of Particular Interest to = ia Women Folks zy LECTED RECIPES. tues of certain. old Eng- es haye been so lauded in fajure of the last century 'of us feci as if we had : a as. to how Here are the -re- at the most cele a Cream.-- As* an- adjunct ved. fruit and cereals, wide popularity. In Devon ornwall itis «ven eaten with | oon tea, spread on the bread of butter, Strain fresh to a large metal pan, put it cool place, and keep it unmoy- | A ; : ot : é ; one-half teaspoonful of cloves. Mix} Bake | twenty-four hours in winter élve hours in summer. Then ery slowly over a low fire; r the scalding is done the! nd the thicker the clotted Skim it the following day. almost' as thick Haste.--An old Eng eipt which requires little r labor is as follows: Chop up of suet and mix with an 1 quantity of grated bread. aw few dried currants, the beat- ks of four eggs, the whites -and a teaspoonful of grated peel and ginger. Mix the hents, make the mixture into aped balls, using a very little and drop them into a skillet ling water. Boil them about minutes--they will rise to face when done. Serve them ny sweet sauce. { two pounds mutton chops, and kidneys. Trim the y, cut off all superflu- tay half of them in a well red deep dish, and with them y cut in slices. Sprinkle pm a little pepper and salt aspoonful of fincly minced and place upon them a quar a pound of potatoes cut in of Put two or three lumps of} ere and there, é meat is used a full. Cover the top with potatoes, pour a half-pint »or stock over them, and @ moderate oven for two hours. A layer of oysters the flavor of the dish. and < Y repeat 2 quarter of » from skin and id half a pound of thin ham. 'the meat with a } | frrated nutmeg, and powdered an ty of salt used being regulat- | he quantity of ham. Divide t into pieces an inch and a are, put it in layers into a! dish, and pour over it a} f a pint of cold stock or "Put among the pieces of} yolks of four hard-boiled | four button mushrooms. he dish with good pastry, hole in the center that the may. escape, and bake the moderate oven for two Have ready some nicely sea- al gravy to pour into the it is done. Serve it with VORITE DISHES. "Take as much rice as you ook, wash thoroughly un- ale and glucose 18 removed, enough cold water to cov-; ice: cover and put over a re and when it begins to just enough hot water if "to keep it slightly moist- bout twen Salt should never be ad- | "cooking it, as it toughens | "Cream Pie.--Make a rich, | yust, cut up two sour ap- four tablespoons of su-| tle cinnamon, and four ces of butter; put in oven, Make a cream filling as | ke. The yolks of two eggs, one qmiulk, one tablespoon of eorn ee tablespoons of sugar. a double boiler, flaver with | add a half cup cream, pour - beat the whites of two.| 'tablespoons of confec- | ing. Bake a Salad.---Place on @ sal- pple ss of lettuce and a slice a loa ee neppery over ef. lin ay wi of olive this pour oil, a tea- anal pepper This makes a jad for luncheon. ed Celery.--Cut fine a few celery. boil until tender, t salt to taste; drain off done quart of milk ; add af an egg; thicken with ter. MEATS. -- 'ent Joal,-Take two chopped areat, season this | as | 1d the «list | ty minutes is sul- | et stand five minutes lon- | ery kernel will be dry and | "Tfuses to with salt and*dash of paprika; soak half-a loaf of bread pint, of milk ; in eh | tablespoonfuls of butter with two of flour ; stir in. pint of milk; é0ok until thick ; bread and sauce with meat; make in loaf, cover with ' and. a little chopped on lon may be added if liked Spiced - Meat.--Two mix crumbs, pounds | milk crackers, rolled fine; four well i beaten eges i ful of mae one large tablespoon salt, chop} one ed parsley, one : teaspoonful of summer savory, one-half nut- meg ,one teaspoonful of cinnamon, thoroughly, as for veal loaf. ina slow oven for four or five hours. Garnishing Roast Pork.---To: gar a ricer or sieve: Dissolve one pack one-half cup hot water and into apple sauce. This can turned into any shaped molds to with cookie cutter. cut out to serve. HOUSEWIVES GOLDEN RULES. All busy housewives should know the following golden rules: them mn invaluable. Cleanliness and punctuality ing. clean as you go. Take care of the pots will take selves. 4, o: & 3 your care pans, of Stew boiled is stew spoiled. A good cook wastes nothing. 6. Bou fish quickly ; lslowly. Strong fire for roasting ; ifire for broiling. be (poor ovens. THINGS WORTH KNOWING. There is a very important point regard to makiug scallops. That , after the scalloping is made and ut out, go all over 'tiny buttonhole stitch. |. Place an egg in the palm of your ileft hand; then place a sharp knife jin your right hand and giy very quick tap at the centre of tl {which will open very. nicely. Do not uncooked -- fruit ichildren late in the day lbaked fruits at supper time are more certain to with them, and will insure a more restful night. | There is no question as to the 'value of milk as a food when taken slowly and: between meals. It should not be taken in great gulps lwith other food, nor with any acid fruit. A sure | | | { | | 4 ee ese lis 1 ¢ ie ea 1e egg, to five agree eure for ingrowing toe lnails, and a simple one, is to cut ithe nail right square and thin out ithe top im the centre of the nail with a piece of broken glass or a jsharp jacknife. In making salads do not your meats and celery in a chop- ping bowl. Cut into the size pieces with 'scissors. This ,quicker, neater and cleaner' than 'the old way. A well-known doctor claims that 'a crack in the lip, when it is deep, and remains a long time, rsually is indicates among other things a lack | of phosphates in the system, and la good toni¢ should be taken. _ Put a good-sized lump of salt in to a cupof vinegar and put into the \vessel that is discolored and let it Wash well lwith warm water and scap and sedi- iment will come off easily. If the soup is toc salt 'stand for half a day. grate @ wil ine a few minutes. i bean soup is too thin add ful of vinegar just before serving. Put a deep pan or small bucket of water containing a medium-sized inside your bread © box. Change the water often, replacing with. clean, water, and: your bread will'keep fresh as long as it js needed. Sometimes rise: or the a pea spoon sponge 1 CoGi | | | | } i | | | | | ' the bread iough- re- | Add another yeast reake in water and be well in with a silver knife, keep lout of draughts and in a couple of hours you will have a fluffy mass. Immediately pudding cloths have been used scald them, wash them thorough! using soda but no soap, and hang them up to dry. A } deal of trouble is saved in this way, lfor if loft till cold it is most diff- cult to wash them. -- Ft! out till 2 a.m. make @ sauce by melting two of veal, two pounds of. pork, and two pounds of beef, chopped fine } eight tablespoonful of nish a pork roast, stew six or eight apples, sweeten and put through | age gelatin in little cold water, add stir | be harden or into a large flat dish and | Ar- | range on meat platter when ready | are the royal roads to. good cook- | 2. Leave nothing dirty; clean and } and | them- | boil meat | clear | Good cakes are not cooked in it again with a kind in his intentions. Stewed or chop | desired ; lraw potato into it am i the salt taste | 1 be greatly lesseuc d after cook- | just flour enough} | t fave Sass] to absorb the added moisture. Cut! and on top a Trew Sees | ' = é A great 'Anyway, the old bachelor has at jeast one advantage over a married man. Nobody cares if he does stay A SECRET WOGING Y Paul Walton locked the door with trembling fingers; and, with a half- hysterical ery, threw. himself back into an easy chair, muttering ang- 'rily to himself, reviling his stars that had adversely ruled that day. He hagl ceeded in controlling his demeanor whilst his uncle's will was being" read-that wall. whieh dispossessed hiny of an inheritance which he had reckoned*upou as fall- ing to him as'seon as the old man ad passed jnto the beyond. Vain nings! for that splendid inher: itance had passed away from. him, though his name was placed down for a legacy of five thousand pounds a sufficient sum for the rich man to leave a nephew. But Walton, thinking of the- girl who had come into the fortune, he had counted upon as his own, could have raved against her, forgetting all decorum in that solemn -- ¢oin pany which had assembled im -- the | dining-room, and denounced her as /an adventuress who had - blinded his'unele, old Mr. Walton, against his nephew, i 'Lost to me ! He got up from his chair, glanced through the windows at the fair scene that lay stretched out below the wide; 'green lands, whose own- er he had hoped to be. 'Lost te me! Lost to me!" repeated the words again again; then suddenly paused. His expression changed. A subtle light came into his sombre eyes. He pull- He and 'T might win her I might make her So ran the tenor of his for my wife! love me!" thoughts. He unlocked the door softly and | stole out into the great hall, from which' the wide, shallow staircase | wound upwards, He found Charlotte Dane in her favorite room--one that looked in to a winter garden, lovely with blooms, tall lilies, and narcissi that | sent forth an intoxicating perfume. She glanced up at his entrance, land came eagerly towards him. "Oh, IT am so glad you are here,' ae | i | | | | {she exclaimed. to you."' 'But, first of all, let me congrat- ulate you,' he said, with a false | smile, She drew back with a little clamation. "Oh, den't please ! ton was wonderfully ex- Old Mr. Wal- good, most But--but I cannot take it; no, my mind is made up. I shall restore it tothe man to-whom by right"it belongs.' The blood began to beat in other's veins. Was the amazing, the impossible thing about to hap-} pen l otic Was this girl a fool--a quix- fool--whose stupidity, had no doubt that he was the per- son she meant? She turned to him appealing gesture. "They all tell me that wrong,' she said. 'The say that my intention is an act madness. But you----" He shook his head. "Tt--it will not seem madness to me, of course," he answered a little thickly. 'How could it? She gave a grave little nod, ;a touch of "T knew that I sympathizer," she replied. "You will help me, then, in this matter; assist me to bring back to his home the man who left it years ago, re- 'store Edward Walton, the true heir to his father's wealth."' with a [ lawyers of and He staggered a step or two away | from her, bending his head quickly that she might not read the whelming amazement that he knew his expression must reveal. The true heir, the prodigal who | had shaken the dust of his tral home from the soles of his feet, | had departed seven years space of time unbroken by any word from him indicating that. he -- still lived. gotten his very existence. tated some moments, not knowing ' what to say; then, lke an inspira- | tion, an idea flashed into his fertile | bram., "Charlotte"--there was a note in his voice as he . spoke hame---"vou cannot carry out project ; it is Impossible." | "Impossible?" She gazed at him | with rebuke- in her dark eyes. pad is no such word," she said, her vere with gentle determination. "Did my uncle ever tell vou the reason that drove Edward Walton from his home?' "TF do not want to know it," she said "It cannot alter the fact that here, in this house, is Edward Wal- ton's rightful place." "But, Charlotte, you must hear what I have to say, since it affects you intimately. In the ruin which drove Edward away your father was involved." She flushed a deep red and bent her head a little. "Mr. Walton," she said; "you shall know what it is that makes me lenient towards your eousin. Tf he ed himself upright, and something | of his customary airy swagger re-| Hang! turned to him. them in your kitchen; you will find | lotte, before-you are generous." wanted to talk} the | how-| ever, was to his advantage, for he} little | am? relief erassed her face. | should have one} ! wanted to over- | ances- | ago--a | Why, he had forgotten his cous-/ in, the dead mart's son--quickly for- He hesi-! / grave) this; is a prodigal--alas! that TI should say it--is it not true that my own father was also a prodigal? I lov- ed him dearly; yet I muste admit, | that others, would judge. him harsh ly, condemn him for wasting gehis money upon the Turf, though in that last coup, the defeat oly which was his death, he did hope to regain all that he had lost and leave his daughter secure' from poverty." Phat coup whieh mtst have; come off had the rate on which it depended been run unc or ordinary fair conditions. My «aear girl, Jis- ten to me for a moment. . Your father's judgment, for onee,. was absolutely correct.» But there was villainy at work, villainy in* which my guilty cousin had a hand." "How could that be? What. do you meant' > : "The lorse was what racing men term doped--that 1s, given some drug before the start of the jrace to prevent its running in \its usual form, And: the per- ison who administered that dose which ruined your father's last | chance was bribed to carry out his 'infamous work by Edward Walton. |] have this man's confession under \lock and key in my own desk."' | The girl gave a low cry---a cry of disillusion and regret. "But my' father liked him," she murmured, "always spoke of him in the highest terms, wished that we two had met, though T was but a girl at school, away from home. Surely, oh, surely, he cannot have betrayed my father's friendship." "Jt pains you to hear this, Char- lotte. But my cousins a stranger to you--one whom yormmgave never seen--and it is better you should | | know the truth from my lips than} sacrifice your fortune to one who jdealt vour father that secret and }eruel blow." , { } | "What you say is true,' she re-| iplied, sadly. 'Show me the con-| ifession that you speak of," she! jadded; "and not alone that, but lother proofs as well. There must} |be no error, no possible mistake." | "You shall be satisfied," he ans-| | wered. -"There are letters from my | | uncle that go into the matter, which |T also have--letters that voice his| irexret, his intense disappointment, | that Edward, his only son, should be the yillain that he uad proved him. I will bring them to you, not because I wish my absent cousin | j any ill, but youemust be just, Char- * * * * | A month had passed since Mr. | Walton s death; and one afternoon Charlotte slipped away from the big house of which she was now the | owner, a slim, graceful figure in her simple black gown. She had abandoned her generous) desire to see the disinherited heir reinstated in the home of his fore-| fathers: Paul had displayed his} promised proofs, and against her }wil-Charlette had beei™fonvinced} of the absent man's villainy. But now. she was thinking . of neither him nor of Paul. Her eyes were shining with a strange glow, her lips were parted in a tender smile, and she went along her way | with alert steps, coming to a pause | when she reached a grove where a few leaves still lingered upon | boughs that were almost bare. The muscular, well-knit figure of | a man was slowly pacing there, his mind apparently lost in. thought. But he turned sharply with a glad ery upon seeing the girl, a smile coming into his. grave, bronzed features--a smile of inténse devo- pres that was reflected ib her own | face. "Oh, my dearest gir He took her hands, and spoke to her in a ilow voice. "I began to fear that I should never see you again. Do you iknow what I thought--what I im- jagined? That you had become jproud now that you are rich, and to forget the man who | | | | 199 i loves you."' 'How could you think that?' she murmured. '"'Don't you know that nothing could make any difference ito my love, certainly no consideration ?" He took her in his arms and re-j} verently kissed her. / "Tt would have been but natural, | | after all, my dearest,'? he said, i 'for I am poor--a man of whom } you know nothing, except that he | is of no importance in the world-- and you are a rich woman.' "Rieh only-in your love," murmured, happily. Yet what Bertram Wood had re- marked was indeed true. All she! {knew of him--his past, his life, his | present--was his name. A sudden! shower, a courteously offered um- brella, had led to her acquaintance | worldly} | she } i with this mysterious tenant of the | 'Nest--a small house in the Manor | woods--this quiet, 'retired man, | | with the weary eyes that were yet | |so kindly in their gaze, so true. From that first fateful moment the flame of love had kindled be- tween them, and the man and the woman realized that each seemed destined for the other. Some secret in his life Charlotte knew there was, something that shadowed his days, though he was silent as to its nature; yet despite this, and even though he urged her to keep their very acquaintance se- cret from the world, she gave him full and complete trust. He had even urged upon her that they should be secretly married by special licence in some neighboring' ehurch, without asking anyone's | the drawing-room and closing | ward Walton. ; hame. | doubt me, with | here; ' Mightn't he be able to / with specious denials and explan- ations ! | shown ; you. can dupe as well as {go in my company. e Charlotte was alone, her father's old friend, Walton, whose death had ig been expected, though the disposition of his property had been s much of a surprise to Charlotte as it had proved to Paul Walton. And now he spoke of it again, and listening to her lover's words, her heart. overflowing with devo- tion, had given consent before her lips echoed it. Yes, it wonld be no disrespect to} i } the man who was dead. He would have been glad for the girl to take her happiness, but she pleaded for} and Bertram | some weeks to pass, Wood was ready to defer wish, - But the brief period of waiting sped quickly by, happy; Jove-filled her to" weeks--a time of joy that was mar-| red only by one unpleasant incid- | to. refuse } ent, for Paul Walton proposed Charlotte and she had to him. She was sorry, since she cared for him in» certain sisterly fashion. | He was always at hand, ready to advise, to assist; and she him whenever he was absent. He lost his temper for a moment or two and demanded her reason for refusing him, and the girl felt) it was but his due that he should know she cared for another man. He beard her faltering words with frowning brows, then recovered himself, apologizing with quite a contrite expression, and Charlotte, who hated to see anyone unhappy, freely forgave him. One day when she returned home with a glow of a wonderful happt- | was} ness shining in her eyes--for not to-morrow to witness her wed- ding, her secret wedding '--Paul Walton was waiting for her. His face was pale, but there was an air of ill-suppressed excitement about him, a twitching of tne features, a/| restlessness of attitude, all gone. "Charlotte !' name huskily, repose He following uttered her her door. "I have something to tell you. I have discovered who sucéessful rival is--this man you care for, this man who has wooed you secretly and in disguise.' He spoke slowly, striving for an ap pearance of calmness. He was play- ing for high stakes, determining his destiny and hers too upon this one throw, "His true name is Ed- That is your lover's Here is his portrait, if you 'My son, written in his father's hand beneath, one that was spared when all. others were destroyed." "Tt is impossible!" She gasped | out the words at last, gazing at him with eyes whose light was suddenly shadowed by a mist of pain, veiled by tears. | "Charlotte, this is the truth." He spoke the words with emphasis. "But why---why alien in name and identity, here in the place of his birth?' His motive?' 'The otner shrug- ged his shoulders. "Does not his success accomplishing it reveal that motive to you?' Her head dropped, a down her pale cheek. "Oharlotte, must act, and at You make up your mind to thrust this man out of your life.' tear fell you once, musi ""My mind is already made up to! do that,' she answered, brokenly. "But, Charlette, it would be wis- er, not to him un tar less you are very sure of rself. you wiser, see vO blind There is a better way than seeking an interview that would be charged with bitter anguish to yourself, tecollect the injury he has sought to do you under the disguise of love---how he has befool- ed you, laughed up his sleeve at you, made you his dupe- Take woman's revenge upon him. Do not | see him--write, a mere line, telling him you find you do not care for him, and, Charlotte,' his eyes i glittered, '"'leave this neighborhood this very day." She rose abruptly to her and spoke in a steady tone. "He cannot really care, so there | would be no cruelty in such an ae- tion,' "Less by far than he would have you. He is only a clever trickster. Ah, Charlotte, had pleading been something more than } vain pleading, my love would have spared you this. .And is it too late now?' he went on, seeing that she did not silence him. "Proeve to this disappointed fortune-hunter that he, Go to London as you have decided, but Let him draw ifrom that circumstance what infer- lence he chooses." A chilly smile touched her cold | \face. She looked in that moment a woman with a dead heart. "You suggest a remedy -- that would take out the sting from wounded pride,' she said, giving him her hand. "And'you are my friend " "Your true, your loyal friend-- who would be more, if he dared hope."' ® % ¥ * * 'od Charlotte sat gazing into the fire, watching the dancing flames with sad eyes. Six months had passed since she had fled from the herself in London apartments, missed | into | the my | should. he be, a feet, | my | Manor--six ! months in which she had buried! passionate tenderness striving to forget the man she knew to-be unworthy of her love. -- ' And now she was going to marry Paul Walton. His devotion had won its reward; his quiet persistence had wrung consent from her at last. He had saved her from a villain, who, with clearer eyes than others, must have foreseen. before | Mr. ~ Walton's death that the old man had named Charlotte as hig heiress, and had hoped by. winning her love to re- gain what he had forfeited. And yet--oh, if she had never met him, never known the pain a tender-hearted woman must feel when she has wasted her love upon a rogue! She glanced up a little as heard the door-handle turn;. then looked down again with a smother- ed sigh. She knew who it would be Paul, paying his customary visit. she But a voice speaking her name made her start up to her { and trembling, to stand face with Edward Walton. For a moment she was thrilled | with an insane happiness; then her \face hardened face "T have found you at last, traced 'you here--thank Heaven for that," ihe began; but before he could pro- -ceed the door opened once mere, | to disclose Paul. The latter stood for a moment as | 'if turned to stone, bis face white as | paper; then he 'cast.a wild glance |round, and seemed as if about to fly. But with a swift stride or two Edward barred his exit, "T have something to say. to |you," he remarked grimly ; "and it /is better you should hear it." "Something in my disfavor, 1 'have no doubt," returned raul; | with a sudden assumption of bold ness. "But Miss Dane will scarce ly give ear to calumnies, She knows the truth with regard to your own iniquities." There was a dangerous flash in Edward Walton's dark eyes. But The retained self-control. "On the contrary, Miss Dane will hear the truth now for the first time,' he responded, " and learn that you have reversed the position of affairs, as you did long ago, to my hurt then as now. "Tt was you who, assuming my Christian name as well as the name we share in common, bribed rascals of the race-course to do your vile work, weaving a mesh of villainy in which I was caught."' Paul Walton interrupted with a | sneering laugh, and threw a glance | 'at Charlotte. But her eyes were turned away from his, were bent with a shining light in them upon 'his cousin. And it was to her that | Edward now turned. ""Charlotte," he said gently, '"'my cousin made me his scapegoat, hardened my father's heart against ; Es) =" ders with a devilish cunning. '1 did not know it then. I fancied he was my friend. Only within the last year have I suspected his se- cret enmity; only within the last months have been able to prove lew rat,"? Sat nothing but a tissue of hes," Paul Walton loudly declared. 'Miss Dane knows perfectly weil \that your object in winning her re- | gard was that which animates the , vulgar fortune-hunter. ' "Silence, the wrongs I endured at your hands - shall avenged here and now !" The other's tongue was hushed, and he turned a sickly yellow. '"'Miss Dane has no Edward Walton proceeded, knew that at the time I told her of my love, but I wanted to test her, and my father gave consent to the trial, when he knew that I cared for her." "Your heiress !"' be mad."' | 'I think not,'" responded Edward quietly. "My dear father knew me to be innocent before he died, 1 am more than thankful to say. Several | times I secretly saw him in_ his |room, with the connivance of an old servant, secretly at my own ; wish. He made a later will, put- | ting my name down in its old place. | But this I did not mean to let any- /one know until I had made Miss | Dane my wife. Then I intended re- vealing all, and standing forward with my name cleared from dis- grace."' "And vou have come to-day to rob me of Charlotte?' Paul 'Wal ; ton interposed, with his evil sneer, \for he recognized his own defeat. ' "Oh, welcome to her; welcome!" | He cast a bitter glance at them both, then turned on his heel and |vanished. For a moment Edward 'seemed inclined to follow, but a |dearer purpose than punishing his 'eousin had brought him there. | He turned and slowly approached 'Charlotte. His gaze forced her to i lift her eyes to his. | 'You heard what Char plotte? Will you share tne inherit- |anee I come to rob you of, share it \as my wife 999 '*A woman who doubted you, eit you, believed another's wore against you? Can yor still for mie, still love nie?' Her eyes were wet, but a wonder- ful radiance had begun to touch her | face. "Now and always."' he cnid. with "Now and -always."*----Lonadon Tit Bits. or be father Charlotte gasped Paul. "'You must el. he saix care | feet, cold} to | ; have | fortune," | "y| no; WILL GO "UP" FOR A COUPLE OF YEARS. * Some Rules and Regulations Our Future King Will Have to Obey. As it has been officially decided that the Prince of Wales is to go "up? to Oxford for a couple of years, it will. doubtiess be interest- ing to know what the young Prince will have to go through during his college career. In the first place, | before being admitted he will have t® pass an examination known as "Smalls." In this he wil have no difficulty, because it is really no harder than the examination he passed a' few years ago before en- tering Osborne. -- The only differ- ence is that in "Smalls" the stud- ent has to "'take" Greek whether he likes it or not. This is immediately followed by another examination known as "matrieulation," which is set by the college--not by the University ~--and is in most cases easier to pass than. the "'Smalls." His preliminafy examinations | passed, it is probable that his Roy- | al Highness will enter into the so- cial life of Ofordx with that whole- |heartedness that was so marked a characteristi¢ of his grandfather, REGULATIONS EXACTING, | The young prinee will doubtless find some of the regulations a trifle | exacting. For instance, he -- will 'have to be fully dressed and ready |to "'keep" chapel at eight o'clock-- \if not every morning, at least four | days a week. | Obapel lasts about twenty min- jutes. From eight-forty-five till ten |he will breakfast. This may seem irather a long time for breakfast, 'but it must not be forgotten that |\'Varsity breakfast is as important a meal as dinner, and generally |comprises four or five courses, as 'lunch for the most part consists of i bread and cheese only. For this jreason breakfast is frequently | known as "bruneh."' From ten til! one, perhaps with an hour's interval, he will attend lectures, for which he will have to don "academical dress," which con- sists of a gown that is a little snort- jer than the ordinary lounge-coat, and a "mortar-board," The afternoon he will have to himself, and, if he decides to deyote |himself seriously to athletics, will |be invited by the various secretar- jies of the different athletic clubs to "turn up.' MAY TAKE UP ROWING. | Tf, as is not improbable, he wish- ' ake, 2owing,-he-will be-edu- | ly "tubbed." | - "fTubbing" consists of sitting in |a short, heavy boat which holds two | beginners and one "coach." The beginners do their best to row un- |der the supervision of their coach, | who keeps up a running fire of com- ment-on their efforts. It well known that the language of coach- les is not of the choicest. | For dinner the Prince will again (don his gown. Dinner is served in |hall, the undergraduates sitting at long tables that are divided ac- cording to the number of years that i students have "kept." Thus all those in tneir first year, called "Freshers," sit at one long table, those in the second year at another, and so on. The dons or professors of the college, sit on a dais. THE TOM TOWER. At nine o'clock "Tom Tower'"' i that is to say, the tower of Christ Church--which can be heard all ov- er Oxford, tolls for about ten min- | utes, at the end of which his Royal | Highness will be required to be in his own college. The college gates iare closed at this time, and he will | have to pay a fine of five cents if |he "knocks in'? between closing- | time and eleven o'clock. Between eleven and twelve the 'fine is a quarter. To be later than |twelve is a very serious offence. |The smallest fine for this is five dol- i lars. | After dusk the Prince will have lto wear his cap and gown, and if lhe fails to do this he will run the lrisk of being "progged," which is | Oxonian for falling into the elutch- (es of the Protector. The Protector lis a don and takes the place of a | University policeman. After dusk ihe patrols the city, accompanied by 'some half-dozen "bulldogs"---that. 'is to say, men of the working-class | who have been expert runners. ; One of these men approaches an lundergraduate and tells him that 'the senior (or junior, as the case imay be) Protector wishes to speak ; to lim. as is 1 | | | } { | | | | | oa a. Pee | i ! 'VYourshonor,'"' said a barrister 'to the judge, "every man who knows that I am incapable of lend- ing myself to a mean cause.' ;"True," said his opponent; "the 'learned gentleman never lends himself to a mean cause; be always gets cash down."' what do you ascribe, your in aeguiring money?' "ty to the su) ess of other men Jatt ac ey of it," replied the ee a tre VERE CT: 7 eos To evpecess Pan Leo e m bes) rvs e