County Observer and Monmouthshire Central Advertiser Abergavenny and Raglan Herald Usk and Pontypool Messenger and Chepstow Argus

Claiming that a machine he has patented wi.IV reduce the wastage of wheat during rolling from thirty per cent, to fifteen per cent., Mr. Apos- Itoloff hopes to revolutionise the English wheat industry. The total receipts from revenue into the Ex- chequer from April 1 to August 26 amounted to £ 47,321,310, 00 against £ 47,;y9,7o9 from April 1 to August 27, 1904.

HOME HINTS. Pigeon Pie.-Cle-anise and prepare three or four young pigeons, cut each into quarters. Take some tender beef steak, beat it well and cut it into nice small pieces, fry them together with the pigeons lightly in butter. Place the steak at the bottom of a pie-dish, sea&en with chopped shallot, mushrooms, parsley, pepper, and salt; place the pigeons on the 'beef and -r,eas,on them in the same way, rinse out the frying pan with stock, strain it into the pie, add some hard boiled eggs cut into quarters, cover with good, thick, light pastry; let the pigeons' feet stand out in the centre of the crust, and bake in a. quick oven till the pastry is done, then 'bake slowly for an hour and a half or two hours. Serve cold with salad or mashed potatoes. Stewed Pigeons..—Mix an ounce of butter with the same weight of flour, stir it over a clear fire with half a pint of milk, a little parsley, a sprig of thyme, a bay leaf, two onions, a carrot and a parsnip the vegetables must be sliced; then to the whole add salt and pepper, and a little grated nutmeg. Stir this sauce till it boils, and then put in two plump young pigeons trussed for boiling, and stew together till the birds are sufficiently done. Take them up and drain them, and cover with egg and breadcrumbs. Fry them in hot fat till they are lightly browned, and serve on a hot dish with the sauce round them. Pigeons with Rice and Parmesan.—Pick and wash clean half a dozen nice young pigeons cut them into quarters; brown some ibutter with flour; add to it a pint of good stock, with three grated onioiis, a little pepper and salt; stew the pigeons in this till tender, then take out ana inix in the juice of one lemon, boil, and strain the sauce over the pigeons. Boil about, three- quarters of a pound of the best rica in a pint and a half of stock, with half a pound of fresh butter, some grated nutmeg, and salt. When it is tender add two handfuls of Parmesan cheese. Put more than half the rice equally round the dish in which the pigeons are placed, cover them with what remains, brush it over with a well-beaten egg, and then strew it thickly with more Parmesan. Bake for nearly three-quarters of an hour in a slow oven. It should be of a golden-brown colour. Pigeons Larded and Braised with Celery Sauce.-Tak.e three pigeons, truss them into shape, lard the breasts with strips of fat bacon put them into a stewpan with the trimmings of bacon, a little rough celery, an onion, a bouquet of herbs, about six peppercorns, two cloves, a blade of mace, and a little white stock, which must not touch the larding. Cover the birds with a buttered paper, replace the lid of the stewpan, and bring them to the boil on the fire then place the stewpan in the oven to simmer for an hour and a half. Meanwhile wash and shred four or five sticks of celery, blanch them in boiling water for ten minutes, strain and put the celery into a stewpan with a piece of butter, a little salt and juice of half a lemon, cover closely, and cook the celery on the side of the range till tender, then rub it through the tammy. When the pigeons are done. remove the grease and thicken it with a piece of butter, kneaded with a tablespoonful of flour; stir it till it boils, squeeze through the tammy and return to the stewpan to warm, adding the puree of celery, a gill of cream, salt and pepper to taste. Glaze the pigeons again, place on a dish with large croutons of fried bread, pour the puree round. Good Polished Floors.—All women should understand' the utter futility of trying to make a i y n floor look nice with any sort of "oiling" proceSt3. Oil is not the proper thing to use on a floor of any kind, in any room or hall. A man | who has been in the business of caring for parquetry and stained woods for years, says, "a floor oiled is a floor spoiled." Oil is always absorbed, and as it cannot be cleansed it carries all the dust and dirt into the wood with it. Such a floor never looks wejl, no matter how much care and attention are bestowed. It is far better to either paint or stain it in the first place, at a little more expense; it pays in the end. As a rule amateurs do not succeed well in fiking crackc, in floors; it is really better to use plain putty for the purpose, unless it can be done by someone that knows how. Stains of every colour under the sun can be had at reliable shops, iand directions for applying always come with the cans. After the staining a varnish shellac will be found better than the wax. With a shellac finish the floor should be always wiped up with a mixture of milk and water, equal parts of each, and dried with soft flannel cloths. Macaroni au Gratin.—Put some macaroni in boiling water and boil till tender. Make some good white sauce, and stir into it a spoonful or two of tomato ketchup; grate some cheddar cheese—when it has got rather hard it grates better, and is a good way of using up the ends duet a gratin dish with some grated Parmesan cheese, a little white pepper, and still less salt over this put a layer of the sauce, which should be fairly thick, then one of macaroni, then one of grated cheese, till the dish is full, when dust plentifully with the Parmesan, andy white or coralline pepper, and cook in the oven till brown. Cheese Fondu.—Melt toz. of butter in a saucepan, stir in a small tablespoonful of flour, and add by degrees half a pint of milk; bring to the boil, and stir in 3oz. of grated cheese. Simmer slowly, stirring the mixture all the time till it is like a thick cream, add a pinch of mustard, pepper, and salt according to taste. Beat two eggs, yolks and white separately, add the yolks first, and then the whites. Put in a buttered itin and bake for twenty or thirty minutes. The Care of a Kitchen Range.—When the iron- work is discoloured by heat, brush well over with soap, then cover thickly with blaeklead, and allow this to dry before removing it. Repeat the process once or twice if necessary. If am- monia is used with the blacklead a surface of very intense black, will be. obtained. To remove grease, ru)b with a nag dipped in soot. To get rid of tarnish scour with a little vinegar while the stove is warm, and then wipe well with a rag wetted in cold water. To Make Mushroom Ketchup.—Break up the mushrooms, and add a quarter of a pound of salt to every three pounds and a half of the vege- table then drain all the juice, that you can pro- cure from them by pressure. Boil the juice slowly for two hours, with two ounces of salt, six cloves, and a quarter of an ounce each of pepper-corns and root ginger to each quart. Strain the sauce carefully, and when cold, bottle, add- ing a few drops of brandy to each bottleful. Use new corks, and seal them down carefully. Ironing Day.—Ironing day, and pai-iticuliarly the ironing of pretty blouses and. skirts, should be a pleasant occasion, but. it is a sorry one indeed if preliminary steps are not taken to make the work pleasant. First the si-arch must be well made. Any good laundry starch may be used, and by me'lting about one-fourth of a com- mon wax candle into the hot starch, stirring it frequently to prevent stiffening on the surface or lumps forming through it, a fine smooth, starch is the result. Ruib this starch thoroughly into the article to be stiffened, and then allow aill clothing having been starched to become com- pletely dry before damping for ironing. Never make unnecessary creases in garments to be ironed; fold smoothily and roll tightly after dampening, and for the best results allow dam- pened clothes to lie overnight. Wash your irons and when heated pass quickly over a cake of common beeswax, and there will be no vexatious delays caused by starch sticking, requiring irons to be scraped, not to mention tempers to be smoothed. Wear a pair of low-heeled shoes, firmly laced or buttoned, and when the ironing is done the only feeling that you will experience is one of satisfaction as you survey your handi- work—a satisfaction which, one good housekeeper has remarked, is mightily akin to the consolation .ttordw by velwuNfe

I WIOI MA.N"S WORLD. "C —.— A GOOD COMPLEXION A natural red and white com- plexion depends entirely upon diet and the use of the bath. A woman may, with the aid of emollients, have a delicately soft and clear skin, but colour requires plenty of vegetables and cold baths. DON'T BITE OFF THE THREAD. Ladies who do a large amount of sewing frequently suffer a great deal from soreness of the mouth and lips, and are often at a loss to ascertain the cause ot the trouble. Half the time it is simply the result of biting off thread, instead of using a pair of scissors. A MAN OF MASY WIVES. The Chinese marriage law is peculiar. At Nagoya, a mer- chant, who is in his sixty-fifth vear. has iust divorced his twenty-sixth wife, and is about to marry the twenty-serenth. He had resolved when he was young to marry thirty wives, and is delighted that he has now only three more to marry to keep his vow. WOMEN AS COMMERCIAL TRAVELLERS, Why should not women become commercial travellers if they wish to do so ? asks a corres- pondent of "The Queen." "A short time ago." she aavs. I happened to meet a German lady in Coblentz who was travelling for a wholesale firm of drapers. She told me that, so far as she knew, she was then the only lady commercial traveller on the road,' at least, on the continent." In America, of course, the lady commercial is almost an institution. THE SULTAN'S HAREM. I- The Sultan's harem costs £ 3,000,000 yearly. About 100 women leave every year to marry and each has £ 7500 dowry. Yet the number never falls below 300. Every official straggles to get his daughter in, for each has ten servants, a carriage and four, and a possibility of gaining influence over the Sultan. COSTLY DRESSES. The costliest dresses in the world are worn by the women of Sumatra. They are made of pure gold and silver. After the metal is milled and smelted it is rormea into nne wire, which is woven into cloth, and afterwards made into dresses. To MAKK THE PUNISHMENT FIT THE CRIME. A curious punishment is inflicted in Hungary upon the man who is discovered to have two wives. The law simply compels him to live with both I of them in the same house. HOTEL CHAPEEONS. ( Some of the New York hotels provide chaperons for female guests unacquainted with the city. A shopping tour under the I guidance of one of them soon familiarises a stranger with the town. # it J DIFFEKENT CUSTOMS. An Englishman entering a draw- ing-room expects the lady of the house to rise and greet him. In Spain a lady would seem to i forfeit her self-respect should she exhibit so much forwardness. # AN HEIRESS DIRECTORY. An heiress directory has been published by a St. Louis journalist, giving the names, ages, and incomes of the girls of the place together with such descriptions of their appearance as would be likely to interest gentlemen on the lookout for wives. > J WIDOWS AND WIDOWERS. i In England there are 114 widows to every 54 widowers. In Italy the relative numbers are 136 and 60 in France. 139 and 73: in I Germany 135 and 50; in Austria, 121 and 44. ♦ I | To CURE SUNBURN. I In the case of sunburn, slices of raw cucumber rubbed on the fore- head and cheeks have been known to work wonders. The juice should be allowed to dry in thoroughly, and then washed off with warm water. For a rough skin a lotion that has excellent results is made by cutting a cucumber into small pieces and letting it simmer in a pint of water for a quarter of an hour. Lettuce lotions are not unheard of in the list of natural cosmetics. To make a successful decoc- tion, the leaves should be allowed to simmer, with- out boiling, then strained and allowed to cool. Ten drops of tincture of borax and a teaspoonful of powdered borax are then added, the mixture shaken well and bottled. Walnut, coacoanut, and beech nut oils are deemed hard to beat by some for beautifying the skin, while others consider the virtues of tomato juice to be unsurpassed. COSTUMES SEEN AT COURT. It is generally admitted that never before were finer or more beautiful dresses seen at the English Court than at the present time. Your English ladies of highest rank," says a French authority, recently over here, have not before this, in the way of tasteful attire, ever done such ample justice to their charms." I TOOK A SON'S PLACK. Talking to the head mistress of the school which his daughter was leaving, the proprietor of a large chemical works deplored the fact that he had no son to assist him. Well, let your daughter get her Bachelor of Science degree, and take her into your business," suggested the lady. This was done, and the results have proved most satisfactory. CONFORMED TO I THE "RULE." An English lady of title, detained by business, decided to dine out one evening, instead of at once proceeding home. She drove to an hotel, but was informed by the proprietor that she could not dine there if unattended by a man. Is that your rule ?" said the lady. Then I will go outside and bring in my coachman." Which, despite protests, she did. MAINLY DUE I TO SHOES. The ability to walk gracefully every woman can attain. The first thing to learn is to stand squarely upon the balls of the feet, not upon the toes or the heels. In high French-heeled shoes this is difficult, yet it is by no means necessary to wear flat heels in order to accomplish it. With careful selection, it is possible to obtain pretty shoes that would also allow the wearer to walk well. If aline were drawn through the body of the well-poised woman it would begin at the balls of her feet, pass through the tips of hips and shoulders, and end at the crown of her head.

Rhondda Inquirer: "Don't you had when you lose <a patient?" Doctor: man cares to be reminded of the fact hat the resources of his income are passing away from him." An Irishman going to America fell over- board one afternoon, but managed to catch hold of some chains that were running by the side of the vessel, and quickly scrambled back through a porthole. No one having witnessed his speedy return, a boat was lowered, and Pat at once saw the chance of a capital joke. Keeping himself secreted until the foLowing afternoon, when they were neanng.New York he dived out again through the porthole, and after swim- ming a few strokes, hailed the captain with: Hi' ywr honour moiglit Lave waited for a DO or boy. THE DECAY OF HOME LIFE would arouse less comment if wives would, consider more their own welfare by adopting the reasonable suggestion of the lady whose views are expressed sc) intelligently in the article "WEAK AND LOW"' on another page. Presiding at the half-yearly meeting or The Isle of Wight Central "Railway. Mr. T. D. Bolton, M.P.. 6aid! they were suffering for the (moment from the competition of motor-cars which had commenced running in the island, with what result it was impossible at present to .tate.

MRS. HARRINGTON'S SECRET. I BY HENRY FRITH. AUTHOR OF The Mystery of Moor Farm" The Skeleton Cupboard;" The Black Shaft" The Cruise of the Wasp;" The Huntiny of the Hydra;" "The Lost Trcider" Search for the Talisman The Opal Mountain;" The Red Spectre;" The Lock-Keeper's Secret;" g.c., e. I,, [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, j I CHAPTER XVIII. I MRS. HARRINGTON AT BAY. I WHEN John Harrington reached the house, be\;fin- mediately sent the servant to his uncle's widow with the request that she would see him at once on busi- ness. Then he threw himself down upon the sofa an the drawing-room to await the expected summons. He was very angry. He perceived he had been outwitted. What had Alice said? What was he supposed to have said to her that was construed into -an insult ? Had Mrs. Harrington made interest to oust him from his inheritance, and taken advantage of the old man's weakly state to gain her ends by -what was practically fraud ? He would insist upon ■seeing the will, and, if necessary, would institute pro- ceedings. And Lilian? Must he relinquish his pursuit of her, too ? How could he go as a pauper to a girl with twenty thousand pounds, and say, I did intend to marry you when I thought I was rich—I do intend to marry you now you are rich and I am not" ? This would scarcely do. And yet, if the will had been altered at the last he would be deprived of his inheritance. As he turned over the circumstances in his mind and deliberated how he should best open the attack, Mrs. Harrington entered the room armed with all her coolness. She had evidently made up her mind for an encounter, and had put on her armour of proof. John Harrington rose as she entered. "Be seated, John,"she said, carelessly. "You say you have some business to discuss with me, and here we shall not be disturbed. As you may imagine, all these sad details have affected me very much, and I •am scarcely fitted for any business. Still, as you are going to leave England so soon—and perhaps, it is wisest to do flo-we may give way to our duty and hide our grief." Perhaps I may not go to Australia. A good deal will depend upon the result of our conversation. In the first place, Mrs. Harrington, may I see my uncle's will, if you please ?" Certainly, if you desire it. It is upstairs in his writing-table, I believe. But I can tell you the chief provisions of it. He always consulted me; and, as Mr. Faithfull remarked the other day, poor man, 'Mr. Harrington has dealt liberally with me. No doubt. But, as you are aware, I «iu his heir, and in that capacity Pardon me," said Mrs. Harrington, very sweetly, and in her most engaging, mourning manner. Pardon me—only a legatee. I have been left sole executrix of the will, and, after providing for the legacies, such as yours and a few hundreds to Miss Lilian Manville, the property is mine—for life, at any rate. I mean all the unentailed estate. You, of course, will succeed to the family place in Hamp- shire, which your uncle never kept up." After this long speech-for Mrs. Harrington had arranged her proceedings—she waited to see the •effect. More than once John Harrington had been about to interrupt her, but she continued as quickly as if repeating a lesson. When she had finished, she reclined back in her chair, as if there was quite an end of the matter. "I cannot accept your version of the will at all," said Harrington, rising, and standing with his shoulder against the mantel-shelf. "I cannot admit your assertion. My poor uncle, only a few days ba- fore his death, told me how he had disposed of his property and on condition of my marrying a certain young ladv Certainly," interrupted Mrs. Harrington. You refused to comply—indeed, I have reason to believe you behaved badly to the young lady, and your uncle, who had set his heart on the match, resented your conduct. Your future income will be about fifteen hundred a year and, really," continued Mrs. Harrington, under the circumstances, I had some ,difficult,y in arranging so much." "Mrs. Harrington," said John, slowly, "the ■young lady you have referred to is, perhaps, your -.daughter ?" ton are right," replied Mrs. Harrington. "You, then, are quite under a delusion. I never thought of marrying Alice, nor has she any affection for me. The lady your late husband in- tended for me WaB-. No, I will not name her to vou. Now I will contest this will. Are there no ether legacies ?" Yes, my children and Miss Manville have each a thousand pounds. Poor Mr. Harrington was very generous "Yes: but are you aware that Miss ManViile is entitled to a much larger sum-to twenty times the amount you have named ?" My dear John, you must be under some extra- ordinary delusion. Miss Manville enjoys an income of fifty pounds a year, exclusive of her means arising from her own exertions. This income your uncle has continued, and my care is to see that the principal is duly invested for her." lurs. Harrington, I am not the man to harbour suspicions of a lady, particularly a relative. Let me see the will you possess, and if I find my uncle's genuine signature attached to it I will—but under protest.-leave you in possession of the money, which ought to have been mine." It may yet be yours, under the old conditions, John," said Mrs. Harrington, who would rather have matters condoned by the marriage of her daughter to the real heir, than run the risk—small as she now considered it-of detection. There can be no such conditions for me," re- plied John Harrington. Either I am the true heir or I am not. You gained some extraordinary influence over my uncle in his last moments. What you did I cannot pretend to say but I distrust your motives, and decline any alliance with your daughter. She is a good girl, and it is a pity she has had such a bad example." Mr. Harrington, you insult me-you are wanting in common decency. If you will not leave the room, I shall, unless you apologise for your words Madam, you will do better if you permit me to leave this,house—after you have shown me the will. I will not make war upon you without a reason but I warn you, Mrs. Harrington, I cannot consent to be robbed." Bobbed exclaimed the angry lady. Do you dare use such language to me! You will accuse me of forgery next, I suppose—or murder, perhaps. You are a brave man, John.Harrington,hut were my son here, veu would not dare to threaten!" "Your son, madam, has already tried some force opon me, and received his punishment. Oh, he is not hurt) you may rest assured,' he continued, as Mrs. Harrington rose again, suddenly. "He is in the garden. May I inquire when it will suit you to let me read my uncle's will ? and then I will leave Ivy Lodge-for ever." Under such circumstances, perhaps you had better come and see it at once," retorted Mrs. Harrington. Will you come now ?" "The sooner the better," said John. Shall I follow you ?" If you please," she replied. The document ia in my late husband's studv." She led the way upstairs, and John followed her in silence. Alice passed them on the stairs, and the girl, looking paler than usual in her mourning, greeted the young man pleasantly and with a puzzled look at her mother, passed on. She glanced at John Harrmgton, whose eyes were fixed on her face, and blushed deeply. Her eyes drooped, and with a smile she hurried away. Mrs. Harrington made no remark. She entered the "study," as the room had been called, because Aaron had generally written his numerous letters there, and transacted some occasional business in that department which opened into his bed-chamber The lady advanced to the writing-table, and with a key selected from a small bunch tied with red tope ,which she procured from a safe, she opened a tin box and drew from it the will. Read it," was all she said, as she turned to the window and gazed out into the plantation—the same plantation which Mr. Jonas Kedge had searched, for both the windows of the bed-room and of the study looked upon the lir-grove. John Harrington required no second bidding. Ho placed the parchment upon the table, and noticed how very legally it was engrossed and worded. No -doubt about the production of the document, at any rate. And the provisions were all simple enough. Rescinding all other wills or testamentary decrees, this parchment made overall properties of which he died possessed to his dearly-loved wife Sarah Harring- ton, for her sole use and benefit during her lifetime, and after her decease the same to be divided between John Harrington, my nephew, and the children of my dear wife, Alice and Donald," to each of whom, with Lilian Manville, an immediate legacy of £1000 was payable, and a sum of £1000 a year from the estate to my nephew John Harrington aforesaid," in addition to the revenues arising from the entailed estate in Hampshire, which, with the house, were his absolutely. John Harrington sighed as he folded up the will. He had narrowly scrutinised the signature. It was somewhat shaky," but undoubtedly his uncle's writing. There was no room for suspicion there. The lines, and the peculiar final flourish which old Aaron always declared would puzzle any imitator, were all complete and correct. No, Mrs. Harrington may have used undue influence, but the will was genuine. So Harrington thought, and he said as much. Are you satisfied now?" she said "Are vou con- tent ?" "Yes and no," he replied. "I cannot say any- thing against the will, nor against the testator. He has done me a cruel wrong. After all his promises —his many declarations, his encouragement to me to remain idle, for I should be a country gentleman, he said-to bring me down from my inheritance of nearly £10,000 a year to a paltry thousand, is rather like cutting me off with a shilling. You have played your cards very weli, Mrs. Harrington, and though I do suspect you of undue influence, I will not act until I have consulted my solicitor." Do you mean to contest the will, then? Surely you are not so mad ? You may, perhaps, one day change your mind, and think of-" Never," interrupted Harrington, who was very sore. "I will never set foot in this house again save as its owner. Good-bye! May you be rewarded as as you deserve! Farewell for ever." Oh, JohnnotfoÎ" ever! Do not go like that, We have been always friends. Will you take all. then, and?—well, I won't make any conditions Don't go away, remain here. You shall do as you please, only don't let us quarrel, and have a scandal." Was she sincere ? For the moment she was. The dominating idea in her mind was that he should marry Alice, who liked him, and the girl would be happy, and make John happy too. Promise me, John," cried the ond mother, "promise me there shall be no scandal. Take the will, burn it, and remain." For a moment John Harrington hesitated. The trial lasted only for a moment. But the imago of Lilian Manville beckoned to him across the sea. I promise," he said. "Good-bye, aunt! Give my kindest regards to Alice but I will never come here again." Good-bye. John she replied. You will change your mind, I hope. Do not be angry, and all will be well. You have plenty of money, and my purse is yours." Something in this speech hardened him, and he replied, When I want assistance I will come. Good- bye." "Good-bye, John," she hold, holding out her hand. He paused, shook the soft fingers, and quitted the room. "Thankmy stars!" she murmured. He is made safe at last." CHAPTER XIX. I JONAS KEDGE DISAPPEARS. I SOON after John Harrington had quitted Ivy Lodsre, as he believed for ever, Donald Mackenzie came in fresh from his interview with Mr. Jonas Kedge, and sought his mother. He found her in her own room in a somewhat mingled" frame of mind. Her conscience was at work upbraiding her for banishing from his uncle's house the man who, of all others, had a. right to remain in it. Yet she had, played for a high stake, and had won it by sheer pluck and determination. In her heart she was sorry for the consequences, but she had chosen her path, and followed it. There could be no returning for her, unless she made full restitution and confession. This she would never do. Her nerves were somewhat tried though when Donald entered, and in as brief, and yet as careful, a manner as possible, told her what had happened. Three hundred pounds, Donald:" exclaimed Mrs. Harrington, in dismay. Surely you never were so foolish as to promise the man such of money? You betray me and yourself at once. What have you done 2" Look here, mother, the promise is made. You are playing a clever game; you have won, and you must pay something for ycur success. If you do not pay this man, he will go to John Harrington, who is already riled' and you will get into a nice mess. So try and obtain the money." "I suppose I must," replied the unhappy woman, whose grief was only increased by the behaviour, the tone, and.manner of her son. She had intended, in her way, to benefit him, and she had only taught him to intrigue and scheme. This was her reward, this and the sharp upbraidings of conscience. Get me the money, mother, and I will find some way to circumvent this fellow, and yet make him hold his tongue. I have a plan which I think will do." Do not run risks, Donald. Be very cautious. Such people are very unscrupulous, remember." I will take care," replied Donald, as he turned to leave the room. Mind you get the money." On the appointed evening, Donald Mackenzie, arming himself with a revolver, proceeded to the river-side cottage which/we have already mentioned. A solitary candle was burning on the table in the little sitting-room, and its feeble light told Donald, as he approached the bridge, that Jonas Kedge was ex- pecting him. The young man carried the money in the leather bag which wa., generally used for the conveyance of the letters to the post-office. This bag was secured to his wrist, and his pistol was handy in his right- hand outer pocket. In response to his knock, Jonas Kedge opened the door and admitted his visitor. Good evenin' he said, grimly. Good evening," replied Donald, carelessly. Here l am, you see, punctual to time." And a. good job, too," replied the amiable Jonas, who appeared to have been drinking a little a jolly good job, too You needn't talk like that," retorted the other. "Civility costs nothing, and unless you are civil you won't got the money." And you won't get the papers either. So come, Mr. Whipper-snapper!" I don't want them," replied Donald. You may keep them for waste paper. They are only drafts of old deeds. The real ones are superseded by a later will. So, you see, you are mistaken concerning your I proofs." How do you know what my proofs are?" inquired Kedge, eyeing the young man curiously. Who said anything about a will at all ?" Never mind, I am willing to square matters. Give me those drafts, and I will give you one hundred and fifty pounds to go away with. You stole those papers, you know, and my offer is liberal." Stole them exclaimed Jonas. Why, you young hound, if you say that again-" My good man," replied Donald, outwardly calm, but inwardly apprehensive, do not put yourself out. I know all about those papers. They were found in Mr. Faithfull's bag, which was stolen after the acci- dent. I am Mr. Faithfull's clerk. The papers are valuable to the firm, and I am empowered to offer you the sum I have named. Take it, or run your chance of arrest for theiving." "I'd not stop at thieving," said Kedge, with a diabolical grin, if it was necessary. You said three hundred and Australia. I'll have the three hundred, so come 1" Can't afford it," said Donald; but I'll give you all I have here, two hundred pounds, and you must sign a quittance for the firm. That's all I can do." Jonas Kedge hesitated a little. Two hundred pounds was to him a fortune to last for ever. Two hundred pounds and liberty in a new land to a nian of his varied accomplishments was a great temptation. Yes, he decided he would accept the offer. Very well," he said; I'll take the tin, and flit as soon as I can." "Good!" replied Donald. "Here is a document for you to sign. Here is the money. Now where are the drafts ?" In the bag here, handy. Show us the coin. In there, is it ? I must count it." Certainly, after you have signed the paper and given me the deeds. Make haste, please, Kedge; I'm in a hurry." Jonas produced the bag sullenly. This young man had got the better of him, and he was turning over the ways and means to outwit him. Here's the papers. Where's the money ?" Here," said Donald, unbuckling the pouch. In an instant the bags changed hands. Are you satisfied ?" asked Donald. Yes," replied Kedge. I'll not sign anything, though." 0 "Won't you?" said Donald. "You must though." Don't come your 'musts' over me," cried Jonas as he stowed away the money in his pocket-book or I'll punch your head, pretty quick "Two can play at that," replied Donald, as he diew his revolver. "Good-night, Mr. Kedge. Mind the police don't hear of your having stolen that bag." 0 Have you informed on me, then ?" should Kedge, rushing at him. You young villain! But I'll be even with you." He rushed at Donald as he spoke, and clutched him in a deadly embrace. The young man discharged the revolver without effect. But. scarcely had the report died away than a shout was heard from the river. Donald turned, and by a sudden twist released himself, and fired again as Kedge once more closed with him. Another desperate encounter ensued, and in response to Donald's cries for help the men in the boat pulled in. Scarcely had the boat touched the shore, and just as the occupants were landing, Kedge gave young Donald a tremendous blow which felled him, and then, leaping into the boat, pushed into the stream. 11 It's old Kedge, I do believe!" said one of the men. Anglers ahoy he shouted, at the top of his voice. "Holloa!" came the answer across the water. What's amiss ?" There's murder or something. Look out' Kedge has sculled away in my skiff. Launch out and go after him." Right!" came the shout again and then in the silence the rattling of the oars and the grating of a boat's keel against the stones were plainly heard. The voices of men in loud and hurried conversation rose above the other noises, and in a few minutes a pair-oared gig was darting down the stream in pursuit of Jonas Kedge towards Shepperton Lock. "There he is!" exclaimed the bow-oarsman, as he turned to look ahead. "He's hugging the Middlesex bank. We'll catch him in the gut." Unless he slips over the lasher," said the other. Not he he's too cautious. Easy now we'll catch him as he comes across. Jonas was watching his pursuers carefully, and wondered they did not stop him. Finding he had a slight lead, he endeavoured to keep it; but it was too late now to escape capture. There remained only one chance. The other boat was approaching so as to in- tercept him at the gut leading to the lock. This won't do," muttered Jonas. as he watched the other boat. I must make a rush for it." He paused a moment, and then, his right- hand scull, brought his skiff round across the river. The other men at once altered their course to inter- cept him, and Jonas, by this manoeuvre, gained the centre of the stream. The pursuers were thrown out of their track a little. Then Jonas, with a sudden sweep of his left arm, pulled straight again, and headed full swing for the lasher. He's goin' over the weir, by jingo!" cried the others, simultaneously. "He's as good as dead." Ha must have been up to some nasty job, or he wouldn't do that," added the stroke man. Shall we follow ?" Not much; we'll land at the point. There he goes! God help him Jonas Kedge, rowing steadily and feailessly, was carried rapidly down. With consummate skill he steadied his skiff and stood up, steering with a scull as he darted down the rushing fall. A loud shout from his pursuers told that he had gone over and disappeared. They landed, and ran along beside the stream, calling for assistance. The lock-man and others on the shore came out, and put off in boats, but nothing of Jonas Kedge could be seen. His boat was picked up some distance down- stream, floating bottom upwards, beyond the little eyot" which existed then in mid-stream, and is now much more extensive. But of Jonas Kedge the men found not a trace, and with very mixed feelings they returned to the Anfflers. Drowned, after all!" was the general remark. "Plowed if I didn't think he'd ha' been hanged, mate!" ———— CHAPTER XX. I A CONSCIENTIOUS LETTER AND ITS RESULT. I LILIAN MANVILLB, as we shall now call her, had left England while all the circumstances which we have detailed were tending to estrange her more and more from her native land. Disappointed in her intention of seeing her guardian by his illness and sudden death, Lily would not face Mrs. Harrington; so, sadly, she quitted England, rather abruptly at the last, and alone took ship for Melbourne. She was for one hour sorely tempted to write to John Harrington while in London, and, telling him all, to implore his assistance-but she was too proud. She had parted from him in anger, determined never to see him again. He had not treated her well, she declared to herself—and yet had not she permitted his attentions, and even shown a liking for his society ? Under such circumstances, had she much cause to be annoyed that he had confessed to a kindred feeling for her-although he had confessed it in a manner which she told him plainly was distaste- ful ?" But when John Harrington ha,d left her; when, disappointed at not finding Mr. Faithfull in his office, she had been compelled to proceed alone, her heart turned towards her former travelling com- panion, and she wished she had not snubbed him so distinctly After all, he had only made her an offer of marriage; and if he had kissed her-well, there was no harm done Now that he had gone she began to think him very pleasant; and his features, his impression, the sad and pleading look in his eyes, came before her mental vision much oftener than she quite liked. Is it possible," she said to herself, on board the Australian steamer-" is it possible that I am beginning to care for this man ? No, I must not love him—and I will not!" But Lily, like many other women, while feeling that the individual was quite out of reach, tor- mented herself concerning John Harrington in a. way which, had he known it, would have afforded him the liveliest satisfaction. She found herself thinking of him, wondering what he was doing she recalled his words, and even his acts; then the recollection of how he had rescued her came more forcibly than ever to her mind, and she reproached herself for her unkindness towards him. Should they ever meet again, she promised herself she would make up for her coolness and ingratitude. Having thus worried herself into a very unnecessary depth of misery, Miss Manville at last made up her mind to write to John Harrington, if only to tell him that she could never really care for him, while at the same time she really appreciated his kindness and chivalry towards her. Her conscience, she told her- self, would then be at ease concerning him. He had been warned to avoid her. She had no affection to give him; she had made him quite understand that. He would at once perceive all pursuit was hopeless, and abandon the chase. Oh, Lily Manville! Did not you, in your secret heart, wish to see the individual again ? And when you meet him will you not welcome him as a friend, forgetting all the disagreeables of the past? You will not confess it, but your letter of excuse—your note to "ease your conscience" concerning the young man-ivas your first step upon the thorny, and yet pleasant path of affection. What the ending may be who can tell ? When that measured note left your hands at Plymouth the evening before the vessel started you had forged the first link of a chain which was destined to be lengthened till it united your heart with another many, many miles away. Little did you imagine this ending-little did you think of the passion which had already been born, and which was even then crying in your heart as you wrote to ease your conscience" concerning John Harrington! You acted honestly; impulsively, perhaps, but in good faith. May he prove worthy of your affection! For good or for evil the deed was done—the note was written and despatched. That evening, as the Eddvstone light was disappearing, Lily would have recalled her letter had it been possible but it was already in the clutches of the Post-office employes, and speeding to London as fast as the mail train could carry it. John Harrington received it in due course—which means upon his return from Ivy Lodge—after the funeral. It bad lain a day or two unopened, and as he did not know the handwriting he had no curiosity concerning the authorship. But when he had opened the envelope, his fingers trembled with excitement. The signature certainly was Gretchen Englebach," but in inverted commas, and, knowing all he knew now, John Harrington perceived that the girl must have thought he sus- pected her identity. Duty and inclination both, for a wonder, met and worked together. He had promised his uncle to seek Lilian. She had herself given him the clue to her identity and destination. He at once determined to follow her, and that very afternoon made inquiries concerning the sailing of the steamers for Melbourne. He proceeded to the City for that purpose, and had just secured his passage, when a miserable looking, bedraggled '19 individual begged him to do him a kindness and tell him when the next steamer started for the colony. The next will go in a week," replied Harrington, struck with the man's manner. I am going in her myself," he added, in answer to the man's inquiry as to whether he was sartin sure." Then I'll take a tickutt," replied the melt.. touch fctg his cap. Thank ye, sir." John Harrington nodded and departed, wonder- 11 ing why the man had been so particular concerning that ship, and certain that he had somehow en- countered the individual before. But the circum- stance soon passed from his mind in the hurry of preparation, and in the consideration of the intelli- gence which reached him from Ivy Lodge. Donald Mackenzie had been seriously injured in a scuffle, Alice wrote to her dear brother," as she chose to call him, and Mamma is very much dis- tressed. Will you come down and sea us?" But Harrington excused himself. Under the circumstances," he wrote, "I must decline your in- vitation, the more certainly as my time in England is so short. I leave for Melbourne on Saturday." John is going to Australia at once, mamma," said Alice, next morning. "He cannot come here." Indeed!" murmured Mrs. Harrington, and straightway carried the news to her son. "We ought to be very thankful, Donald, that the arrangements have succeeded 80 well. Your plan for getting those papers was an excellent one. Pooi darling, the wretch might have injured you seriously I hope he will be transported!" He will transport himself," said Donald, as he turned his bruised body in bed. He is gone out of England by this time, unless he is drowned, as they say he is. But he outwitted me, after all!" Outwitted you Donald, what do you mean ? Have you not secured all the papers ?" No, the draft of the old man's will is missing, and if that should fall into the hands of Faithfull's people by any chance, they will recognisa it at once. It might be unpleasant. What did you do with the other papers, dear ?" she asked. Dropped them, tied up and weighted, to the bottom of the river. I will never write Resurgain over that grave, you may be sure." No dear; so all our troubles are at an end. I am sorry John is going, though," said Mrs. Harring- ton. So am not I," replied her son. We are safer without him, mother. Thank heaven! the papers are put safely away!" Donald Mackenzie thanked heaven for his success in evil-doing. Little did he think that he was him- self the destined instrument of his parent's punish- ment! (To be continued.) "!f

THE ENGLISH LEATHER TRADE. The English leather trade is being seriously menaced by the competition of American dump- ing in the form of adulterated material at low prices. About £ 400,000 worth of American boots and shoes is sold annually, and during the past year the trade in American leather has been pushed with unprecedented energy. "This American leather is artificially tanned and weighted with glucose and other material," said a British tanner. I have seen one sample adulterated to the extent of 25 per cent. This constitutes a Berious danger to the public health, as the adulterated leather is soon made flabby by the moisture in wet weather, and chills, pneumonia, influenza, and other severe illnesses are frequently caused." are frequently caused."

SODA WATER IN THE WORK- HOUSE. The Local Government Board has sanctioned the installation of the necessary plant and fittings for the manufacture of soda water and lemonade at the Lambeth Workhouse. The Bermonasey, Camberwell, Islington, Kensington, Southwark, and Wandsworth guar- dians, among others, are also amateur mineral water manufacturers. The National Union of Mineral Water Manu- facturers wrote to the Local Government Board protesting against the scheme stating that it would deprive workmen outside the workhouse of a chance of earning a livelihood.

CHOLERA OUTBREAK. The outbreak of Asiatic cholera which has reached Europe continues its march westward, and the police authorities at Hamburg and Bremen have forbidden the passage of Russian emigrants through these ports. From the telegrams below, however, it will be seen that there is no cause for alarm, as the authorities are on the alert, and taking every possible precaution.

PARTED AT THE CHURCH DOOR ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡a A remarkable admission of bigamy was made by Henry Dirk, of Peckham, remanded at Lambeth on Saturday. On June 8, 1887,1 was married to Emily Pick- ford at Christ Church, Penge. We parted at the church door. She went to her guardian. We did not live together then." He went on to state that in 1898 he married Ellen Renney at Eotherhithe, but lived with his first wife inu1902. He had, he said, been doing his best to keep both women, and his wife informed against him because he had told her he could not put up with the life any longer.

ROMANCE IN OLD AGE. A wealthy Newcastle manufacturer of seventy- two fell in love with a Scofctisn ladv of eighty. Thev married without the knowledge of their relatives, but the bridegroom's sons, hearing of it, placed their fa/ther in a private lunatic aey- lum. The bride was not to be thwarted. Driving up to the asylum, she gained admittance as his friend, and soon <the reunited couple were free, and returned to the bride's home. It is now stated that the lady's second husband is still alive in America, the couple having been divorced in that country.