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“All, well, over, after all regretfully; “1 I’m sure." “It's what moralized Mr. fullish once in kind. Ynu Martha: not 1 took by a r sevex 01y, know 'dlcs lawn. ' to say, ‘lfd rather die an old maid than put up with such a duel) clmp.’ But. I thought to myself, 'Matt Meade lias a. good headpiece enough, if he is wanting in tonguc‘ I've enough for both. And coul‘ten is onâ€" ly wanted ove a. lifetime.’ ” “1 don't doubt things are ordered right.” Mr. Meade commente'd; "but. it. Seems a pity the courten isn’t done by the women. I‘d sooner un- load ten Wagons of flour than feel how I felt, for months and months before your grandmother's great gan- der ran after ye. Any woman would ha’ done it, that easy, you'd scarcely know you'd hen through anything: their tongues twist and turn about like a. wellâ€"broke, tenderâ€"mouthed filly." ‘ ""I‘ Wasn’t, the first, lead I gave ye, either,” laughed Mrs. Meade, brightening at these tender recollecâ€" tions; “but there, cuurten is like a cool hand at pantry; its horn xxiLh some, and there are those can't do it to save their lives. ‘Mut Mama's that negâ€"headed] Cousin Jane used to say, ‘I'd rather die an old maid than put up with such a duch ehap.’ But. I thought to myself, ‘Matt Meade has a. good headpiece enough, if he is wanting in tonguci I'Ve enough for both. And com-ten is onâ€" ly wanted ox'e a. lifetime.’ ” ,..°. "To bo sure, Meade,” she replied, with feeling, "1 did think you was nexer goi g‘ to say ‘mum,’ and folk knew I was ready to say ‘budget,’ and there 'was a laugh against .me in all the countryâ€"side. 'If you can’t bring him on, Patty, you'd better throw him ofi‘,’ Cousin Jane he‘m said many :1 time; ‘if he had any nouso,.l2e'd a known it was time to speak up long ago.’ Whatever we should ha' done if it hadn’t been: for grandmother’s great gander, I don't know; kept. wiverin’ ‘on till now, I Feckin." "Lither tongues," Mr, Meade Con- tinned. "was never meant for men folk Martha. I never was good at putting words to what's going on inside of me. ,Think I can, as well as any man. But darned if I can tell What I'm thinking of. You may mind tl‘e time it took me to come to n... __n The argument was unanswerable. and in much grief and trepidation, Mrs. Meade accepted the office of acâ€" guainting P‘rilip with the choice that lay before him. Mrs. Meade (lemurred at, throwing such a responsibility on a child of nliie yeals. “It's like this," Meade replied; "there’s no lawyer living, not the Lord Chancellor hiaself. can make me believe I haven't a right to a boy I’ve took and bred up f‘om his cradle and been a father to. But Sir Arthur, hc've got a right, over the child, too, and ’tis plain n9 plums we can't. both hev him, and only the Lord himself can judge be- tween us. I’ve tried opening the Bible Imp-hazard. but. czm't, light upon what‘ll serve the turn. Only I come to ‘Uut of the mouths of babes and suclglings‘ twice, and it was borne in upon me that Philip must settle [or himself." A "The boy,".hc said to his wife, "is nine year old; he takes a threshing like a man, aye, and has the grace to be thankful loft. He knows alâ€" ready more book-learning than war I known all my life. 110’” tell you the Latin for a cow or a cat, smothâ€" er than you'll print off your pats of butter, Martha: 'Tis but right. he should know how he was come by and what. he've got to look to. Let en choose [or hisseh‘.” want. all must come to," :ed Mr. Meade; “bmmfl to be once in n lifetime is all manâ€" You was a pretty maid, : not that, I was one to .be I. by a pretty face," he addea , knowing that female vanit; was. "NO. my dear, T nnlnn A MING PRQMESE ’t was soon done and I," observed Mrs. Meade fullish times they were, ail must ll . rrrfiâ€"mmâ€"W. CHAPTER 11- [how soomm] «m m. x'n I run": ._.‘_.. V; J“. :ude; “bound to be} Mrs. Meade went. on to speak of Immune is an man- mom-go education and of expenses. as a pretty maid,!z-each1ng far into manhood, of ; I was one to be ‘launchlng a youth in any profan- ty face," he added, sion_. "Then. my dun?" 8h. €011!- that female vanity tin’il'ea, -"your {ail-or and me u. , my dear, I comeâ€" plain peoph, thousb' comu, under all the time. Please don’t leave .n that tightened!’ into my head to OR, THE MISSING WILL % “Not if you don't want to go, my dear," she replied, tenderly stroking his hair on which the bright silver of the moon now shimmere'd. "Mo mid your father wants to keep you had enpugh, but. we can't bring ourselves to stand In your light, l’hll. Sir Arthur wnnm "-4â€"- 1,1111. Sir Arthur $03111" gentlomP-n a_nd a made man "My dear," she replied, on being thus brought to buy. “it’s little [chance you have of keeping the Fifth ‘ Commandment with your poor moth- ier in her grave this seven years. It’s only 1101' (lying wishes you can ‘obey, which is, you was to be called Philip Randal and ask no questions” Philip sighed; he had long since discovered that the Whole duty of youth consisted in not asking quesâ€" tions, and the whole interest and joy of youth in doing so. He gave Mrs. Meade’s ample form a. tight squeeze mid asked if he was to be sent, to Maxwell Court. to live. "Not if you don't want to go, “1'. J-â€"» I' q i J‘ ' “Taking me ?" he asked, after a pause; “where from?" . "From the Workhouse," she re~ lplied. “Nobody knew so much as your surname when your poor moth- er died and left ye. and. there was nothing for it but the worhhonse, if Matthew hadn’t, come along and thought of them we’d lost and had it borne in upon him he was to take 'zmd breed you up in their place.” Philip had seen the workhouse boys in their thin and poor uniform at some holiday gathering in which !t'hey were included, he had marked their pinched and often vicious faces, had heard them use foul words, once he had been taken to see some one at the workhouse. once a. man in Cleeve had been tried for ill-treating a young workhouse apprentice and he had stolen into the court to hear the case. He wound his stout little arm into that of the kind soul who had been a mother to him, and she kissed him and stroked the thick liuir ofi‘ his forehead. Then she told him how Matthew had brought him home one. night, that he was of gen- tle blood and of an origin known to Sir Arthur, who wished to educate him with his own sons. All this, in spite of her husband's tribute to her eloquence and Philip’s eager interest and frequent questionâ€" ing she effected not without difficult and much digression and repetition. "But mother, what is my name?" he asked for at least the ninth time for he was tired out with eight evasive answers to this important question. | “Boys,” said Mrs. Meade, giVing him a kiss and carefully tucking in the bedâ€"clothes he had dashed aside, “are made that lither and sprack they can’t bide quiet long together, they're bound to be in some mischief touring and siling clothes, upsetting and breaking things, and stabbling all over the house. I cried terrible when mine were took, but I do think to mesclf at, times there was mercy in it. For however 1 could keep the house decent with four stubbling about, the Lord only knows.” “I did mean to shut the gate," said 1’1.ilip, "but I forgot.” "Never mind the gate, my dear, but mind to shut him next time,” she continued, smoothing the sheet under his chin. "For a boy you’ve been a good boy, and me and your father has never repented taking youâ€"” here Mrs. Meade’s Voice fail- ed her and she took out her handâ€" kerchief to Philip’s dismay. urn, L,- Philip lay back on the pillow and wondered if the fowls had got, into the garden when he left the gate open. “Dear heart alive,” said Mrs. Meade, "who’s thinking of plums ’2 I know who had them, my dear, and it Wasn’t, you. You’re never slintcd in anything that’s good for children, so you wouldn’t. take plums, and you’ve never told me a lie, yet, Philip.” “Mother, "I didn't, didn’t." Thus it came to pass that Mrs. Meade ascended the steep creaking sta‘ir and Went into the dim little attic in the ghostly twilight, her footsteps on the uncarpeted boards rousing the sleeping boy. ‘cluimed, suddenly checking this flood of tender xeminisceme; for he was a. man of sober thought and staid demeanor, and knew what was due to conjugal propriety and tlieir ml- \'n.ncing years. “What was I aâ€"say- ing ? Words is what I never could handle easy. I can heft, anything you like to name with any man of forty; but when it, comes to words, I'm bound to make a. Inch on 't. Words come natural to the women- folk. So you tell the boy, Martha." n he cried, étarting up, take the plums, indeed I uuu L want to go, ! replied, tenderly on which fife bright Philip kissed the hand that was under his chin, with a, natural unconâ€" scious pm that gave pleasure, and the how. left, the room, 01mm. with “I hope you will be ha,pr in our houSo,” she said, graciously; "Claude will show you everything. Run away now, boys, and don't. get into more mischief than you can lidp." “Well, you see, I've been used 'to small houses all my life," be ex- plainefl, “and just at first a. big one feels strange. Besides, I flldn't know that people lived in such fine places." “Do you like small Plum) '2" "So you are not afraid of us ?" she asked, smiling as Philip sup- posed that angels smile, and caressâ€" ing his reverent, upturned face with her dainty hand, white as a. lily and soft as a rose-leaf. "No, ma'am. "Arn'd house, though it's the was in. “This ‘is Philip Randal, mother." [he said, presenting him to the beauâ€" tiful, plainly-dressed lady reclining by the open window. “So you are Philip,” she said,_ looking thoughtfully at 'him. “Yes, if you please, ma'am," he replied, respectfully; “and I have a mother, too," he added, standing in from; of her and resting his elbow on the arm; “she sent her duty 'to you.” he saic tiful, by the 4 (so "Lady Ge‘trude’s room," Claude said before Le opened the door, in a low tone that implied something like awe. “Hullo, Randal, here you are at last,” cried Claude, bringing; the fairy prince from regions of dim en- chantment to the solid earth with a bounce. “How are you? Come to my mother’s room." Philip answered him in a timed way and followed him upstairs and élong thickâ€"carpeted corri-dozs to a room full of strange flower-scents and pale blue :atin. "33 JD". PM." h “13 .wb- led when the handsome lad who had played with him in the garden at home came bounding down the wide soundiess staircase to receive him. That he might ever be master of that fine building did not, enter among the many thoughts jostling in his small brain as he swept up the avenue, past one wing and reincd in before a, wide pox'ticoed entrance. Like a dreamer, he got down Ixom the dogâ€"cart and went up the steps and thrOUgh doors magically flying open of themselves to admit him. Here weze tall splendidly dressed gentlemen in colored velvets, silk, and gold, their heatds more floury than those 01' the men at the mill at home; kind and polite in spite of their bewildering splendor, No long- er Phil Randal, the miller’s boy, but a fairy prince penetrating to the heart of some dark enchantment, he passed through a spacious and beauâ€" tiful hull, with a shining marble flonr, with pictures on the walls and white figures poised on pedestals like Wingless angels ready for flight, with 1 rich hangings halfâ€"shroudng doors and windows, and was almost startâ€" he did not like, and géx'éhigm plum- Cak'é and currzmt, wine, which he did. Philip look-ed back as long as he could see them with a sad, half‘reâ€" proachful feeling; he seemed to be deserting. But this lownoss of spirâ€" its was completely forgotten when he reached Marwell Court, which he had seen many a. time from a 'disâ€" tance but only once entered. On that occasion he was ataying with Cousin Jane, the wife 0‘! a. farmer in the neighborhood. and accomparied her on a visit to the house-keeper, who patted him on the head, which He thought he should never go 'to sleep; he heard the tall clock on the stairs strike ten just as his mother left the room. but before her foot- steps had ceased to echo along the boarded pasSnges‘, with his arms still flung “Me, the sud"0n sweet, sleep of childhood descenud upon his tired eyes and remained there till morning. A few days later Philip, in his Sunday suit and (loan collar, with ham! f1 oshly cut and an odor of soap- suds pervading him, started for Maxwell Court in a high dog-Cart, driven by a young groom, who was inclined to smile at the tender fareâ€" well which took place at the door. Philip look-ed back as long as he ._v.1 ,, With those words and a. final kiss and tucking-up, Mrs. Mem‘e stole out of the moonlit attir, leaving Philip in a fever of confuse?) and agitatirg thoughts and bewildering feelings. Inn}! we know manners us well as fmost; and 1 will say that, {or Mend". never a. bad word Comes out. oi his mouth, and always takes his hat. off to his betters; nn'd aggravating as Cousin Jane may be, while under [his r00! he’s never nothen but civil jto her. The worst he ever said was one Chriwtmas time when Cousin Jane was onluckier than ever I know, and said things mu me wish the vittlcs might choke Ler. ‘I could wish, mn'am, say Meade, as smooth as Cream, ‘your tongue had n. been nm'dc no longer than your temper. You‘d hu' been a. happier woman.’ She looked pretty straight lat him, but it. done her good. Your ifnther's a good man, my (fear. You never see him sit down to meals without washing his hands. But he and mo. hxwen‘t, got the manners of Sir Arthur and her ladyahip. They're high folk with manners to match. There's manners~ and manners, some as there's plain sewing and fine needlework, and there’s noth'en, no, not \vhoopingvcough or scnrlatina, catchinger than manners. So you must think hard about. it, and rer- hnps you might put, it. in your pray- ers, my dear, to have a right judgâ€" ment." houses best, like your :ggest I ever COLORS 0F UNIFORMS. Re'd unitorma present the best marks for the enemy's shot; rifle green com" naxt, brown third, while Austrian m in {email to be BEAUTY THAT IS DEEPER. Don’t think it enough to be a. beauty; in or'der to approach periecl tlon a. woman should try to improve herself morally and intellectually, as well as phywlcnny. Bread was at one time made very indiges’m'ble by the introduction of alum. This form of wdulteration has been completely stamped out. The once prevalent sale of jam made from decayed fruit is now. he declares, totally unknown, and the poisonous ingredients used {or color- ing sweets have also disappearofl. In the early days, says M‘r. Stokes water was largely used in milk, but- ter and lard, tea was mixed with iron-sand and exhausted leaves, cof- fee contained as much as 90 per cent. of chicoryâ€"and even now con- tains in some instances 50 per cent. Sago and sugar were formerly used in the manufacture of cocoa. to such an extent that, it was more fitted for making poulticcs than for drinking purposes. How 'it Has Been Adulterated in Various Ways Striking testimony to the Gecrease in the adulteration in food which h'as taken place in recent years is borne by A. W. Stokes, public anal- yst for Paddington, England, in his quarterly report. “In the course of twenty-five years.” he says, “the percentage of impure food samples h'as diminished from 62 per cent. to 5% per cent." During the past quarter only seven out of 125 samples were found to Have been adulterate'd. "Take your time, Phil, take your time,” his father said after supper, when questioning him about his vis- it; “mind, it’s for life, so don’t lie- cirle in a ’hurry. Philip looked in his face and then in his mother’s, and said nothing, but in his heart :9 decided once for all, “I’ll never leave them," he thought. (To be Continued.) How g‘ad they were see him again, how Jessie clung to him, and how pleasant and cosey the homelike par- lor seemed with the candle lighted, the supper spread, and Sarah coming in with smiles of welcome. He arrived just as dusk was fall- ing; the lamps shone sparse and dim in the gray streets and were reflect,- ed from the bridge in the still mill- slream and there, under the plamr tree, sat, Mrs. Meade in her homely familiar dress, with Jessie halfâ€" asleep on her knee, and there, ISsuâ€" ing from 'the green shadows, was Matthew himself. It was a new wonder after this glimpse of enchantmen't, to see the famiiiar hedgkrows and fields float- ing past him in the summer sunset when he was driven home again. “You, ma'am," he Ieplied, without hesitation to the great amusement of some ladies staying in the house, who were near. "Well, Philip,” saj'd La.'dy Gor- trude, when he stole up to a position behind her sofa just after dinner, “do you still think this a. beautiful house ? And what do you think the most beautiful thing in it. ‘7" 1 Their rides in the park were ('9- lightluh the lwmtty shyeyed deer starting away lulu them, Lie pale gray mass of masonry execywhere Showing “$9” hisonw new and fin- poslng light, the large gardens, the home farm, the barriers. all either pleased him or impressed his lam-y. Ht; liked to go with the other child- ren after dinner into the long dranv- ingâ€"room, opening into a long vism, of drawingâ€"rooms, and glorified when he first sa“rit, by a blaze of sunset falling through the tall western Winâ€" dows; he wandered at the lau‘ien’ gleaming arms and shoulders, iheir jewels and silken clothes, and liked their gentle manners and refined ac- cent. "Your fosterâ€"father," he said, in conclusion, "wishes you to do ex- lnctly what you like best. He is quite ready to give up all claims upon you, if you like to live with us and share my son's education and other advantages. There is u, pony for you already. You will go to school with Hugh till you are both mady for Eton. Run away with [Claude now.” The few days spent at Marwoll seemed months to Philip, everything jheing so new and strange. Claude rmd Hugh were capital companions, for a boy without brotl‘ers the younger children and the little girls, mo, were compuuionnble. There was so much to enjoy, such vatiety of games and pastimes, so many books, so many objects of intomt, such space for play. (‘laudc even had a gun. besides finingâ€"rods, cricket- lmt‘. car'pcntel‘s’ tools, and a bout. Dismissing him with a wave of the hand, Sir Arthur dismissed the $ub' ject as well, considering the event. of Philip's preferring Stillbrooke to Mm'well as too improbable to be taken into account. igmatically mvuy, lie 5 gin and] him. as done. ear they were made a, She can’t. 1 him to the torlhwith, scribed the trudo. at Arthur FOOD IS IMPROVING were outside the door 3 n. conquest, of her can't. Lear boys." Ar to the library to Sir A n conquest, of her ladyship. Vn't Lenr boys." And. taking the library to Sir Arthur, he ill), to Philip’s surpi‘i.e, (lo- the interview with Lady Gerâ€" ut llic recital of \Vllilh Sir smiled nn’d pinched Philip's A born coux'tier," he said, en~ rally. Then sending Claude 1:0 spoke to Philip of his ori- nd his intentions concerning as Mrs. Meade had already "you've SAKE DISTJLLEIHT‘ZS. Sake, the favorite alcoholic beVPr- age of the Japanese, is distilled from rice an'd rwmbles wlijaky in taste. There are atmut. 9.8.900-tfike distil- lera in Japan, and {use produce :be- tween ‘6th nam’ly 139,996,000 galâ€" lons annuxll‘x. After putting the requiuev amount, of coflce ground \ul'y fin! (1 tablespoon for each‘ cup‘ and ] ft): the pot is the proper allowance) into the bag, lower it into, the pot. Lurr, down the eflge over the rim of the pot and tie securely. 'l’ox-r the boil- ing water over the grounlls, cove: closely and simmer on the back 01 the range 15 minutes. IN DENMARK. AEND NORWAY, In Denmark and in Norway the posts of sharth'aud writers at the re- spective parliaments of‘ihose COLUI‘ tries are chldy occ ie'd by Women, it having been foun Hint they. as a rule, succeefled far bettér Lhan men in this term of reporting. Even after one has obtained beam of the deslxotl axioms. uufl ill'operly roasted the same. it; yet remaiuu to acquire the art of making; a, whole- some and savory infusion, A’ skilled cook can make a, fairly good cup 01 cotlee from a cheap grade; the ignor- ant cook “'1” convert, the choicest bean into an insipid and ilreggy liquid which can be dignified by no ‘name, though to them it STANDS FOR COFFEE. All sorts of apparatus have been devised for making an infusion 01 coilee, some simple, v0' complex. The French big-gin. is w I known and furnifltes the easiest. and most satieiiuctory method of filtering coflee. By this and Silu'ilzu' pro- cesses the aroma, which is the Jiie, oi the drink is pl‘eservofiâ€"a. thing not possible when the ordinary method of boiling is practiced. A stronger drink is thereby obtained. 'rtis tru§but at the sacrifice of other tm'o' more desirable properties. h'et. strange to say, nine cooks in {en persist in boiling; collee. and when we Pause to consider UICVHEUAUI'B oi the drink which in too many homes plus- querades as coffee, we nu longer won- ‘der that these people denounce it without modification. A very simple conlrimnte on the principle of the higgin can Le made by any housewife. it comi-ts e! a sack of thin but firm flannel as long as the coffee pot is deep, having a. Caseing at the top, through which is run a tape. After putting the requix or amount of coflce ground wry line (1 tablespoon for each cup and ] for a lump of sweet. butter into fin coffee at the moment it, comes from the oven. Others recommend stirring in a beaten ngg when the cof‘feD is sufficiently cooled, thus removing the necessity for further citrifyiug'. Keep roasted coffee in an airtight vessel of tin or earthenware. When the roasting is continued bo- yond this stage there is aiways more or less charring, which destroyes ma flavor of the drink. Some cooks stir As much of the flavor and aroma. of the notice hemp i9 fievclopcd by roasting, it, follows that, this apTO‘fi cess is 01.6 of import. Unforturnaidli home roasted coffee is aimmst a.' thing of the past, and in this may; be found the search oi away a. cup“ ‘of indiflerent cefl‘ae, for to ficprfine' tho bean must. be [rem-y ronstédt a virtue the readyâ€"roasted brands rarely possess, but which' 1’s wall worth the little extra. labor it inâ€" volves. To roast csfinc properly, the beans must be first picked over, then washed in clear water and thoroughâ€" ly dried in a, slow oven. ’d‘he heat must then be increased and the roasting accomplished x'apidb. Stir frequently with a. wooden spatula. When of a light brown color and the bean becomes brittle, take at onto from the oven commerce, the following Varieties. a llcommonly handled and partial 'distiwguished {mm cad; 0th » . Mocha cofl'ec, which comes lrom Al‘lâ€" l)i:1 and ls known by its smafll gray :beans, inclining to a grecnvish t‘lu Java or East Indian coffee, hav Huge, yellow beans; JamuiCa Coll iwith beans somewhat. smaller EL ! ‘grecaish; Bounbon coffee, with -y. , glow and almost, whitish beams. afifl' ‘Surinam coflce, which has the, l I est beans. Epicurean tntsc pgrf {Mm-ha and Java, usually a mixture} ‘of the two in the proportion of.‘ mug-4 third of the former to two-mlii‘ds 'the laiter, after having roasted ea. J£illd sepn‘ately. ‘ The gloat demand for coffee has zla‘d‘ to the employment of various cheap‘ or arti leg as substitutes, notubg: chi cry. But all luck the most ( ’-, Dm‘tant constituent of the coffee beam, which is czm'oine. "il‘is ’to the presence of this substance, toge‘tfiel‘wf with a volatile oil, developed roasting, and astringent, acids. ca?“ cnfieic acids, that coffee owes its 6x- hilarating and refesliing m‘operti'. and its power to allay hunger , I dimiSLh the wear and waste of the body. ' J ‘-i l In no branch of ceckery is know- Iedge of the right way more 05558- tinl than in that. which has to '69 with making lhe family beveragevi “ithout this knowledge, the cg?) that cheers becomes in its wake - digestion and attendant ills. To make sure of a rcfillvfivrgood A 0: mike, one must have some (In ligent notion of the bean. itself. WELL MADE COFFEE. JUST 1N ROASIJNG En