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 i.i M:ll â- '-;^ J HOUSEHOLD. APllL Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckon- ed with the good, But she fills me with more terror than a rag- ing lion would. The little chills run up and;down my qine whene'er we meet. Though she seems a gentle creature and she's very trim and neat. And she has a thousand virtues and not one acknowledged sin, But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin. And she pricks you, and she sticks you, in a way that can't be said â€" When you seek for what has hurt you, why, you cannot find the head. But she fills you with discomfort and exas- perating pain â€" If anybody asks you why, you really can't explain. A pin is such a tiny thing â€" of that there is no doubt â€" Yet, when it's sticking in you esh, you're wretched till it's out She is wonderfully observing â€" when she meets a pretty girl She is always sure to tell her if her "bang" is out of curl. And she is so sympathetic to her friend, who's much admired. She is often heard remarking, "Dear, you look so worn and tired " And she is a careful critic, for on yesterday she eyed The new dress I was airing with a woman's natural pride. And she said, "Oh, how becoming," and then softly added, "it Is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit." Then she said, "If you had heardme yester- eve, I'm sure, my friend. You would say I am a champion who knows how to defend." And she left me with the feeling â€" most un- pleasant, I aver. That the whole world would despise me if it had not been for her. Whenever I encounter her, in such a name- less way. She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day. And the hat that was imported (and that cost me half a sonnet) With just one glance from her round eyes becomes a Bowery bonnet. She is always bright and smiling, sharp and shining for a thrust â€" Use does not seem to bMnt her point, nor flies she gather rust. Oh 1 1 wish some hapless specimen of man- kind would begin To tidy up the world for me by picking up this pin. Love for Mother. When gruiF old Dr. Johnson was fifty years old, he wrote to his aged mother as if be were still her wayward but loving boy 'Yovi have been the best mother, anil I be- lieve the best woman in the world. I thank you for all your indulgence to me, and beg forgiveness of all that I have done ill, and of all that I omitted to do well. " John Quincy A.clams did not part with his mother until he. was nearly, or quite, as old as this, yet his cry even then was: "Oh, fiod, ftould she have been spared yet' a little longer Without her the world seems to "me like a solitude." When President Knot, of Union College, was more than ninety years old, and had been for half a century a college president, as strength and sense failed him in his dying hours, the memory of his mother's tenderness was fresh and potent, and he could be hushed to needed sleep by a gentle patthig on the shoulder, and the singing to him of the old-time lullabies, as if his mother were istill sitting by his bed- side in loving mystery, as she "had been well- nigh a century before. The true son never .grows old to a true mother. in a preserving-kettle, adding two pints of sugar to three of the grapes. Let it boil, stirring it constantly untilit coois thick en- ough, and then seal in glass jars. Spiced Grapes. â€" Take ten pounds of any good, ripe grapes, eight pounds of sugar, four tablespoonfuls each oi cloves and cin- namon, and one qnart of vin^Ear^ Boil the grapes as for marmalade, rub theip through a cdiander, and then add the sugar, vinegar and spices, and boil all together slowly un- til thick enough. Spiced gooseberries, cher- ries and currants made in the same way are delicious. Family Lunches for Autoinn. 1. Sweetbread Pates. Raised Corn-Meal Muifins. Fried Potatoes. Jelly Toast. Sweetbread Pates. â€" Scald and blanch a pair of sweetbreads remove bits of skin and gristle chop rather coarsely, and stir into a cnpfid ot white sauce season to taste. Have ready pastry shells made hot in the oven, and fill them with the sweetbreads. Send very hot to table. A few mushrooms chopped with the sweetbreads are a pleasant addition. Raised Cobn-Meal MirFFiJfs.â€" Two cups milk, 2 caps corn-meal, 1 table-spoonful white sugar, 1 table-spoonful lard, quarter yeast cake. Heat the milk to boiling, and Eour it upon the meal. While this is warm, eat in all the other ingredients except the lard. Let it rise six hours. Add the lard. Fill mufiSn tins, and let the batter rise twenty minutes before baking. Jelly Toast. â€" Cut stale bread into neat rounds or squares fry each slice in boiling deep fat spread it thickly with some fruit jelly, and serve very hot. Deviled Ham. tjliced Potatoes. Rye Biscuit. Crackers and Cheese. Deviled Ham. â€" Cnt cold boiled corned or smoked ham into rather thick slices, rub well with a sauce made as described in Chapter XVL for "Deviled Mutton," and broil the ham over a clear tire. Sliced Potatoes. â€" Cut six boiled pota- toes into neat slices, warm them .in a steam- er, transfer to a dish, and put on them a tablespoonful of chopped parsley. Let them stand five minutes before serving. Rye Biscuit. â€" Two cups rye flour, 1 cup white flour, IJ cups milk, 1 table- spoonful sugar, 1 table-spoonful lard, 1 table-spoonful butter, 2 teaspoonfuls bak- ing-powder salt-spoonful salt. Rub the shortening into the flour after sifting the salt and baking-powder with it add the sugar and the milk roll the dough out quickly, and bake the biscuit in a brisk oven. Bouillon. Cold Chicken Pie. Potato Salad. Cold Bread. Gingerbread. Coooa. Cold Chickex Pie. â€" Stew a grown chick- en until tender,- putting it on in cold water, and cooking very slowly-; arrange the pieces in a deep pudding dish, laying in with them two hard-boiled eggs cut into slices pour over all a cupful of the gravy, which should be well-seasoned cover the pie with a pastry crust, and bake in a moderate oven. Add to two cups of the remaining gravy a quarter box of gelatine soaked in a little cold water, a small glassful of sherry, and a table-spoon- ful of vinegar when the pie is done, pour this gravy into it through an opening wnich should have been left in th.e top. Make this pie the day before it is to be eaten. It is an excellent dish for Sunday lunch or tea. Potato Salad. â€" Slice cold boiled pota- toes with three cups of these mix one sliced beet, one onion braised, and three or four stalks of celery pour over them four table- spoonfuls of salad oil and three of vinegar, with pepper and salt to taste. Let all stand in a cold place at least an hoiir before serv- ing- t Home Topics. Taking Cap.e of the FRCiT.^-With all the other work of the summer comes that "of taking care of the fruit, if one is so fortu- •TUbte as to have more than enougk for present '*iBe. If the housewife lives in the city and must buy all her fruit, it will not pay her to buy for canning. She might better buy it canned ready for use. With pickles, pre s-rves, jellies and marmalades it is different. Tliese can rarely be procured that compare favorably with those made at home. With pickles there is always a lurkmg suspicion of sulphuric acid, and with jellies an"d mar- malades there is always a feeling of uncer- tainty as to the ingredients. ?EACH Marmalade. â€" The peaches should â- '"â- be ripe and soft, but small ones will be as good as larger ones. Peel the fruit and cut it intosmall pieces. Weigh it before put- ting it over the fire with a pint of water. Boil it steadily until the peaches are soft and as much of the water evaporated as can be "without danger of scorching. Remove it from the fire and sift it through a colander, then add three quarters of a pound of sugar to each pound of the peaches. Put it over the fire again and let it boil, stirring it all the time to prevent scorching. When you think it is â-  nearly thick enough, take out a little and cool it to decide. When the marmalade, is done, fill pint cans and seal them. This is. excellent when used byitself or in puddings. QmxcE Marmalade. ^This is made the same as peach, but if quinces are not .plenty a very good marmalade caji be made by using -unequal quantity of quinces and apples, and if the quince peelings and cores are boiled "with an equal quantity of apples and strain- ed through a jelly-bag, a delicately flavored quince jelly may be made. â- Grape Jelly and Marmalade. â€" It is «lways best to make these at one time. Pick over and stem well-flavored grapes, "with some not quite ripe ones among them. Press them until you nave enotffih jnice so they will need no water, to cook ^em. Let them boil until the skins are broken, then ipour into a jelly-bag, hane it up and let as much juice araia. out as will without sqneoz. ingthebag any. Of this juice make jeD^f ly adding a pint of sugar to each pint of th« J11M6 and lyuling .ilia^til it vm jellt/M^ cold. I do Wt-tlniSc%ny 6iMt role b£hi given as to the time jeliy should ixiil, tti aometimes the juice is uiick^'yiaa ktiotheiv «ad s(»ne days it w 111 evaporate ftstsr. Empty the; OagtB.jittliM the but into a «]anaer, sifb uiem and pat the pup back The Great Explorer and the Inqnisitive Lady. "I suppose you found Africa a very warm country " said the society lady to the great explorer, Mr. Stanley. "Very warm indeed, madam," was the polite reply. "And the women there, I suppose they are perfectly horrid " said the lady, with heraristocratic nose in the air. "Well, I didn't find them so, madam," re- turned the explorer. "Many of them have superb forms and very beautiful faces even if they are black." "I suppose they dress similiar to the ne- gro women of the South " returned the lady. "Quite likely most of them wear yellow dresses, set oflF with a multiplicity of red ribbons. Am I not right in the main " "Well, erâ€" no, not exactly," replied the great explorer. "I do not think that they are quite so particular in regard to dress as their dusky sisters of the South. And yet their style is not altogether unpleasing to the masculine eye." "Well, what do they wear, sir?" said the inquisitive lady in a tone of impatience. "Indeed you must tell me for you have ex- cited my curiosity to the highest pitch." "Well, madam," replied the great explor- er, "as you really insist upon knowing, I suppose I will have to tell you. The ladies of Africa usually wear nothing but a neck-' lace and a simle. And some of 1 hem are so economical that they manage to do very well without even the necklace. " It took a skillful doctor over an hour to bring the inquisitive lady out of her faint- ng fit. One of the Ohildren. Conductor (to Mose Einstein, who is stemd- ing) â€" "Fare, please." Einstein â€" "But I vos nod Bidding." "That makes no diflFerence." "Don't id Vy, dot nodiss says 'Shild- ren ogupying seads vill be sharged full fare.' "But you arc not ft child" "Yes, I vos. I vos one ov der shildren ov IsreaL" Hdn-Oo^nutial on the Wash QaesboD. Mrs.lqdqrâ€" 'Amd^deblac]|8(ocking8 you told )ne about bnln' " Mias Saffi«Hi^'Te£'ft»( is Sebiies, Cce- ly.wi' day «aty mW Mranty-filne oentib^ '^Anditf^iikr' ,...t i--,... • i â-  â-  "DatI don't know; Fw on^ l^^m nxwa^a.** THE GIANT'S ASBOWS. BT 6EOBGX HOOOBS. There are two quite evident facts about arrows in the hand of a ^nt. The first is that they are very formidable weapons, it is much better to have them on our side than to have them aimed agsdnst us. The second is that tha side on which the arrows fight depends upon the giant he aims them, and the arrows have nothing to do with that at alL "Like as the arrows in the hand of the fiant, even so -are the young children." Ividently the writer of that sentence meant to emphasize the immense imjwrtance for the good or ill of the world, of the aiming of the lives of children, and the immense re- sponsibility which the fathers and mothers have for the direction in which their child- ren's lives are aimed. Christ came as a little child. The value, the importance, the sacredncss of childhood are all taught by that truth. This, we may believe, is one of the reasons why God, manifesting Himself in the flesh, chose to begin our life as the bennning, and to be a little child and to be nurtured in a human home, that He might set His blessing upon childhood an hallow the relationships of the family. We remem- ber how Christ taught us that whatever is doneto the leastof the little children about us is done to Him. The child who lay in the manger lies in every cradle. The Christ- child dwells in every household. Every mother has Mary's charge upon her every father has Joseph's responsibility. My subject is the Training of Children in Re- ligion. As soon as a child is bom into this world its father and mother ought to begin to train it inreligion. For religion means, asregards the will, the conscience and the heart, just what health means sis regards the body. "The body is in health when it is in harmony with its physical environment. When the eye sees the light and color of the world, and the ear distinguishes sound, when the hand and the footgetsstrengthfrom exercise, and food gives firmness to the flesh, then the body is in health. And religion is spiritual health. We want the child from the start to be in right relation with all its spiritual environment. So I say that the time to begin to train a child in relisrion is when it is one day old. As soon as the child begins to perceive that there is light, and warmth, and food, in tbif new world upon which he opens his bright eyes, he ought to perceive also that there is love in it. And that is the very beginning of religion and the end of it too. That is the first lesson, and the last. The first glimmering recognitions of God and of duty, are in that initial per3eption that this is a world of love. Before the little child can speak, it ought to be trained in the religious truth that the father and mother love it. Tliat is a lesson in theology, and a lesson in morality. Before the little child can put a noun and a verb together, it ought to be taught that there is such a thing in this world as will; loving, wise and firm will. That is the second lesson in religion. The child begins daily to understand that there is a wisdon which is above its wisdom, and a rule of right somewhare by which this superior wis- dom is guided, and that before this right rule all its desires must give way. If the child discovers that a certain amount of crying, a certain persistence in judicious tearing, can overrule this will and reverse its jiidgment, then the child, instead of learning the second lesson in the religion of God learns a second lesson in the religion of the devil, namely, that the rule of right in this world is the child's own will, its desire. And that means inevitable trouble. A child who has learned that this is a world of love and a world of law has learned the essentials of religion. The child may add in after years certain details to these great principles, and may discover more and more of their manifold applications to life, and may recognize more and more what they mean, but the whole of religion, the secret of faith, the ideal of conduct â€" it is all here in what you may teach a child between its first and second birthdays. The idea of love and the idea of law lead up to the idea of God. As soon as the child begins to understand, it should be taught that all love and all law center in God. Above One who loves the child more than the mother loves it. Above is One 13 even whose will is law absolutely, who always knows what is best and does what is best. The child comes to see what it is to love God and to keep the will of God. But the child is forever asking for things. The relation between the ch3d and the father and mother is largely that of receiver and giver. The child must be trained to look up in that same way toward God and to ask God. The child is taught before he can even understand the meaning of the action in the least, to kneel beside his mother, and folds his little hands together and listen while the mother says a prayer. Little by little tne meaning of that gets into the child's mind. The child begins to pray. The child has been taught that Grod loves, him, and is his Heavenly Father, and so he prays as naturally as he speaks to his earth- ly father, and thanks God for his daily bless- ings and asks him for all that he wants, for himself and for those who are dtar to him. But the child has been taught, that God's will is the wisest will above his own, and so he is not disappointed, nor does he lose his faith when he gets no answer to his prayer. He sunply knows that that he has asked for something which God knows he ought not to have. He recognizes the fact that God's wisdom is wiser than his wisdonu It is a mistake to teach children to pray for things they want, without teaching them at the same time to pray, "Thy will be done." They may pray that the sim may shine to- morrow morning, but they ought to be ready to accept the sight of clouds and rain, trust- ing God just as much. They ought not to be allowed to think for amoment that they can beg, or cry, or tease ourHea^ enly Fath- er into doing anything which his wisdom decides is not the best. Li all this the mother and father do not wait for fnU understanding on the part of the child They do not wait for the child to choose for himself. They might as well decide that tiiey will never feed the baby till he is able to spell " mittj" They choose for him in spiritual things just as naturally aiceaacmablf and im neceaiarily aa tfaey db m^yaical things. X^ wa^^t th^ ohUd tot be in healtii on all sides of his nature. Th^4^ x-' do ujt #atit th6^ «luld«o'*t« fi UtiW^iSimS ♦= h ' and nothing mor^. nitfeCMMtoat; *Miir«tf^^ ' nund and no heart They Kri ng tne. e mo^lJBa^iiibitimiifiS^^Sa, ^WAi al S^*^»*^*5^.*^ :lMfi.wlwil. amnt wr the baptising of infMita. Tke diild ia bcoiightintothedinrch,(hebleadng(tf3od ^^m*" is spoken over him, and the cross of Christ marked upon his forehead, and the parents and friends bind themselves by a solemn promise to bring up the child in the nnture and admonition of the Lordi and to teach him all that a Christian ought to know to his soul's health. After the chiM «owb up just as he may eat all sorts of things which disagree with his body's health, so he may do all sorts of things which disagree with his souls health; but he has been started risht, anyway. By and by. tne father and the mother ought to tell the child the great revelation of the Christian religion. They ought to tell him how God so loved the world that He gave His Son to come down into the midst of men, »ho were forgetting the love of (Jod, and disobeying the law of God, that He might teach them and help them, and show them how much the Father in heaven loved them, and point out the right way to walk in. They ought to tell him the story of the Christmas angels, and the manger that was used for a cradle, and how the little child grew day by day, and lived the kind of life which this little child must live. They ought to tell him of the deeds and words of wonder which are written in the gospels. And some ^iood Friday, when the child gets old enough to understand a little, they ought to tell him the story of the cross, and show him what that teaches about God's love for us, and about God's grief at our sins, The father and mother ought never to tell the child that God doesn't love bad chil- dren because that is not true. God loves all His children. When he sees badness in them. He is very sorry. God is our Father in heaven, and when we turn from His love and transgress His law He feels as a father must feel. Sin grieves God. That is the best way to put it. The father and mother ought never to tell the child that if he is a bad child he will go to hell. That used to be said to children much more often than it is now. Some of the children's books which were written twenty -five years ago have to be expurgated before we can use them now. Religion has sometimes been made a device for scaring children. It is well to teach the child that when he does wrong God will punish him, because God loves him so much that he wants him to do right, even if he has to learn what right is by lessons of pain. Bat I think that hell and Satan are best left as entirely out of the theology of childhood, as they are left out of the Apostles' and the Nicene creeds. The father and mother ought never to teach the child that there is any doubt as to whether he is God's child or not, or that there is any choice to be made, sometime in the future, whether or not he will enroll himself among Christ's disciples. The child is God's child, and he began to be a discipie of Christ as soon as he began to think. There ought not to be in the life of any child, brought up by Christian parents, any such era or event as " conversion." Con- version means turning back, and the child ought never to turn so seriously away as to need any sudden and great change in his life. From his earliest years the heart of the child who is brought up in a Christian way is given to God. He ought to be taught, so soon as he is able to learn, what a solemn vow, promises and profession has been made for him in his baptism. He ought often to be put in mind of it. He ought daily to be helped to keep it. The religious life, as it is sometimes conceived of, is like along, protracted and painful sickness, out of which the patient emerges by a sudden a miracu- lous recovery. The true ideal of the relig- ious life is that it is a gradual growth in the knowledge and love of God, step by step and year by year, from childhood on, ever by new strength and new wisdom and wider experience following more closely the blessed steps of Christ's most holy life. It is no impossible ideal. Scores of people whom we know are realizing it. It ought to be a fact in the life of every child. The chief instruction of children in re- ligion ought to be given at home. As a matter of fact, the instructions in religion which make the most impression upon chil- dren are given at home. The teaching may be good or bad, the religion may be of God or of the devil, nevertheless it is a fact that the home lessons are most lastingly learned. The father and the mother ought to be re- ligion embodied. The highest ideal of a boy should be to be like his father and of a girl to be like her mother. In most cases these are actually the ideals of the boys and girls. That is how the father and mother are so responsible for their children, even as the giant is responsible for his arrows. The par- ents form the children. They set the tone of the children's voices and the spirit of their speech, and the standard of their taste, and the ideal towards which they aim. They shape their opinions and determine their attitude toward the great principles which eovern faith and conduct they practically determine the direction of their lives. Nobody needs to be so careful in speech, so heedful in look and in act as a father or a mother. A page of example counts far more in the training of a child than a whole libra- ry of advice. Extraordinary Adventure of Stowaways. At Holyhead on Monday six boys, rang- «?^," *Se from 14 to 17, named Samuel M Gley, Arthur Hoare, George Lewin, Wil- hani Christy, Llewelyn Lloyd, and Robert Irwin, all of Liverpool and Seaforth, were brought before General Hughes and other Justices, charged with ofiences arising out of their extraordinary adventures at Holy- head. Prisoners were landed early on Sun- day mommgas stowaways from the steamer Beha, outwa,rd bound for Rio. The police state that the lads broke into the gardens of Mr. Watson, managing director of the City of Dublin Steamship Company, and, being discovered, rushed to the shore, cut adrift a boat belonging to Mr. Edward Williams, but, finding her too small, leaW into an- other, and made out to sea. The weather was rough, with heavy waves running, and It was believed the party could not proceed for without disaster or eflfecting a landing. The police and coastguards consequently scoured the coast, and some hours later the nmaWays came ashore near Gwalchmai, where they were followed by the Anglesey poftce ina »r, acrested, and taken bwk to B9lj\^i%^nauiiM^iii^Paait. The.Mag- wtrat* renandedtto pnaoners fill Satu^^. offiUe km% hoitdhiaheeiu recover- HEADS L^HOTIOH." Wrange Story From Keal itte or Keren e. *•»»'» Chicago, August 19 â€"^ ,, ter written in French wasTi^'"'"'«let- ThursdaylasttoMr.Claud^i^o^d o, man twenty-seven years oW^ •?y'"'»8 handsome apartments on the 'w«f"^« » this city, and its contents reveal?] f"^* » his-parentage and mysterious ctl ' connected with his life, mattera w?'^*^ been previously a hidden secret t^k-" ^^ Rosaire has for several veaSln ^â-  of Chicago and recently^r^S/^^i'l^n, school^elocution in UiSS'^Sj^ Chicago Athenaeum. Hehas for thml^' held a position in the Chicago Board nrr^^" The story of Mr.-Rosaire i=s a curt If " which sorrow and villainv ar^ !."'" mingled. ' ""gely From the earliest time in his lif»„f l- he has recollection he lived with a 1"'^^ Canadian family in a small toxvn in T eastern Michigan and wasbrStl?" lieve that he was an own cSSL^c^^- He was treated in every Sv as S'"" his supposed father m a fit of an4 tw that he was a natural son, ananS J^ which so keenly affected his sensitivTS tion that he left his home never t^T"' That w-as inhistyentythirdyear B' from that moment until the receipt^!,! letter last week vvs full of „,i4,; J certainty, which he succeeded in coverS from the notice of his acquaintances k? persistent attention to the work and stud which he had undertaken. ' "No satisfactory explanation, indeed no explanation whatever, of the vague chaw! made against him by his foster father came to clear the mystery in which it enveloDed him until the letter made the historj' of to life less of an enigma than it had been. This is a literal translation of the letter- I write this under the inspiration of the moment, although it is but the question of a few months, for my physicians say I can- not live more than two months. Two years ago you recited at the hospital of St. Luke" I was in the audience. I recognized you at once, but although I had beeulookiiK; for you for three years I was not satisfied to find you again. Besides I had been cured of mv sickness people like myself do not suffer with remorse, only in the valley of the dark- ness of death. First, you are legitimate and the child of marriage. I cannot keep the secret because I cannot retain life much longer and because all human vengeance seems useless. I can reveal to you almost all your life. You think that no one in your present life knows any tiling about you' but yourself and you have shut them in the bot- tom of your heart. To make sure that the things I am about to tell you are true, hsten Until the 6th of October, IS84, youlrelieved yourself the son of George Latham of L-L â€" Mich. In a moment of great anger he told you that you were a natural son. Tliat night you left and you have never spoken one to the other since. They believe you dead. George Latham, I am sure, believes you to be what he has said, but he regrets bitterly that he has betrayed the confidence of his sister. I am going to tell you alwut your family. Your grandmother, the mothe: of your mother, was the Duchess de Saint Aliaise of Xormandie. Her marriage was very miserable, the Duke de Saint Aliaise being well known. After having spent the fortune of your grandmother lie commenced against her a suit for di- vorce. Having lost love and courije the duchess fled to America, takingwithkr her only child, a babyâ€" your motlier, ^l^ toria de Saint Aliaise. But a little nrlule after her arrival in America the duchessen- tered the convent of the Ursulines at ^ew Orleans, where she died five years later Her child Victoria remained in the care ol the sisters until the age of eighteen, when her great talent for music caused the motnet superior to have her choose between the world and the convent. During her pr*- tion she met and loved a confederate soldier by the name of Claude Hector Rosaire. ita= man, your father, was only of French ex- great grandfather, who was a Creole. ried, as man, your iamci, '"-^ ,â-  traction, tracing his French blood from to 6th of October, 1863, they were married you will see by the inclose d certificate im mediately they fled to Canada. ow this m«| Rosaire was not the only man who loved Via de Saint Aliaise, but he wastheony.*; she loved. I never pardoned them ai^J^j ed them as a hunting dog ^-o^W.^",;, Xc the next year you ^^ere !3oni m Qne« Three weeks after you â-  birth I sto^ from your nurse and «"-â„¢d-VOuto*e»^. of Ontario among a colony of CanatoJ. Marguerite became your f«»«f J'l^,, er. No matter how. some «oinen lo ers Then I returned to Quebec^;; seek fny revenge. I amveO«J^^.^^ ^^^ strangely. Orfy^oiie be in health on all sides of his nature. ThB*ri^'.«- ).• • • r T*,^^ nl Srtlttiar^*f«*n4*4iHi iBrtiier â- '^eijr satisfaction. Your father, ^^'Thimselffwii on account of your loss, threw hun^'.;^. the head of the fort I was wa trn| « ^^^ toria to follow me. but she ^/f °J' ^^the. came and went with a face " Jired- I suddenly and mysteriously .WP^^ y^,, jiever found trace of her. /?" ^Hscoula entered a convent, for onlv th^^ ^te elude my vengeance, j ^^„ I more because I will not. 1 ft« to «e hated her. I have S^-^f-}.J^^I^W"' you struggle, knowmgthat It «as ^^ ^^^^ my maledictions rest on tiic ^^^ ^^^ mirriage. I am foolish to ^t j,,„ra that is on you, but a "l^^ f„ tu«,«l' and I cannot resist my '"er • ^^„j l compels me to try to repair ;j^thei« havedone youif it ispossib e. ^„und.v aremoments^dienlamreallyM'J^^.tbatl penitent, and it is m s«* m" j^ di=; write this. You will ne^ er J f ^„,„. ol You have no possiwe cover me. However, your nioi idler perbsP ^S^^s,si;;niustk.ow.:u;j Ser chiU can find her mJV^^^ ean* then it will be too late for v onr .^ ,^ sj The letter is unsigned. V ♦„ tn^ the orij marriage V.X --â€" i,„ pverven"'",: ecu- Mr. Rosaire will make eve^ Catbohc*^ his mother and vnW search all .^^^ vents through the l^^f'^-,-°o^erMC\ the authorship oi^'^^^X^,^^^i^\ by his desire to learn the w ot i mother and of the resting P letter is unsigneti. â-  jo "" iginal document certijin.^ ^^^^ g! of Rosaire^^flSf effort .t«S father. They Are Engaged 5^;^^^ 4 Thomas (a loyer from there uipp(^, Susie, that ^^^^^^^i^^^ wo^p, sooner orhiter, "^^^^ Sg ioUy her head upon some^ ^^ uhoolder and give vent to Thomas embraced Susie. She flings her She gilds the And sends a th To bid us to Such welcome That childre Within the ho In this good It all began i Uncle Jack to The very ne: into a hall, wi seated in a stai reserved for brother Hal, Be in fact, who Tommy play at Tommy's ros; pression, as it which h6 had d furnished with balls, rings and all xart8 of the I cauton-ilannel i ed canary. And Tommj markable and wonder that m£ enough to be h actually made 1 wizard in the h But the most an end, and Tc and went to on( looking the alle the wood-sawy« pile of logs wlii ed cut into leng The old man' his hair was qui ed with long be could not swing but he worked only stopping o and to pass his forehead. Gottlieb and Gretcben lived a room in one of where Tommy's visit her poor been there with Just behind G woodpile, was hi ner-basket. Tommy had sc his luncheon tha was in it â€" a gre£ that he was sure a morsel of chees meat. "If I was a tr softly to himself, I would change i has' et into the l cooked " Then a bright of Tommy's mou into a bow, diggi die of his round c eyes dancing unc' Away downsta cook, who was hearts in a delicL Martha was f was respectful, d she listened qui which he whispei Five minutes h tarongh the entf Gottlieb, who, w fa'v and his own have heard the soldiers, and, sua disappeared insid In the kitchen, oient, for suppose lieb should miss t The half-loaf o ^e floor, unhee Carlo, the dog, w *od turned away the fire. Ham sandwich bread, cookies, a iiiyiiiii^^^ S^Siaiickiu^bdiib -^-^- ^â- â- . ^^'â- â- ^' â- :' ^i'j^i^Sif.