Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE OR A CHILD OF THE SLUMS. BY B. L. FARJEON. CHAPTER VIL Continued. To comfort Saranne. Little Make Belleve. oblivious of her own need, >vas protending that she sav, about three quarters of a mile away, a kind gen tleman coming toward them wilh the v express Intention of giving thorn a throe-penny bit, which would supply the lirm with three small t!u mugs of ?tewed eels. She went so far as to describe his dross and his appearance; he was an old gentleman with white hair, and he had a stick with a gold knob to it. and he had children or his own at home ?who had sent him out for the express purpose of giving u silver hansel to Kara uue. To these extravagances Mr. Deep dale and Walter, standing In the shade, listened unobserved. Wally," the father whispered to the ?on, have you got a three-penny piece In your pocket ?" replied Walter, producing it. "Throw it into that pretty little girl's lap, and then let us run." It was done; like a silver-winged messenger from the skies, the three penny piece fell into Sarannc's lap, ami awaV scampered Mr. Dt?epdale and Walter, laughing gleefully at the trick. They ran till they arrived at Thomas I'oxter's shop, into which they dashed ? I most out of breath, for all the world like boys who had been up to a rare piece of mischief, which, enjoyable as It was, might bring some dreadful pen ally upon them. 1 he Old Derby was inspected and purchased, and then Mr. Deopdaie re lated the incident to Thomas Dexter. I think, he said, "1 never saw a nmro beautiful child's fare, though clouded with sorrow, than the face of the girl who was sitting by the grotto; ami the ugly one with her slorio?-tu]d with a wonderful faith and belief, poor thing!? it was really as if she were Toad lug a tale out of a fairy book." 'The child you admire is called Sar anne," said Thomas Dexter, -and she am! t lie ugly one are sisters. The story t0!l?"8 n'me ls Liltl? ^lake-Believe." lhat is exactly what she was doin". Diaklng believe. It isn't often that her dreams come true, I should say. And is that the reason of your calling her Little Make-Belleve?" Thomas Dexter replied that it was, and seeing that his best customer was interested in the children, tol-> ??ueh 1 that he knew about theui. I He even related his dream, nud the ! ?lngular episode that followed of his Peing a witness of his own funeral. rhey wore more than amused; manv or the Incidents narrated by Thomas i Dexter stirred both their liearls with Pity and admiration, and when they took their leave of the old curiosity <Jealcr, which was not until past 10 -oolock. they were animated by a do H!l? did not lltid expression in 'Tlhomas Dext#r's shop. ? They had their own peculiar wnvs, In the similarity of which was an un derlying tenderness; they were more like brothers than father and son. "Weil, Wall," said Mr. Doepdale, ?topping at the end of the street in (which Dexter lived, "Is It to be liotne?" "What do you think, dad?" , "What do you think, Wally?" ^'I):id, I am thinking of the grotto.'* "So aui I, Wally; we will go and fcave another look at It." They were soon on the spot, but the ?cone was changed. The grotto was there, shorn of lis brightness; long before they arrived the candle had spluttered itself out and the sisters were sitting by the side of the house of shells, the third partner having left tl >m In disgust. The nlRht was fine and the stars ^"oro shining, but there was something exceedingly touching In the attitude of those children, the prettier of whom wns lying in her sister's arms. "What are you sl.ting here for, chil dren?" inquired Mr. Deepdale. Hav ing had your col pie supper, you should be home and a-bed." '"We're going, sir," said Little Make Believe, and she assisted Saranne to rise. "But we ain't had no supper." ? "Why. what became of the three penny piece?" "Oh, did yer know about it. sir?" said I^ittlo Make-Belleve, wearily. '"We thought It was our'n, but a boy come tip and snatched It away. It was hls'ii ?nd he only throw it at us out of a Joke, cause I was pretending about It. It was a moan trick to serve us, wasn't Jt, sir?" "A very mean trick." nn!d Mr. Deep dale. "I should not have supposed any boy would have been guilty of It." "It was Dot and-onrry-one, sir. lie's ?Iways up to mischief." "S o that was the end of your dream, then?" "Yes, sir. and now we're going home Come along, Saranne." "Wait a minute, children. Well, "Wally, what do you think?" "I think It would bo a cnpltal thing dad." ' Mo it would. Your dream shall come true, after nil, Make- Believe." "Oh, sir!" W on Id n t you like something bettor li nn stewed oils?" "Couldn't have nefhink better, sir. tarji.i.v a act Lit honi'l on 041? haven i yer. Saranne':" Saranne's eyes glit tered. "But your only making game of us, sir. Come along, Saranne." "God forbid that I should make game of misery! We will all sup together." And to the amazement and joy of the sisters they found themselves presently | silting in a compartment of the best eating house in the neighborhood, with large plates of stewed ells before them. It was a night and a feast to be re membered, for they had found two friends who from that time never lost sight of them. Mr. Deepdale, indeed, after a while Informed Little Make-Relieve that tlify might depend upon him to the extent of half a crown a week, and her grati tude knew no bounds. She never tired speaking of them to Saranne, who for the most part lis tened in silence and endorsed every word of praise Hint fell from her sis ter s lips. They were so noble, so tender, so kind; there was nobody, there never had been anybody in the world half so , good as these gentlemen who stopped to relieve and comfort, and were ex alted by so doing. They were princes, they were angels and they were prayed for and blessed -- for being human. "I was thinking, dad " said Walter many months afterward. "Yes, Wally, you were thinking " Hint Little Make-Believe and Sa ranne being so ignorant? they don't oven know how to read-what fun it bo ? . wore turu s,h00, j "And teach them?" J "les, dad? say for an hour once s I m, , W*u,d be a thing for , them h ben they grew up." "A capital thing, Wally." "Shall I. dnd?" ruiTm'ii! ,y?"' u'ally? Wlwn did y?? run one May and I another? Do you mow, my boy, that this is a very sweet and beautiful world?" is y?y ?weet and beautiful, dad w itli you iu it." tb,nkinff of you, my boy." And I of j'ou, father." Mr. Deepdale gazed at the portrait f liis wife, which hung upon the wall. ar?ftha,,kfuioett treiub,ed So it came about that Walter turned ni?ht of Tr a,ul 011 the Saturd?y night of every week began to teach Saranne and Little Make-Believe to read and write. They progressed very slowly, and essons being given them to learn dur ing the week, they were seldom if ever, perfect In them. But Walter was patient, aud they were in heaven. y Yes in the wretched home provided for them by their father-o? whom ?ome slight mention i? necessary a? hh. M t htl8 bllt UUl? t0 d? With this history -in that miserable, dimly. Uited cellar, unseen stars were shin. In human hearts and heavenly hours were spent. J A word about tills father. More often In prison than out of it, nt liberty on an average lor about foir months out of the twelve. Ho was not a thief, and cannot | therefore, be called a criminal, but he i zjrw,t' ! w?thaMUnI!f bc<'aui? a kind of boast in . 1 !? a*? 1,1 1,10 reeords of the eal police court, 110 person had been charged with being drunk and diso" ilcT'y mora frequently than himself, lo first and pre-eminent in any of >0 ways of life confers a certain dis Unk I!'. "1"1 ihl* (llstinctlon Little Make-Believe s father enjoyed. Regularly as he came out of prison lie favored his children with a visit and expected to be waited on. Without a murmur did Little Make , 'wn M1! nn n <lnuKbt(,T"8 duties to a worthless parent, never sorrowing when he left her, never rejoicing when lie returned. As a matter of course he became ae inalnted Ills children's new Ml til ""mV" M1,an W"-V trnt1^ UP* >11 them. Their interest iu Little Slake e love and Sara 11 no increasing as time progressed, they would have been glad .0 remove them to a more comfortable aome, but to this their father demurred unless he formed oue of the family rroup-to which, naturally, they could not consent. Of necessity, then, they remained In lodgment he provided for them* there was unhappily no law to strip Mm of his authority. Sometimes on a Saturday night the .ellai was honored with visitors. Ihe cobbler who lived In the adjoin (ng room, for one; Thomas Dexter for mother; Waller's father, very fre luently. * rc With these, afler the lessons, could Walter converse and ?r;,'uo, and he was ''ke father In his modesty and [gentleness and tenderness that his views on most of the subjects which ?appned to crop up could not fail to leave an endurable Impression. He read stories to them, and the children wandered in a new fairyland. Hut he was not the only teacher and entertainer. On rare occasions Little Make Be I c\os fantastic fancies found expres sion. Walter's fairy stories bore fruit. It was her linbit, as she grew in jcara^ ' to close lier eyes when fancy required. "What do yon see, Make-Believe?** "I see Saranne walking in the park. There's fountains, and soldiers, and balloons, and flowers. There's water, too, and boats, and lots of people sing ing in 'em." "What are you doing?** "Selling matches. Everybody's buy ing them? I can't take the money fast enough. Here's a woman with a box of dresses, and I buy n shining silver gown for Saranne, and a feather bed, and a white horse, and four pounds of beefsteak." At which strange mixture they all break out laughing. Little Make-Be Iieve opens her eyes and smiles. "All for Saranne, eh, Make-Believe ?'* asks the cobbler. "In course? all for her. And she's go ing to marry a prince." At which Saranne claps her hands in ecstasy. There are higher and more solemn lessons in that dimly-lighted cellar The children learn "Our Father." and trembling repeat it until they know it by heart. The cobbler is somewhat of a stum bling block when this prayer Is intro duced, for lie is a terrible materialist. But. after some reviling, he is silent upon these occasions, though nothing on earth can make him a believer. In this better way. the springtime of life, with its bright clouds and sunny glades, conies to 'Saranne and Little Make Believe. part nr. FLOWIK, CHAPTER VIII. As Time Rolls On, Light years have passed, and Time the changeless, has wrought its change ii|K)ii men. 1 he world is still in labor, as it hath ever been, and ever will be until the Leign of l?eace shall have truly com menced which will be only wlieii man has changed his nature. But although multitudes in their hu man shape shall never be able to wel come this better time, to each man it comes in his turn, and none shall es cape the Divine transmutation. 1" loin tliis history of every day events no actor who lias played a prominent part therein lias yet departed; upon the comedy or the tragedy of their lives the curtain has not yet fallen. But some are withering, while others are ripening, in these suggestive as pects a comprehensive picture of the world is seen: here wrapped 111 dark ness. there bathed I11 light, at one and the same moment. Tit u>: side by side march joy and sor row, life and death. During these eight years Mr. Deep dale's hair has grown gray, but his heart is as suspectlble as ever to char itable and tender impressions. Wonderfully like him Is liis son Wal ter. now a line young fellow of three and-twenty, the two are even closer | together than they were in earlier } days when Walter was a child, and therefore, presumably.- more easily led. The secret of tills lies as much iu sympathy as in love. These insepar able companions nre more like twiu brothers thaii father and son. Thomas Dcxter's hair has grown white, and he has contracted a serious and reflective habit of mind. Ibis is due to a more frequent as sociation with Mr. Deepdale and Wal ter, who exercise over the old curiosity dealer aa unconscious influence for good. It has led ns yet to no practical re sults. no crisis having occurred to ne cessitate decided action. - Ills Intimacy with IJHIe Make-Be lieve and Saranne continues, and he is occasionally kind to them In a larger degree Ihnu the bestowal of occasional pennies. This was especially conspicuous on the occasion of the death of ihelr fath er when he presented them with Ixlack frocks. It was a gift they appreciated, for despite his useless and evil life they mourned their father with genuine sor row. and they would have been shocked had any person ventured to tell them that their loss was a blessing. So. but for three friends, in 110 wise related to them, and of whom circum stance or the freak of fortune might deprive them at any moment. Little Make Believe and Sarranne were alone in the world. They still led their precarious life, be set now with peril because of drawing womanhood, crowned. In Sarra tine's case, with beauty which made people stare after her In the streets. The contrast between the sisters was very marloed. Beautiful as is the spring-time of life it had invested Lit tle Make-Believe with 110 grace of form or feature; she fulfilled the prom ise of her childhood by growing up stunted and plain. She cared not; she lived but for the happiness of one human being, and that assured, she was herself happy. She gloried In Saranne's beauty, and was as proud of it and as fond of set ting it out In its best light. as the most devoted mother could have been. Whatever dreams and fancies she In dulged in were all for Saranne and Sa? ramie's future. Dangerous dreams, but Indulgence In them was a sweet pastime for which neither she nor Saranne was ever dis inclined. The kernel of these dreams was that Saranne was to marry a prince. Heaven knews from what mysterious fairyland the prince was to come, but he would surely conic one day and woo and win her. There i? s brief time In our lives when we see the future through a shin ing veil which reflects, iu their most entrancing forms, our bright wishes and desires. (To be Continued.) Piucl* and debenture. GREAT MEDICIXK ROAD. He great rush of emigrants to Oregon whioh bctrun in the early forties and the later tide that swept over the plains after the tltei-ov fry or gold In California followed the route which was known as the Oregon Trail. The story of that fast emigration, so finely tohl by historian*. I* familiar to all. The great thoroughfare as It looked at that eventful period Is less known, hut only a little less appealing to the imagination. In 1HT>1 Father Oe Smet. a .lesuit missionary among the Indians of the Northwest and their isim-erc ami practical friend, crossed the plains with a considerable party of Indians and white men on the way to h general council of all the Western tribes cast of the Kocky Mountains, ac cording to a plan arranged by the Government. Near the present towu of Casper. Wyoming, they cauie upon the Oregon Trail. It was an im pressive sight, even to white men. say the authors of "The Life. Letters ami Travels of Father I?e Smet." and as to the Indians, the effect upon them is best told in the good missionary's words. "Our Indian companions." lie wrote, 41 who had never seen but the narrow hunting-paths, by which they trans jM?rt themselves and their lodges, were tilled with admiration on seeing this noble highway, which is as smooth as a barn floor swept by the winds, and not a blade of grass can shoot tip on It on account of the continual pass ing. "They conceived a high idea of the countless White Nation, as they ex press it. They fancied that all had gone over that road, and that an Im mense void must ?xist in the land of the rising sun. "Their couutenances testified evident Incredulity when I told them that the exit of the emigrants was in nowise perci ived in the land of the whites. "They styled the route tin* great medicine road of the whites." The unsophisticated Indians visited and examined in detail all the forsaken camping-grounds on the way: they took a great variety of objects to Father Pe Smet to have their use and slgnili eanee explained: they tilled their pouches with knives, forks, spoons, basins, coffee-pots and othir cooking articles, with axes, hammers, ami so forth. With bits of earthenware which bore any inscription, they fabricated some ornament for their necks and ea rs. Happily for the admiring savages, tlicy did not see what their friend saw along tile great trail. There he saw for himself the true meaning of the migrations that had worn the high way "as smooth as a barn floor." in the relics east away by the emigrants, in the graves of those who had per ished by the way. and in many return ing parties who had found their hopes of fortune to be oniy barren dreams. A It ESC UK ON VESUVIUS. Professor I!. V. Matteuci. director of tlie Ito.val Observatory on Mount Ve suvius. In his recent most interesting account of the life and duties of Ills perilous post, narrates one little Inci dent which occurred but a short time ago, at the beginning of the great vol cano's present period of activity. Many tourists ascended the mountain In the late afternoon or evening, to behold at night the malign splendor of the red-hot. crawling lava streams. Following one such party, in the hope of begging pennies, came a little orphan boy from Iteslua, at the foot of the mountain. His uniue was Ciovanni Olivlctl. The tourists lingered long, and Olovannl. tired and sleepy, threw himself down in a vineyard for a nap. and was not missed. At dawn piteous cries for litlp were heard by some young men who had remained all night on (lie mountain, ami they hastened to discover whence they came. "Awakened by the Increasing In at." says Professor Matteuci. "the boy li;id found that he was entirely surrounded by streams of molten metal, which, however, were rast cooling in many places, and had already grown a con siderable crust here and there. "Soon a crowd gathered a-nd stood entirely helpless some distance off. the Women screaming, weeping and pray ing for the doomed boy." Home one, however, haet presence of mind enough to send for Signor Mat teuci. who in turn s< nt for I'asquitle Fnciflco. an experienced Vesuvian guide, and the two men, at the Immi nent peril of a dreadful death, sought out a possible path of rescue. "It may rtiftiml you people of it treacherous lee-crust? but how differ ent. and how infinitely more terrible. J with liquid tire below instead pt water! The heat was killing. With wet cloths protecting our faces, and with burning boots, scorched hands and smoking clothes, we made our way across the bending crust of lava, seized the trembling child, and bore him away to safety. We did not dare, however, to carry him in our arm*. but distributed the weight by making him run in front of us where we directed. 'So tremendous was the lava flow that iu one place, what with flowing and eooilng, and flowing and cooling again, it plied itself tip to a height of triO feet." l'roftssor Matteuci lives on Vesuvius, at the observatory, and lie expect* lo die there; but he asks no better fate, "I love my mountain," he declare*. "I could not leave her. I am wedded to iier forever. My friend* say that her wreath will scorch afid wither mj poor iifo one of these days; that aha will bury my house In stream* of liquid metal or raze it to its founda tions. Already she has hurt mo. lias Injured me sorely. Yet I forgive her, I wait upon her, I am hers always." SAVING A COM H ADE. Stories of affection and apparent rea son among wild animals have divided the "nature- writers" into two schools. One believes that animals act merely from instinct: the other holds that the dumb brute feels and reasons. Iii "Tile Life, of a Scotch Naturalist" Mr. J Smiles quotes from the Journal of I Thomas Fklward the story of how a little flock, of terns rescued a wounded companion which the naturalist hod shot. I tired, and he came down with a broken wing, screaming as lie fell into the water. Tlie report of the gun. to gether with his erics, brought together the party lie had left, in order that they might ascertain the cause of the alarm. After surveying their wounded brother round and round, as he was drifting unwittingly toward the shore with the flowing tide, they came flying in a body to the spot where I stood, and rent the air with their screams. These they continued to utter, regard less of their own individual safety, until I began to make preparations for receiving the approaching bird. I could already see that it was a beau tiful adult specimen, and 1 expected in a few moments to have It In my possession, since I was not very far from the water's edge. While matters were in this position I beheld, to my utter astonishment, two of the uuwounded terns take hold of their disabled comrade, one at each wing, lift him out of the water and bear him out seaward. They were followed by two other birds. After having carried liim about six or seven yards they gently let him down again, and the two who had hitherto been inactive took him up. In this way they continued to carry him alternately until they had con veyed liim to a rock at a considerable distance, upon which they landed him in safety. I made toward the rock, wishing to obtain tile prize which hud been so unceremoniously snatched from my grasp. I was observed, however, by the terns, and instead of four. I had in a short time a whole swarm about me. On my near approach to the rock I once more beheld two of them tnke hold of t'ae wounded bird as tlie.v had done before, and bear liim out to sea in triumph, fair beyond my reach. AI.OXE WITII SKA IS IK I>S. A* t :'.e most "clitnabie" and camp able" looking rock off the Oregon coast we selected the huge stack of basalt farthest e>ut at. sea. which was 2!M5 feet high and 'JOO feet long. The rock rose In abrupt cliffs from the Icilgc. With block and tackle we hauled our Inmt to a table twelve feet above the beating waves, and went Into camp on an eight foot ledge forty feet above* the water. For five days we climbed nlonu the narrow ledges and photographed in tills great sea bird metropolis: for live nights we slept, or tried to sleep, on this lonely rock shelf In mid-ocean. I hope the crowding, throbbing multitude* on Three Arch rocks may. never be diminished in number. I can never forged the nervous strain of ."pending live days and nights in that dense feathered metropolis by the sea. The danger in climbing ledges, where we had to risk life and limit a dozen times every hour: the constant screeching of the fowls, day and night, overhead, seaward, land ward. everywhere, a screaming and calling never for a minute intermitted. But it is worth the hardship. Just to feel the charm of seeing nature in her primordial state and to see how she revels in the wild life of the feathered myriads that live on the cliffs in the midst of the sea.? W. L. Fliiley, lu The Country Calendar, roxv SAVES GIRL, Miss Genevieve Keddington. ? twelv? -year-old girl, of Cullcn. Okla homa. attributes her escape from being killed by two panthers in a ennyon near there, to her pony, which set upon the beasts which attacked the >rirl and drove them away by blows from its hoofs. .Miss Keddington was riding through th<? canyon when two large panthers rushed upon her fi*?m the undergrowth. Her pony stopped at sight of the beasts, which dragged the girl from the saddle, almost stripped her of her clothing, and were rolling her over and ovrr on the ground when the pony suddenly ran at them and began kicking. One of the blows from the pony's hoofs strwk the girl on the head, rendering her unconscious. A few minutes later, when she regit ined consciousness, the pony was standing quietly by her side, while the panthers had disappeared. AX ESCAPED PKISOXEU. One a recent morning John Parker, a white prisoner undergoing sentence at Tokai, near Wynherg, for receiving stolen good*, savagely attacked a warder named .foubort with a spade, and escaped into the wilds oi the mountainside. He was rccaplund next morning at the top of Tablo Moun tain. When he got away lie rando nt a breakneck pace for a recess in the mountainside and r? ached the summit torn, bleeding and exhausted. He spent the night lu a cave and had an en counter with a huge baboon. He ob tained a civilian's coal, and at 0 o'clock I n the morning was wandering, hungry and worn out, across the wall of the reservoir, when some municipal water works men arrested him. He whs bt t rayed by % is prison trousers,-- South Africa. T1IE RUSTY WASH BOILER. When the wash boiler is rusted place the clothes in n line or old pillow Klip before putting them in to boll, writes a correspondent. Hut why not try tin* up-to-date soaps Hint do away with the boiling? TO IDENTIFY OVERSHOES. A novel way for one's overshoes to he IdeutHied is to fasten theia together with a clothes pin hearing one's name. A more practical idea, however. U to have the name written in each shoo with red ink. THE TOPS OF WARDHORES. The tops of wardrobes and cupboards (that do not reach to the ceiling* should have papers laid over them not only to keep the dust from silting down, but to lighten the monthly house cleaning. COOD Dl'STERS. Small pieces of cotton bnttinc. slightly steamed, make good clusters that should be burned after once using. A medium sized camel's hair paint brush is most useful in dusting the carving of furniture. RE EX FO RUED RI "TT< >N HOLES. It is suggested that :t bit of wrap ping cord be placed around the edge of a buttonhole with the loop to the front and the stitches taken over it. This is recommended for children's clothes that will have hard usage. TO REMOVE INK STAINS. The best way to remove ink st-iin* from a delicate fabric U lo soak the piece tirst in mill;, then cover with common table salt. Let il renin in for a couple of hours and then wash out in lukewarm water. This should be done before tne garment has been wet. Roast Beef a Second Time- Ileal the gravy, put the roast In it: after Irim liiinj: it into shape again, rove:* closely and put in a lint oven for ton minutes or Iws, according tn tin- shie of the piece. Or out in slices and Say in hot gravy, only long enough in lioai them through. Nut < 'aiuly? One pint of brown su gar. 0110 toaoupful of nut kernels. one tahlrspoouful of butter. otio cup of sweet milk, Break t lie mil kernels into small piotvs and plaoo in llio ovou to brown a littlo. Boil the milk, buttor and sugar until tlx* oaudy is nearly done, then add the nuts. Cbooolnto Fudge? One pint of light brown sugar, one-half oup of chocolate, ono (nblospoonful of buttor. ono cup of swoot nillk. l'ut this on iu a gran Ito pan and stir whilo cooking. Try by tnklug a littlo in a Mincer and stirring rapidly; if it tliiokons woll it is dono and should bo takon from tlio stove and stirred rapidly until it is of tin* oonslstonoy of thick eroani. 1'onr quickly intp a pan and cut into- squares before it hardens. Almond Pudding? Itlauoli and boat to n paste four ounces of swoot aimonds and six bitter ones, adding a littlo roso water to prevent oiling. Add a few lumps of loaf sugar, wh'.oli have boon well rubbed oil the rind of a loinon. a piece of butter, tlio si'/." of an egg. pre viously melted tn a glass of warm eroani. five eggs woll boa ton, and a lif tlo grated nutmeg, l'ut the mixture into a buttered ple-difii nr in buttered oups; bake in a modern to oven for half an hour and serve with swoot sam e. Cauliflower Boiled With Tomato Sauce? Soak a fine cauliflower in ouhl sail water for an hour, then plungo in saltrd boiling water and cook for a half hour or until louder. Transfer to a hot dish. Bring the contents of a half can of tomatoes t<? a hoil. cook for a minute, strain, season with onion juice, salt and pepper, and thicken with a little flour rubbed into a tablespoon fill of butter. Stir until smooth. Break the cauliflower into bits of uni form size, put into a deep dish, and pour the tomato sauce over it. Pineapple Pudding With Orntige Same? .Make a batter of one cup of milk, a heaping cupful of flour in which has boon sifted a toaspoonfnl nf baking powder, live eggs the yolks and wiiiles beaten separately, two-thirds of a cupful of dried bread crumbs and one cupful of chopped pineapple. Pour into a well-butterrd mold and steam for three hours. Sauce Beat the yolks of four eggs with one cupful nf powdered sugar until very light; add the Juice nf an orange, and cook over hot water until the mixture In gins to thicken. Cool, then fold in one cupful of whipped cream. Preserved (Juiucej ? Pare, quarter and core the fruit, saving skins and cores. Put quinces over the fire with just enough water to cover them and rlliiiiHM* until joft. but r.ot bro:<":i. Take out fruit and spread n,i dishes to cool, add parings and cores to water in which quinces wer** boiied. stow them an hour and then strain through a Jolly bag. To each pint nf this liqit'd allow a pound of sugar. Hoil and skim tills and then boll flfto.'ii minutes long er. Take all off the lire and bq stand in deep dish twenty-four hours. Then drain off syrup and let it boil. Put iu quinoes and boll llfteen minutes. Tnk<* out fruit again, spread mi dishes and then boll syrup down to nearly a Jelly. Put fruit Into Jars two thirds full atcl cover with the syrup.