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1 WA Hints &A & t Men" Is t as% idened were tribe Td n ty e and 1Dt + still na. i the bq, regarded ‘mes of more op al Bayâ€" Or it iJ leal joine@ id n * the But lized en Ye thâ€" me t& cat To M POs 1@ na mâ€" ng . to the hard ball stage, or 340 Jezrees by the thermometer. After : sugar is taken from the stove and has ceased boiling dip in the grapes and remove to & greased plate to dry. They should be comâ€" pletely covered with the l\l:lt. U the fruit is not thoroughly dry 0f the day is moist, or the sugar :s not cooked enough, it will drain off. No kind of wet fruit can : be glaceed, and nuts glace best o# all. ~_Cooked Grape Juiece.â€"Pick Conâ€" cord grapes from stems, wash and put on to cook in ;_littlo“‘l"“l'l ‘1; There is never a time when the skill, exâ€" perience and resource back of Waterman‘s Ideal is at rest. _ Can anything more be done for its users ?â€"is the constant rroblem __the aim of its makers. Users of Waterâ€" man‘s Ideals have the world‘s best toâ€"day. If toâ€" morrow can improve the slightest \ detail, they‘ll have it. *ev Them at Your Dealers [ most to cover. Bring slowly to & boil and when the grapes have biirst strain, bottle, and seal in thoroughly sterilized bottles Of cans. lf bottles are used, buy only e best corks and cover with para{iâ€" a or sealing wax. 1 canse are â€"laced Grapes. â€" Since glaceed ipes show through their cover are preferred for certain deâ€" ative purposes to those dipped {ondant, and little bunches of m may be dipped instead of the gle grapes. The single glaceed ipes are sometimes served in . & «t of spun sugar. Cook the suga! for fondant, only longer ; that »aving a little stem on each. l «hly dry every one on & tore dipping it in the meltâ€" lant. Dry in little fancy paâ€" ns or on a greased plate. i: fondant of two oups. of ind threeâ€"fourths of a eup of with a ninch of cream tartar ‘ew drops of lemon juice addâ€" en the sugar begins to boil. â€" sugar and water together roughly «lissol‘ved, ‘bring ; a boil, and boil over a low wit ball stage or to 240 deâ€" ~ the candy thermometer. this amount of water, over nough fire to keep up the z. the cooking will take ten tes. Remove from fire and : bubbling ceases pour on & wet zreased platter. When half | through and through comâ€" e to work toward the centre kcev stirring and folding until whole is soft and white. Let d an hour with a wet cloth over ‘lore using. If it is not eool «h when the stirring begins it harden too soon and be unâ€" cable. There are a great numâ€" # precautions to observe in ng fondant. For dipping anyâ€" x melt fondant in double boilâ€" Jelly. With Grapes. | Grape Juice. â€" Pick rapes from stems, wash _ and crush. Squeeze the juice through douâ€" cloth. Drink at once ‘thout aweetening. Two aspoons of sugar to â€"a iis most delicious juice ts flavor. This is far ined cook them in their own‘i' : about fourteen ounces |, ) each pint of juice. Do ver twenty minutes, and lo. (ientle cooking is : effective than stronger. nee.â€"Twentyâ€"four large, oes; six green peppers ; onions. Chop: these inâ€" then add three tableâ€" alt, two and a half cups : (or five teacups, which @ half a standard cup), ip of brown sugar. A lit ugar than this can be to taste. Cook slowly half hour to bwo hours. refully, and stir toward t necessary. If the fire is h after the boiling point been reached it will not If a spiced sauce is deâ€" | one tablespoon of cinâ€" nc tablespoon of allspice, ablespoon of cloves, and tablespoon of nutmeg. Dipped in Fondant.â€"Th# apes are perhaps the finâ€" is purpose. _ So prepared mble a liquid filled bonâ€" sh the grapes and with the ut each one from the ma§n a a jelly almost as light,. ir as currant jelly, alâ€" t â€"carefully made it rk, dull purple. Preâ€" pes just as for cooked but cook them for a longer, since the jellyâ€" is in the skin and elops this Quite as jelly, and more of it, by using a little waâ€" i some people crush the over nost delicious juice flavor. This is far inge juice, and, like s be freshly made. & out the jyuice the may be put in a preâ€" barely covered with d cooked till whole burst. Strain and for jelly or to drink. .â€"Use any_ kind of rapes. Half ripe jelly much preferred e, but from any Conâ€" is early in the season used it is easier to sterilize by boiling the juice on three succesâ€" sive davs in order to sterilize thorâ€" oughly. but nine times out of ten it will keep without this trouble. The juice will perhaps keep a litile better if a little sugar is added but it cannot then be very woll made into jelly later. Cream cheese into which chili sauce is mixed, rolled into bails and served with lettuce salad, is a most piquant relish. For creaming butter or but and sugar a perforated spoon | be found more convenient than fork or the hand. There is economy in buying soap‘ in quantities ; naturally, the longer it stands the dryer it is when used and the further it goes. : When ironing, sprinkle under the ironing sheet. parts a delicate perfume laundered clothing. M en NR CCC In testing the oven for cake bakâ€" ing, remember that greater heat is required for a cake baked in layers than for a single loaf. The kitchen range should never be packed full of coal. Two inches of space should be left between the lids of the stove and the coal. When cleaning ebony brushes, rub a little vaseline over the backs. This prevents the ammonia or soda in the water from injuring or the ebony On the tread of your sewing m&Â¥â€" chine fasten a piece of carpet. Brussels carpet is best. You will &nd it much more comfortable and find it much easy to run. If you are making a cake with a wooden spoon, beat the mixture with the back of the spoon. It is far easier and becomes beautifully light in half the time. h | To prevent onions from sprouting | let the onions drv. heat a poker | red hot and with it singe the roots. Put in a dry place and you will find they will keen perfectly . _ In the shampoo avoid _ using strong soaps, strong alkalies, such as ammonia and soda and too hot water. All these take out much of the natural oil of the hair, leaving it dry and harsh. Worth Time and German Trade. In the opinion of men in London who have to study Canadian affairs very closely in the ordinary course of their business, all that Canada needs at the present time_‘, says 'I'h‘e4 es e y s Ee it o e e ns t E Monetary Times, is confidence, and anybody who knows Canada and her people is aware that there will be no lack thereof in this land of boundless natural resources. ‘Canada now has the finest opâ€" nortunity of her hi.story_,” sa.ii.a portunity of h€t TA U V _ _ (The Canadian banker in London. “T-he‘ offers of aid, readily accepted by the Government, have been of a very practical and sensible characâ€" terâ€"all honor to the men who have arranged these magnificent plans and are carrying them into effect. "At the same time Canada bas other opportunities for showing her prowess. Many of the goods, manuâ€" factured and part m:qufg.ctufi A@E CCC ETY E material, which Breat Britain used to buy from the continent can be produced in Canada and supplied in high quality and at reasonable | prices. The continental markets are now cut off, and are likely to be cut off for months. Meanwhile, I know that United States manufacturers &rC making arrangements to seize the markets ‘ifor these manufactures. Now, I ‘ say that what the United States can | produce Canada can produce just as cheaply and just as well. It may take time to organize matters in | order to be able to supply the Engâ€" |\ lish and Sceottish markets with stuff that they have been getting from the continent ; but there is a big trade to be got now, uni ‘itiowllworoh Canada‘s time, money and energ? totrywooqunttttrade,ors good proportion of it. a PCP "" _ _ . hn here who ato b good EGodvd cmmghman ied n ®, "I know m&u{ mép here who aro | looking for fres ongg of suggliu of goods that have beon dut off by the war. They think they will have to go to the United States for them but in every case I have viseci‘ them to see what they ¢an in Canada first, and I imve fo 3; without exception, & desire to tr with Canada if Canads can supply ithe goods. It‘s uP to Canada to show what she can do."‘ . Timeâ€"Saving Hints. IT Is UCP TO CANADA. Money to Sccure orris root This imâ€" to freshly butter n will CHAPTER XXY / Then she opened it, slowly, as lingetrâ€" ingly she had looked at it, ?inning out the pleasure, the delight which lay before her in the rmm of her firet loveâ€"letter. With her foot upon the oldâ€"favhioned fender, her drooping as if there was someone present to nd’o her blushes, she read the letter; a it is not too uwh‘ to say that at firet ehe failed utterly to grasp its mon.ninfi0 With knit brows and quaking heart, she read it again and again, until its significance was, so to speak, forced u&m her; then her arms fell limply to her sides, and she looked «traight bofore her in a dazed, benumbed faehion, every word burning iteelf wpon her brain and searing her heart. The blow had fallen so suddenl t ETA IEM+ave BM expectedly, like a bolt from nv{L.obl‘;:, she had been solitary and smiting the hanpiness of her young life her life, would see no one as & swlin1 is amitten by !ummsrniigm- and Mr. Wordley, and the rning, that for the moment she felt no‘ onee been warm and inti pain, nothing but the benumbing of aX ; the family left reluctantly her faculties; so that whe did not eee the talk over the melancho‘lx portrait of the dead and gone Heron upon | 204 to wonder what wou which her eyes reated, d'id not hear mr: daughter of the eccentric h reated, did nOt NUOUT TV° | lived the life of a recluse paim, HOVBURE UUR EC CCC31A4 Lar amn the her faculties; so that she did not ee¢ the portrait of the dead and ‘fone Heron u%on which her eyea rested, did not hear her father‘s voice calling to her from the library, was conscious of nothing but those terrible words which were dinning through her brain like the booming of a great bell. Presently she uttered a low cry and clasped her head with her hand, as if to shut out the sound of the words that tortured her. fs T. 1 . sustuid suac \ She laughed now as che pICMDNME _ 10" .x-wene that would be enacted, But eudâ€" | denly the laugh died on her lips, as there | flashed acroes her mind the words Jessio | had eaid. Stafford was eniluad to Maude | Falcomer, the girl wp at the Villa, whose \ beauty and grace and wealth all the dale was talking of. | _ Oh, Heavers! Was there any truth in | it, was there any truth irt it? Had Staf, ford. indeed, written tha cruel. letter? Had he left her for ever, fok ever, for ever? Should ehe never seo him again, | never again hear him tell her that he loved her, would always lote her?" " , | _ ‘The room «pun round with het, she. sudâ€" | denly felt eick and faint, and,! reeling, caught at the carve‘l mantelehelf to pré vent herself from falling. Then gradual | ly the deathâ€"like faintness passed, and , | she became conscious that her {ather‘s voice was calling to her, and she clasped i | her head again and ewept the bair from her forehead, and clenched her Hands in E | the effort to gain her presence t mind and selfâ€"command. BCOMHRCUY! _ ) lla> and. with & A Foolish Young Man: _ She picked up shudder, thrust patra might ha P dog was to destroy she croseed t library door, ing by the t3 in one hand, with the other ind selfâ€"commant. She picked up the letter, and, with & shudder, thrust it in her bosom, as Cleoâ€" patra might have thrust the as which was to destroy her;.then with len!en feet, she croseed _ the hall and o&ened the library door, and «aw hOF father standâ€" ing by the table clutching eome pa‘aers_ in one hand, and gesticulating wildly with the other. Dinilg, for there seemed to be a mist before her ey@6, whe went to him and. laid a hand u.gon his arm. "What is it, father?" she said. "Are. you ill? What ‘is the matter?" Ho gazed at her vacantly and struck his hand on the table, after the manner of a child in a genseless passi0On. "Lost! Lost! Al lost!" he mumbled, jumb\ini the words together almost inâ€" coherently. "What is lost, father?" she asked. "Everything, everything!" | he cried in the eame mannet. "I can‘t remember can‘t remember! It‘s ruin, utter ruinl My headâ€"I can‘t think, can‘t remember ! Lost, lost!" . ~_loL.. vanne ArFM LOBE, AUCC! In her terror, she put her young PM | round him @s & mother encircles her child in the delirtum of feyer. "Try and tell me, father!" ahe implored him. ‘"Try and be calm, dearest! Tell me, and I will help you. ‘What is lost?" Ho tried to struggle from her arms, tried to push her from him. "Â¥ou _ know!" he mumbled. ‘‘You‘ve watwhed meâ€"you know the truth! Every» thing is lost! I am ruined! The mort gage! Herondale will pas® away! I am a poor man, & very poor man! Mave pity on me, have pity on me!" He elipped, bY sheer weight, from her arms and fell into the chair. She sank on to her krees, her arms still round ihim. and . stroked and _ careesed his withered hand that twitched and «hook ; and to her horror his stony eyes grew more vyacant, his jaw Aropped. and he samk etill lower in the chair. "Jessie! Jagon!" she called, and they rushed in. For & space they stood afhast and unhelpful from fright, then agon tried to lift his master from the heap into which he had collapsed. The . old man‘e . @ye8 closed, . he etruggled . for breath, and when he had gained it, he looked from on€ to the other with & smile, which added to Ida‘s grief and terror. "It‘s all right!" he whispered, huskily, pantingly. "It‘s all right; they don‘t know. They don‘t guees!" Then his man: KDOY: _"Led to one of intense al:‘.‘rm l}l‘ld Cae " NOC cou m k "TI‘m terror. "It‘s all right!" he w vamivngly. "It‘s all 1 know. They don‘t guees ner changed to 0n° of â€" dismay. "Loat! Lost!" ruined, ruined! ; Herc goneAall is gone! My "Father !"‘ broke from "Father, I am here. 1 L © _\ Nuawaâ€"â€"Aver to eRTTC CCC His lips twigted into % BUKENEY o1 DC of cunning, almost of gleo; then he groanâ€" 1 ed, and the cry rose a{aln. "I ean‘t N'memberfal is lost! Ruined ! My poor child! Have pity on my child !" As she clung to him. suxporting him as «he clu:x. she felt & shudder run through him, . & he fell a lifelees heap 0N hew @houlder. The minuteaâ€"were they _ minutes . O" yeare?â€" paesed, and were broken into tragments by a ory from Jessi¢. "Mica Ida‘ Miss Ida! He‘sâ€"the mas ter‘e dead!" TIda raised her father‘s head from her shoulder and looked into his face, and knew that the girl had epoken the truth. new ©**, ""a " ghe had lost both father EL C iL As she clung «he clu;\x- she | him, and he f¢ nho\fld@f. The minutes yeare?â€" paesed, tragments by â€" PEFW MMOVL Ida raised _b shoulder and knew that the He was dead and lover in © Ida eat 12 ©"° °U /ono rain b of the funeral. A pelting rain beat ugon the windows, OVeT which the blinds ad been drawni the great silence which reigned in the chamber above, in which the dead master of Heron lay, brooded over the whole house, and seemed in No part of it more interse than in this Jl‘elt bookâ€"lined roOM, in which Godfrey eron had spent 60 much of his life. Ida, lay back in the great armohair in which be eat, her small brown hands lyln‘ limply in her laP» her eyes fixed abeently upOn the open book which lay on the table as he had left it The pallor of her face, increased by her eorrow, was accentuated F C .. arees. Almost 88 pl'slnl.y been drawni *""_ 3 reigned in the chamb the dead mastet of | over the whole house, nart of it more i!gtenm‘ e c w wol ahe was mentous memer t 12002A he had passed out 8 W SLa in 4 ouly *MC7 UV a d hndy. eq to apeak, & scable ue ut the aho mX lost not only ber fathor, but io a‘n to whom W '.."::. h.rt mfl' an whoe eb° n P aith. is ssm "Rey Wow, abielding her mwith, NS arme, comfogtin® «Lo 2 ow dad mds naray ts so ‘“J. so un tm"' i wain of it had been ed N‘;w CC U W sman nature foT h here, and _E was soarcely thinking 99 ""*" Wu. in his cbair and looked at the table which he had bent for «0 Mman moâ€" us yeare; she searcely Amllnti that d pagsed out of her life, and that as alone in the world :; and sho was vague!y consclous that her sorrow eq to epeak, & double edge; that e9 19 PC Anty her {ath@r, b‘l" u:: Or, the Belle of the Season. lj‘::;nef day & 4 isurastd ETT words together almost inâ€" t, father?" «he asked. everything!" | he cried | in ner. _"I can‘t remember ort It‘s ruin, utter. rEin! CHAPTER XXVI i. Bm as t d ! Herondale has fone. rone! My poot childâ€"Ida!" roke from Tda‘s white lips i here. Look at me, spec h hereâ€"everything is not lost d all is well." 1 â€" h the library OD miod °70 220 aa cben. Though nearly 4 d since her father had ng _ armé. and _ notwithâ€" pacity _ for gelfâ€"reliance, recovered from the stupor ely thinking 26 she lay * ho us . lomin er 8 HECUâ€" 10000 aw into his face, and ad epoken the truth. had lost both father pity on mY PZTCI gugport,infl him as midder run through "lasa hean on Be ;!."'”;fhcvli his man: intenge alarm and he gasped. "I‘m emile, a emile then he groanâ€" . ;‘ lost! Ruined]! an my child!" the morning _ as sheo lay at the table so many moâ€" mlu«_{ that Moouldwmuwvhym;hu it Ida shed any teare she wept in the eilence and darkness of her own rOOM. and . no one knew her utter a moan. "To guffer in silence and be strong‘" wa® the badge of aH her tribe, and she wore it with quiet otoiciem. Godfrey Heron‘s death had happened 80 1 MS CCC 0200 sanreely got oto.clem. Godfrey Herom‘s death had happened 'o‘ euddenly that the news of it scarcely got befiond the radius of the estate before the following morning, and Btafford had gone to London in Ignorl.w:e of this secâ€" ond blow with which Fate had followed up the one he had dealt Ida; and when the neighboreâ€"the Vaymes, the Banner: dales, and the Avory’aâ€"ca%: quickly and readily enough to offer t ir eympathy and hehf. they could do nothing. . The girl, solitary and Aonely in her grief as S nad heen solitary and lonely thfough gone to London in l{nonnce ol MN.C SHLC ond blow with which Fate had followed up the one he had dealt Ida; and when the neighboreâ€"the Vaymes, the Banner dales, and the Avory'aâ€"ca%: quickly and readily enough to offer t ir eympathy and he}Y. they could do nothing. Tho\ girl, solitary and Aonely in her grief as she had been solitary and lonely through her life, would see no one but the doctor and Mr. Wordley, and the people who had onee been warm and intimate friends of | the family left reluctantly and eadly, to | talk over the me]flnchol{ (-,ircum;;xan(;‘o.] VC EP CRLET sE tha ne knew her utter 2 2B9""* )« made6 Of | Apweahaward o 0 0 lence and be strong" wa® the badge 0 | schurchâ€"yard.. 4 M her tribe, and she wore it with quiet| Presently the procession started. __ . , | oicism. o a 4 rneoumn-uuml Wodirey Heron‘s death had happened 80| her and every Sunda had cast glances |. uddenly that the fl":;.d it scarcely €9t | of interest and nlect{cl at her as ehe | ,efiond the radiue of estate bolorot:: Sat in the great_ "lcose box" of a peW. ' chowing morning, _ and _ Stafford. 134 | found it very difficult to read the solemn | one to London in i{nounce of this 69Câ€" | service without breaking down, and * his | td viow with which Fate had followed | oid, thin voice duarered as he spoke the | ip the one he had dealt Ida; and when | wards of hope and consolation v‘oich the he neighboreâ€"the Vaymes, the . BannCl: | storm of wind and rain caught up and l’l?- and the Avory "“m.‘l‘"ck" and | Ewept across the narrow churchyard and catfiy snough io offer their e¥®PAtDY | down the dale of which the Herons had ind hely. they could do nothing. ‘The | been so long masterse. firl, solltary and lonely in her gricf 88| Mr. John Heron stood grim and gaunt he had been solitary and lonely through | opposite Ida, as if he were & figure cary: her life, would see no one but the doctoT | ed out of wood, and showed no sign . of ind Mr. Wordley, and the people who had | Snimation until the end of the service nee been warm and intimate friends Of | when he looked round with & sudden the family left reluctantly and eadly, t0 | eagerness, and opened his large equare talk over the melancho‘lj cireumstanC® | lipg as if he were going to "improve the and to wonder what wou!l become of th¢ | occasion" by an n«fdreur but )fr. Wordâ€" daughter of the eccentric man who HA4 | ley, who euspected him of euch intention, lived the life of a recluse. nipped it in the bnd by saying: Mr. Wordley would have liked to have "Will you give your arm to Miss TIda, persuaded her to s0e some of the women | Mr. Heront I want to get her back to who had hastened to her to comfort her;| the Hall as «oon as possible." but he knew that any attempt at persum | Ida was led to the carriage, passing sion would have been in vain, , that he through a lane of sympathizers amongét would not have been able to break down | whom were representatives _ of all the the barrier of reserve which the girl had | great dale families; and all bent their instinetively erected between her euffer: | heads with a reapectful pity and . sym« ing soul and the world. His heart ached | pathy as the young girl made her way for her, and ‘he did all that a man could fl down the narrow path. About half _ a do to lighten the burden of her trouble; | dozen {leruone had been asked to #9 to but there was vory little that he could | the Hall for the funeral lunch, at which do beyond superintending the neceesary | Mr. John Heron. as representative of the arrangements for the funeral. family, presided. It was a melancholy His first thought was of the relatives; | meal; for most of those present . were but, somewhat to his OWn diemay, hbe| thinking of the orphan girl in her room found that the only one whom he could | above. They spoke in lowered voicea of trace was a cousin, & more than middleâ€"| the dead man and of the great family aged man who, though he bore The name| from which he had sprung, and recalled of Heron, was quite unknown to Ida, and, | stories of the wealth and lavishnese 0 go far as Mr. Wordley was aware, had not | past Herons; and when the meal WA crossed the threshhold of the Hall _ for | over, Ahere suddenly fell a gilence, an« many years. He was & certain _ John ; all eyes were turned upon Mr. Wordley Heron, a retired barrister, who had gone | for the moment had arrived for the read in for religion, not in the form of e)thfl“ ing of the will. of the Establiched Churches, but_ of that‘ Mr. Wordley rose, coughed, and wipe of one of tho least known sects, the mem: | his eyeâ€"glasses, and looked round gravel} bers of which called themselves some kind | "As the legal adviser of my late clien themsens® CV CC very| Mr. Godfrey Heron,‘I have to ‘i‘uf:)_rm you n ERUT CCR SEE® or her, and ‘he did all that & mAD ©OPU(HUU! TUUUCGS had haan naked o to lighten the burden of her trouble; l dozen Y‘emonc had been asked to go to ut there was vory little that he could | the Hall for the funeral lunch, at which lo beyond superintending the neceesary | Mr. John Heron,. as representative of the rrangements for the funeral. family, presided. It was a melancholy His first thought was of the relatives;| meal; for most of those present were ut, somewhat to his own diemay, hel thinking of the orphan girl in her room found that the only one whom he could | above. They spoke in lowered voicee of race was a cousin, & more than middleâ€"| the dead man and of the great family afed man who, though he bore the name | from which he had sprung, and recalled of Heron, w:s&nitc unknown to Ida, and, | stories of the wealth and lavishness of so far as Mr. Wordley was aware. had not | past Werons; and when the meal was croesed the threshhold of the Hall _ for | over, there suddenly fell a silence, and many years. He was A certain | John i all eyes were turned upon Mr. Wordley; Heron, a retired barrister, who had gone | for the moment had arrived for the readâ€" in for religion, not in the form of either | ing of the will. of the Establiched Churches, but of that Mr. Wordley rose, coughed, and wiped of one of tho least known sects, the mem: | his eyeâ€"glasses, and looked round gravely. bers of which called themselves some lundi| "As the legal adviser of my late client, of: ‘brothers, were suppceed to be Y@ry | Mr. Godfrey Heron, I have to inform yolU, strict observers of the Seriptural law, and | gentlemen, that there is no will. My client were considered by those who did not beâ€" ‘ died intestate." lun“ to them both varrowâ€"minded â€" and | _ ‘The listeners exchanged glances, . and uncharitable. looked grave and concerned. Mr. John Heron was a prominent memâ€"| _ "No will?" said Lord Bannerdale, anxâ€" ma» af this little sect, and WAs famous in | iously; then his kindly face cleared. "But " y 10u8 n | 1006!9} UC€"" linine roes to his daugh uncharitable. s d ts sAP7â€" Mr. John Heron was a prominent me!}l-l "No will?" said Lord Bannerdal®, t °C ber of this little eect, and was famous in | iously; then his kindly face cleared. "But ite small circles for his extreme sanctity | of course everything goes to his daughâ€" and his elo?uence ae a lay preacher. Mr.| ter; the estate is not entailed?" Wordley, with much miegiving, had in« Mr. Wordley inclined his head. vited this, the only relative he could find, | ‘"The estate is not entailed, as you 6AY, to t.l‘x%‘(wleral. and Ida was now aiwaitâ€" | Lord Bannerdale; and my client, Miss m is gentleman‘s arrival. Ida Heron, inherite every thing." â€"The stealthy footsteps which belonged | They drew a breath of relief, and nodâ€" C Ithy 209M C07 ino dead vassed | ded acsentingly; and presently they ?aefi S ie q id ereem /n mfiis gentieman a TCCCDL: ‘The gtealthy footstepa which belonged to those who minister to the dead passed up and=~down the great house, Jason was gefting out.. the simple, "funéral . baked meate"‘ which are considered appropriate to. the occasion, and Mr. Wordley n&aced uf aud down the hall with his ha beâ€" hind his back, listening to the _ underâ€". taker‘s men _ upstairs, and> . glaveing through the window in expectation of the carriage which had been gent for ‘Mr. John Heron. Presently he ssw it roundâ€" ing a bend of the drive, apd went into the Mbrary to prepare Tda. â€"Bhe raised her head ‘but not her eyeS me he entered, aud. looked ‘at‘ him with that dull apathy whick denotes the benumbed heart, the mind Jetushed under its heavy weight of gorpow.â€" * lh» ie "I came in.,&%te}j you, my dear, that t« Tahnâ€"Heron"I§pomming." he said. "l‘}m gefting OUL. the meate"‘ which a to,. the <occasion, up and. dqwn‘lhl "I came IMAOCYOTT Y n Ln eald T Mr. John Hero%.pq?inz." he said. "The| DAMDDMCUY* vose she will go; At carriage is just rhing the bend of the | will do, or where she will go; at present drive.‘ * whe is not in a condition to discuee Any "I ‘will come," ehe eaid, raiging and | plans for her {future, though toâ€"day ehe eupporting hereelf by the heavy earved expressed a desire to remain at the Hall." arm of the i‘reu chair. He paused for & moment before he addâ€" "No, no!" he said. "Sit down and wait ed:“'l do not know whether she can do here." He did not want her to hear the | 80â€" NP atealthy tread of the undertaker‘s men, "My cousin ie f'ounz. and a mere child, and meet the coffin which they were i:). nn& she must follow the advice of her el: infiLw bfl“f downetairs and place in the defé and her guardian. The future of h "I will bring him in here. Is there , even the eparrow is in higher hands than anything you would like me to iny tn‘ ours, and we know not what a day may him, my dear?" he asked, and spoke with bring forth," eaid Mr. John Heron, grim« a certain hesitancy; for as yet he had ly, and with an unlifting of his heayy not epoken of her future, feeling that her | brows. grief was‘ too recent, too eacred, to per: "Quite so," eaid Lord Baunerdale, who mi'."!? the obtrusionâ€" of material â€" and | had taken a great dislike for the sanctiâ€" "ULadlft mattare. monious épe@ker, and who could ecarcely 9a,.08 monmess SDV"nader as he shook Mr. John ""C "will come, eN¢ ©1U5 /00 Larved eupporting hereelf by the heavy carvod‘ arm of the f\re“ chair. 4 "No, no!" he said. "Sit down and wait. here." He did not want her to hear the stealthy tread of the undertaker‘s men, and meet the coffin which they were ‘(.)- in&w brinf downstairs and place in the hall, "I will bring him in here. Is there anything you would like me to gly to him, my dear?" he asked, and spoke with a certain hesitancy; for as yet he had not epoken of her future, feeling that her grief was too recent, too eacred, to per: mit ’!f the obtrusionâ€" of material . and worldly matters. EOW _ aif° in vaonaatad in & etand _wol‘kuy DNRDUSTE: "To say to him?" she repeated low, dull voice, as if she did not "Â¥ese,") he said. â€" "L 4 8O (Tion whether you had formed â€" any _ plan, whether"â€"he hesitated nsain. "you had thought of goingâ€"of paying a visit â€" to these relations of yours. He lives in the rorth of London, and has a wife and eon and daughter, 28 {lon know." Jda passed her and acrose her brow, trying to re.m%mber. "Ah, yese," éShe eaid at last, "I rememâ€" ber_ you told zhe about them. I never heard of them beforeâ€"until now. Why should I go to them? Do they want me? Have they aeked me?" Mr. Wordley coughed discreetly. _ They certainly had not agked her, but he felt quite aseured that an individual whose reputation for eanctity stood so high }cou\d not be so deficient in charity as to refuse a home to his orphan cousin. a s TTE L Cheâ€" ane Aefinite POPRWV TT MMTDW O We "They havs not sent yOU any Gennrye invitation yet, but they will be sure to want you to @0 and etay with them, for a time at any Tate; and I think you ought to go." "I do not think I @hould like it," said mss 952 Couswerently, as if the question "I do not think 1 Ida, but indifferently were of no moment. * here." ITBTCY Mr. Wordley polished hie glasses very intently. "I am afraid you‘d find it very lonely at the Hall, my dear," he said. "In fact, 1 don‘t think you could remain hore by yourself," he added, evading the direct gaze of the great, sad eyes. "I should feel lonely anywhere," _ whe said. "More lonely with people I don‘t know, probably, than I should feel here, with Jessio and Jasonâ€"andâ€"and the dogs. "Well, well, wp can‘t discuss the ques tion now, and* wilk endeavor to act _ for the best, my dear," said the old man, still intent wpon h’m glaeses. "I hear the carriage. I will bring Mr. John in." He returned in a minute or twWO, &C companied b{ a tall and gaunt individâ€" al, who, in his black elothes and white neckâ€"tie, looked a cross between a superâ€" jor undertaker and a City man. His features were etrong!ly marked, and the expreesion of his eountenance was both severe and melancholy, and, judfinc by his expreseion and his voice, which was hareh and lachrymose, his particular form of religion did not appear to afford him either amusement or consolation. c ee hnd Wnn B sls 54 He returned i1 companied b{ & al, who, in his | neckâ€"tie, looked mind "Thank yOU; biscuit at the from, and waY which Jason & "I never touch my Ceat. 1 "It is a matter of opinion, . of convicâ€" | tion, of primnlo," said Mr. John nemn,] ‘rm]y, as if he were in the pulpit. "We ; m be guided by the 1#!:0, of our conâ€" nlmes:.? must not yield to the se ductive influences of creature comfort. We are told that strong drink is ragâ€" h’fivu rather more than Mr. Wordley || could stand, Snd, yery red in the face, he ; * es Tadignatio in silent indignatio ‘nd-_“".l.oonm.‘.'uo' RWC EOW ARECD.COYDrqLLI . ired that an individual whose for eanctity etood so high be so deficient in charity as to home to his orphan cougirz. ' ul Laltia Try and "I did not I would rather stay ened and 'Pm"' rated drink a little more. in & underâ€" ‘invited Mr. John Meron to go up to iN¢ rocm which he had prepared for him. When that gentieman bad atQIked out, the old lawyer lmtu Ida with u'-ixrl ture of dismay commiceration. "Not . aâ€"erâ€"particulariy <cheerful and : ~ S AOLT aamsan. mÂ¥ Hame: but â€"mo doubt â€"Mtr. | know andâ€"~2f CCE CCC "I daresay," -'::td Ida, apdtheticalâ€" ly. "It does not matter, 1t was very kind of him to come so far toâ€"to the funeral," she added. "He might have stayed away ; for I don‘t think n‘ father kuew him, and I never heard of. him. . Is it not time yet?" she acked, in a low woice. As whe apoke, Jessic came in and took her upstaire to her room to put 0n the thick black cloak, the bonnet with its long crape veil, in which Ida was to folâ€" low her father to the grave; for in .‘.u of Mr. Wordley‘s remonstrances, ahe had remained firm in her resolve to go to the churchâ€"yard. d [2 Mn oi Nnb lc "My cousin l6 {ounz. ADO nn& she must follow the ad dej and her guardian. * even the eparrow is in high ours, and we know not wh bring forth," eaid Mr. Joht ly, and with an unlifting brows. 1 7 ETE TTE C ta Mr. John Heron to go ‘!!_"’J!" In Germany the dog has his: place as a part of the nation‘s regâ€" ular fighting force. There is a regâ€" ular dog force composed almost enâ€" tirely of Spitzes and Pomeranians, for service in time of war. The canines are trained to distinguish between German and foreign solâ€" diers; to give warning of the apâ€" proach of enemy or friend, to seek out wounded soldiers and to take water to them. ‘Bliggins is a dreadIu! Man . "* argue with.‘‘ ‘‘Does he lose his temper 1‘ ‘"‘No. He‘s so heartless that he laughs when the other fellow loses his temper.‘"‘ "Do you and your neighbor still quarrel about that dog of his which used to seratch your flowers up !‘ "No; never now.‘"‘ "Buried the hatchet, eh ?"‘ No ; I buried the dog Customerâ€"I think this meat 18 spoiled. Meat Market Proprietor â€"Perhaps so, mum, ibut that meat came from a prize lamb and it may have been petted too much. Above is sâ€"fi'éfi;e o Cardinal Della Chiasa, Archbishop of Boulogne, electâ€" ed to succeed the late Pope Pius. _ Army Dogs Well Trained. THE NEW POPE Solving the Problem. Heartless. BENEDICT XV dreadful man THE DEFENGES OF PA STRONGEST â€" FORTIFICATIONS 1X THE WORLD. Half While details of the defences of Paris are guarded with strict secreâ€" cy by the French military authoriâ€" ties. yet their general character and formidable strength are well known to military experts, who reâ€" cognize them as among the strongâ€" est fortifications in the world. The fortifications consist of three distinct circles sweeping around the cityâ€"first, the solid wall of masonry 18 feet high, extending for 22 miles around the old sections of Paris ; second, the system of 17 detached forts arranged at intervals, two miles beyond the wall, and making a circuit of the city 34 miles long, and, third, an outer girdle of forts ;5_1,m.-les iong on the heights com manding the valley of the Seine. to Each of these circles of masonry '| and steel is a complete defence in itself, the forts being linked togeâ€" ther with redoubts, with bastion and glacis, which permits a cross, fire against approaches from any diâ€" rection. The magnitude of the sysâ€" tem is shown by its area, which exâ€" tends 400 square miles. Third Line is Modern. The wall around Paris and the 17 detached forts two miles beyond the walls were built by Louis Phillippe. They sustained the German siege of 1870â€"1871, and the outer fornts have since been greatly strengthened. The third line of forts, on the hills of St. Germain, Cormilles and Vilâ€" liers, are of modern construction, | with the latest types of batteries | and heavy guns. The inner wall about Paris surâ€" rounds the best known and most imâ€" portant sections of the city, includâ€" ing the business sections along the grand boulevards, the residence secâ€" tions to the north and west of the city and the Latin quarter and other sections of the left bank of the Seine. Outside of the wall a circle of suburbs extends for many miles, including Neuilly, Argenteuil, Verâ€" sailles, Vincennes and many others. The forts of the second and third line of defence are dotted among these suburbs, protecting them and the approaches to the capital. The wall contains 93 bastions and 67 gates. Some of these have been abandoned owing to the pressure of modern â€" construction and trade. But recent advices received here from Paris state that all the gates still existing are now closed at 8 w‘elock at night, with rigid regulaâ€" tions against movements from withâ€" in or without. _ The second line of forts includes the famous fortress of Montvalerâ€" ian, which was the centre of attack in the German siege of 1870. It is strengthened by two groups of worksâ€"Pautes Bruyeres and the Chatillon fort and batteries. Bouth of the city is the row of forts at Ivry, Bictre, Mont Rouge, Vanves and Issy. North and east of the city are three great forts around St. Denis, and two others at Fort Aubervillers and Fort Charenton, commanding the approaches from the great wood of Bondy. Defences Require 170,000 Men. The outer circle of forts, which are of the most modern type, have from 24 to 60 heavy guns, and 600 to 1,200 men. In all the three lines of defences require 170,000 men to operate them, not counting troops assombled within the city. Accordâ€" ing to military experts it would reâ€" quire a force of 500,000 men to inâ€" vest these defences. _ _ s General Count von Moltke, fieldl; marshal of the German forces at the | , time of the,siege of Paris of 1870â€"71, l | stated in a report on that siego that | the French artillery armament conâ€" «‘sted of more than 2,600 pieces, inâ€" clvding 200 of the largest calibre of naval ordnance. There were 500 rounds for each gun, and a reserve | of 2,000,000 kilograms of powder. Count von Moltke emphasized that the bombardment of a fortified place in the heart of an enemy‘s country \was difficult, if not impossible, unâ€" ‘lors the invader was master of the \nilways .or waterways by which heavy siege artillery could be \brought up in full quantity. He explains the failure to bombard Paris at the outset of the siege by saying it would have required 300 lheavy guns with 500 rounds for each ‘gun. The movement forward of ‘these heavy guns would have reâ€" quired 4,500 fourâ€"wheeled wagons ‘and 10,000 horses, which were not | available. ONTA At a later stage the Germans brought up their big siege guns atâ€" tacking the enciente and ports, and dropping 300 to 400 15â€"centimetre shelis into the hbheart of the city. Notwithstanding the fumry of the Million Men Necessary to Invest the French Capital. TORONTO German attacks, Paris withstood the siege for 132 days. Bince then the entirely new and outer third line of defence has been crected, and military experts say the fortificaâ€" tions as a whole are far more forâ€" midable than those which resisted the siege of 1870â€"71. _ > wHVY KAISER DECLARED WAL. Did XNot Want to be Called **Wile liam the Coward*" Again. There is no longer any doubt that, from a very early date after the news of Serajevo murder reachâ€" ed the Emperor at Kiel, his Maâ€" jesty had determined ‘"to see the thing through‘‘â€"to see it through against Russia, so says the Beriia correspondent _ of the _ London Times. In his speech from the throne to the Reichstag the Emâ€" peror said that the Serajevo murâ€" ders "opened up an abyss."‘ At any rate they caused his Majesty to {lose his head. He hastened back | to Berlinâ€"only to involve himself ‘in a quarrel with Vienna about the | State funeral, which after all for imaginery reasons of illâ€"health he ‘did not attend. His Majesty then went on his northern eruise, but returned to Berlin suddenly on |July 26, to the open regret of the | Foreign Office, as the British g Charge d‘ Affaires, Bir â€" MHorace f Rumbold, telegraphed to London. | _ As soon as the crisis became acute |I made some inquiries about the Emperor‘s earlier frame of mind, and was told on excellent authorâ€" ity that for the first time he had ; | abandoned the part of "keeper of e | the peace."‘ There were in fact to .\ be no more German newspaper {| articles in the press such as ap e | peared during the Moroceo crisis | | under the heading ""Guillaume le s | Poltron."‘ I do not mean that the 1.| Emperor was determined _ upon i, | war, but he had removed his reâ€" § | straining hand, and Germany driftâ€" ed slowly but surely through the r_| crossâ€"currents to the Russian ulti ,.| matum and to war. The more sinâ€" q. | cere the efforts made for peace, the e | more futile they were. Instead of c. | drawing back from the ‘"abyss," .\ Germany tumbled into it. The only justification, if it is A justification, that can be offered of the Emperor‘s attitude is that he was deeply moved by the Serajevo murders and believed that their iniâ€" quity would unite Western Europe even at the cost of the obligations and interests of the Western powâ€" ersâ€"otherâ€" than â€" Germany. He could, &s a matter of fact, have achieved very different results by almost any other course than that which he actually followed, a course which led straight to a reâ€" petition of the effort made successâ€" fully in 1909 to humiliate Russia, and led straight to an unnecessary and immoral war with France and England. â€" Against France Ger many has no shadow of a case, and has merely unmasked her contempt â€" uous covetousness, Long Dragging War Sheer Disaster for Germany. The question how long this great war is likely to last interests every soul in Europe, but it is astonishâ€" ing to see how wide apart are the different estimates. From three weeks to three vears have been sugâ€" gested as the probable duration of the contest, with every variety of intermediate estimate, and it is evident that few people have given the matter much serious thought, says the London Times. We are quite acoustomed to dragâ€" ging wars which go on for years. We are generally unready for war, and in our colonial wars it does not usually matter whether we strike soon or late. The enemy, as a rule, is not in a position to make us vpay very heavily for unreadiness so we take our time to muddle ‘lhrough. HOW LONG WILL WAR List?: But this war, this whirlpoo! of wars, in which we are suddenly enâ€" gulfed, stands in a different cateâ€" gory altogether. We must regard it from the German point of view ‘because Germany has been the agâ€" gressor and will be the pacemaker. For Germany a"long, dragging war is sheer disaster. Her position beâ€" tween two great and hostile miliâ€" itlr,v states, the closing of the sea and the paralysis of her whole maritime industries together with the dangers which her overâ€"seas colonies will incur. absolutely proâ€" hibit any German from thinking <f a dragging war. ville."‘ ‘"Why don‘t you move, then !"‘ ""Too many ties. One neighbor has my card table, another my wheelbarrow and a third my lawn mower." Si'lence is the w an @grmt‘ }Illlvn- Numerous Ties. I don‘t care much for wisest argument of Lonelyâ€" C (*]