nished, It is lighted by one bay window reaching to
the ground in front, and a glass door at the side. Soft,
white rugs lie here and there on the dark red carpet,
and an old-fashioned bookcase contains the works of
her favourite authors. There are no particular curiosities or decorations to be seen, save one valuable bit
of old Dresden china, two or three plates of ancient
Crown Derby, together with a couple of quaint
Delhi-work salvers, and a few pictures hanging on
the walls. Of these last, two are particularly attractive. One is the Head of a Christ crowned
with thorns, beautifully painted on copper; the
other, over the fire place, represents the Castle of
Carrigfergus, which, though built uearly a thousand
years ago, is still strong enough to hold a troop of
soldiers.
Mrs, Riddell was born in Ireland, at The Barn, Carrigfergus. She was the youngest daughter of Mr. James Cowan, who held the post of High Sheriff for the county of that town.
“Yes, I am from the north—the black north,” says your hostess in a low, soft voice. “My grandfather was in the navy, and my great-grandfather fought at Culloden, so I may fairly claim to be Eaglish, Scotch, and Irish. My mother, Ellen Kilshaw, was a beantiful, graceful, and accomplished English woman. On most subjects people have two opinions, but I never heard a second opinion about my mother. Even amongst those who only knew her in later life, when stricken with disease, and changed by long years of sorrow, she stands out a distinet personality, as one of those possessed of the manners, appearance, and
