The Aberystwith Observer

A PARLIAMENTARY ARMY. The pleasing fiction that the Sovereign is the real and effective, as well as the nominal, head of the army cannot be maintained any longer. It has, of course (says the Broad Arrow) never been anything but a fiction, and it is doubtful if many have been deceived by it Even the ilIu-jon is, it appears, to be swept away, and it is to be made patent to the meanest intellect that Parliament not only is supreme in the matter of the maintenance of any army at all, but also that Parliament, having to find the ways and means for that purpose, intends to take the executive as well as the administrative reins into its own haads and drive the military coach when and how it pleases, with the Sovereign as a passenger. The so-called Chief of the Staff will not, it appears, be the driver, but will be required, in a showy uni- form, to take the back seat, and content himself with tootling on a long horn, and thus draw attention to the admirable manner in which the vehicle is guided by Parliament on the box, the near and off reins of both leaders and wheelers being entrusted to four different pairs of bands. It is a novel coaching ex- periment, and not quite in accordance with the recog- nised rules of driving. Four whip9 double-thonging the team simultaneously, four reins pulling in dif- ferent directions are rather suggestive of an upset, and the only thing to be said in favour of this eccen- tric arrangement is that, the whole turn-out being the property of Parliament, Parliament has a right to do as it likes with its own. At the same time some little doubt may arise as to the possible be- haviour of the team under this unaccustomed method of guidance. When the leaders have kicked over the traces and the wheelers over the pole, and the four lashes are falling heavily over their flanks, who will there be to put matters straight ? Is the Chief of the Staff Guard to seize that opportunity to belabour the quadruple executive in front with his horn, or make them get down and leave him to get things once more into order, and continue the journey under his sole authority ? If so, he might as well be permitted to forestall the not improbable catastrophe, and occupy from the outset that position to which he must inevit- ably be called before much ground has been covered by the Parliamentary military coach. A Chief of the Staff is an absolute necessity when the Sovereign is really the head of the army, and when that position is purely titular the necessity is equally absolute to provide someone who shall ably and personally repre- sent the Sovereign for all army purposes, whether executive or administrative. All ways lead to Rome, and councils of war, consultative committees, and supreme Parliamentary control notwithstanding, the final word must remain with some one personage, whether Sovereign, Commander-in-Chief, or Chief of the Staff. If the supreme control of the army is taken away from the Sovereign and delegated to a hybrid Parliamentary Committee, or to a Secretary of State, the committee or the Minister must in turn delegate it to an individual, and little by little that individual will gather the strings into his own hand and make the puppets dance to any tune he pleases. Changing the tune every five years, as is proposed, will not effect much more than to teach the army several new dances, in none of which » proficiency be attained. It is more than probable then, that at the expiration of the first tenure of command, the necessity for extending it will be apparent, and once this system is admitted the decentralisation programme disappears and individual personal rule resumes its previous sway. The Parliamentary Army par excellence was held in the palm of the hand of one man, Cromwell, and the Protectorate Republic, as it was in name, in truth was a purely autocratic control. Had it not been so, that army of Iron- sides could never have swept the length and breadth of the land so completely as it did; but, after all, its very organisation only paved the way for the restoration of kingly power, for the destruction of which it had been called into existence. The army understands and looks for a tangible head, and does not understand either collective or personal devotion to an idea. A War Minister in a suit of mufti re- viewing an army corps, no matter by how brilliant a staff be may be surrounded, conveys nothing to the rank and file; they see an estimable gentleman in a frock-coat and shiny hat outside a horse, but they think less of him and of his importance than of the last-joined subaltern from the militia. One of, if notthe strongest, incentives to duty that actuates the soldier is the fetish of personal devotion to the head of the army in its Sovereign. The idea of personal devofion to the top-hat gentleman, or to an impersonal committee, or even to Parliament, is simply productive of laughter. An army that may be tossed this way under one transient Government, and that way under another, every five years or oftener, with no con- tinuity of feeling, must degenerate into a political shuttlecock, and once politics play any part in its organisation, disintegration must rapidly set in. The task the Army Commission and the present Govern- ment have set themselves is no easy one, and cui bono ? is the obvious question after reading the report and the Secretary of State's comments.

BRITISH SENTRY SHOT. The Spanish Government and the military authori- ties, so the Daily News Madrid correspondent tells us, were much concerned on hearing of the unfortunate accident t,y which a British sentry was 6hot on neutral ground near Gibraltar. An official inquiry was immediately opened by order of the Spanish General at Algeciras, and the carabineers were placed under arrest, although the Spanish official advices say that the men themselves frankly confessed the part tnry had played in the affair, and positively swear that, they were in pursuit of Spanish smugglers when they fired the shots, one of which is supposed to have struck the sentry. In future the Spanish authorises will see that their carabineers are more ca retul in these n'ght patrols on neutral ground, which were only instituted at their own request, to stop smugglers.

HOW TO PRONOUNCE AMEN." Fierce contention has once more broken out between the Sunis and the Shias, the two rival sects of Indian Mahomedanism. This time the matter in dispute concerns nothing more weighty than the proper way of pronouncing the word A men" during worship. On the one hand it is held that the ejacula- tion should be softly and reverently breathed out; on the other it is maintained that it should be shouted forth in tones of joyful triumph. Trifling as this matter may seem to some, it has well-nigh involved the city of Delhi in bitter strife. In order to decide the question a meeting had been solemnly convened at the Juma Musjid, and elders of the two sects were, it is said, preparing at the gathering to use their shoes "for other purposes than custom intended." Fortunately, however, the authorities had taken the precaution of planting in the hall fifty stalwart police- men, who were ab!e, as a local authority-not with- out suspicion of a pun—expresses it, to place things on their proper footing."

A FINE CHILD. A correspondent of the Lancet lends an account of an extraordinary child born at West Camel, who pro- mises to be a future Daniel Lambert. He is now five-and-a halt ) ears old, and thi following are his dimensions Height, 4ft.; sbt. circum- ference of ar.)cioin-n, 42^in.; wal"t. 0.) ¡ :tin.; chest, in.; neck, I4iii. Deai,22iiu. 'high, 23iu e-ilf, J 0^i* arm, iiiiii., torearm, lU^ui. He i" very h» a'thj, t a?s all day long if he can yet it. and i* intHUat nt. I he pitrei t? ar- by mo mf»«» ■ or- pu rnt, «mi the oth» r cimdr i» are 01 ordinary t-Z9. ebt OanW is a parish in SoTiersetHfiire

TORTUS SON: ''Father, what does 'handicapped' mean? loet: '• It tne»ns—ahem!—in what con- nection did y m bear it used, my sou ?" Poet's Sou s » In connection with you. Mr. Brows on said you'd never achieve any lasting fame as a poet, because you were handicapped bv nature."

LATSON; OR, THE FOUNDLING'S GUARDIAN. lALL RIGHTS RESEBVED.1 CHAPTER XII. FULFILS A PROPHECY. THERE was not one prayer too many offered, in tnat low London room, for the comfort and the happiness of the Lady Ethel. Ethel had hardly ceased to think herself a bride when she found all this out. And yet, we are not going to say that Latson loved her less than he would have loved another wife. He probably loved her quite as much as he could love any one. It was not merely for the sake of the alliance, which was certainly a step upwards-nor yet to see a pretty woman at the head of his table, that Latson married. No, nor yet merely because Ethel bad the reputation of being bard to catch, and because he boasted that he never was b3aten in anything he undertook. No, if you can imagine that Latson could love with- out himself existing at the same time, then it might be said that Latson loved his wife As it was, he loved himself; and nobody found any love from him, or ever would find any, except, what was reflected, so to speak, from his own deep selt-love. Ethel, at first, made him proud of her, and this served to keep him b"»rabl» and her happy for a little while-a very little while. it is me evening of the day after the countess's funeral. For she had been gradually growing worse ever since Ethel left, on being married. And at the end of the eighth month, and when the bride and bridegroom had been settled but two or three weeks at Tha Towers, the old family vault had been opened under the blance pew and the bell which had spoken deepest on the wedding day, when the peal fired out Joined I" had now spoken all by itself, as the black spectaele drew up where the white one had been at the church gates, and every minute the muffled tongue said, «».Doomedas if under its breath, and as if shy at telling the village that a countess was not im- mortal. And the crimson velvet is obliged to make friends with the stone tÚltJiï down in the vault-and the little oil lamp has done flickering on the brazen handles, and is carried up again-and the flagging and the flooring look all right as ever in the great pew; and the old sexton thinks the church looks quite nay tural like" in its black cloth once more, and goes forth among the neighbours to tell the little he knew, and the much he didn't know, of the deceased, t'my lady." It is the evening of the next day. Outside The Towers, of course, every one supposes there is deep grief within. And to there is in one room. For, although Ethel had rhniiaht herself long pre- pared for being left motherlpss, no one has ever yet been prepared for that black week between a death and a funeral; and, worse still, for the blank when undertakers are all gone, and the blinds are drawn up as if nothing had happened. Maude is sitting with her in a small library—the usual after-dinner room when there was no company; and they are looking over some papers of their late mother's, ready for a conference with the family solicitor to-morrow. They have neither father nor brother to attend to theee matters, and many things have yet to be arranged. Where is Latsen ? He is in deep mourning, with three or four like- minded ones, who are not particular about the eti- quette of such seasons, in the billiard-room. And Ethel can hear the loud cannons (not of the balls, she is too far off), but of her husband's laughter, Aye, and they are double-shotted, and are pointed at her; and they hit her, too, as the tender partner of her sorrows joins in a new joke, or bears a new story, for anything she knows by this time, at her own expense. Well, but dearest Letty," Maude said, as they put away the papers for the night, both bursting into fresh tears, "well. but remember how hard it goes with me, when I have just lost my last comfort—at leist, last, save you. Providence married you just in time, Letty." For, whatever Maude had said by way of caution, she was not the girl to whisper a syllable of upbraid- ing now. And Ethel heaved the deepest sfgh she had heaved yet; and then suddenly threw herself on her sister's neck, and sobbed as if on the verge of violent hysterics, while Maude tenderly checked her, sup- posing this new outburst to be only the bitterness of filial grief breaking out again. It was not that just then. It was th&t Maude's kind words had sent her, just for one brief moment, to look into her husband's heart for a drop of coTifort, and she went, in thought, and looked for it, and came back without one drop, and with this conviction instead He doesn't love me I have buried both mother and husband." Bat she breathed nothing of this to her ilister-partly too proud, partly too kind to Latson. And so they sat and talked far on into the night. Each of them alternately comforting the otber, but both of them, at very short intervals, bursting out into fresh tears. Let me go," said Maude, at last one o'clock, Letty Had you any notion of the hour, my dear child ? May I ring, dearest ?" And they stood up together against the mantelpiece and Ethel took up from the table a long piece of jet black hair, which they bad handled that evening many a time already, and taking her sister's right hand into hers, Ethel, with her left, twined that black hair in many a fold, in and out, round and round their two hands, and looking up tenderly into Maude's face, through a new torrent of tears, said Come what will, darling, this will hold us to each other, will it not ? Oh, Maude—Maude!" And bere brok" in upon them a louder roar of laughter than the rest, and Ethel stopped to shudder, and went on, turning very pale What if the only friend left us, dearest, should turn out to be this soft, precious chain? Is it strong enough, dear Maude? Would it bear hard tugs, think ye, if anyone tried to separate us, and pulled me back away from you ? Would it keep us fast ?" And she made as if she were trying to pull her hand away to test the strength of the hair. Who should pull us from one another, Letty ?" Maude asked. Who has pulled mamma from us ?" asked Ethel. "Aye, we cannot prevent that separation, dear Letty." Oh, Maude Maude may you never know that there is a Death that comes in the midst of Life! I feel at this moment not far off it, though the pulse beats just as usual, and there is no outside chill. Not to love-not to be loved, my sister, is to die! Will you for sake me when I have become careless even to you ? Oh, Maude, if I should And Maude, concluding that her sister hardly knew what she said, unstrung as her mind was with the heavy loss, stili so recent, having rung the bell, tenderly kissed Ethel, and followed her maid to her room; and rejoiced that every step along the gallery took her tarther from the coarse mirth of that horrid billiard-room. Sleep on, fair, gentle sleeper, while another is awake and watching down below! None of the misery in that heavy heart is of thy making. While there was time to turn, thou didst counsel, and plead, and pray. It was well. Now that ic, is too late to speak, thou art silent. Again, it is well. October leaves patter down slowly past thy window, as thou liest and forgettest where thou art. And downstairs there is a tree-slight, weak, and without shelter. From that tree dead leaves are falling just M fast! When they are all down, and the brancbes are quite in the mid-winter which is coming on, then, Maude, it will be no time for a sister to be asleep. For the present, dreaming and hoping, sleep on! CHAPTER XIII. FILLS TIIE CUP TO THE BRIM. ETHEL sat on in that room for two hours more, all alone. She went over the papers again and again and bad that long band of black hair been curled by some cunning dresser, it would hardly have looked more wavy than it was, after its many twinings around the daughter's fingers as she sat and mused, when the papers were again put away. Suddenly the wife started up. She remembered she had heard no laughter for a long while. She listened, and she beard not a single sound. Half-past three struck by the chimney-piece clock as she rang the bell-gently, for she felt afraid at the silence. When the servant appeared Ethet inquired whether the colonel was still in the billiard-room. Tn. man could hardly conceal his astonishment as he answered: -No. my lady. The colonel retired about twe o'clock." ro bis room?" asked Ethel, choking, as the man himself could plainly see, and mentioned five minutes aft-r wards. Yes, my lady." "That will do," said his mistress. "Send Mrs. Ghde—no, no," she added, hurriedly correcting her- se f; "you may all retire." And though Maude never knew it, Ethel snatched not one moment's sleep on that same October night. There she sat on the very night save one of her mother's funeral, never having beard a single word of comfort from her husband's lips, and not even allowed to know when his guests departed, or to see his face for an instant when they were gone. Then had there been a quarrel ? Not at all. Did he dislike Maude, or object to her presence in his house ? Not that any one knew. Ethel would have met even her only sister elsewhere rather than have dis- pleased her husband by inviting her to his house; but she never dreamed of his objection. Nor bad he any. He cared nothing for Maude. He cared just as much for her as for Ethel The simple explanation of to-nighVs indifference is that no one before whom he needs to act a part is present, and, therefore, he acts no part. He acts as if Ethel were not in the house. But nothing bewilders or knocks her down in this particular neglect save its cruel degree; neglect itself is altogether no novelty. To sit in the same room without speaking for two or three hours together has become common with the master and mistress of that house. For even the warmest love will cease at last to offer itself nay, it ceases because it is warm and will not pain the object of it; but, till now, he had always said Good-night." Ethel sat on and on in that room. chap 13 She sat till she heard the first movements of the servants upstairs; and then softly, as if she were a spirit flitting up the staircase, she made her way to her dressing-room. She started, and her head fell forward on her clenched hands when she seated herself at the table, and saw in the glass the work of that single night. From that moment the poor creature saw that her dream was over, and that all the happiness of wedded life she was to know on earth was gone for ever. She merely refreshed herself by a plentiful laving of that burning head and face with cold water, and putting off the evening dress in which all her woe had been endured, appeared at the proper time, in the ordinary morning robe, with her sister and her husband, at the breakfast-table. Yet you would have seen no severity, no signs of deep-seated anger, not even sulkiness, on the counte- nance of the Honourable Hugh. He tapped his egg. and sipped his coffee, without one word or look of dislike either to Ethel or to her sister and when breakfast was over, he strode out of the room to a conference with his steward, in that same little chamber where his wife's heart had lain bleeding a few hours before. And now go again, Sir Colonel, to the county bench-call up the trembling men and women who neglect the duties of their line of life; apprentice, housemaid, farm-labourer—aye, and punish the little boy who climbed over into the orchard of one of your tenants last night and carried off a peck of sorry apples. Let him go for his fourteen days, and twice let him be privately whipped. It was very wrong to steal the apples of a man, even though be has a thousand bushels. There is no harm in stealing a lady s heart (or obtaining it under false pretences), and then, Singing it down before her face, tread out its love! CHAPTER XIV. IN WHICH THE CUP OVERFLOWS. IT is just about the time when old Claymore, from a curious mixed motive of gratitude and whim, dubbed his little grandson after the name of the place where his young foster-mother found him, that an heir of the house of Latson appeared within those ancient towers. The fashionable paper (luIy announced one morn- ing the happy and auspicious event; and the belfry was again in requisition, and the dear bells rang it out fast and loud," and the firing of the peal de- clared the felicity that reigned in the great man's house. The peal knew nothing about it. Not one of the ringers up in that old square, totter- ing place, with his coat off, and his shirt sleeves rolled up to the armpits-not one of those ringers would have changed places with the happy father for five minutes if he bad known where that father was, and what he was doing, and how he felt, while all the parish was going mad with excitement. We say excitement instead of joy, for, excepting that the Lady Ethel had endeared herself to every family in the place, and whatever was supposed to give her new happiness rejoiced the village, the bells would have had all the joy to themselves that day. She had passed those months in doing her very best to make other homes happier than hers was, or ever would bo. It had been no picture of fancy or flight of fair promises when she talked to Latson about going round among the cottages with her basket on her arm. She had done it day by day when her pre- sence was wanted, much to her lord's distaste-at least, it would have been if he had done her the bonour to think about her or to notice her move- ments. Many a wife, vexed and wroth at her husband's extravagance or bad habits, had been gently counselled to bear and forbear by her who could preach that doctrnp with so good a conscience her heart burst- ing within her as she thought how she could have endured more easily even curses and blows than pine on, forgotten and neglected, as she had now done so long. It is the day after the arrival of little Claude Blance Latson. There has been no want of attention, no neglect lately; for our readers must very often have seen the sad strange sight of a man suddenly roused to a perception of his cruelty just when the object of it is on the point of putting reparation beyond his reach. It is so now with Ethel. She has kept up f< r his sake, by a mighty struggle, during all that weary twelvemonth. She has dreaded nothing more than giving him anxiety; though, poor thing, she learned every day how little need there was for dreading. There is now no more occasion for her to keep up. and she yields at once. Latson is with her. The three doctors have just taken their departure, after a faithful announcement to the husband that they have done all they can. "We can hardly tell," said the great man from Salisbury, "why the patient should sink in hpr pre- sent circumstances. There seems hardly enough in the case itself to account for this extreme prostration. But it is our duty to tell you that, if these strong stimulating measures are not successful almost imme- diately. we must be prepared for the most serious results." You do not, reader, understand very much of human nature if yo i think that those words fell lightly even on the heart of tin Po tourabie Hugh. A man will let a gentle, loving creature go hf r way, and slowly freeze up her life within her breast, as long as he expects to have thirty or forty years to live with her, and to do his cruel work in. But here is a sudden stop put to a hundred plan,, and to thA new scenes and prospects of a married li'e here is a waste of all the excitement, and the gaiety, and the cost of weading, and wedding trips, and altered establishment, Besides wbit b, here is the i'owing in upon the guilty 'nan's heart of a heavy tidf of self- reproach, with a thousand recollections similar to that of the billiard party, without the memory of one single word of hers (oh! what would he have given to remember just one look that day ?) which could justify unkindness, or excuse neglect. We have called the infant's name Claude Blance Latson. This was one of the arrangements made that day in Ethel's room at her bedside. 11 May his name be Claude, dear Letty, after your father P said her husband, as he took her hand on returning from the dismissal of the doctors. No, no," she whispered, why not his father's name, dear Hugh ? His father," said Latson, deserves to be forgotten, not remembered;" and Latson covered his face in his handkerchief, gently laying down his wife's hand to do it. He must have one of my names, poor little fellow! I suppose; but he shall only have one," Latson said. II I ask you to let our boy's name be Claude Blance. Say yes, Letty." Ethel had not-had as gentle words as these from her husband for some time, some long time-and she Smiled up from the pillow her deep, delip joy, along with a took of wonoer, as if to ask what l? all m rit. Presently, when she found strength for it, she eald: tt But we can ta'k about his name, dear Hugh, by- and- bye-I like none so well as his father's—bat by- tmd-byp, by-and-bye." Letty," he replied, really moved with a perfect agony of remorse-" Letty, you are very ill, dear, the doctors tell me very ill indeed." It was quite plain she had not at all known this before A. common case, when no suffering warns the patient or renders dlness a burden. The tone in which Latson spoke startled her. 11 There is no danger, dearest," she asked, "is there P" speaking very low; not that she looked alarmed, only taken by surprise. 11 Letty, I'm afraid, unless this new medicine does wonders, I'm afraid there is danger. Indeed, we shouldn't be talking on thus. It will only make you weaker-Ite still, dearest, will you ?" chap 14 DearestCould it be that she heard him right!y ? He bad scarcely ever spoken thus, even in the months when she thought he loved her. She did lie still-for she was afraid to speak again lest some colder word should come to chill the last he bad spoken to ber. So she gathered up her little remaining strength, and took her husband's hand, as he held it to her, and was very, very happy. Better to die thus," Ethel thought, than live without being allowed to touch his hand." Latson went downstairs-down to remember- down to look forward, and to struggle-with the wrath of conscience. There were other scenes than Wiltshire ones that came into that man's view as he paced his library, or sat down before the fireplace, gazing into the red caverns of burning coal. Looking with a stern stare, while his mouth fell open in the wretched abstraction of that hour of retribution, he thought that a part of the red-hot fire shaped itself into a room that he had seen once before. Ah it's thq room in London, where he saw-yes, and he sees it again-a slight lovely figure, seated before him-turned. in one moment, as into a pillar of stone, at the coarse laugh he has just flung at her, telling her she is not his wife, and never had been. He sees that pretty upper lip drawn down in deep- clenched agony; and those dark eyes-yet so soft in their expression-looking out pon him, as full of love as ever-yet so full of wonder and woe And then a piece of the glowing cavern tumbles in, and the scene changes. And who shall put upon the paper the many sights he sees ? when his fancy—for he knows nothing of her course, save the end of it-when his fancy tracks her through those weeks and months of wretchedness; when he was leaving her to die, for aueht he knew, and rot away—his bride, and her child and all! Then the fire settled down a little once more, and the red cavern changed its shape. And now there is an old man, palsied as much with misery as with years. And he faces him and his other bride in the church and in the walk; and there is the white wrinkled face, ns if it were yesterday, and the thin, grey b»irs c-uivering in the cold February wind, and the crackling of the flames seem to be repeating to him We couldn't bury her with a lie in her band Where's that ring ?" And he starts up. He remembers that he tossed it into a river on his wedding journey that very day. And his band grasps his forehead, M if he would crush the brain underneath it for daring to recollect the fact. But all these memories were so many joys to the Honourable Hugh compared with others that pointed to a later date. The live embers gave him out one by one fantastic pictures of full many a scene, that went now, like daggers, one after another, into bis heart. Here was one where Ethel bad been ailing for many weeks, and be insisted on a visit to be paid at once to a family at the other extremity of the county. She had asked for a week's respite to recover in. He had replied that she might have the honesty to tell him that he was marrying into a hospital." She had gone up to prepare and had fainted on the landing. Yet the visit was p >rsevered in. The coals revealeJ to him how gentle her manner was, and how nobly she bore up before strangers, all through that visit; and how, on her return, she was in her sick room for days without his once crossing the threshold, or asking (so far as she could learn) how she was. Here was another white heat model of the scene where her little Italian greyhound, very shortly before her illness, had come up to the bedroom door, with a strange pitiful whine, as if it were a cry of foreboding. This was a little favourite of her father's, and a present to her from him when he died. And Latson saw how that he had opened the door and kicked his wne's pet to the bostom of the staircase. And the coals showed him, over again, the broken leg, and Ethel try ing to put the little limb in a sort of splint; but the little patient had disappeared one day, and Latson saw that Ethel know the truth, and was too frightened to ask. The truth being that Latson (not from humanity, but irritated at her intention to it) ban put an end to him. He would have given a year's income to have gone upstairs at that moment and carried that little favourite, safe and sound, into his wife's presence. Those pictures, from first to last, could not have been moulded in a fitter substance. They burnt themselves in upon his heart, one by one, like live coals as they were. Meanwhile, upstairs, the wife had been trying to think, which was hard work for her, in her extreme weakness. She managed only to think one thought—yes, two. The first was a thought of tenderest love for little Hugh, as she persisted in calling him to herself. The second was an earnest wish to get better, that she might be called dearest again, when the was well enough to tell its full meaning, and be permitted now and then to hold his hand in hers, when she had more strength to retain it. She thought these two thoughts. And then she went wandering on—who shall tell whither ? Ethel, too, bad her fancy pictures. But as Maude bent over her, and watched her tenderly, and saw that she was among different scenes from the present, Maude could tell by the sweet smile on her sister's face that her pictures were among the flowers-the golden-coloured flowers on the curtains at the foot of the bed, all innocent and peace-and that she would have had nothing to remember in the red- hot coals of misery and guilt! » (To be continued.)

IT is only when the people speak truth and justice that their voice can be called "the voice of God." SHAT ows have no c'aws they carry no swords and fire no guns, but they frighten many people to death. CUNNING pays no regard to virtue, and is but the low mimic of wisdom CoirprLsoRY education destroys the ambition to seek for knowledge. SPEAKING silence is better than senseless speech. THE RAILWAY UP MOUNT PILATUS.—WE have under- taken a journey of terr-fic steepness, and as we slowly rise above the steep, rocky sides of rhe mountain, we gaze down into its fearful precipices, and then again look upwards to points at so great a height above us, and to rocks of such terrific steepness, that we involuntarily ask ourselves whether it is possible for a train !o reach tnafi oin*. Rut the next moment we realise the pos- sibility as we turn our gaze downwards, and see below us peaks which but a short time ago, as we viewed them from the lake, were soaring skyward so haughtily and defiantly. I oveihear the remark, It seems wrong and suicidal to attempt so dangerous a journey." But paradoxical though it may appear, the danger is so great that there is really no risk. Every precaution has been taken and, to my mind, it sug- gests how wonderfully God has endow-d man, and enabled him to bring into operation the law of mind, and thus to triumph over the law of matter. As the engine slowly pushes our carriage up the mountain, we have two constant vifws — retrospect and prospect. Now the train stops at a hatting place to take in a supply of water betore continuing its up- ward course and as we gaze down into the ravines, and see on the one side a dense forest of beech, and on the other, though much lower down, the fruit trees and walnut trees interspersed among the meadows-while some 3000ft. below are the plac'd wafers of the lake, with its sfearners locking like rowiotr boats-a feeling of thankfulness that we have beea brought safely so far steals into tha mind, bringing with it confidence as we contem late our further skyward journey, and look, with sombre and awe-inspiring feelings, at the bleak heights above us, TM Quiver.

— COURT AND SOCIETY, [FRmr "THE WORLD,"] i The Queen is to stay at Osborne, according to present arrangements, until Friday, August 22, when hm? Majesty intends to proceed direct to Balmoral, for resident of tsiriy three months. The Queen is going to .cot'and this seiir a week ea-lier than naaar. becauae she wishes to be at Balmoral on the anni- versary of the i'r;nce Consort's birthday. The Invincible having been ordered to join tbft mobilised Fleet, hM' place as guarcship in Cowes Road* during tbe residence of the Queen at Osborne has been taken by the olage, whioh belongs to the Training Squadron. The Royal yacht Victoria au. Albert is to proceed to East Cowes as soon as stiQ returns fFf.m Gibra tar, and wul reinain there until. the Queen goes to Scotland. The Queen's fl,)ck of Hampshire Down sheep, am the home farm at Osborne, has just been superseded by a flock of the celebrated Dorset Horns. Her Majesty's steward has purchased upwards of 18() ewes from the celebrated flock of Mr. Kendall, of East Lulworth, and the rams have been selected from tb* Friar-Waddon flock, the property of Mr. W. Mayow whose sheep of this breed have never been beateK when exhibited. The park at Osborne is now stocked, with a splendid herd of tiiG picturesque West Hirfw land cattle. The Queen looked very well at Marlborough House, and was in high good-humour and spirits. In spita of the damp, she sat for some time at the entrance of the tent, talking to those she sent for and wished to see. She walked better, but still used her stick but what struck those who had not seen her Majesty foe some months was that she seemed to have grown smaller and more shrunken in appearance. This ic the result of the contraction of the muscles of belt leg, which makes her stoop when she walks. The Prince of Wales attended her with anectionate care. which is always so touching and which he always estows on his mother. It was almost the first public appearance of tho Duke and Duchess of Connaught, and they were warmly welcomed. The duchess has grown stoutcv and looks more matronly; the duke is perfectly bakil and much older-looking. The children, who &M evidently devoted to the Queen—and whom report says she spoils very much-ran about and playecl with their cousins, of whom there were a good many* Princess Christian's daughters looking after tbeat with great assiduity. The wedding of Princess Victoria of Prussia andt, Prince Adolphe of Schaumburg-Lippe will take place either the day before or the day after the Empressi Frederick's birthday (November 21), net on the birthday itself, as some of the papers have asserted, that being the anniversary of the death of the Prince's grandfather. The Prince and Princess intend spend- ing their honeymoon in Egypt, after which they will settle for a time in Bonn, vih.-ra the Prince's regiment is now stationed. By the wish of the Emperor William, the marriage ceremony is to be a full-dress function of the most stately kind. The Prince and Princess of Wales and the Duke and Duchess of Con- naught are to represent our Royal Family on this occasion. A complete reconciliation has taken place between the Emperor William and his sister Princess Victoria since the retirement of Prince Bismarck, whom tmt Princess hated, and fhe frequently described him as "the evil genius of our family." Just as the Bishnpor lAv^rpnoi NE^ R H.tFrHi on hiflf dut.es as Dean of Salisbury, so Canon M*clnre hat never been collated to the Arch lpa--rv,ry of Manchester, the Bishop's selection oe hi.n having been immediately followed by the Queen's sel. cring him as the successor of Dr. Oakley. He is a f-pn.oh- High Churchman and a capita! organiser. The Archbishop of York's desire, shared in by the gr' at mi jority of the clergy of the Northern Province tint dignities ilix the north should not, always fall to those beneficed is the south, has been carried out, although h s grace would no dou bt have preferred a Qu?¡o,n's Cb&p!&'lI ia whose advancement he is much interested The death of Dean West, recorded last week, closet a chapter in the history of the cM ecclesiast cat Establishment in Ireland. St Patrick's, Dublin— tha collegiate church over which until very lately hit presided-is, ag is well known, the chapel of ths knights of that name, in the same way as St. Georee's at Windsor is associated with tbe Order r>f the Garter,, and Henry VII.'s Chapel at Westminster with that of the Bath. The Archbishops of Armagh and ot Dublin and the De In of St. Patrick's used to be the prelate, the chancellor, and the registrar of the Iriat* order of knighthood respectively and there are few visitors to Dublin earlier in the century who do not remember the becoming collar of Vic-J^gat blue hahitualJy worn by th" handsome and digniaed Dean Packenbam. "Arch hiabot)," said a c rta ta Lord-Lieutenant to Dr. Whately, "let me settle yotif order for you it is crooked" If I had earned miise as deservingly as your Excellency has e»rnc<f yours, perhaps I shou'd take care of it better," wa* the courtly reply of th* usually brusque prelate. The wedding-dress nt t.he Archduchess Valériso is to be of cream satin, with a train 14 ft in length, which will be carried by four pages of the Royal blood. The veil will be of white tulle, and the Arch- duchess is to wear a myrtle wreath, and a corsage of old I ce will bo ornamented with & large bouquec of myrtle and orange blossoms. [FROU "TRUTH."] The Queen intends to confer the Order of ths Garter upon the King of Rourmnia, who will be in- vested during the autumn at 3ushar?st by the Prince of Wale-. Princess Beatrice is writing a book on lace, whicir is to be illustrated by herself. The work will probably be printed only for private circulation. The Duke of Buoo is going to Homburg tti, take the waters and the duchess wi.'I not go North until after the visit of the German Emperor, during which she is to be in attendance on the Queen at Osborne. As the necessity for the magnificent new wing which the Queen is erecting at Osborne has bees publicly questioned, it may be well to point out one very good reason for the building operations. The bricks used at Osborne are made on the estate, and. about 20 years ago, when some alterations were carried out by Messrs. Cubitt, the head brickmaket- was left in the Queen's service. From that day ta the present this devoted servant of the Crown, with m ,taff of three assistants, has been steadily making and piling-up bricks with as much Dertinacity &&. though the erection of another Pyr&mid were in con- templation. The scale of his labours may be judged from the fact that the new buildings, which have been in progress since April 10 last, not con- sumed more than half the stock on hand. Lord Northampton is a vi-fy fortuaate person* age. In 1879 his PldeBt son, the late L >ro Compton. borrowed £ 10,000 from the Nat ion a.1 L^fe Assurance. Society on the security of his reversionary interest in aa entailed estate, but if he è:rèd before his father (as happened), of c nirsfi the security w»s worthless. The society proceeded to it sure Lord Comyton's Iif»- for £ 34,000, the ut beiug tfcit it was to pay the premiums str.d :t,1-4 -nto th- amount of the loan, and thf 0"5" ""c I, t-ansferrsi to hits, if ever he paid off t r'. r t d rd thr e years ago, by which time his deht ^oei.-tr ^><1 ri*en tw £ 14,000. The socie1" t! ir-œ upon having made a rr-11 "C "&rly £ 2",0Xion the transaction; but, to .1 o-d Nbrtbaoiptesi,as executor of his dtA(-,c A er* — "1F{"¡); (^ t>al*nce of the £ 34,000,and, in rpit- c' • :;rrenv r.t '■•ecween tha society and Lord Cocipt"- c'^mi h%9 sus- tained by the Court rbo result is bighif satisfactory for Lorl N-rr.hf^-a. —ho gets X20 000 from a fun-* _h.-a.. ror his 8011,. nor any of his fsmi! :< to, create. An extraordinary of ce.-IJa Guards* officers was brought to my notice other day. There is a special a! c ~z~.es, it ^.jjears. of « ypar for thu mess c ;ha oncers of the- Queen's Guard at St T -Can^tH^r of £ SO0 a year for t»:•-<? on t J ,,1"; Dubin Cwitfe. Th re are m ver tn< e <V,TK;t T8 r;n d«*y at St. James s on cn" ci"" t un..aid iirsttririp, iM*ri ttm allowance ot nearly ill a tl.r M »• !!i=P7 preposterous. 1 have a very n" "1111. f"int from bandsman of the 14th Russ*r^. u,Snwx. At htc own fqij. [ am iy caro'u! about a.tr?res«. 't'hf. co.?,i. *■ ;s tfw H rtd jackets, wlfCti Usui ') un;:ke x v (i-r ;<r I: SO nr ?. t, away," and that rh -.x> i- r -'o/v-d either en troop'" V R-r, O' I UI AT T II'O. At a TTATTAD like I gvf: t, Ibt* be •u-v," i* y in uiost requi St. v: r, th t Stand e<; £ agf,rfe am x, ry Tl'- ou t." uisfcc a ic. t* > \< thH s<»•••« as if J'cu r-jiiv .rr> tt n'ft, Swd .v for ctnircri.' This is viT-e c.+at Some s'-ntleman in \ht'&il or P;i!S with a fca*u> f r military d :tI- bawd- jacket for tbe y adopted,*