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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] MALMORA: A STORY OF THE ISLE OF MAN. BY AUGUSTA SQUIRES, Author qf "Saved by Death," "An Eviction and its Consequences," &c. die. CHAPTER XXVII. THE STRANDED BOAT. SEVERAL days later Orry returned to Ball a Mount. Upon his eager enquiries for Elfin, Maiiijora at once informed him of all that had transpired during his absence. "And you sent her away?" he said, sternly. Could I keep in my house one who is related to that creature who took my child's life ? "You have no proof that Molly Malone ever harmed Frida." But I have an instinctive conviction. I will pursue her to the death! I will have my revenge!" She paced the room with the fleet but majestic step of a caged tiger. The fierce tide of her wrath surged up in great waves which threatened to overwhelm her reason. "Where is Elfin now?" asked Orry, sharply. She paused suddenly. A bright flame leaped from her eyes and left them lustre- less. Her face assumed a dazed expression. She said in a whisper, which sounded far off and strange: I do not 7enow You turned her out, so you tell me but surely you procured a shelter for her else- where ? I did not." This is the third day since her departure, and you have made no enquiries as to her whereabouts ? No." Has she any inon ey ? "None that I know of." "Have you no heart, no feeling, to send a young girl forth, unprovided for and defenceless ? "Let her sing in the streets; she can make a livelihood in that way, as she did before." He strode up to her in pained indignation. You, a woman, and have no more con- sideration But there, God forgive you; you may not know the world as a man knows it. Beauty is the most fatal gift an ^unprotected girl can possess. Who knows what terrible fate may overtake her ? No one that is not utterly depraved can desire the moral degradation of another. The mind may be assailed by conflicting passions and yet keep its ideal of purity. The higher part of Malmora's nature recoiled before the contemplation of a possibility which was suddenly presented to her startled imagination. For the first time she showed & sign of weakness. She clutched the back 1()f a chair in order to steady herself. Oh, I did not think!" "You did not think," he said with cold fierceness. "It is the innocent that are unconsciously lured to destruction. If harm overtake her, may the consequences fall Upon you." I am not responsible for her actions," She returned, with a quick nervous attempt at self-defence. "What I have done was justifiable. Oh, that a being so fair could .also be so deceitful! "She is as true as you or I," he said, calmly. "So assured am I of her perfect guilelessness, that as soon as she is found, I attend to make her my wife." "You will not dare she cried. Who is to hinder me ? "I will! What! would you mingle the :-blood of the Langmans' with that of a creature who is the descendant of convicts -and assassins ? He winced. The hot flush burnt his brow, but he said, in a steady voice Were the characters of her ancestors far Worse than they are, I would still keep my vows." "Listen to me," she begun, with a calm- ness that had in it something ominous, by reason of a certain repression which held back, by sheer will power, the strong passion ?&hat was seeking to burst forth in words which would have sered like fire, burning into the memory of each with a never to be "forgotten brand. "1 have made you heir to all my estates and to my wealth, which is I 'Considerable, but if you marry thatcreature, I ishtit disinherit you. The granddaughter <of Frida's destroyer shall never become the mistress of Balla." I freely relinquish all for Elfin's sake." Their eyes held each other. His face un- 101181 consciously assumed the expression of in- flexibility which was depicted on hers. She walked away in silence. His voice arrested her steps, but she did 'not turn her head. Why visit the sins of the parent upon the child? It is not just that the innocent should suffer for the guilty." She made no response. He crossed the room. His fingers rested on the handle of the door. Where are you going ? she asked. "To seek Elfin." Days passed. There were no tidings of the missing one. Sir Magnus and Orry were in the saddle nearly every morning. Each night, on their return journey, the lighted lamp in the tower window greeted them from afar. Malmora met them in the hall, osten- -sibly to see that their requirements ,m ents were complied with. Sir Magnus invari- ably answered the question her eyes asked, 'but which her lips would not utter. We have not found her. No clue what- ever to her whereabouts." Then Malmora would recall Elfin's passion- ate words; "I would sooner throw myself from the "top of Brada into the sea, than fall into the hands of those people The one who could have given some intimation of the fugitive's fate, held her ipeace. Linda dared not break the silence she had at first maintained, fearing that she Would be severely censured for not having at once imparted to others the information which had been conveyed to her in so singular a form. On the fifth day, Dr. Kinrade joined Sir Magnus and Orry in their search. They set their faces towards the north. They passed by Orrisdale Head, where, on the sands at the foot of the cliff, some of the natives were digging- for sand-eels. When the light was waning, they came in sight of the Point of a dreary flat waste the only creatures Within sight being a man and his wife, who «r £ V!!iAacfllering the coarse bent grass with ThA 1° thatcn their cottage. a £ rain*t tv^0^556 sfc°od a solitary object against the deepening hues of sea and hi^keerfffl»(m»a^y tlle side his companions, ™un?rv smiXSWept the long stretches of fn eve^v M W eJery sand hil! and lingered in every Hollow, as though he e*necfed to see the one, whose imagf waJ ev^nresent to his imagination, rise up before £ i2 ?n material form. Kitter had been deputed to boarl each vessel as she was about to leave the island, and take note of every person that em- barked. Orry decided that if their present Journey proved fruitless, he would go to England the following day, and there prose- cute hie search. "Why, that is Joalf! What is he doing were? cried Orry, urging his horse for- ward. A sudden fear gripped at his heart. The other eauestrians followed quickly, j'. and soon gained the spot where the faithtul servant stood. "What is it, Joalf?" enquired Orry, springing to the ground. The old man pointed to a white boat which lay on the shingly beach. Dr. Kinrade bent down and inspected the letters inscribed in yellow paint on her bows. It is the Balla Mount, how came she here ? he asked in accents of surprise. They turned to Joalf for an explanation. He appeared to be but dimly conscious of their presence, as he stood with uncovered head, his white hair tossed by the breeze, and his frail form bent forward in an attitude of utter dejection. "Do you know anything about this?" asked Orry, in a low strained voice. '• It's ben washed up by the tide, and she lies out theer." He lifted the skinny forefinger of his right hand, and pointed to the sea. They turned instinctively, and looked towards the Streuss, a point where the tides running on either side of the island, met in angry strife. In the white whirl of waters many a goodly vessel had gone down to be seen no more. A flimsy square of white fluttered in Joalf's hand. He held it out feebly to Orry, who raised one corner, and there saw a name embroidered on the delicate cambric. He staggered as though some one had dealt him a blow, and a sound between a gasp and a sob broke from his stiffening lips. Sir Magnus and the doctor each in turn inspected the handkerchief. Where did you find it?" asked Langman in a hoarse voice. Joalf pointed to the boat. In theer." A silence fell upon the group. They stood and looked down into the stranded boat as into a grave. x Early the following morning, when the grey mists lifted from the greyer sea, and the foam-fringed breakers fell with a dirge- like sound on the desolate shore, the light- house-keeper found Joalf lying in the bottom of the little vessel, stiff and cold. Twined round the closed fingers, which rested beneath his pallid cheek, was a lock of jet black hair. On the face there shone that light, like the reflex of of a beatific smile, which sometimes hallows and beautifies the features of the newly dead. CHAPTER XXVIII. BURIED UNDER THE LANDSLIP. SIR MAGNUS and Orry returned to England .1 few days after the discovery of the stranded Balla Mount. Linda was stricken with remorse. She described to them the tragic episode which had been enacted before her view, as in dumb show, on the plate of the Camera Obscura. Their worst fears were confirmed. Elfin had perished in the storm which raged with some fury soon after she was cast adrift on the sea. Molly and her son were sought for, but could not be found. It was rumoured that they had left the island. Mrs. MacLear met the return party in the hall on that memorable night. Orry strode towards her. She should not be spared. Let the blow fall upon her sud- denly. The words burst from him with agonised fierceness. Elfin is drowned Incapable of further speech, he passed again through the open door, and plunged into the darkness. Malmora's face seemed to wither and grow old in a single moment. She uttered no word, and made no moan, but she knew that the light had gone out of her life for ever. The music room was closed again. There fell upon Malmora a great oppres- sive loneliness. She no longer felt a desire for retribution to overtake all those who had done her harm. She was possessed by a. keen and ever present feeling of remorse. She had unwittingly caused the death of another. She had thrust Elfin into the world unprepared to meet its dangers, and the child had fallen into the hands of one who sought to take her life. There came to Malmora a greater source of sorrow the love she had withheld from the living, she gave to the dead. She longed, with a great passionate longing, to fold the beautiful form in her arms, to kiss the red lips, to look into those eyes which had been filled with the light of genius and eloquent with the language of never-dying song. It was her punishment. This love wrought strangely upon her it gradually softened and transformed her nature. It was as though some influence from out the unseen were moulding anew the hidden and secret forces of her life. A faint compassion awoke within her for all forms of suffering, a dim sense, that beyond her narrow sphere, there was a great world of human beings sinking beneath the burdens which their feeble strength could not sustain, and that her hands, filled with rich gifts, might have been held out to save. Her step grew feebler, her eyes lost their lustre, the light within showed dimmer day by day as though sinking to its final extinc- tion. Malmora sat in her boudoir in the deepening twilight, and turned a letter over and over in her restless hand. It was one Sir Magnus had written to her from the south of France. During the course of his travels, he had broken his journey at an obscure, but picturesque village, situated on the slope of the Pyrenees. Whilst wandering in the churchyard, the following inscription on a tombstone had riveted his attention: "This stone is erected to the memory of TITTO LORENZI By his sorrowing wife Sybil." I The Baronet subsequently made enquiries, I and ascertained, that some seventeen years before, an Italian singer with his wife, an English lady, and their little girl. a child about twelve months old, had taken up their abode in thj village with the intention of staying only for a short time. But the husband was stricken with fever and died. The young widow, after her recovery from a protracted illness, induced by grief, set out with her child for England to seek reconcilia- tion with her relatives, with whom she had held no communication since her marriage. Malmora's thoughts went back to the time of her girlhood, when her sister Sybil, a beautiful maiden, two years her senior, was her constant companion in the grand old Castle, where they two reigned supreme over the heart and home of their widowed father. But there came a day, never to be forgotten, when Sybil declared her love for Titto Lorenzi, a handsome Italian, who had been engaged to train her exceptionally fine voice. A stormy scene ensued between the haughty aristocrat and his self-willed daughter. Sybil was defiant; she left her home that night; married the man of her choice, and quitted England. Soon after Sir Henry Langman died, but not before he had for- given the child whose alliance with an artiste had broken his proud heart. He bequeathed to Sybil, or in the event of hex death, to any child or children which might survive her, a large estate in Derbyshire, and the half of his princely fortune. This property was now in the hands of trustees, still unclaimed. No word had ever reached Malmora of the whereabouts of her lost sister, and as time went on she had abandoned all hope of seeing her again. Now there had come to her this unexpected I intelligence. Was Sybil still living, she ana her child ? If so, why this long silence ? Drying one of her many wanderings through the chambers and corridors of the Mount, Malmora entered the picture gallery. The light fell through the domed glass roof, and illuminated a large canvas which stood on an easel at the far end of the apartment. My portrait! Who has dared to remove it?" cried Malmora, advancing with a hasty step. Then she stood still in astonishment. Her own portrait, executed in oil when she was about eighteen years of age, occupied its accustomed position upon the wall; the new painting was placed close by, as though challenging comparison. There was the same white dress with the amber sash, in the one as in the other, the same long flowing hair, the same dark eyes, the same attitude. And oh! what did it mean ?-the same face feature for feature, line for line; yet there was a difference, the expressions were not alike. Her own countenance depicted the joyousness of free and happy girlhood; in the other-Elfin's-yes, she knew now whom the second portrait was intended to repre- sent-there was a sweet pathos, a yearning tenderness, a luminous light of spiritual beauty, which her own face had never possessed. She gazed, and gazed, until it appeared as though the painted form became instinct with life, and looked at her with eyes, deep and solemn, in which was the shadow of a great reproach. While still dazed and bewildered, Malmora received an intimation that Father O'Lara desired to have speech with her on a matter of vital importance. She found the Catholic priest, a tall thin man with an ascetic visage, awaiting her in the library. His introductory remarks fell almost un- heeded upon her ears but at length the mention of a familiar, but detested name, awoke her interest. Molly Malone is not unknown to you, I presume ? Malmora inclined her head. "She is lying in a cave on the sea-shore not far from here. She is at the point of death." He paused. She has a confession to make to you. Will you consent to see her ? Minutes passed. The priest waited. The clock ticked ominously in the strained silence. Her response came at last, in a dry hard tone "I will." May I be permitted to impress upon you that time is valuable ? Molly has not many hours to live." I will get my cloak, and go with you at once." The previous morning, Molly Malone had stood at the entrance to the cave, which for the last few weeks had afforded her a place of shelter. She looked across the bay; a pale light rested on the grey waters flecked with foam. Then her eyes wandered to a spot on the shingly beach, where, in ahollowedrecess, with the high beetling cliffs hanging frown- ingly overhead, was stretched the form of Chevy Malone. One arm rested beneath the dark unkempt head, the other hung help- lessly by his side. He was in a profound slumber, the result of the previous night's debauch. As Molly stood there with her eves fixed upon her only son, the dim light falling upon her striking figure, the cadaverous face with its setting of white straggling hair, lined and interlined with the intricate markings which had been cut deeply by the sharp pencil of strong and overmastering passion, there came to her, in a series of pictures, the various events of her past life. She saw herself, a young girl, poor and un- educated, but proud of the knowledge that she had the blood of princes in her veins, that blood which could leap to fever heat, which could make her do and dare, and suffer love passionately, tenaciously, and track her -6 u enemy down with the subtlety and persistence of a bloodhound. She saw, in imagination, the man to whom she had given the deep absorbing love of an ardent and steadfast nature-the husband, who by indolence and dissipation had brought her to shame and misery. She lived over again the rapturous delight of clasping her son-her first-born- in her arms, and after his father's death, all her hopes had been centred on this only child that had been left to her. She looked upon him now, and thought of all that she had suffered. Every, stroke of misfortune which had harmed him, had fallen with ten- fold weight upon herself. Her love for him had in it a quality of fierceness, almost of savagery; it had no element of tenderness, no sweet gentleness, which, proceeding from the spirt, appeals to the best and truest in human nature. Had it possessed so fine an attribute, Chevy might, perhaps, at that moment have been a different man. As Molly continued to gaze upon the sleep- ing form which lay only a few hundred yards distant from the spot where she stood, she was startled by hearing a splitting and rend- ing sound. A strong vibration moved in quick successive waves beneath her feet; she beheld the great cliff reel and stagger, as though it were in the grasp of some mighty Titan seeking to pluck the towering mass from its foundation and hurl it into the sea. Then there was a mighty roar, like the crash- ing of a thunder bolt; a sudden darkness, a sense of suffocation, as though the earth had opened its cavernous jaws and closed them together again, a succeeding calm, a gradual clearing of the air, and, over the spot where the prostrate figure had lain, was a heap of dark brown mould and stones, piled high as a tumulus over a warrior's grave. Molly wrung her hands above her head and uttered a piercing shriek. Like an incar- nate fury, she rushed to the dark loose mound, and began to dig into it with her hands, as a wild beast digs with his claws, striving to unearth the creature he seeks to make his prey. She worked for hours, never flagging, until she stood in a great hollow pit, and still the d4bris was spread deep over the buried form beneath. At length her fingers touched a clammy outstretched hand. She wrought with redoubled vigour, and at last dragged the body forth, and turned its face to the light of day. Her son, the one for whom she had striven, the one for whom she had sinned, lay before her, cold, and still, and lifeless could not hear the sound of her wailing, could not feel the touch of her lips on his forehead: would speak to her nevermore. She lifted him in her strong arms and carried him into the cave, and then she went out, and returned with tufts of purple heather which she spread on the floor at one side of the rocky chamber, and, after a time, she laid her dead reverently on the fragrant couch, then put a large wooden crucifix at the head and a cross at the feet, and lighted four wax candles, two of which she placed on either side of the corpse. She walked to Douglas, and begged Father O'Lara to come and perform the last sacred rites for the dead. The following morning she had not strength to rise from the rude bed of straw on which she had thrown herself the night before. She knew that her end was near. A great fear seized her, and when the Cath- olic priest arrived, he found her wrestling as with unseen terrors. She cried out, that the torments of hell were upon her, and that she must reveal to Mrs. MacLear the terrible secrets which weighed heavy as God's curse upon her soul. i J (To be continued.)

Advices from Alexandria state that a Mahdi recently proclaimed himself at Singa Wad Medini, on the Blue Nile. Riotieus proceedings followed. An Egyptian official, Zeki Effendi, who was sent to investigate matters, was beaten to death, but he first fired his pistol at the Mahdi and at several of his followers. Troops have been •eat to the locality from Khartoum.

Herr Mache finds that the "emanation" from the radioactive mineral spring of Gastein is identical with that of radium. An outbreak of, epizootic lymphangitis has occurred among the horses of the 21st (Empress of India's) Lancers, now quartered at Hounalow. Sir Frederick Hodgson, the new Governor of British Guiana, is expected to arrive in that colony from Barbados on September 14.

I HOME HINTS. To DISTINGUISH MUSHROOMS FROM POISON- OUS FUNGI. Sprinkle a little salt on the spongy part, or gills, to be tried. If they turn yellow they are poisonous; if black, they are whole- some. For ventilation open your windows both at top and bottom. The fresh air rushes in one way, While the foul makes its exit the other. This is letting in your friend and expelling your enemy. MILK IN HOT WEATHER.—In hot weather milk should be scalded by heating over the fire until it reaches boiling point. After this it should be placed in a dry, cool, and well ventilated place till wanted. A damp, close cellar will very soon turn milk sour. — To KEEP MEAT WHEN IT COMES FROM THE BUTCHER'S.—Wipe it with a dry cloth and hang it in a cool, airy place, with a muslin bag filled with charcoal on each side. In this way it may hang for several days in the hottest of weather, and yet be quite fresh when you are ready to cook it. To CLEAN PLATE.—Plated "wares, whether silver or gold, are best cleaned with a sponge and warm soapsuds and wiped dry with a clean, soft towel, or silk handkerchief; then mix some finely- sifted whiting with spirits of wine, lay it on with a sponge, rub it with a soft cloth which has previously been boiled in water mixed with pre- pared chalk, and polish with a wash leather. If the silver is stained, boil it for a few minutes before applying the whiting. |TMUSHROOM TARTLETS.—Make some little fancy shapes of bread, and hollow them out, and fry them a golden brown drain them and keep them hot. Take a few bottled or dried mushrooms, fry them in a little butter and drain them. Take the stalks, which will have been removed, and simmer them until soft in a very little stock, add a teaspoonful of potato flour, and mix thoroughly and strain through a, hair sieve. Then add the fried mush- rooms, minced and seasoned with salt and pepper, and place the mixture in the little bread cases, and serve very hot. CARE OF SEWING MACHINES.—When a sewing machine is heavy to work take out the cotton and thoroughly oil every part of the machine with paraffin. Work it briskly for a few minutes, that the oil may penetrate thoroughly, and extract all dirt and grit, and then wipe every part of the machine carefully with a soft old duster. When the paraffin has been removed, oil the machine again with the proper lubricating oil. Paraffin should never be allowed to remain on the machine, for it heats the bearings and causes them to wear out. How TO SELECT FLOUR.—First look at its colour. If white with yellowish or straw-colour tint it is a good sign. If very white with bluish hue, or black specks, the flour is not good. Examine its adhesiveness by wetting and kneading a little on the fingers. If it works dry and elastic it is good if soft and sticky it is poor. Throw a lump of dry flour against a dry, smooth, perpendi- cular surface. If it adheres in a lump, the flour is good if it falls like powder it is bad. Squeeze some of the flour in your hand, and if it retains the shape given by pressure it is a good sign. Flour that will stand all these tests can be bought without fear. GINGER PUDDING.—Mix together four ounces of butter, eight ounces of breadcrumbs, four ounces of sugar, a teaspoonful of ginger, and four well-beaten eggs; boil for two hours. Serve with golden syrup sauce. FILL UP THE TEAPOT.—When tea has been put into the teapot it should at once be filled up with boiling water. It is a great mistake to put only a little drop of water on the leaves first, filling the pot up afterwards- SMALL CORNFLOUR CAKES.—Take two ounces of flour, two ounces of cornflour, one ounce of white sugar, two ounces of mixed butter and lard, j Work a teaspoonful of baking powder into the j flour and cornflour. Beat the sugar and lard together, add the beaten yolk of an egg and what flavouring you wish to use. Sift in the flour, &c., beating the mixture well. Add the beaten white of the egg and put into greased tins. Bake in a very hot oven for ten minutes. London Journal." TOMATO STORE SAUCE. Ingredients: 61b. tomatoes, three large Spanish onions, llb.Demerara sugar, 6oz. salt, 2oz. peppercorns, i teaspoonful cayenne, !oz. cloves, 2oz. whole allspice, and 1 pint of vinegar. Method: See that the tomatoes are ripe but perfectly sound; cat them into thin slices, and put them into an enamelled stewpan with the onions also sliced. Add to them the sugar, salt, cayenne, and the spices, the latter in a thin muslin bag; pour in the vinegar and let all boil very gently for two hours. Stir occasionally so that they do not stick, and on no account must the sauce be allowed to boil quickly. When it has boiled the required time, lift out the bag of spices and rub the remainder through a fine sieve. Leave until cold, pour into screw-stoppered bottles, and store in a cool, dry place. TOMATO CHUTNEY. This is another useful tomato preserve. It is an excellent relish for cold meat, or, made hot, it forms an appetising accom- paniment to hot dishes, such as veal and mutton outlets. Ingredients: 61b. tomatoes, 31b. sour green apples, 10 red capsicums, two heads of garlic, 3oz. mustard seed, 2oz. salt, 4oz. caster sugar, lib. sultanas, a spoonful of ginger, and one pint of vinegar. Method Cut up the' tomatoes (which should be folly ripe), put them into a stewpan with the salt, and stir over the fire until tfiey are soft enough to be sieved. Having rubbed them through a sieve, return the liquid to the stewpan and simmer until it is as thick as double cream. Having pared and cored the apples, cut them into small pieces, put them into a stewpan, cover them with the vinegar, and boil gently until the apples are soft. See that the sultanas are clean and free from stalks, chop finely the oapsicums and garlic, and add them, with the sultanas and mustard seed, to the apples. Now mix all well with the tomato pulp and simmer together for one hour. Then pour into screw- stoppered bottles and store in the usual way. SPANISH ONION PICKLE.—Cut into slices any t' quantity of Spanish onions, put them on dishes, sprinkle well with salt, and let them lie for three days. Then draingthe onions and put them into perfectly dry jars. In each jar put a piece of ginger, a few chillies, allspice, and whole pepper. Fill up the jars with vinegar. Cover and store in the usual way. SMALL ONION PICKLE.—The small round onions are preferred by many people for pickling, as they are more dainty in appearance than the sliced ones are for table use. To pickle these, begin by peel- ing them, using a silver knife for this purpose; half-fill an earthenware jar with salt and water, the proportions to be used being lIb. salt to one quart of water; put the peeled onions into this. Stand the jar in a pan of fast boiling water, and let the water boil around the jar for half an hour. Take out the onions, drain them as dry as possible, and put them into pickle jars. Into an enamelled pan put sufficient vinegar to cover well the onions you are pickling; to every quart ef vinegar add two tablespoonfuls of salt, twelve .whole pepper, twelve whole allspice, and loz. whole mace. Bring to the boil, then cover the onions with the spiced I vinegar. Leave until cold, cover, to exclude the air, and store. GREBN TOMATO PICKLE.-For this pickle the tomatoes should be gathered full grown, but not red. Take 61b. of them, cut them into slices, sprinkle very plentifully with salt, and leave for twenty-four hours. Now drain carefully, and put them into a preserving pan or enamelled stewpan with three sliced Spanish, onions, lib. Deiaerara sugar, a quart of good vinegar, as much cayenne as will stand on a threepenny piece, one dozen cloves, and one dozen peppercorns. Simmer all together until the sbced tomato, is quite tender. Turn the pickle into pickle bottles, and whan MU eov^r- and etMe in the usual wu.

T I WOMAN'S WORLD. J RESTLESS CHILDREN. With her multiplicity of duties a mother should not attempt to plan and assist in playing games with her children. Keening nn a series of entertainments for the children may instruct them, but it will also beget idle depen- instruct them, but it will also beget idle depen- dency and selfishness. The little ones should therefore be provided with games and materials with which to amuse themselves, and in these materials be induced to try and stimulate their in- ventive powers and bring out any talent they may possess. In this progressive age chikJren receive too much ready-made knowledge. Thev should be encouraged to be self-reliant, and by sympathy and guidance be shown how to do this and that, and not to have it done for them. Teach them above all else that toys and garments must be put away in an orderly manner. Taking the position that this work is easier to do oneself or by the maid than educating children along this line has spoiled many characters, and made many thought- less and selfish men and women who should have been a help and a comfort in the home. To re- spect the rights of others should be inculcated in every child's mind as soon as it can understand. By systematic methods and tact a mother can plan to perform home duties and yet leave a little time for rest. By all means manage to spend a certain hour each day in reading and story-telling, listen- ing to the plans and hopes of the little ones. The memory of this joyous twilight hour will never fade from the children's minds. OLD FROCKS. We certainly must plead guilty to the accusation of changeahle- ness on the score of the Victorian style. We hear on all sides that j its brief reign is over, and that sleeves bunched on the shoulders are coming in. This fickle desertion of a rather charming mode appears to me (save Vera in the Echo ") somewhat to be regretted. Probably we should only have to keep our this year's gowns the proverbial seven years to find them once more in the leading fashion. Can one, however, imagine the woman of to-day carefully putting by one of her many frocks with such an I end in view ? This reminds me of a curious happening at one of the past season's smart func- tions. A woman present was conspicuous in a lovely smoke-grey taffetas gown of the Victorian period. It struck me that the piping of powder blue silk at the head of the deep, skirt flounce, and the box-pleated frills at the edge of the elbow sleeves, must be the very latest thing from Paris I Actually the gown had belonged to her mother. and had been worn by her just as it was in the beginning. » I RETURN OF THE REDIN- GOTE The old saying, Keep a thing seven years and you will find it again in fashion is one that has been found true in the annals of dress. As a rule there is always some novelty in its new manner of presentment, but that nearly every past mode is resuscitated .j' after a lapse of time there is no manner of doubt. This season sees the resuscitation of the redingote, a fashion which appeals more to the tall and slim II woman than to her shorter and less lissom sister. As a matter of fact it is rather less than seven years ago that the mode of the redingote was in vogue, but so completely was it eclipsed by the short pouched coat that the long basque seemed a thing never to be again revived, and, apparently, belonged to the realms of fashions forgotten. But the tailor-that master mind which exercises so supreme an authority in the world of feminine fashion—probably saw in the redingote a mode that was peculiarly becoming to women, and one which lent itself to the display of admir- able cutting. In one of the new game tweeds a coat and skirt built for the moors showed success- fully the charm of the redingote. The tweed was in the colouring of the pheasant, and the long tight-fitting coat was devoid of ornamentation, save the stitching on the narrow revers and the half-dozen smoked pearl buttons that composed the fastening. Though the redingote may be an expression of severity, and as such not destined to find favour with those that prefer more flowing outlines with elaborate ornamentation, yet the fashion is one that will be approved of by many women. A glance through any of the showrooms devoted to the exploitation of the tailors' art will show that the vogue is one that is already high in favour, and is likely to meet with still greater popularity during the colder days of autumn. < SHOOTING DRESS. Shooting dress is a thing which is really and truly understood only by women who shoot. Like riding dress it has been evolved out of the necessities of the wearer. Great thick woollen stockings do not appear inviting wear to a sensitive-skinned woman. I (remarks a "Globe fashion authority) have heard a novice declare that nothing on earth would induce her to put on such things. Such small things of the earth as sharp heather twigs and furze prickles made her thankful to do so, even if at first she put a thin silk pair underneath. In reality the woollen knitted variety are much more eomfortable alone, I and the wool is very soft. Then the boots must not be too high in the leg, or sufficient play is not given to the ankle. They must be I broad in the tread, low in the heel, light and suM. ciently tight-fitting to give support and prevent rubbing. In all a shooting woman's outfit nothing is so important to her comfort as her footwear. Again, she has to have her body warmly, lightly, and loosely clad. The first because the climate of the moors is changeable, and she is sure to be in heats and then cool; the second because a heavy burden of clothes with a gun to carry would be intolerable; the third to allow quick and constant and uncon- strained movement of the arm. Cotton, cambrie, or silk blouses for the sportswoman are all wrong. They are sure to induce chills the best thing is flannel. As there are many days of hot sun, some should be very thin, and as the mists frequently descend some should be thick. For the headgear, save that it should be light, confortable, indestruc- tible by weather, and affording shade to the eyes, there can be no hard and fast rule about it. KNICK KNACKS. The latest cat-glass fruit bowls (observes the "Mirror") are hexagonal in shape. Russian cross stitch em- broidery is handsome for toilet sets. Openwork border patterns prevail in the fined quality of table linen. Knotted fringe borders are being revived for tea and luncheon tablecloths and for serviettes. To keep a potted fern in place in a jardiniere pack sand round the flower-pot. In addition to rendering the receptacle Arm the sand absorbs all superfluous moisture. The fancy for garnets, which is pronounced this season, has extended to toilet bottles, some beauti- ful specimens of which are seen in crystal orna- mented with garlands or fanciful designs in tiny garnets. i, A fruit jar-holder and wrench is the most recent contrivance for the benefit of the woman whodoes up her own preserves. This invention simplifies the essential process of properly adjusting the top when the jar has been filled with hot fruit; Craftsman s canvas is an artistic material for furniture covers, and is adaptable also for table covers and portiferes. It is coarse and soft in weave and agreeable in colour, and in warm brown and dull blue tones is especially effective. It is also used for sofa pillows, the decoration of which con- sists of appliques, showing geometrical figures of silk outlined with floss. For portidres, similar de- corations with steel blue or red spangles set into the design are used.

A poor Irishwoman was advised by a lady to avail herself of a free distribution of soup. "Do you call .that stuff soup?" she cried. "Why, ye only get a quart of wather and boil it down to a pint to make it sthrong!" Tommy: "Papa, why do you call language the 'mother tongue'f' Papa: "Because the father so seldom gets a chance to use it." By the discovery of a live wild rabbit in a chimney of a house at Ripley, Surrey, a troublesome "ghost" has been laid. Major the Hon. C. S. Heathcote-Drummond- i Willoughby, on his battalion (2nd Scots Guards) going to. Aldershot, is resigning the post of Commandant of the School of Instruction for Auxiliary Officers at Chelsea Barracks. Auxiliary Officers at Chelsea Barracks.