It promised well. The picturesque roof and gable, overgrown with grass and moss and briarwood, leant against that tower of strength to the building-the weird-looking chimney; while far above all, the ivy, in its pride of age and strength, waved its thick and toughened branches, defiant of the smoke, or dust, or gathering blackness, which came from within.

'I believe that the lovely Pengethly hills will come into my picture,' said Ethel to herself with inward satisfaction, as she made rapid progress with the outline. Ah! my pencil has fallen ! into the long grass, too. How very provoking! and I have no other. Alas! it is gone! Now what next can be done by a person of my resources? There is no shop, of course, but there is a nice-looking farm-house opposite; why should I not particularly want some gallina-I see they have quite a flock-and at the same time make my humble request for the loan of a pencil?'

Ethel crossed the road, and left her footmarks on the whitest of stone pavements which led to the door. It was evident that way to the house was seldom used, or the bright brass knocker on the door itself, for bolt, and bar, and lock had to be turned in answer to her knock. The small hands that had made this mighty effort, and the small voice that replied to her, belonged to Selina Lloyd, who, at the advanced age of thirteen, was installed as general servant of Rye Farm; and before Ethel could give her message, Lena's small feet had carried her across a wide kitchen on to the regions beyond, and as quickly brought her back, to say that Mrs. Tregarthen would be there directly.

At this point Selina's decision of character failed her utterly. Whether to take a lady into a kitchen where there was a fire, or in a parlour where there was none; or whether it would be better to leave her standing on the doormat, she could not make up her mind; it was, therefore, a great relief when she heard her mistress's step on the stairs, and knew that the black silk apron was already tied on, and the lace cap, with the blue roses, on its way to

meet the pleasant lady she had left waiting so long.

Ethel explained her loss, and asked if Mrs. Tregarthen would kindly supply it.

'Walk into the parlour and take a seat on the sofa, Mrs. Conway,' said the mistress of Rye Farm, in all the importance of her position. 'We have no fire here to-day, though I generally have to keep my daughter's pianner in tune: a good pianner is worth taking care of, you know, ma'am.'

'It looks in good order,' remarked Ethel.

'And so it ought,' replied Mrs. Tregarthen. 'Five-and-forty pounds my poor dear husband gave for it: a large sum for an instrument, Mrs. Conway! I am afraid you will find it cold-for very cold it is-but I will loose the sun into the room, if you will allow me to pass. I keep the blind down to prevent a glare on the carpet and curtains. I can find you a pencil directly. My daughter Esther learnt drawing at school, and I have a box full of hers somewhere. Ah! they are slate pencils, I see! Lena! Lena! go and see if Master Phil has got a pencil! Quick! My son is always drawing horses and dogs of an evening, and I have no doubt he can supply you. The price of gallinæ, did you ask? Well, they were up in price last Wednesday; but if you will let it bide, I will "leave you know." Very glad to have seen you. Good morning!pray do not trouble to return the pencil!'

The longest hour passes at last, and Martin was quietly shutting the gates of the farm behind the carriage when Ethel called him to her side.

'I was nearly going away with Mrs. Tregarthen's pencil: please take it back for me, Martin; and let me leave my best wishes with you, that the next time I come I may find a pleasant Mrs. Heath to make my tea, to say nothing of adding to your own comfort, you know.'

Martin shook his head.

'How dismal Martin looks,' said Ethel; 'and no wonder-for oh, Harold! you can have no idea what an experience I have had of bush life in that comfortless home! My supply of wood

failed me, and I had only my penknife to cut bread and butter, and then in sketching that çelebrated chimney-which, by-the-by, will make a splendid subject for a water-colour-I lost my pencil.'

'Poor Ethel! what sympathy can I give you, except that it is over now, and that before another summer has passed I hope the Llydiatt Farm will be improved inside and out: the blackened walls, and

'You will not touch the chimney, though, Harold! promise me that--not a stone, not a bough of that grand old ivy !'

Harold laughed.

'On that point I am as staunch as my wife. Not a stone, not a bough shall be interfered with.'

'I am so glad. And oh! do you know, Harold, the loss of my pencil led to my acquaintance with the mistress of the Rye Farm. She has an only daughter and a piano, and I think it is a question which has the first place in her affections: at all events, the daughter has been from home for years, and the piano remains to be the pride of the household.'

'Ah yes! Ethel, I think I can explain the secret of Esther Tregarthen's banishment from home without much difficulty. Her mother was always bitterly opposed to Martin Heath as a son-in-law: not more so, perhaps, than old Mrs. Heath in her lifetime; they were certainly agreed upon that, if on no other subject. I have pitied Martin ever since I knew him; his mother ruled and managed and worried him, till he seemed to have no will of his own; and when his father died matters grew worse, for then old Mrs. Heath was haunted by the fear that Martin would marry Esther Tregarthen, in which case she declared he would turn his own mother out of doors, to beg her bread, for that no house in England could or should contain herself and a daughter-in-law-especially a girl who could play a piano, and was too fine to take her own chickens to market; and that she was ready to say the same to Jane Tregarthen,

of the Rye Farm, herself, whenever the question was asked her.'

'Poor Martin !' said Ethel, thoughtfully. 'No wonder he walks about in that dreamy way.' (To be continued.)

B

a Buried City.

URIED Cities' used to be a favourite game with the girls of our 'Friendly Society.' I wish to tell you to-day a little of a city that was buried long ages ago, not under a heap of words, as we bury them now, for amusement; but in sad and terrible earnest, under a shower of hot cinders and ashes.

You have all seen Naples on the map of Europe, and have heard of its beautiful bay. As we stand on its shore, there lies, a little to the left, a low range of hills, some of which rise above the others. One of these is the famous volcano of Vesuvius. Generally, on a clear day, a little cloud of white smoke hangs over it; but sometimes it rises up in a black, fan-shaped column, warning us of the terrible power that lies hidden beneath. And when one of the frequent storms suddenly sweeps over the bay, the beautiful blue of its waters is soon changed to a dark, inky hue, caused by the ashes which have fallen into it in former eruptions.

Eighteen hundred years ago, the bright, busy city of Pompeii stood not far from the base of the mountain. It had theatres, and temples, and baths, and a large building, called an amphitheatre, open to the sky, and used for games and races. Rich nobles came to Pompeii, as to a country home, away from the great city of Rome. Strange-looking chariots drove along the roughly-paved streets, and life went on as busily as in our London to-day. But there came a day when all this was changed; the sky grew dark, and Vesuvius began to pour out streams of red-hot lava, a thick liquid, which cools into a hard, stony substance. These were

have been, pressing wildly through that narrow gate, leaving home and home-treasures behind, anxious only to save themselves from this fiery death!

We went down the silent streets to one of the most perfect houses, and were shown the cellar where the large jars that once held wine were still standing in rows. Here were found three skeletons, supposed to be those of a lady and her two children, who had taken refuge there. But they must have been suffocated even before the door of the cellar became blocked up with ashes. The rooms are all small, the walls of some beautifully painted. The names of the owners of the houses are still over the doors. The baker's oven looks as if it had been used but yesterday, and the counters of the wineshops are still standing, with the marks of the vessels left so long ago by those who never came back. In spite of the pouring rain we spent some hours in visiting the different streets,

standing some time to watch the last coat of ashes being carefully removed from a painted wall. Some one, long years ago, had watched that painting with equal interest, men and women had loved it as part of the beauty of their home, and little children had been gladdened by its bright colours and graceful forms, all unknowing of the doom preparing in the vine-clad hill, that looked so peaceful under the sunny sky.

Every basketful of earth dug out is carefully sifted, that no treasure may be lost. Among the dark-skinned Italian boys engaged in wheeling up the barrows, we noticed one fair-haired, blue-eyed child, who looked as if he belonged to English meadows and corn-fields.

All the most valuable things are taken to the museum at Naples, where may be seen dishes of fruit and bread, their shape fully preserved under their stony covering, pieces of dresses with the stitches still visible, almost every article that we use in our kitchens to-day, even pastecutters and bread-graters, beautiful lamps, statues, and other records of a life that with many outward points of likeness, differed from ours more widely than you happy girls, brought up in a

Christian land, can even imagine, for, with all its riches and brightness, Pompeii was a heathen city, and idols stood in its beautiful temples.

I brought away a few pieces of broken pavement, and some ferns which where growing in the streets, and my thoughts often go back to the day spent in the strange, silent city.

Cottage Cookery.

BY MARY HOOPER,

Author of 'Little Dinners,' 'Everyday Meals,' &c. &c.

III.

IN our first paper on this subject we briefly alluded to the superiority of the style of cookery of our French neighbours, and endeavoured to show that to live well is not so much a question of expense as of so cooking food as to make it yield the greatest possible amount of nourish

ment and savour.

By way of example of our meaning we will give directions for cooking a dinner, which will be good and sufficient for a party of three adults and five children, at a cost of 25. 4d. in London. It can be done for much less in the country-probably for 1s. 6d. because all provisions, except grocery, are much cheaper there.

We must, however, first observe that, in order to cook bread and potatoes according to the recipes, it is necessary to understand the art of frying, which is not scorching things in the pan with an ounce or two of fat. Badly fried food is unwholesome and wasteful; but people get so used to it that they even like it. To fry properly the quantity of things in our recipes a pound of fat will be required. There is nothing better than 'pot-skimmings'-that is, the fat taken off soup or the boilings of meat. But, what

ever kind of fat is used, care must be taken to have it free from water. It is easy to dry the fat by melting it down slowly and when. it is cold wiping it, or, if necessary, squeezing it in a cloth. If fat is properly used it is not extravagant to have a good quantity of it. It will fry bread and potatoes several times, and may finally be used for fish, and when quite useless for cooking purposes can be sold for about half its original cost, which, of course reduces the estimate for frying-fat for our dinner.

We give a receipt for a cheap pudding in case it should be preferred to macaroni. It is to be regretted that macaroni is so little used by the working people of England. It is not only a cheap, but an excellent food, and when properly cooked is very nice. Nothing could be better for the dinner of a family of children once or twice a week than macaroni, eaten either with broth, milk, cheese, or sugar. Excellent macaroni can now be had at fourpence the pound, and as this quantity makes a very large dish, it will be seen how economical it is. There is an old-fashioned idea that macaroni requires to be soaked before boiling; but this is not the case. All that is necessary is to throw the macaroni into plenty of boiling water, and to keep it boiling during the whole time of cooking, and when it has been plainly boiled in this way it can be served in a variety of

Stewed Ox Heart.

The average weight of an ox heart is five pounds; and it can be bought in London at from two shillings to two and sixpence. Only half the heart will be required for this dinner; the whole of it can, however, be stewed at one time, and a portion be re-warmed when required; or, the half which has to be kept can be dipped in vinegar, and will then keep good for several days. In warm weather this process should be repeated every day, and a little pepper be sprinkled over the

meat.

Divide the heart down the middle, and thoroughly wash and cleanse it. Put a little dripping into a saucepan, and having cut the

half heart into twelve slices, rub flour over them and fry them until lightly browned. When this is done put into the saucepan with the meat a large turnip and four onions sliced, two sprigs of thyme, half a tea-spoonful of pepper, a large tea-spoonful of salt, and a quart of water.

Cover the saucepan closely,

and let the contents stew very gently for two hours, by which time the meat should be tender. Take the fat off the gravy, which thicken with a large table-spoonful of flour, mixed smooth in a cup full of cold water. Stir over the fire for a minute, add pepper and salt i necessary, dish up the meat, pour the gravy and vegetables over it, and round the dish place sippets of bread, fried as directed in the next receipt.

Fried Bread.

Take the crust from the under-side of a half-quartern loaf, cut the crumb into slices the third of an inch thick, and divide each slice into three pieces. Put a pound of potskimmings, or of dripping, into a saucepan, let it heat until it begins to smoke, then throw