THE OLD COTTAGE ULOCK.
A friendly voice was that old old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time, with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling;
But a cross old voice was that tiresome
clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly.
When the dawn looked gray on the misty
WAY,
And the early air blew coldly;
“Pek, tick," it said—*‘quick out of bed—
For five I’ve given warning;
You'll never have health, you'll never get
wealth
Unless you're up soon in the morning.”
Still hourly the sound goes round and
round,
With a tone that ceases never;
While tears are shed for the bright days
fled,
And the old friends lost forever;
Its hearts beat on, though hearts are gone
That warner beat and younger;
¥ts hands still move, though hands we love
Are clasped on earth no longer !
“Tek, tick,” it said—to the churchyard
bed —
““The grave hath given warning;
Up, up and rise, and look to the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning!’
EN SR.
SAWIN FARM.
Miss Elizabeth Sawin, spinster, She
neat gxpanse of farm yard. Her glance
covered the scene with irritable uncer-
tainty. Her head turned in a listening
attitude suggestive of a metaphorical
“pricking up of ears’ and impatient
desire to locate a sound.
time, as she wrathfully manipulated the
towel in ber hands,
“Here I am, Aunt Liz!” came in
“romantic nonsense,’ Infact, sheseemed
to have a hatred for men and a con-
tempt for the tender emotions, These
| peculiarities did not, however, prevent
motherless little daughter of her broth.
| er, whose house she superintended and
whose domestic affairs she directed with
conscientious intelligence.
Her abrupt manners and apparently
| gable room entirely too small to contain
| the shy delight she was ashamed to
| display before Aunt Liz, the scorner,
| or father, the quiet, self-centered man.
| rous nonsense to the tenants of the barn,
{ to Nellie, her own little brown mare,
| who put her satiny nose up to be caress-
| ed as if she deserved thus to be rewarded
How
the turnpike
and there came cantering along another
foretop?
| Ah, how Betz's little heart did flutter
when she saw that handsome creature,
the one in the saddle yho could lift his
honest, and ‘‘well fixed’ in life as any
to bel
of him. So what could the lovers do
of a great three-story building, combi-
high above the well-kept sheds that
were clustered about it hke
around a giant.
Each shed was weather-stripped and
ral treasure, machines for sowing and
i
es both pride and care. Beyond these
goodmanagement, spreads a vast billowy
the tender green of acres of wheat
the darker shade of oats.
a smaller patch of buckwheat with its
distinct shade, neighboring upon a glis
tening field of young corn, tranquilly
breeze that moaned a wild Folian
strain® as it crept between the sharp
edges of the maize fillet. To the left,
edging the roadway, is the orchard, its
varied assemblage of fruit trees branch-
ing along to the very shalow of a clus-
ter of fine old forest trees beginning at
the foot of the hill, where they become
the pretty little church on the top,
gleaming even at this distance. With
inscribed with names, that tell you this
place is sacred to the dead.
But this picturesque view, so beauti-
ful, so refreshing to the unfamiliar eyes,
possessed no familiar attraction for Miss
Ehzabeth Sawin, better known as
“Aunt Liz.”’ who at this moment mere-
ly realized
had
niece an
whereabouts of her
sake, designated ‘Betz’
with an hatic added as a for-
cible 1} ing adjunct a sort of alpha-
bBetic bmilet after the failure of blank
cartridge discharges,
“Oh, your'e there, are you?’’ Aunt
Liz gave her head a toss, then drawing
a deep, inflammatory inspiration to
enable her to poise properly for the
bubbling sarcasm on her tongue, she
raised her voice to its ablest treble and
screamed; “Well, why don’t you show
yourself? Do you think I'm a divining-
rod, or do you think my eyes are gim-
lets that can bore holes through two-
inch boards? Show up, Miss Idleness,
to the call of your betters,
“Yours to command, Queen Bess!”
laughed the culprit, appearing a central
figure in the charming country scene, a
flash more of beautyand picturesque life,
that scattered tbe poultry adjuncts to
the right and left across the yard to
join her aunt.
A breath of new existence, a sparkle
ol intense vitality, magnetic and re-
spousive, shie was in her womanhood of
twenty years—a child just awakened to
the needs of the creature—a soul but
istely answering an emotion not yet
analyzed by her: but it permeated her
being with an intoxicating influence,
sweet, strong. reverential,
Betz, hike other girls, had been fond
of dreaming. Her girlish, romantic if
you will, imagination had often wan-
dered broadcast over this vast world in
search of the hero who would become
her other self-—the “one” who some
day would take her by the hand and
lead her to that home nest of his own
building—built for her alone to be its
mistress,
“Such ‘fool ideas were all bosh,”
Aunt Liz declared, ‘Men were not
‘calculated’ to understand such ‘highfa-
latin’ nonsens®’’ as Betz had imbibed
away off in that New England school,
Yet the young girl had often noticed
Aunt Liz covertly wipe away a tear
when sitting around the table evenings
Betz would read some pathetic story
while her father smoked his pipe and
Aunt Liz attended to the family mend-
Fyn
si 3
Po
ing.
Betz had no mother. She recollected,
as in a dream, being lifted for a mo-
ment in her father’s arms and bade to
kiss a pale, waxen face, mute and cold
in the narrow compass of a dark long
box. She remembered also how the
sobs shook his frame, as kneeling there,
with her standing awe-stricken at his
side, trying to lift her hand above the
of the coffin to look again upon
that hushed face, while her father
moaned in wh : “Mary, wife, oh,
my God, you will A never speak to
me again!’ Then soma instinct of un-
comprehended sorrow caused her to
Weop with him, until Aunt Liz came
softly into the room and carried her
BWAY.
Aunt Liz was not the crabbed crea-
inre then that later years had developed,
Lut she never had much patience with
course, both bound on their way to the
town for the mail and the papers that
made their appearance only once
week?
the
having a hero of her own,
romance
the childish fable, who lived in Greece
and died in Peace, and were buried to-
gether in bag of sand would their lives
be unto the end.
How far away that end appeared to
the young and happy.
Oblivious to all
Betz
Aunt Liz
such
the
but
when shrill
voice of
the
leaning absently against patient
What can I do?”
‘“Tazy! I should say so. I wonder
ain't ashamed to own it,
have no sense of decency these days.
“Things were different when you
you
1"
anticipating an oft quoted reproach.
“I'm not as old, thank vou, as I
be,” retorted the half-amused,
half-angry old maid.
auntie. 1 wonder If vom scolded as
much when you were my age and scared
all your admirers,”
**Drat admirers!
I'm tired of the job.
critters, to hull such a tot of
Shiftless
dirt into
It’s a fiuisance
to have to pick a mess of beans over
first every time a body wants to cook a
In silence this labor of sorting beans
was continued by the two women, the
Jetz covertly watching the expression
gave place to the usual not over con-
tented calm.
“Aunt Liz?” the girl's voice bad a
ring of pleading in that caused the elder
woman to look up quickly in some sur-
prise,
“Well?”
“Fred Carter is coming
evening.”
“Fred Carter’d better mind his busi-
ness and stay where he belongs.’’
“He is coming to speak fo father on
business,’
Aunt Liz straightened up in her
chair, dropped the beans she held as if
zed and stared at the blushing Betz
with eyes that had in them an emotion
beside wrath and astonishment.
The girl could not bear it.
sively she cast her task aside and kneel-
claimed:
mother I have ever known.
me now; don’t scold and blame because
I have deceived you, But we—we
couldn’t belp it, and oh, Aunt Liz, do
try and be my dear, dear auntie, I
loved him when you said he should not
come here, and then we met going to
town—and oh, Aunt Liz, why do you
hate him so?"
“He is the son of a contemptible
man,” wag the bitterly spoken reply. His
father did me wrong not to be forgiven.
His unstable life has made my life the
barren, solitary existence it 1s, He-—he
robbed me of faith in man, he made me
the ntter-tongued woman I have be-
come, Take no heed what a son of
such a man says to you. He will fail
you at the last hour and make you an
object of pity wherever you are known,”
The habit of speech familiar to farm.
hands and acquired in association with
them was forgotten. The dignity of
her wrongs brought to the surface the
better education of her youth, Aunt
Liz for a moment was another being.
“Aunt Liz, dear, dear auntie—and I
pever knew that you had suffered,
How often have I not said cruel, un-
thinking things that must have wound.
ed your heart, but you never seemed to
be so cold and not to care for anyone,’’
“Never mind, child.’ The words
were tenderly spoken and the arm that
had closed around Betz became a
WATTIEer pressure,
“Never again will I be thougtlessly
unmindful of your feelings. And oh,
Aunt Liz, you will let me love you
dearly now and make up far Butl
cannot, eannot give up Fred,” leaving
the other sentence unfinished,
“If he is like his tather, he won'twait
for such a ceremony* on your part,”
retorted Aunt Liz, with her usual
acerbity. the momentary softness leav-
the girl from her and hastily left the
room.
| With a brave front, but tremulous
{ he art, ths handsome young farmer ap-
| proached the father of his **Betz’’ that
evening, Calm and
parent sat smoking'his after-supper pipe,
| in the old-fashioned, wooden-bottomed
rocking chair on the front porch, The
white Swiss curtains at one of the win-
dows just behind the unsuspicious smo-
ker were set in motion by some agita-
tion stronger than the gentle zephyrs
that kissed the tip of a little nose peer-
ing hike an advance guard between the
drapery below, first one then another
| anxiously quivering bright brown eye,
“Good evening, Mr. Sawin.”
“Good evening—good evening,” the
farmer answered, with quiet cordiality,
eminently encouraging to the young
man, who seated himself on the bench
running along the porch enclosure.
i
|
i
“I have come—"’
“So I see,” remarked the farmer dry-
ly.
A flush mcunted to the very tips of
brimmed hat.
him to his metal. A man coming with
honorable intentions had, at
right to be heard, was the thought
which #lashed through his brain,
“I have come to ask you —that is, sir,
would like you to re-
| gard me more favorably than you have
| heretofore. Why you and Miss Sawin
tion,
arm and heart to offer the girl, I
wife.”’
The poor fellow’s tones faltered here,
and behind the white curtains a palr of
brown eyes overflowed, and a pair of
5
lips murmured: ** Dear, dear Fred.
cent piece, with which he pressed into
At this instant the white face of Aunt
Liz appeared at a window at the other
’
what your business is here to night?”
“He does,
sent.”
“Then go home and tell him from
Liz Sawin that a son of his shan’ have
“Aunt Liz! Aunt Liz!" wailed Betz,
set lips, was about leaving the place,
indignantly silent. ‘‘If they drive you
away with insults, Fred, I will go with
you. If wrong has been done, you are
innocent! Whatever injustice rests be-
I believe in
you. I love you.”
Farmer Sawin looked at ms spirited
daughter with admiration, not unmin-
gled with pain, for she resembled, in
her present attitade, the sweet, “*high-
strung’ Mary—wife-——who had paseed
out of his life after three short, happy
wedded years,
or could, take her place in his heart or
home,
“Petz is right, sister Liz.’" he quietly
said. as that lady appeared in the door-
way. “It is hardly fair to condemn
mast honorable man,
Surely you mistake
few words he said
that I loved your
i the kindest and
done you wrong?
him. From the
when I told him
suffered wrong.”
“Indeed,” sneered Aunt Liz
“Indeed, yes, His manner,
| for you, mingled with sadness, He said
| he would welcome her as a treasure to
| his home and mine,”
| “What condescension!"’
| murmured implacable Aunt Liz.
“I thought probably he had some
time been vour unsuccessful admirver.”
Aunt Liz hastily turned in doors, a
gray pallor on her face, a hard glitter
| in her eyes that looked as if tears would
| have been a blessad relief,
“Father, tells us what is the sorrow
ironically
“When she was about your age,
Fred's father came to ask her to be his
wife. It was gn open secret that the
two were devoted to each other. She
She was as proud and happy as you to-
day, Betz. and trusted her lover as you
trust Fred. The wedding day was set,
the finery ali bought, when only a week
before the day appointed, Kate Toba
“My mother?” queried Fred.
‘“Yes; the adopted daughter of your
grand-parents—came over, with swollen
eyes and shame faced hesitation, and
brought Liz a note. What was in it
we did not find out for months, but
your aunt changed as if she had become
another being: The wedding things
were destroyed. 1 never thought any
one could be so hard and savage as the
poor girl was when she, with her own
hands, made a bonfire of her marriage
dry goods. We had to humor her. We
feared for her the worst that could
come to mortal--insanity. She made
us swear never to speak to him or ber
of their past, He came begging for an
interview a week or two later.’ In the
meantime your grandmother had died,
but all intercourse was at an end be-
tween our families for eighteen years;
then you two patched up a renewal.
And hers we are,”
“There ia a terrible mistake about
that broken-off marriage. I am sure it
could have been cleared up. But did
my father get married soon after this
trouble?”
“Within a month,”
A painful silence was broken at last
by Fred's request to be permitted to go
and return the next morning. 0
lovers parted as lovers will, for the
farmer remembering his youth, had dis.
| croetly vanished, and therebysanctioned
Fred's hopes to call Betz his own.
| About ten o’clock
{ furious biast of the dinner-horn, such
| a8 no one but Aunt Liz could produce
when in great nxcitement or impatience,
“Brother!” she exclaimed, ‘*‘that
Fred has brought his father! Oh after
twenty years. What shall I do?”
“Take adrink of water, Laz; you look
ready to faint,”?
| he had filled a glass with and handed
her,
with.”
There was no protest to this authori-
tative request,
| two, once lovers, stood after long years
| face to face, The man held out a
| trembling hand; trembling not
| grand manhood in middle life.
A glance at the honest countenance,
{once the idol of her maiden dreams,
{and with a heart-breaking moan two
| other trembling hands covered the face
| grown thin and fretlined on the memo-
| ries of a contemptuous desertion,
| cruel, heartless note!”
“1 never wrote you such a note!”
“Then let the proof
at him
read:
again, snd thrust
{ crumpled paper.
a
It You must
| before. We cannot become man and
wife. In justice to yourself I must tell
you I love and honor above all others,
Be as you were to me before and for-
FRED,
exclamation
I give
“My God!" the
Turning to his son and Betz, he
| sald:
“T.eave us alone for a little while.”
in a broken volee exclaimed:
“This note cost me the most painful
hour I had up to that time known, It
She was a faithful
She, unhappi let her undisci-
I was forced to write what I
Be merciful;
the wrong the did us cannot be atoned
for upon earth, I did not dream she
crime like this under so
seemingly good a heart,
you with a message from me.
day—I dared not leave her,
a word of sympathy from you, who
were 80 soon to be my wife, can you
of coming to see my dear
went with fenry to
i you your cousin
Hy
word of condolence when
was laid to rest forever,
you had only given me
to see you."
“If, of, if,” moaned Aunt Liz,
insulted pride could separate
right. But you married
y heal Your broken
my
3 wy a ¥
Oh, 14 +
an opportunity
“ig
wrong from
Kate soon enough
heart."
“Ah, I was wid how you | the
very wedding dress in which you had
promised to become mine. What hope
was left for me? You must have indeed
have come to hate me, The girl seemed
kind, womanly, sympathetic, after the
note I had written her. She
alone after mother's death, My life
| was broken of its charm-—she was will-
ing to take me. A belter wife
stirnt
irs
she proved to the last. You will mot
uncover the grave of my boy's mother
—I, too, have suffered, Liz, but I can-
not bear the lad-—-he is a noble lad, Liz
—40 see his mother’s sin, now that she
is in her grave and cannot plead a par-
don!"
“Oh, Fred, Fred, I, too, have sinned,
{ for I should have given you a chance
| to right the wrong.’
Once more Farmer Sawin discreetly
| “made himself scarce,” as Aunt Liz
| would have said had she not been blind-
| how the two old lovers got their heads
| together after awhile and the leng lorn,
| barren years fled, taking with them
Imueh of Aunt Liz's brusquerie aud
| snap.
There were two weddings shortly on
| the Sawin farm. And when old friends
ventured to tease Aunt Liz about her
improved appearance and remarked the
devotion between the long parted ones,
a little of the old tartness came crop-
{ ping up in her rejoinder. “Well, you
know there's no fools like old fools!”
Sometimes Farmer Sawin experienced
a sense of isolation in the atmosphere
of happiness that rei at both farm
homes, then he would take his pipe and
a little sack of tobacco and wander
near the white stone engraved, ‘Mary
~ Wise,” he would sit and muse and
smoke, finding in it a peace all his own.
RI
The New Mormon Tomple.
The main walls of the new temple of
the Mormon's in Salt Lake have been
completed within the past week. The
first stone was laid twenty-eight years
ago, The material is granite, like Maine
ranite, tull of shining ance flecks, and
s hauled from the Zsountain back of
Salt Lake with oxen on enormous
wagons with wheels twelve feet high.
The walls are exceedingly thick--ten
foot —and the height is eighty-five feet,
The cost to date, paid by tithings, has
been $1,500,000, and six more years of
work will be required to complete the
structure, It has come to stay, whether
Mormonism has or not, and it has been
redicted that some day the State of
tah, redeemed and purged of Jo
gamy, will own It and use it for a
capitol.
A aoop reason: Irish witness (for the
defense)—*‘Is it mysell that under
stands the nature of an oath? Faix, and
I t to; havent I been twice
for perjury and convicted?”
Bathing in Silks and Satins,
The newest styles are of navy blue and
Lansdowne blue flannel,” They
made, with a pretty coquettish vest
front, buttoned on to the rather low
and cuffs, while bloomers of the mate-
tached, or tied with blue ribbon and
wearer. There are some like last year’s
buttoned on, Except in some cases,
where the plain yoke suited stout ladies
Flannel is the principal fabric with the
dry goods houses, unless a special order
Laborers & Hundred Years Ago,
Jt is not an easy matter to obtain
accurate information of the eondition
of the laboring classes in America a
but enough is known to
the condition of the
laboring man of to-day 1s vastly im-
proved over those who lived in the days
wars of the American Revolution were
Both as regards wages and the
comforts of the laboring man times are
vastly improved for the better, In the
matter of clothes, the stuff was
were one-half what they are at present,
man who performed unskilled labor
or helped in harvest time—received two
shillings a day. If atthe end of the
lace.
The lace 18 “set up’ on the gown. It
place where the sleeves ought to be.
This garment was made with a yoke, in
blouse pattern and belted in at the
A more
It is for a
this costume. It cost $00.
costly one was also shown.
is of the purest silk also, and the blouse
of the finest quality.
honeymoon, and is a copy of one made
for Mlle. Gaulolre, a reigning belle In
Paris, The shape of the garment 1s
Parisienne, and the sleeves are
long, as Madame does, doubtless, not
intend to exert her swimming propensi-
ties after marriage, as these sleeves 50
hea vily laced would be in the way.
“What does that cost?” questioned
“One hundred dollars; it is not much
when you consider the lace.’
“Do you ever make cheaper ones?’
“The lowest priced suit for this year
the new Lansdowne
blue and trimmed with narrow swlare
braid, It is a plain plaited blouse and
skirt. price is $25. Heal
lase encircles the neck and finishes the
corded sleeve band.”
I hear that large French
watering-places they are to have Ot
man silk, and pale lavender and purple
hues will predominate,
RE ——
is 0 pongee silk of
™
ue
He
af
ai
A Chinese Pastime,
If it be one of
their
shillings-—a sum now about as much as
$4 he was lucky, indeed, It was only
by the strictest economy that the half.
starved mechanic could raise his fami]
His dwelling possessed few of t
or refinements which
decorate many a mechanic's home to-
day. Carpets were unheard of; sand
sprinkled on the floor served instead.
v
Matches were un-
heard of, and cooking-stoves not in-
vented, His wife struck a light with
a flint or borrowed some coals from a
neighbor, and cooked a rude, coarse
meal, He was lucky if he tasted fresh
meat a week, orn was three
shillings a bushel, wheat eight shillings
and six pence, a pound of salt pork ten
pence. Fruits were comparatively un-
known, Cantaloupes, tomatoes, rhu-
barb, cauliflower, egrplant, lettuce and
many varieties of pears and peaches
unheard of a hundred years ago,
Such luxuries as oranges and bananas
were unknown ever to the rich while
the fox grape was the only delicacy in
the grape line that came to the market,
The clothing of en was such
8s no tramp woul nowadays,
Coarse leather breeches, a checked
shirt, red flannel jacket, rusty hat cock-
at the corners, si neat-skin
set off with brass buckles, and a
leather apron, completed the citizen's
wardrobe, The leather was
greased to keep 1t soft and flexible,
The sons followed in their fathers’ fool-
steps, and the daughters went out to
service, The hired girl received $50 a
year for her services, made the
butter, ran errands, carne walter,
mended the clothes washed and ironed
and helped cook. Possibly she saved
enough so that when she married the
coachman she could furnish something
toward housekeeping the most
the table-ware.
ii
if
once
tae citi
Wear
1068 of
Siig
3
il
played, called chai mui, the object
of
| TO
Ai
a time, One thrusts his
extended and the other does the
As the hands are extended each
In other words, each
than ten, man
who
by
ol both
fF uesses
drin}
hands, and the person
wrong pays the forfeit
king the wine, An example
make plain: Ah Hol extends two
fingers and calls out six, at the same
time Ah Cheung puts pp three fingers
amd call out four, As neither party has
is also the case where both guess right,
Next time parhaps Ah Hol thrusts
out two fingers and calls six,
Ah Cheung extends four fingers and
calls out eight. In Ah Hoi
wins, as he had zaouted th number of
fingers extendad by both parties. Ah
Chung pays hi forfeit by drinking a cup
reddened
out
18 caw
Two Trawling Dogs,
There is a famous traveling dog in
England, known @& “Railway Jack”
n making excursiows over the railroads
of the kingdom, ani has even been in
Scotland and Frame, Of course the
railway hands all know him, and a few
pathetic, and took grat pains to convey
After Juck got out again
he resumed hus travels, and quite recent.
ly the English papershad an interesting
account of the atteniions paid him by
the Prince and Pringss of Wales, who
met him ab a raliroac junctjon wailing
for a train.
There is another log,
colley named “Help, * who has not been
as long known as Jack, and leads a
similar life, though nore useful, He is
employed to make ollections for the
“Railroad Servants’ Orphan Fund)”
a pure Scotch
#0 boisterons and provokes such uproar.
fous laughter that 1 have been kept
a wine party in the adjoining house.
wildest excitement often
3
the liquor lacks strength, as I have seen
scores of English Jack tars boozy for 10
cents, drunk for 20 cents and dead drunk
and carried out fora half-dollar’s worth
over his cheek and neck and knows he
has had enough. A flushed face and a
garrulous tongue are the only sign of
intoxication one one ever sees in
China. The prevailing beverage is tepid
tea always at hand in the basket-teapot
found on the counter or table of every
shop and workroom throughout the
land,
nis ———
Healthy Dwellings.
It has been stated that a new house
containing a hundred thoufand bricks
{each brick sucking up from seven to
ten per cent. of its weight of water),
contains upon reasonable calculation
ten thousand gallons of water init, All
this quantity of water bas to be remov-
ed by evaporation, and the rapadity of
this process will depend on the tension
of the vapor at a given temperature
The rate of transmission of heat
through building materials depends
upon thelr texture and composition.
ID MI Ai
Siniatie Rooks,
In the Siniatic range of mountains
there is 8 remarkable cone of sandy
rocks called Gebel-Nakus. When a
traveler attempts in fine weather to
scale this miniature peak he hears a
gound like that of distant bells, When
there is no wind and the sand is damp
with dew the sound is not heard, This
phenomena is attributed to the friction
of the silicious sand on the declivities
of the cone. The atnvspheric vibra.
tion which is thus started is supposed
to be intensified by cavities which serve
As sounding-boxes or resonators.
ee a
Men of few faults are the least
anxious to discover these of others,
amotnts to enough, 1 the course of the
year, to support six orphan children
He carries on this howrable canvass on
all the railways, being “employed” by
a charitable society, le has visited a
great number of the chief cities in
England and Wales, and has twice
crossed the channel to France,
This useful dog has a plated metal
attached to his collar, bearing the fol-
am Help, the
agent for the orphanscfl railway men
who are killed on duty My office
306 City Road, London where subscrip-
tions will be thankfdiy recived and
acknowledged.” Help nakes his eircuit
of the trains under theéeve of the con-
ductor. He does not paform any tricks,
but silently exhibits hs medal,
nn A PPA so
Northumberian: House.
is
Upon a site now traversed diagonally -
by Northumberland aveiue stood, until
1875, the last of the great riverside
mansions of London —Jorthumberland
House, Its facade exended from the
statue towards Northunberiand stre
and its gardens went lack to Scotian
Yard, into which it hai a gate. North-
amptonHouse, as it wat first called, was
built about 1605 for Henry Howard, Earl
of Northampton, by Benard Jansen and
Gerard Christtoas—Chistmas, it is sup-
posed. being responsibd for the flond
gateway or “frontispiece.” From the
Earl of Northampton't passed to the
Saffolks, and chang its name to
Suffolk House, a namevhich it retained
until 1679, when becoing the property
of the Percies, it was apin rechristened.
Londoners, except upg such special oc-
casions as Exhibition pars and the Jike,
saw little of the place kyond the facade.
Its original plan wa a quadrangle,
uncompleted at first the garden side,
Algernon Percy, tenh Earl of North-
umberiand added a nw river fro and
a stone flight of staig, which Mr. Eve-
lyn regarded as ciupsy and *“‘without
anv neat invention. 'tin the interior its
chief glory was a dable state staircase
chamber by Zuccaslli, The pictures
which, with the wonderful stiff-tailed
leaden lion so long familiar to passers.
by, are now to Sion House
at Isleworth, incl Titian's famous
Corparo family (Ivelyn's * Venetian
Senators”), and a number of minor
masterpieces, Ong of the show cur.
osities was a Sevrefvase nine feet high,
presented to the Duke of North
umberland by © X. of Franoa