The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

Now he learned why Sir Arthurlsm chancng to see him a boy at thelwh grammar school on a prizeâ€"giving no day. and struck by his likeness to (low the Medwuys, and by the coincidence \ng of his age with that of his brother's SW Son, concealed by his mother, wished, I,” after identifying him by the help of hm Matthew Meade, till then ignorant 1&3 himself of his origin, to adopt him. A V Further, why Sir Arthur had always r01 manifested some interest in his wclâ€" ob, fare, and kept himself infbrmed of val his progress at school, and afterâ€" seq ward still further that. he was the um ‘givcr of the mysterious little fortune. “ which came to him after the Crimea. p11] Matthew’s pathetic desire to be all the in all to Philip and “make a genâ€" Cl.“ ueinan oil him" had been respm‘tedlma 5y Sir Arthur, who was aver rtmdylhis So Philip had to hear from the man who had wronged him the story of his own shame. He was the son of Algernon Medway, the Mr. Algerâ€" non of the last generation, a name too notorious to be forgotten in this. Many a tale of this bad man had Philip heard at. Marwcll as a boy, not dmmning that, he was hearâ€" ing of his own father's misdeeds. “Mr. Algernon" was never mentionâ€" ed at the Court. his name was on 01132110) to his family and only whisâ€" pered about with caution Philip hnd vaguely supposed him to be dead. and yet he had some dim rememâ€"l brance of sentence passed upon him in a criminal court. “It is my affair; we are cousins. If you had your birthright, you would probably be in my place, the heir of the baronctcy and property. I must. tell you all in common jus- tice now, having sprung this on you." “I know nothing of my father," Philip said, "except that he made my mother wretched. Butâ€" It is no afiuir of yours; 1 am here only on her business," he returned, recoverâ€" ing himself. Claude sprung toward him and then suddenly drew back. “Fool!” he cried, “let it be on your own head! Ashwin is your father!" “Thatâ€"'thabâ€"drunkcn beastâ€"myâ€" fatherâ€"â€"â€"" stammered Philip. Claude forgot his anger in amazeâ€" ment. "Good Heavens, Philip!" he cried, “is it possible that. you don't know who you are?" "That is my concern. I can look after myself and those who depend upon me. It is very plain that you don't wish me to know him, since you bought his silence a few hours since and told him that he would repent finding me out to the last day of his life. I have had enough of this, Medway, I am sick of playâ€" ing the spy. You have just been to Cleeve, where your movements have been watched and will be reported to me. I overheard your interview with this man on your return. What have you done with her? It; may as well come out no'w as in court." “I have just sworn to you upon my honotâ€"" y “Your honor,’ ly. said Philip, savage- "In that case, how would he know your name in connection with her? Randal. I swear to you on my honor that I no more know where Jessie Meade is at this moment than you do. And I warn you against this man, ‘Ash’win‘. If you make yourself known to him, you will repent it all your life.” “I have thought that it will not be necessary," he replied. “You were Willi a man named Ashwin, this evening," he added. Claude moved away from the lamp he had turned up on entering. "Is Mr. Ashwin a, friend of yours?" he asked. “I have no doubt he would be- come one for a consideration. I heard my mun-e this evening in the Dark by accident. I heard that I was to be told all unless a good. round sum was forthcoming on the instant. I followed your agreeable friend and obtained his name, ad- dress, and occupatidn. He was not in a state for examination when I left, him. He will keep. In the meantime, you may as Well tell me all yourself." "What do you suppose Ashwin threatened to tell you?" Claude asked. {er "You are mistaken. This man has never so much as heard her name.” he replied. “He may know her by another “Ho namc.‘ It, was plainly los‘t labor to seek information of a, man in an opium- tl‘unce, and as Philip drove back to his own quarters near Hyde Park, another plan occurred to him, he changed his destination and had himâ€" self set down at Claude Medwuy's house. He Was shown into a library, liglit- ed faintly with shaded lamps, mid soon joined by Claude Medwuy. "I hope, Randal," the latter said, “that you have thought better of this intended lawsuit." Finding him at home, he sent in his card with .th'e word "urgent," pcm‘iled on it, and was at once ad- mitted, late as it was. \_\’hat you have done with m-v sisâ€" v00 WW A DYING PROMESE CHAPTER XXXV. OR, THE MISSING WlLLm The trial of Algernon Medway had brought to light many base circumâ€" Istances in his life; the crime of which he was convicted. appropria- tion of regimental moneys. was, no doubt, but the repetition of a. preâ€" vious theft. for which the ofiicer re sponsihle for the meney had been broken, though not prosecuted; he had vanished with his despair. This last theft had been accompanied by n. wellâ€"planned attempt to fasten the robbery on Algernon's wife's brother, obnoxious to him from being a. pri- vate, and who shot. himself in con- sequence of what he endured while under suspicion. "You need fear nothing from me." Philip mplied, with some scorn. and then. after a pause, he asked of what. crime his father had been convicted. Claude replied in a word that made his cars tingle. He was looking "We thought that you were told of your name and origin on coming of age," Claude said in conclusion. “Of course‘th'e thing made a, great talk at the time. It is forgotten nOW. but a little would soonâ€"stir the old scandal. Men of our generation know nothing, but our fathers' cou- temporarics would remember.” For some years after t ‘s scandal, Arthur Medway lived \vi \ his wife and young children chiefly on the rcontinent, while Sir Claude shut lhimself up in Max-well Court, saw no one, and gradually declined in health till he died, when Philip must have been about five Years old, and Mary Medway two years in her un- known grave. As no one was per- mitted to mention Algernon, his wife or child, in the old baronet's presence, it was not until after his death, in Winding up his afTairs, that Sir Arthur discovered that Mrs. Alâ€" gernon had ceased for some years to claim her allowance. The lawyers through Whom the pittance was paid had had instructions from Sir Claude to make no inquiries for her if she chose to slip out of sight, as she did. Thus the new head of the fam- ily_ had no clew of her whereabouts. and searched in Vain for some traces of her, until he chanced, four years after Sir Claudc's death. to find Philip at his very gates. Then, be- ing attracted by the boy's likeness to the Medways, and by some rumor of his unknown origin, he made inquir~ ies of Matthew Meade, which. being followed up by both, left no reasonâ€" able doubt in the minds of either that Philip was the son of Algernon Medway. Mary Medway's handwrit- ing alone, without the testimony of the entries in her diary, Would have revealed her to Sir Arthur. Sir Claude. whose doting fondness quickly turned to extravagant hatred then left all his property, with the exception of daughters' portions and such necessary provisions, to Arthur; he continued, however, to give a. small allowance. dependent on his pleasure, to Algernon’s unfortunate young wife. were received b5: Lady Mommy and young Lady Gertrude, Arthur‘s wife, with such cordiality as those ladies could muster for the occasion. which perhaps was not sufficient to make it. Very pleasant for poor Mary Medâ€" way to live among them, a dowerless intruder with nothing but her beauty and goodness to recommend her. Soon after‘ this, the baby son beâ€" ing about a year old, Algernon was tried and convicted o a crime that inspired his young wife with especial horror, for which he was transported for a long period. but their father. Sir Claude. was always troubled by the fear that Alâ€" gernon might have been wronged by tlie decision. and made up for the possible injustiCo bv thoroughly spoiling Algernon, whom he made heir of the uncntailed Marwell proâ€" Forty. Both twins had commissions in the army, but Algernon's was in tho Guards, his allowance was larger than Arthur's, he was always in debt. his extravagances drained the family purse and encumbered the esâ€" tates, yet whatever he did was right in his father's eyes: the steady Ar. tliur, in his less expensive and fash- ionable regiment, being considered as lacking in spirit and dash. But at last the fast and. fashionable guardsâ€" man committed a. serious error; he secretly married pretty Mary Asliâ€" win, an infantry officer's daughter, a penniless orphan whom he had known as governess of a, friend's children. When this came to light, Sir Claude was very angry, there was a. period of storm and indignation, and stopping of supplies, highly incon- venient to a. gentleman in Mr Al- gerno-n Medway's position. The of- fence was at last condoned, and Mrs. Algernon Medway and her baby son to give material aid toward that end in case Matthew should fail. But some of this, together with his un- cle’s intention of buying him a comâ€" mission after a. little wholesome dis- cipline in the ranks he heard later-â€" there was not time to listen to all that night. Arthur and Algernon Medway were twins whose identity had been con- fused by careless nurses in their inâ€" fancy. The children were then weighed and the heaviest; henceforth distinguished as Arthur. the heir, “I have two letters: they have been to India and followed me home. One before her flight and one dated Ocâ€" tober, with no address. bearing the mark of the General Postâ€"office. She speaks of flying from a temptation that she does not name. or having been compromised by scandalous talk. 01‘ hiding h'er from friends in consequence." “She hides from you?" Claude askâ€" ed, much agitated by the sight of Jessie's delicate hand-writing on the The next day Philip burst into the house in great excitement “She did go to London," He cried, "and Whatever harm 0013163 to her is on your head." "You i have seen her?" faltered Claude, with \‘Vhite lips. “poor child!" And somethir truth began to dawn up Jessie alone in cruel, wiclu don; young. beautiful, and less as she was, for thrcc winter months hoping to liw ing drawings. What could shot of this be ‘2 “Tnat,” said Clam a. framed water-color Court in the wall, guineas." He rcxamined it in silent wonder and his eyes grew moist. "Poor Jessie,” he murmured, turning away, “I think," he said, slowly, “that you should know all that ever passâ€" ed between your sister and myself.” So Philip thought, and he listened with a sort of savage forbearance to the story of this long courtship and its climax in the storm, when Jessie vanished. Restraining his indigna- tion, he thought it all over and con- sidered the possiblity of her going to London without money. “but. be?" “You did not love Jessie and she did not love you. I loved her. I lost her. I would give my life to find her. When she is found she must be my wife.” “Do you solemnly swear that?” Philip asked. “I do most solemnly swear it." “You should have sworn that be- forâ€"beforc all this misery of your makingâ€"before it, was too late." “She Claude “Sold Philip looked at him searchineg, and yet with some hesitation “You did not, tell the h‘uth about your relations with her," he said, at last. “I did not tell the whole truth. While I thought her deadâ€"I thought it better~can't you understand?" Philip thought, he could understand, "You did not love Jessie did not love you. I loved lost her. I would give my find her. When she is io‘ must be my wife.” Philip thought, 11: and his heart sank Such was the story Philip heard. to his own most bitter chagrin, Such was the father he found in searching for his lost sister. But he did not leave the house Without pressing on his inquiries for Jessie. insisting up- on knowing the oijCt of Claude's visit to the ark of that day. “I went," Claude replied, “to see if Sally Samson's story was true. I believe that it is true. You see, Randal, I should not go to this old woman if I where to find Jessie." "Heaven knows." “You still refuse to believe ’me That is not the way to- find her. If we get together with this clue We may find Jessie. If you go to law, you will only smirch her name." hausthd, then he gave him allowance. with the intimc no more lump sums would coming. Thereupon, the black sheep appear- ed one day, an unreCognizable wreck, at Mai'well Court. He had seen Philâ€" ip’s name in newspapers and the Army List. and learnt all that was known of his Ol’ig‘in from Cleeve people, drawing his own conclusions as to the identity of this Philip Ran- dal with the son he had named. Then. finding that the Medways were anxious to keep him apart from Philip, he demanded and received blackmail, especially from Claude, whose guilty conscience made him tender of Philip's welfare. Then upon further inquiry he learned that Algernon Medn'ay's term of transportation had (‘Xpll‘Cd some years since. Land had been assign- ed him, of which he had made nothâ€" ing. His brother sent him sums of money until his patience was ex- hausted, then he gave him a. settled allowance. with the intimation that no more lump sums would be forthâ€" "Yes." replied Claude. "that he might squeeze every penny out of you and then fling you aside, ruined. His allowance is more than your whole income. He spends His time between opium-dreaming and gambl- ing. That man would rob a child. He has no heart; lie is scarcely huâ€" man. Don’t fall into his clutches; he will never leave you till he has ruined you. Don't be misled by any weak sentiment in that direction." “My affairs," replied Philip, "are my own." first," Philip he wanted me straight before liim with a. strained gaze that saw nothing visible, but. pictured Ada Maynard's face as when he saw her last beneath the moon- light sprinkled orange-trees. and saw a. deep. black gulf yaWning between them. He had kept loyal to the farewell then spoken, and never al- lowed his fancy to stray back to those renounced hopes, and yet he had never felt the parting in its full pain till now. A thousand other thoughts surged into his mind, his eyes darkened, his face grew sharp with pain, and he grasped the back of a. chair, sis if by mechanical ac- tion he could control the tumult within. Claude looked with a grave compunction at the silent agony dimly shadowed in the lace before him. "Better for never known, has had the name." I ought to have known from the t," Philip replied at last. "And explained. pictures!" echoed Philip; What, would a. few shillings expl‘ had sold some pictures," said Claude, pointing to And something" of 'the to dawn upon him. gotten. Better you had ” he said, at, last. "He grace to take another 1 cruel, wicked Lon- ‘autiiul, and friendâ€" ms, for thch weary hoping to live by 5011- What could the upâ€" of Marwell “fetched ten “Where smoking isn’t allowed, and such a thing as drink is unknown. Where no one need worry about food and raiment, and whe're money does not exist." “We do!” “Where everyone has to go to cliurch on Sundays, and everyone keeps regular hours!" “That is just what we do want." “Well, I've just. come from such a. placeâ€"â€"" ' “You have! Oh, tell us, tell us. man of wonderful experience, where it is, that we may also go." “It‘s a place called prison,” saii “It's a. plan the grim man. petals surround a cup nearly a, 100:, Wide the margin of which bears the stamens. This cup is filled with a. fleshy disk, the upper surface of which is everywhere covered with projections like miniature cow's horns. The cup when free from its contents would hold about twelve pints of water. The flower weighs fifteen pounds. It is very thick, the petals being threeâ€" quarters of an inch in thickness. With its beauty one is led to expect sweetness, but its odor is that of tainted beef, and Dr. Arnold Supâ€" posed that even the flies were deceiv- ed by the smell and were depositing their eggs in the thick disk, taking it for a piece of carrion. At Woburn, England, is an experiâ€" ment fruit farm on which, for a. number of years, the echcts of sword upon fruit bearing trees has been tested and studied. We note that the effect of the grass in absorbing mois- ture is not considered as of much importance, and this is probably true in a. country where moisture is as abundant as in England: but in a country like our own, where the rainâ€" ;fall is much less, and frequent drout'hs are one of the troubles of ‘the fruit-grower, we think the loss of moisture taken up by the grass might have a very dillercnt ell'ect. From a report of the experiments carried on at Woburn We take the The Rafflesia is a strange plant It groWs in Sumatra and derives its name from ¢Sir Stamford Rallies, Governor of Sumatra at one time,. and his friend Dr. Arnold, a naturalâ€"1 ist. They were the first white men' to discover the wonderful plant. It is said to be the largest and most magnificent flower in the world. It is composed of five roundiSh petals, each a foot across and of a brick red color, covered with numerous irregu- lar yellowish white swellings. ’l‘he petals surround a, cup nearly a, foot Wide the margin of which bears the stamens. The London letter assured him of her Well being, and bid him set his heart at rest concerning; her. She would write from time to time and hear of him in the papers. She had acted foolishly; not knowing what construction would be put upon her actions. She had acted wrongly in keep-ng things, which they ought to have known, from her guardians, and now God had punished her by_ taking away her good name. "Dear Phil- ip," she said, "do not think harshly of your little Jessie. I tried to do right, but it was so hard. My head was confused, wrong sometimes seem- ed right. and right wrong; And no one told me it was wrong to see friends alone out of doors. Some day, perhaps, you will be able to forget that I was foolish once and made people talk cruelly when young and quite alone. You saio so little about the young lady who escaped to Lucknow with you. that T think you must care for her. Now you are free. I should always have been a dead weight on youâ€"” “We will go to Scotland Yard. You must get Cheescnmn to act with you,” Claude said, at. last; “we may trace her by her drawings. She was acquainted with one Wellâ€"known artist. She will have been to him." He still had some hope of finding her but, his heart sank when he thought of her helpless inexperience. (To be Continued.) Experience had taught her, as it would one day teach him, how dit- fcrcnt, love was from the fraternal feeling that had bound them togeth- er, and would bind them, she knew, all their lives. ' "Henven knows," Randal returned, sadly; “she is much a, child at heart, so ignorant of life. She thinks her- self disgracedâ€"by more talk." “What have I done?“ cried Claude. “Oh! Jessie, poor Jessie, what haVe I done?" Philip had no cor‘fort for him; he read out such portions of Jessie's last letter as he thought it well for Claude to hear. with merciless em- phasis on words that made him wince. In the meantime he racked his brain, as he had been doing all that night, in the effort to recall Jessie's spring and summer letters, thinking how much misery might have been spared if he had given more earnest heed to them at the time and considered her more in the light of a reasonable and reasoning being. For the Jessie painted by Claude Medway, Mr. Ingleby, and Sir Arthur, and shadowed forth by her last letter, was a revelation to him. He had but just received the letter Jessie last wrote before her disap- penrance. ‘It had missed a mall and gone to an old Indian address, whence it had travelled by a circui- tous route to Myserabad, and thence back to England in company with her London letter. In this she told him that it must be clear to him as it was to her that they did not love each other in a Way to make mar- riage desirable; that her father, could he know all the circumstances, would be the last person to urge their marâ€" travelâ€"stained envelope. “I quite understand that she would hide from that coarse-"tongqu shrew of a. cous- in, but why from you?" WHERE PEACE REIst THE LARG EST FLOWER often dih’ers by more than this from that of another Without producing any of the injurious efi'ccts caused by grax on trees. "Data are given which show t'lmt the temperature of the soil on bright. days in summer, six inches below the surface. in lémd covered with grass, is quite uniformly about three de- grees lower than in cultivated soilsi This, howaver, is not considered an item of importance. since the aver- age soil temperature of the summer air supply in the soil. (In the other hand, it is thought probable flmt it may be attributed to the action of some product, direct, or indirect, 01 grass growth which exercises an ac- tivon poisonous cficct on the roots of the trees. “Experiments have been made with both dwarf and standard trees. The details of the experiments n.» ported by the authors clearly indi- cate that the injurious action of glass is not due to its harmful ef- forts in absolbing or evaporating thry moisture of the soil about the trees. nor of removing the plant food from the soil. nm‘ of inter-{Ming with the turc is not considered as of much importance, and this is probably true in a country where moisture is as abundant as in England; but in a country like our own, where the rain- fall is much less, and frequent drout'hs are one of the troubles of the fruit-grower, We think the 1053 of moisture taken up by the grass might have a very diliercnt efl'cct. 1“: om a. report of the experiments carried on at Woburn We take the following: Arriving; at market the cheese is piled on the cobblestone pavement. in pyramids like so many cannon .balls. Cloths are tlirown over the {(liflerent piles for protection from lthe sun. The buyers go the rounds [and one or two choose are taken from a pile and a plug drawn by means of a. cheese trier. If of the right qfuality an offer is made. [If accepted the buyer and seller strike :liands to Close the bargain. Next the official Weigh masters come with skids onto which the cheese is loaded. About 150 of the Choose balls are held on a. skid load which therefore weighs about 600 pounds. By means of a harness two of the officials hitch onto such a. load and waddle along to the official balances, which nre'huge affairs hung from the roof of the market buildâ€" ing, The load is deposited in one pan and the weight in the other. The officials are dressed in white suits and straw hats. The buyer then takes charge of his purchase. It may eventually be found on the shelf of our grocery store colored red and wrapped in tinfoil, price $1. In the curing room they are placed on shelves with holes in them to prevent the cheese rolling off. They are turned and rubbed each day. They may mold some and at the end of a. month some are washed, dried and rubbed with flaxseed oil so that they shine. The cheese are loaded into carts which are usually drawn by dogs to the mullet towns. One of these towns is Room. A street twelve miles long runs from Edam to Hoorn and the Hoogsrkarspel factory is on this street. Arrivng at market the cheese is The mold is cup-shaped with round bottom. The top fits into the cup and is carved on top so that, 1110 resulting cheese is smh'erical. They are placed in a similar "suiting, cup" for a few days and salted by rubbing on the outside. The cows are milked in the fields and the milk is loaded into carts, upon which it is haulcd to the dairy. There it is put onto large wooden tubs. and the process of (*heesemnk- ing is gone through with. The cheese may be curerl on shelws erected in the stable or the loft of the house. There are n few factories. One of those is at Hoogskarspel and receives about 9,000 Ilis. of milk daily, from which about 850 lbs. of cheese is made. The regulation size of cheese Such is the town, says J. W. Decker, that. has given its name to the‘ little round cannon ball cheese known as Edam. The choose, how- ever, is not made exclusively in the toWn. It is made all through Hol- land. Most of the cheese is made in farm dairies, there being but, few factories. In North Holland, on the West shore of the Zuyder Zee, is the city of Edam. The men Wear wide flowâ€" ing trousers. woo'dcn shoes and: coats of the Tuxedo pattern. The streets are paved with brick and the canals with water. I‘m/cry fifteen minutes the revories of the inhabiâ€" tants are broken "by the peuling of bcaurtiful chimes in the chul‘Ch' steeples. HOW EDAM CHEESE IS MADE CLEAN CULTURE THE BEST ch day. the end , dried so that