, or there'd novr be no peace nowhere. That he had his faults I don't deny: he wouldn't have been a man if he hadn't; and of the sort that. show. too. Men can novor hide their faults as women do. any more than they can hide their boots: never.iftt Those that expect husbands to be angels shouldn't get married at all; they aren't, and. they don't pretend to be. And if they were, they'd have married other angels: in which case, begging your pardon, Mrs. Mawer. you'd have remained as single as you'd have liked to be. A house of your own is always a pleasure. I admit; but the husband varies according to cir- cumstances and the length of time as you've had him. When a girl is young and foolish and- newly married, she looks upon her house as a background to her husband; but when ehe's been married for a bit and knows more of the true value of things, she gets to look upon her husband as part of the furniture of the houae. A GAME OF HUMAN- NINEPINS. The most popular sport; in Munich' ts, the v game of human ninepins, and the (Mtizans of y,, that happy-go-ldvKy Bavarian-city indulge in th«. ,> r sport, in such a'jnn;nef as to indicate>the»y are en- ■ thusia-stic over i:, The pins are nothing more is nor less than giant wicker baskets set at tiie. foo#. of an incline. The bowls arc also baskets, an<l ,r<>. in them one or two adults or soveral children- ,s may squat as the "bowis suae dow.n towards thp ",iI pins.'knocking them down or sliding past them, q as the case may be. This game of living skittlfls" is just as much.fuji for the.crowds who t.' surround the incline as it is £ or the jolly players. A The Onrushing, bowls.- iyvith, tlioir human freig a convulsed wiUi laughter. strae in a wobbtljf, fashion as they approach the huge wicker pins- [\ t I" STV YITUS?S DASHTS. TfoS followihg has been suggested as the way- in which the twitching, nervous affection got the na.me.of St. Yit ^s s Dp,nce..Ihe father cf Vitus, finding that hir sou had become .a Christian, 1r, handed him over to the judge Valerianus to be severely beaten/ He* was obstinate*however,- in the faith; and while his fiitheV was meditating severer punishments, -Vitus, warntd by an. v angeh fled a bi o ad with his companions, •- Modestus and Crestentia. In Jthe fa land of his refuge so great became the fame of his believers. that the Emperor Diocletian .summoned the young, saint to Leal his son. -who was" vexed t, of a devil." :0 sooner had Vitus cured the lad than 'Diocletian urged, him to worship the gods of Rome. He refused, and with his companions.- was oast into prison. All three remained con- stant: they were pkinged into a great catildrorl of boiling load .and. tar, and, like, tho ThrQ*» Children, they sang hymns! They were thrown to a lion, and the beast bowed down before them aid licked their feet. Finally they were'" hewn li-b from limb; and .Florentia, a nobis. lady of Rome, gave their, relics honourable 'burial. The Emperor's son, dsemone vexa- tus," was, doubtless, a convuisionary; and St.' Vitus, having healed this one sufferer, became the advocate of ail in like case. And thus the well-known convulsive disease acquired the title of "Chorea Sancti' Viti," or "St. Vitus'# Dance." J 5

AN UNEXPECTED FISH. MR. LLOYD-GEORGE: "Hello! Hello I We've got more than wa bargained for this time." (They HAVE.) 0