Weekly Mail

THROAT IRRITATION AND CouaH.Soreness and dryness, tickling and irritation, inducing cough and affecting the voice, For these symptoms use Epps's Glycerine Jujubes' In contact with the glands at the moment they are excited by the act of racking, the Glycerine in then agreeable con- fections becomes actively healing. Sold only iu boxes, 7id., tins Is. lid., labelled JAMKS EL'i'3 and Co., Homoeopathic Chemists, Loudon." Dr. George Moore, in his work on "Nose and Throat Diseases," says" The Glyoerine Jujubes prepared by James Epps and Co. are ot undoubted ser- vice as a curative or palliative agentwhile Dr. Gordon Holmes, Senior Physician to the Municipal Throat and Ear Inlirmary, writes:—"Alter an extended trial, I have found your Glycerine Jujubes of considerable beneit (witli or without medical treatment) in almost ail forms of throat diseases." tl870kly As SHODDY, MUNGO, and other objectionable material is now so largely used by unscrupulous manu- facturers in making their JarDs, farry and Ilooke, Swansea, advise the .Public that wool, ONLY is used by them io manufacturing their celebrated Welsh Knit- ting Yarna. Note, taoh hank has Parry and Booke's itame and Trade Mark Labei alletAcd. liaxic genuine withoutthis. lilt, HOLLOWAT'S PILLS.-Invalids distracted by indi- gestion and discouraged In their search for its remedy should make trial of this never-failing remedy. TA ,,a martyr to dyspeptic tortures, writes that_ HoUoway s Pills made her feel as if a burden bad been taken off hot. Her spirits formerly low. have greatly improved; her capricious appetite has given place to healthy hunger her dull, riek headache has departed; and, gradually, so marvelloua a change has been effected that she is altogether a new creature.and again fit for her duties. These Pill, may bej^aistered with safety to the most delicate. They never aot do they ever induce weakness; they rightly direct deranged, and control excessive, action.

A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY. -T We were sitting smoking In his snuggery, the doctor and I, on the evening he told me his story. It was always a delightful out-of-the-world room to me, with a fine flavour of antiquity about it Old furniture, panelled walls, an open hearth with carved mantel, and a wealth of old engravings, old books, old pottery, and curios filling every available space. The old doctor, too, seemed in character with his surroundings. The "old doctor," we always called him, although I dis- covered, when we grew intimate, that he was not yet fifty years of age; still he was bent, grizzled, and crow's-footed, and his reserved manner and absent air gave him so thoroughly the aspect of a man whose life lay altogether in the past that it was not difficult to invest him with a venerable- ness to which he had no real claim. He was absent, as I have said, very shy, and very much averse to all society, so that when he admitted me to terms of intimacy it was regarded as a singular compliment to my powers of fascination. lambound to confess that in the first instance the acquaintance was rather forced upon him. I was living at that time with my widowed sister in a certain far western suburb. I do not particularise it further, as the doctor still practices there, and my giving too close a clue to his identity might cause him annoyance; sufficient to say that it was in the west, and that the doctor lived alone with his old housekeeper, in a slip of an old house, cut off from one of the stately river-side mansions that were fashionable when "George III. was king perhaps fifty or sixty years before. One night my sister's little girl was taken suddenly ill and the doctor was sent for. He did not impress us, at first sight, with a high opinion of his skill; perhaps it was that he conspicuously lacked the conventional professional manner in every day life; but when we saw him in the sick-room, when we noted how, in the presence of a real emergency, his reserve and shyness gave way to keen observa- tion and prompt decision, and when, too, we felt the gentle tenderness of his manner to our darling, W8 began to think a great deal of the doctor. And when at last the disease was conquered and the little sunbeam of the house was shining again as bright as ever, my sister's gratitude took the form of wanting to do something for the doctor, poor fellow." He looked so dull and must live so lonely a life that it would be a charity to lead him out of himself for awhile. But all her plots to inveigle him into sociableness seemed in vain. The doctor excused himself from all dinner engagements, and would not be placed upon the footing of a friend of the family. At last, having declined a dozen invitations to guard himself probably against the imputation of utter ungraciousness, he muttered a remark that" be would be glad to see me if I would go round and smoke a pipe with him one night," and I, although the invitation was not a hearty one, as I was attracted by the man, took him at his word and went round two nights afterwards, to his great embarrassment. I took things as a matter of course, however, glided into an easy conversati)n about his prints and books, and, when I had onco penetrated his reserve, enjoyed heartily the conversation of a man of singular research and deep powers of thought. After that first evening we became ex- cellent friends, and it grew to be a regular custom for me to look in at least one evening during the week, and the doctor, although he had for many years entirely eschewed ladies' society, did at last so much violenco to his inclinations as to consent to make a practice of coming round to our house to supper on Sunday evenings. I had known him about eighteen months before our conveasation even verged upon anything of a personal character, so far at least as he was con- cerned. On this night I remember I opened a conversation about Madame Blavatsky and the Theosophists, and I suppose, according to my wont, for I am little tolerant of either superstition or imposture, I expressed myself somewhat warmly about that gifted lady and her disciples, the doctor meanwhile listening to me, his pipe between his lips, with a speculative, half dreamy expression of face. I have no doubt but that you are right." he said at last; no doubt but that the woman is an impostor. The balance of evidence points that way. Yet one should not be hasty in condemua- tion. Although we may deny the possibility of such miraculous manifestations, we are hardly fair in branding with the stigma of fraudulent prac- tices people who may sincerely believe in them. The belief in the supernatural is a deep-rooted weakness of the human race; few men are entirely free from it. If you yourself saw sights or heard sounds for which you could assign no possible explanation, although your reason might reject the interpretation, every pulse in your body would shout' ghosts' with an instant unanimity." I don't believe it," said I, doggedly. u I should put my visions down to a disordered liver or an over-excited imagination." "That is how your medical man would diagnose your case. You would not do so yourself to your- self whatever you might do to others. When the fancy is so powerfully exercised as apparently to present visible and audible facts to the external senses, our reason cannot, however clear it may ordinarily be, accept them as only the products of fancy. We say they are, but we are humbugs, all of us, and in our hearts we do not believe it, only we are ashamed of being thought superstitious, or afraid of being deemed mad. Now," facing round to me as he sat," would you consider that I was a superstitious man ?'' "No," I answered reflectively, U I cannot say that I ever heard you indicate an opinion which pointed to such a conclusion." Then would you think me mad ?" "Certainly not," said I, more decidedly, after one glance at the grey eyes, bent full upon me with such a steady, judicial aspect that not the most prejudiced of patient-hunting lunacy doctors could have detected one trace of wandering intelli- gence in their calm depths. And yet you would be disposed to modify one opinion, perhaps both, if I were to confess to you that, in spite of my reasoning powers, in spite of a considerable professional acquaintance with forms of dementia, I am unable satisfactorily to persuade myself that I have not passed a portion of my life in an enchanted house, subject to the power of its enchantment." "I do not think I should," I replied. "I have known so many people of strict integrity and sound common sense who had each his or her well- authenticated tale of a haunted house." "Ah! a haunted house I Yes, but I said an en- chanted house-a distinction, with a difference, too, in this case. As to haunted houses, the very atmosphere of a particularly old house suggests b the supernatural to the imaginative. Thoughts of the generations of men that have lived and died, been happy and miserable in it, throng the mind without conscious effort, until at last some old rotten timber groans in the night wind, an old door creaks on its crazy hinges, and in walks the ghost that we have been doing our best to raise for an hour past. Plenty of people of impression- able temperaments and lively imaginations under- go such experiences, as you would find out if you went through such a professional career as mine has been; but my story is not of a house with a ghost in it, but a house that was a ghost in itself, built of nothing, the unsubstantial fabric of a dream, peopled with dreams, and in which time passed with imperceptible foot as in a dream. Would it distress you," I asked rather hesita- tingly, after a short pause, "to explain further what you mean ?" No," he said, the recollection of the story brings with it painful associations, but I do not know that in itself it is distressing to me. It may be an advantage to me to talk about it, for I have never told any man yet what I am going to tell you. Not indeed that I have any morbid feeling about the matter, only as a professional man I am bound to guard myself against any sus- picion of mental disorder or flighty imagination, and there are few men who would or could under- stand me if I told them this plain unvarnished tale of my experiences of the unaccountable. It is now twenty-five years since the events that I am about to relate happened. I was a very young man then, although I fancy sometimes that I must seem a very old one now; really I am no more than forty-seven years of age, and I was just two-and-twenty when I passed my final examina- tion. I had been very anxious about it and had studied very hard, denying myself rest, food, and amusement in my anxiety. I was not a typical Sawbones in my day, at all. I had never any taste for dissipation, and had not, besides, the means to indulge in extravagances. I was the only son of my mother, a widow, who denied herself some- thing to enable me to follow my favourite studies, and it was a point of honour with me to deprive her of as smalt a portion of her income as possible, and to work as hard as I could to hasten the day when I should be in a position to make a comfor- table home for her, and to surround her declining years with the luxuries to which, since my father's death, she had been a stranger. My father had been a solicitor in practice in a country town in the Midlands, and a small house in the outskirts of the town forming part of the slight provision that he had been able to make for his widow, my mother continued to live there, especially as there were certain educational advantages to be gained for me as the son of an old townsman. Latterly, owing to some railway extensions, our town had shown signs of growth, and a new suburban neighbourhood was springing up in the quiet country roads that extended beyond my mother's house, so that it seemed to me that I could have no better prospect anywhere of finding a good open- ing for practice than in my native place. The principal medical man there was old and wealthy, and cared very little for the drudgery of pro- fessional work. Even his old patients he left as far as he could to the care of his assistants, and new patients he would not take at all. It was clear, therefore, that aa the place continued to increase there must be a good opening. In fact, a new doctor was a necessity, and all that I feared was that somebody would anticipate me and swoop down upon the possible practice that, although unmade, I yet regarded as my own. I had another object, too, in working hard and getting on. I suppose I need not tell you that there was a woman connected with it ? She was a little fair girl, three years younger than I, the daughter of a neighbour and old friend, and since the first thoughts of love or marriage came into my boyish head it had never seemed possible to me that any other woman but Lucy could ever be my wife. Well, well, that is all over now a quarter of a century ago. So you see that I had sufficient object in working hard and living cheaply. In fact I rather overdid it in the latter way. f do not want to mislead you by any extenuation of circumstances, so I wish you to clearly understand that the course of life I had been following for the previous six months was eminently calculated to induce a very unhealthy condition both of mind and body. I had been reading very hard, taking comparatively little exercise, neglecting regular meals, and taking no alcoholic stimulant, living in fact by the help of strong tea and cavendish. That is a sort of regimen that even the nerves of two-and-twenty cannot stand for long. There is a great craze just now, in and out of the profession, about the total abstinence question, and a good deal of sense has been talked about it, and a good deal of nonsense. Of course excess in any form is bad. Bread, beef, and beer are all of them good things taken in moderation; any one of them in excess is bad, but of all excesses excess in abstinence is the worst, producing mischief both to mind and body, the effects of which cannot be over-estimated. Empty stomachs mean impaired digestions, organic disease, shattered nerves, mor- bid imaginations, lowered moral and mental tone, loss of self-respect, degradation, crime, and death. Learned specialists want to show that the bulk of the crime and misery in the world arises from too much to drink. I agree with them up to a point only. I hold that the first cause of at least half the trouble is too little to eat. This is a digression. I only wanted to point out to you that I had been living in a very unhealthy way, and that accord- ing to my own professional judgment the effects of my mode of life may be held to have an im- portant bearing upon what followed. I kept up pretty well until my final examination was over; then I felt rather broken down and fagged. I had been living in a street off the Euston-road—the New-road it was titon-not very far from the hospital (I was a student at the University). I had given notice to leave, and hoped to have been able to start the day after I passed, for I longed for the rest and quiet of my mother's house again, and as I was going to sit down there and wait for patients I should probably get plenty of what I longed for. I found that I had so much to do before I could leave town that I was bound to give myself another day. On the evening I passed I invited some men round to supper, the only festivity that I had allowed myself during the term. We had rather a pleasant time of it, but the effects upon me of the unusual dissipation were after all very slight. It did me some temporary good. I slept better that night after my friends were gone and woke up fresher the next morning. I started upon my packing the first thing. I always had a faculty for collecting things about me wherever I went, and my London lodgings were, well, not quite so full of prints and odds and ends as this room, but still pretty well filled. I got two or three packing cases, filled and despatched them by luggage train, in order to have nothing more to take with me than a port- manteau the next morning when I was to leave Euston by the 7.30 train. Having finished my packing and seen the things off, I spent the after- noon in making sundry business and farewell calls, returning again in the evening to my lodgings. I was very tired, had some tea, rested, and read for awhile. As it grew later I got over my fatigue and began to get restless. I am very much a creature of habit. I delight in settling down in a place and surrounding myself with familiar objects. Nothing is more uncomfortable to me than a strange room to live in, unless it be a familiar room that has been made to put on the appearance of strangeness, and my rooms, now that they had been stripped, looked bare and wretched, and gave me the blue devils. I knew that I should get no sleep that night if things went on thus, so I adopted a not unusual remedy of mine for sleeplessness—a night walk. It was twenty minutes to twelve by the clock on the mantelpiece when I turned down the gas and put on my hat. I ctossed the New-road and strolled down Gower-street, passing my old hos- pital. It was a Wild and stormy night. The clouds flew fast; now and then the moon shone out brightly through a break in them; then a thicker bank of cloud rolled up and a short, sharp shower of rain fell. One of these came on as I reached a street corner. Hoping to gain some shelter, for I had brought no umbrella with me, I turned down the street. I had not gone very far before I reached a large stone archway, under the shadow of which I stood perfectly protected from the downpour. I had been walking along rather absently, and had not noticed what street I had entered. It now occurred to me to wonder which it was, for, although the whole neighbourhood was most familiar to me, I could not bring to mind that I had ever noticed in any street leading from Gower-street to the Tottenham Court-road such a gateway as that which I now stood under. I began to feel rather curious about it. There was a heavy, old-fashioned wooden gate behind me, barred with iron. It was unlocked and swung easily back as I put my band upon it. I peered through the open gatewav, and the moon, showing herself for an instant through the wild rack of clouds, revealed a broad, stone-paved and grass- grown courtyard, and an old house standing back in it. I had stepped over the threshold, with my hand still upon the open door, while I was indulg- ing my curiosity. Just then the clouds swept over the moon and the rain came down again more I heavily than ever. I turned to retrace my steps, and as I did so a neighbouring church clock struck twelve, and simultaneously my attention was arrested by a Cry that seemed to come from the house. I have been since then through many varied professional experiences. I have been through a campaign, and gone over the field of battle after an engage- ment. I have seen many sickening sights and heard many awful sounds of human suffering, but you can believe me that in all my life before and since that night I never heard anything that in unearthliness and blood-curdling horror could approach in effect the cry that now came to my ear*. I should despair of being able to explain it to you. Try to imagine the shriek of a person undergoing the severest physical pain, add to that the cry of the raving lunatic, and then, if you can carry your imagination so far out of the world, call up to it the suggestion of a lost soul wailing in the unutterable torments of hell; and if you can blend all these together you will realise something of the effect of the sound upon my over-wrought imagination. I felt my very heart grow cold within me. Unconsciously I let go the gate, which glided noiselessly from my hand, and closed, leaving me within the courtyard. As I recovered my presence of mind my first idea, of course, was to regain the street, but the gate resisted all my efforts to open it. I struck a match to try and find the way the lock worked, but the wind blew the light out instantly. The rain was falling fast, and I was getting very wet. I looked across to the house; the hall door was ajar and the feeble light of an oil lamp shone out from the interior of the hall. Why should I not take shelter there? What a fool I was to let my nerves run away with me so! Perhaps somebody was ill and suffering in the house, and my services might be useful. Here, I think, the professional instinct came entirely to the front and extinguished all nervous fancies and fears. I walked across the court, through the doorway into the hall. I can swear that I barely touched the door as I passed it, yet, when I had gone through, it swung to easily as if it had been pushed, and though I tried hard to unlatch it again, the ponderous lock was so stiff and rusty with extreme age that all my efforts were in- effectual to stir it. I was beginning to feel rather angry now, and disposed to face any tiling. There was something so contemptible in being caught like a rat in a trap. I looked round me. The hall was very old, stone-paved, and the pavement worn and discoloured; the oil lamp which illu- mined it was of antique shape and gave a very poor and uncertain light; on the right hand was a door, upon the panels of which I rapped smartly with my knuckles. Come in!' said a calm voice. I found myself in a large panelled chamber, furnished in antique style. There was a are of logs burning on the open hearth, and the light of that. and of a single oil lamp were insufficient at first sight to reveal all that the room contained. At a writing-table near the fire sat a tall, elderly man. In style and features he strongly recalled to me the portraits of Sir Isaac Newton and it even seemed that there was an affectation of copying the dress of the period. Gilbert,, he remarked, without raising hit eyes from his book,' you will—Ah!' looking up, I it is not Gilbert; well, good evening, sir, you are welcome. I have been expecting you a long time. Will you not draw near the fire V and, with exquisite courtesy, my host produced a snuff-box, tapped it with a delicate white forefinger, took a pinch, and handed the box to me with a bow. I stepped forward from the door, which closed with a click behind me, and as I turned round, startled by the sound, I found that the door had disappeared; that is to say, that it was indistin- guishable from the other panelling of the room, save to anybody acquainted with its secret. Of course, it took me only an instant to notice this, and I lost no time in replying to my host's courtesy with what seemed to myself a very awkward apology for my presence. I remarked that I had taken refuge from the rain under 'his archway (I Very unpleasant weather,' murmured the old gentleman, sympathisingly), that I had heard a scream in his house, and thinking an accident had happened, I thought of offering my services, being a medical practitioner (I omitted to state of how many hours' standing). When I referred to the scream the old gentleman frowned slightly, took a pinch of snuff with an air of annoyance, and mur- mured, Very troublesome, very troublesome, so disappointing, too, after so much trouble. So you are a—" medical practitioner," you term it. I suppose that means a physician. You young men use long words. Well, this is interesting. You have been a student. Of what school, might I ask, sir ?' I have been at the University,' I replied. The University! Ha! of Leyden, I presume ? You are right, sir, to call it the University, for in truth there is none other in these our days that can compare with it; although the knowledge of its professors is yet far below that of our masters, the ancients. I-I myself, humble though I be'— and he smiled a smile of palpably insincere humilitV-'could teach the best of your professors some lore that our European schools know nothing of. I am happy, sir, to be acquainted with you, for there is much that we may profitably discuss together.' As be spoke the last words, suddenly that awful scream broke out again, louder and nearer than before. It seemed to come from an adjoin- ing apartment, divided from the one we sat in by a heavy curtain. I started to my feet, pale and trembling. ,'I Tis troublesome, and startling, too, to the senses until custom makes it familiar,' said my companion coolly, and, abashed at his indifference, feeling confused and bewildered, I resumed my seat in obedionee to the motion of his jewelled, lace-ruffled hand. I do not marvel,' continued he, taking snuff with a placid air,' that you are disturbed at this un- accustomed Bound. It even discomfited myself when first I heard it. Now I merely listen with the feelings of one who is but reminded of a dis- appointment and a failure, which I trust, however, may through you be remedied,' and he bowed again with ceremonious courtesy. On" yioiuaa.ou, young sir,' he went on,' hath amOlJll the moderns been much misunderstood. It hath indeed three branches of knowledge, to each of which a student should in turn address him- self. The first is the knowledge of t¡ means of destroying life painlessly, secretly, and without suspicion. This is the branch of science to which professors unwisely have devoted all their re- search; unwisely, say I, because it is but the science of the tyro. To compass the means for the secret destruction of life is the first and easiest lesson in the education of the Eastern physician. You have mastered the properties of poisonous medicaments?' addressing me directly. 'I. yes?' I stammered, I am acquainted with the nature of all the well-known poisons.' I I Precisely. It is not likely that your teaching in the Leyden of to-day could go farther. I doubt not, friend, that you could acquit yourself well so far as your science goes, and probably you have already put it to the touch, in the removal of some trifle of an inconvenient rival or two ?' and the old gentleman smiled upon me benevo- lently, and took another pinch of snuff. I Sir!' said I, indignantly, • I did not come here to be insulted.' I Nay I nay! be patient; 'twas but an old man's banter. I would not disparage thy skill, and it may well be that thy knowledge, &ye, and practice too, exceed all that thy smooth cheek might seem to promise. Where was I when thy youthful heat overbore me? Aye! aye I I remember—I spoke of the first article of the physician's knowledge, which hath been too much entertained, to the ex- clusion of the other two. The second is that sci«nc« which relateth to the expelling of noxious humours from the blood, and detecting and eradi- cating the seeds of disease. Now of this know- ledge not our wisest have any that is of more avail to save a man's life than the simples culled by some country wife under a hedgerow.' "'I think, sir,' I interposed rather diffidently, that you have not much studied recent patholo- gical works, or the researches of our modern men would have commended themselves more to your learning.' It may wsll be so, good sir, I have read them not, and you may have it even in your power to instruct me, but to me the instruction would be worthless, for I, and I alone, follow the practice of the third and greatest branch of the physician's science, the giving of life. To poison were useless when the work could be undone; to heal by slow and painful degrees a waste of time, when ail that is needful is to let the patient die and then again restore him; so do I call this the greatest and only worthy learning that the physician can attain to.' "I made up my mind that I was talking to a lunatic, and that supposition accounted for the old-world eccentricities of his dress and manner, and many otherwise incomprehensible twists and turns in his conversation before he reached the climax of the last wild absurdity. However, I was bound to humour him. .11 Have you, then, sir, mastered the secrets of this (as you justly term it) the greatest branch of the physician's science ?' I asked respectfully. A gratified smile crossed his features, followed by a slight frown. "I In some respects I have. The ancient Egyp- tians, our masters in all knowledge, owned this secret. Their mummies are but bodies carefully preserved, waiting the call to life which doubtless they had purposed should be given after some century or so should pass away, so that the dead generation might rise again on the earth and instruct it in the knowledge of an earlier age. But, alas! the secret was lost in the mist of ignorance that overspread the land in a barbaric age. And to me, and me alone, has it been given to find it after the lapse of centuries. 'Tis not yet fully compassed. We stand on the brink of success. Como with me and you shall share the labour and the glory.' The old man's face warmed for an instant out of its impassive chill. He roee, and, with a motion to me to follow, pushed aside the curtain, and led the way to the adjoining room. Prepared for I know not what horrible mystery, I followed. The room was a laboratory, but a laboratory of the Middle Ages rather than of the nineteenth century. The instruments and appliances with which it was crowded were all of extreme antiquity. The use of many of them was entirely unknown to me. I could recognise, however, some that were used both in alchemy and astrology, and my estimate of the state of my host's wits was momentarily strengthened. My attention, however, was at once called off to a subject of grimmer interest. Stretched on a table lay what seemed to be the corpse of a woman a woman apparently in the first flush of youth and perfect physical develop- meat. The eyes were closed, the flesh was waxen and bloodless, the lips blue, although the features retained their life-like form, and the bare arms looked firm and healthy. My guide stationed himself beside the body. ,,I This, good sir, is my trial essay, not yet entirely successful,' and as he spoke he placed his hand upon the dead girl's forehead. As he did so a horrible change came over the body, the bosom rose and fell spasmodically, the muscles contracted, the hands clenched, the features were twisted and distorted into an expression of horrible agony, and from the parted lips burst forth that dreadful, unearthly cry that I had twice heard already. After which the body again relapsed into the condition of apparent death. You observe,' remarked the old gentleman coolly, I the incomplete nature of my experiment.' 11 1 Who and what, in God's name, is this?' I said, almost fainting with horror. "4 This is my niece, Alicia,' said the old gentle- man, tapping first the corpse and then the snuff- box. I have explained the knowledge that came to me through the study of Eastern lore. Tis two years since I believed that my knowledge in theory was perfect, and that practice was alone necessary to me. Then did I think how to set my- self to work. True, there need be no difficulty in the procurement of dead bodies, for many do daily die of diverse diseases whose bodies their kin would gladly sell for a few coins. Or, again, I might have adopted the practice in which thou boasteth thyself so proficient, and have slain a man by poisons, but there were difficulties in the way. 'Twas. see you air, my first essay, and it might well happen that I should, for lack of experience, allow too little for the effects of disease or poison, so that if the seeds of either yet remained in him it might chance that I should toil overmuch to bring back to life again a man who, being alive, should at once die again from the same cause as he did before. Practice maketh perfect, and, in time, doubtless I should learn to put so much of life into a man that it should crush into nothing the seeds of death that were yet in him; but in the beginning it was needful for me to find one of healthy constitution who should die neither of poison nor disease, nor of any violent dismember- ment or disruption, that so the bringing of him or her to life should be made easy. Then did I cast my eyes upon my sister's child, Alicia, here, a comely maiden, healthy, well formed and well favoured, and it seemed that in her had I found the very subject that I sought. Therefore, pene- trating to the maiden's chamber while she slept, I availed myself of a hint in a play-book that I had read, and did smother her with a pillow, that so she might die without injury or blemish, but my knowledge stops short on the threshold of fulfil- ment, for albeit I have stopped the body's decay, albeit I have called back the spirit to the lifeless clay, I have failed yet to put the perfect life of human kind again in the maiden's body. Now the time hath again come since you are here when I must make another essay.' (To be continued.)

SPIRITUALISM EXPOSED. MR. MASKELYNE'S INVESTIGATIONS. GRAVE CHARGE AGAINST MEDIUMS. THE DANGERS OF THE DARK SEANCE. In the Pall Mall Gazette of Monday appears the concluding portion of the interview which the re- presentative of that paper had with Mr. Maskelyne, of the Egyptian Hall, the great conjuror, upon his experiences of Spiritualism. After dealing with the matter generally and expressing, as the result of long and careful examinations, his entire dis- belief in the whole business, he proceeds:—" I come now to a much more serious matter, and in stating my opinions I am guided by absolute knowledge of facts and conclusions drawn from them. It is my firm and dispassionate conviction that if it were not forthat miserablesubterfuge and abomination—the dark s&tnce-Spiritualism would fall to the ground, for without it it would not be sufficiently lucrative a pursuit for the professional medium to keep it up. I have no hesitation in stating publicly that it is the opportunity offered for what I will call I flirtation I-jaot to use the right and stronger term-during its hour and more of darkness which has rendered it qo extremely popular with the Spiritualists, who are made up chiefly of dupes and r ogues. I don't mean to say that there are not honest men among them I am talking about the majority. I am perfectly well aware that in saying this I shall bring a perfect whirlwind of abuse aboik my ears, but the truth had better be told, and mine are not groundless charges. 1 could tell you of visits paid to me by fathers and husbands begging me to expose the vile 'faitlil and its professors who, under cover of its dark stances, had insulted their wives and daughters, and I could tell you of occurrences within my own knowledge which your papercould not publish. Now, why are these proceedings per- mitted to go on and flourish? Simply because people will suffer almost anything rather than make a scandal upon the subject. It is not a fort- night ago since I received a visit from an in. dignant eentleman on the same painful subject and inculpating a medium whose name is a very familiar one just now. I do not say that dark seances are got up solely for this purpose, but I do say that that is what they are used for, and that the Spiritualists know it and trade upon it; yes, and fatten upon it, too. The dark shows at the Polytechnic caused quite a scandal at one time, and even in my own seances at the Egyptian Hall I received some complaints of the same nature but ever since then I have always kept the electric light flashing during the few minutes of darkness, and as a con- sequence the complaints have discontinued. At a spiritualistic dark stance I once heard a young lady crying out-not at all crossly. I assure you- If you don't behave I'll never come to a stance with you again If you do that again I'll beat you!' Of course the guilty as well as the inno. cent will give the lie direct to what I have told you, as is only to be expected but there are scores upon scores of indignant persons whose feelings have been cruelly outraged, who will thank you for having allowed me to speak out frankly on this painful and unsavoury subject."

MANUFACTURING FURNITURE BY STEAM POWER.— Mr. Alsop's Cabinet Works, situate at Broadmead, Bristol, is thus spoken of by one of the leading Bristol papers;- Long before this addition was made Alsop s (abiuet Works had obtained more than a national reputation. For a long time it has been an admitted fact that as manufacturers the firm is by far the largest in the United Kingdom, and the export trade is simply enormous. Only recently we gave a lengthy description of the various processes of work In this manufac- tory in the series of papers published at the time, and since re-produced in pamphlet form under the heading of Work in Bristol.' It is only neoeasary to say that every thing neces- sary to the furnishiutc of a oottage or a j)lÙace can be selected from the store-room in a few hours. We have no wish to exaggerate, because our readers are lnVited to visit the works, when they can see for themselves the immense quan- tities of manufactured goods stored, not only in the large and hnposing front shop facing the Broadmead, which, fine gs it Is, can only be said to be a most diminutive representa- ¡ tive of such a oolossal establishment. The new department is devoted entirely to the display of the highest class of fur- niture and decorative worlt.^—Brittot Timet and Mirror.

GHOSTS AND GHOST STORIES. ALSO SUPERSTITIONS, LEGENDS, FAIRY TALES, ETC. COMPILED AND COLLECTED BY THE "DUTCHMAN." THE POET AND THE GHOSTS. Dryden leaves us the following allusion to a ghost in one of his poems, I forget at the moment which:— Oh! 'tis a fearful thing to be no more, Or if it be to wander after death; To walk, as spirits do. in brakes all day; And when the darkness comes to glide in paths That lead to graves; and in the silent vault. Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. SUPERSTITIONS OF THE LADY BIRD. The following is taken from" Kelly's Indo- European Traditions and Folk Lore." Perhaps some of my readers may know of other supersti- tions anent this insect:—" The lady bird, which is so intimate with the Goddess of Love and with Frau Holda (another goddess), must know a great many things. Its services in affairs of love were known to Gay— This lady fly I take from off the grass, Whose spotted back might scarlet-red surpass. Fly, lady bird, north, south, or east, or west— Fly, where the man is found that I love best. Little girls in Westphalia set the lady bird on the point of their fore-finger, and invoke it, in rhyme, to say when they will be married: In one year, two years, three years &c., and they grow very impatient if the insect lets them count too high before it dies away. Sometimes it is asked, as it sits on the finger, how the questioner will fare in the next world. If it fly upwards, the questioner will go to heaven; if downwards, to the opposite place; if horizontally, to purgatory. In Sweden, if the black spots on the wing-covers of the lady bird exceed eeven, the usual number, it is thought to be a sign that corn will be dear; if they are fewer, a plentiful harvest is expected. THE DEFORMITY OF SUPERSTITION. Bacon says—"Superstition without a veil is a deformed thing." There is also a superstition in avoiding superstition, when men think they do best if they go farthest from the superstitious, by which means they often take away the good as well as the bad. OLD RIMINGTON'S GHOST. Woodsome Hall, near Huddersfield, the seat of the Earl of Dartmouth, has its ghost in the shape of Old Rimington," a former steward to the Kayes of Woodsome, who, it is said, still appears at the rent audit dinners. Mr. John Nowell, of Farnley Wood, informed Mr. Chas. P. Hobkirk that When I was a boy, as far as I can recollect, the legend of Rimington's ghost was to this purport, as related by old country crones, viz:—First, that strange noises were heard in the room called 1 Rimington's Closet.' Second, that a man once met the ghost of Mr. Rimington riding at full speed down Woodsome-lane, with a couple of dogs led by a leash. Third, once upon a time, his ghost going at full gallop, plucked out a brag nail from a door post at the bottom of Farnley village. Fourth, that the learned clergy of the neighbour- hood were called in to put his unquiet spirit to rest. Fifth, that the ghostly wanderer was I laid' in the little bath-room, near the quineaux beeches, to quietly there remain as long as hollins' should grow green. Sixth, that this condition was not fulfilled-the ghost having been metamorphosed into a robin redbreast (robinet), which visits the bath-rom to this day [from which the Farnley folks are called Robinets,' and are now thus taunted probably for the ignorant credulity of their forefathersl But as for Mr. Rimington, if anyone ever did deserve to rest quietly in his grave, it was that good man. Tradition even now says that he was a faithful steward, one who dealt justly, and was a true friend to the tenantry—his good deeds are not forgotten by the descendants of those whom he benefitted. I come to the rescue of his memory as a duty, for I have long felt that he, from his conduct in life, deserved not after his death to have his memory placed at the mercy of the ignorant and illiterate." I have been unable to glean further particulars beyond idle ffossip. which gives frequent appearances to the ghost until the present day. Mr. Rimington died some time before the year 1700, respected and beloved by his employers and the tenants of the estate. A GHOST AT ALMONDBURY. Some few years back much excitement was caused at the ancient village of Almondbury, Yorkshire, at the news that a veritable ghost had taken possession of a gentleman's house and re- fused to be ousted. Nothing would lay the ghost, and the family were greatly perplexed thereat. Almondbury happens to be one of those very. very old places, probably 800 or 1,000 years old, where ghosts could be expected to haunt, and no wonder was expressed at the advent of the supposed supernatural visitant. As the annoyance grew instead of diminishing, a vigorous watch was kept, and ultimately a servant was caught raising the spirits." Her dismissal was the signal for the dis- appearance of the manifestations. NINETEENTH CENTURY CREDULITY. The ancient city of Blois was recently visited by a sorceress, whose experiences were suddenly brought to a standstill by her arrest and summary but salutary conviction. In June, 1884, Madame Duval, an old lady carrying on a farming business in the neighbourhood, went to Blois Market, and while there was aocosted by the fortune-teller, whose assurances forecasting approaching troubles led her into the witch's confidence. Since ne cede tnalis was the watchword of both friend and client, the bourgeoise took her newly-found ac- quaintance home, and the letter at once set to work. The sage, remarking that money brings money, instructed her to deposit all the money and bank-notes she had in a chest of drawers. The old woman, who was very thrifty, acted accord- ingly, and, to increase, no doubt, the outlay of her capital, she tore up those tiles of her bedroom under which was concealed a sum of money, and furthermore borrowed several thousand francs, besides 8,000 francs from her notary. Everything now was in favour of the sorceress, whose final instruction was on no account to touch or even set eyes on the golden harvest, as the charm would instantly be void. Lastly—and not least in the art of sophistry—circumstances demanded the key of the cabinet to be in the hands of the designer of the fraud, who would pass the night near it as a guardian angel. The next day circumstances obliged the august visitor to leave for a few days at most. During that period, however, the charms of deception were not to be latent, as a powder of whitish colour was left for the old lady to burn on a well-heated stove, and the inhaling of the vapour would doubtless complete the enterprise. Madame Duval, strange to say, believed everything and obeyed all to the letter. No sooner was the powder of whitish hue brought into use than an explosion occurred, and the house took fire. Assistance was soon on the spot, and the flames got under, but Madame Duval was found to be much injured, though eventually she recovered. Needless to add the spiritualist had both taken charge of the cash and intended concluding the campaign by asphyxiating her victim, so as to cast aside sus- picion. MORE WEATHER PROGNOSTICS. Clear moon Frost soon. In wiater, when the moon's horns are sharp and well-defined, frost is expected. The wind in an anti-cyclonic system blows in the direction of the hands of the watch, but slightly upwards, and, as the anti-cyclone is nearly always stationary, the wind blows from the same quarter for several days together. When the wind turns from the north-east to east, and continues two days without rain, and does not turn south the third day, nor rain the third day, it is likely to continue north- east for eight or nine days, all fair, and then to come to south again. If the wind is north-east three days without rain, Bight days will pass before south wind again. The wind is usually very light in force. It is said to be a sign of continued good weather when the wind so changes during the day as to follow the sun. If the wind follows the sun's course expect fair weather. The "veering with the sun," as it i. called, is the ordinary diurnal variation of the wind, which in this country is only very obvious with the shallow gradients of an anti-cyclone. The cirrus cloud is usually seen on the outskirts of the anti-cyclone; if in front, it gradually disappears, but if in the rear, it is a sign that there will be a change in the weather. Hence, if cirrus clouds dissolve and appear to vanish, it is an indication of fine weather. If cirrus clouds form in fine weather with a falling barometer, it is almost sure to rain. When, after a clear frost, long streaks of cirrus are seen with their ends bending towards each other as they recede from the zenith, and when they point to the north-east, a thaw and a south-west wind may be expected. OTHER PEOPLE OTHER CUSTOMS. In South Russia the traveller must always be prepared to improvise a new and appropriate salu- tation. To illustrate: In the morning a moun- tainer greets another with, May your morning be bright," to which the prompt rejoinder is, And may a sunny day never pass you by." A guest he welcomes with, May your coming bring joy," and the guest replies, May a blessing rest on your house." To one about to travel the appropriate greeting is, May God make straight your road;" to one returning from a journey, May health and strength come back with rest." But, notwith- standing their courtesy, the Caucasian moun- taineers are very pugnacidus, and resort to their daggers very promptly to settle personal diffe- rences. This alacrity to fight, however, is by no means uncommon in other races among whom forms of excessive courtesy prevail. A COMPARISON OF NATIONAL PROVERBS. Sometimes the proverb does not actually in so many words repeat itself in various tongues. We have. indeed, exactly the same thought, but it takes an outward shape and embodiment varying according to the various countries and periods in which it has been current. We have proverbs totally diverse from one another in their form and appearance, but which yet, when we look a little deeper into them, prove to be at heart one and the same, all these differences being thus only, so to speak, variations of the same air. These are always an amusing, often an instructive, study; and to trace this difference has an interest lively enough. Thus the forms of the proverb which brings out the absurdity of those reproving others for a defect or a sin to whom the same cleaves in an equal or in a greater degree have sometimes no visible connection at all, or the very slightest, with one another; yet for all this the proverb is at heart and essentially but one. We Say in English, The kiln calls the oven 'Burnt houee; the Italians, The pan says to the pot. Keep off o you'll smutch the Spaniards,"The raven crieth to the crow, Avaunt. blackamoor" the Germans, "One ass nicknamed another 'Long- ears while it must be owned that there is a certain originality in the Catalan version of the proverb, Death said unto the man with his throat cut, • How ugly you look.' Under how rich a variety of form does one and the same thought array itself here! Let me quote another illustration of the same fact. We probably take for granted that "Coals to Newcastle" is a thoroughly English expression of the absurdity of sending to a place that which already abounds there—water to the sea, faggots to the wood-and English of course it is as to the outward garment which it wears, but in its innermost being it be- longs to the whole world and to all time. Thus the Greeks said, Owls to Athens," Attica abound- ing with these birds; the Rabbis, Enchantments to Egypt," Egypt being of old esteemed the head- quarters of all magic; the Orientals, Pepper to Hindostan;" and in the middle ages they had this proverb, Indulgences to Rome," Rome being the centre of spiritual traffic; and these by no means exhaust the list. Let me advance some other variations of the same description, though not running through quite so many languages. Thus compare the German, Who let's one sit on his shoulders shall have him presently sit on his head," with the Italian, If thou suffer a calf to be laid on thee within a little they'll clap on the cow;" and again with the Spanish, Give me where I may sit down, I will make where I may lie down." They all plainly contain one and the same hint, that undue liberties are best resisted at the outset, being otherwise liable to be followed up by other and greater ones; but this under how rich and humourous a variety of forms. We say, Daub yourself with honey and you'll be covered with flies;" the Danes, Make yourself an ass and you'll have every man's sack on your shoulders;" while the French, li Who makes himself a sheep the wolves devour him;" and the Persians, Be not all sugar, or the world will swallow thee up," to which they add, however, as a necessary comple- ment, Nor yet all wormwood, or the world will spit thee out. Or again, we are content to say without a figure, The receiver's as bad as the thief;" but the French, He sins as much who holds the sack as he who puts into it;" the Germans, He who holds the ladder is as guilty as he who mounts the wall,lrench. WITCHES. In the bright summer of 1616, on the morning of July 18, nine women were executed at the (Leices- ter) gallows, on the charge of having bewitched a youth named Smith, aged 12 or 13 years, the son of Mr. Smith, of Husband's Bosworth. It was said six of these poor wretches bad familiar spirits— one like a horse, another like a dog, another a cat, another a fulmart, another a fish undescribed, and another a codfish, each of which tormented its vic- tim. When the horse possessed the boy he would whine, when the cat he would mew. He went into fits. Sir Henry Hastings, and even stronger persons, tried to hold the youth quiet on such occa- sions, but they could not. And all these strange contortions took place in the presence of the most distinguished persons in the district. So the judge of assize ordered the poor women to be hanged, and they were hanged, as Mr. Alderman Heyrick relates at the time, in a letter written to his brother, Sir William, in London. Such is the account given in Thompson's History. A PREACHER CONVINCED OF THE SUPERNATURAL. The late Rev. John Griffiths, of Glandwr, Car- marthen, who at one time was loud in his disbelief of the supernatural, used to tell the following story:—" One night, as I was returning home on horseback through a narrow lane, my horse sud- denly reared aside as if frightened. As I did not perceive anything to cause this, I urged her on with an application of the spur. I had no sooner done this than she leaped over the hedge into a field. Thoroughly surprised at this unaccountable be- haviour, I dismounted and led her into the road, thinking that what my eyes could not discover my ears might. I stopped and listened, when I dis- tinctly heard footsteps in a slow, measured tread, as though a funeral passed. Desirous of knowing to where they would proceed, I followed the sounds to my own chapel, where they ceased at a certain part of the burial ground attached thereto. In the course of a week from that time a. peisou died, and was buried at the actual spot where the sounds had ceased to be heard." The minister was never known to ridicule those believing in mys- terious occurrences again. MARRIAGE AND DEATH.—THE RULE TO THE CONTRARY. One old saying, peculiar to no country, Is "Happy is the bride that the sun shines on." While another, acting on an apparent rule of con- trary, tells us that "Happy are the dead that the rain rains on." LASSES AND THEIR HUSBANDS. On a certain day in the year the young women of Abbotsbury used to go to the well near St. Catherine's Chapel, Milton Abbey, where they made use of the following prayer :— A husband, St. Catherine, A rich one, St. Catherine, A nice one, St. Catherine, And soon, St. Catherine. —The story of St. Agnes has ever excited the sym- pathy of the young of the female sex, and the keeping of her festival in early times led to the observance by young women on the eve of the ssint's day (Jan. 20) of certain rites by which they were supposed to obtain a knowledge of their future husbands. To do this they were required to fast all the day, and at night to take a row of pins, and,picking them out one by one, stick them in their sleeve, the while singing a Pater Noster i or another charm was to take their right leg stocking, knitting the left leg garter round it and repeat these lines:— I knit this knot, this knot I knit, To know the thing I know not yet, That I may see The man that shall my husband be i Not in his best or worst array. But what he weareth every day; That I to-morrow may him ken From among all other men. A PLACE A GHOST DOES NOT LIKE. Exorcists of skill and experience may lay a ghost for any period of time up to 100 years, and an instance is recorded in Lancashire of a ghost's agreement with some people whom it haunted not to trouble them for some years. At the end of that time his ghostship appeared again, and en- tered into another agreement. Of all places in the world the most common to which exorcists banish ghosts is to the Red Sea, and to this place the shadows of former beings have a decided objec- tion. It is stated that in many instances ghosts have earnestly besought that they might not be relegated to that dismal place. M'DERMOT AND THE LEPRECHAUN. In Ireland fairies are known by the name of "leprechaun," and the following story, written by a Huddersfield gentleman, records the adventures of a descendant—very much descended—of the old Kings of Ireland with one of these mystic beings. Before smuggling had entirely died out on the coasts of our island home there lived on the south coast of Ireland, not a hundred miles from Youghal, a most determined and successful contra- bandist. His proper name was Dermot M'Deruaot, a descendant of the kingly race of M'Dermots. And having the M'Dermot blood in his veins he had also the M'Dermot independence in his nature. His ancestors were bound by no laws. then why should he be? His ancestors made laws, why should he be compelled to keep them ? So reasoned he; and as smuggling was of the exciting nature so congenial to his tastes he embraced it with ardour as his profession. The number of times that he had been within a hair's breidth of con- viction it would be impossible to compute, but in all cases some lucky chance or his own Irish in- genuity had got him off scot-free. But it so hap- pened that on a certain Christmas Eve Dermot had successfully run a cargo of strong Dutch brandy and French lace, and get it all landed, when those carrying the goods to the secret repository used for storage by the gang of which Dermot was leader were astounded to hear the signal from their scout intimating that the preventive men were down on them. • Heaven save us,' says Der- mot, there's nothin' can help us now but the divil or a leprechaun.' Dermot had stowed about his person more of bis smuggled spirits than he could comfortably carry. No sooner had he given ex- pression to his convictions as above recorded than he heard a voice, thin and weak, below him piping. And what'll ye give us, Dermot, my sowl, to help yizi" Dermot, for the first time in his life, was more startled than he cared afterwards to confess. He looked down, and there, seated on a tremendous boulder, was one of those peculiar little creatures called by the Irish leprechauns, but by us fairies. This one was about the height of six penn'orth of copper, however high that may be, and clothed entirely in scarlet. 'Musha,' says Dermot, 'I'll do aught ye wants me, darlin' for he knew if he wasn't very careful he might soon offend the fairy. Then,' said the sprite, ye must lave smugglin' and git yer living some other way.' 'Right ye are,' said Dermot, I swear it.' Whereupon the leprechaun, having summoned a lot more like unto himself, set to work, and in an instunt the all bales and barrels were snugly hidden, and the boats hauled up high and dry on the beach, just as'Squinting Dick,' as the head Customs officer was irreverently termed, suddenly appeared round a rocky point to find—nothing Some hours later the following scene took place inside the retreat. Dramatis persona: Dermot and his right-hand man, Dennis L-LfYt-t-t,y. Dermot is speaking—' Sure, Dennis, I'm goin' to give up smugglin' aud turn my hand to somethin' else.' Dennis, in astonish- ment, asks, 'Why, skipper, what's come over ye now? By the holy poker, ye, the bowldest of the howld, turnin' chicken-hearted But think of the leprechaun, Dennis.' What leprechaun, thin ?' •Why, the one that carried our stuff up when^the excise was down on us.' 'Shure, its dhramin' ye are entirely why, the lads and me brought lein up ourselves while ye was snorin' like a-' Like a what, ye spalpeen ?I Like a angel, I was goin' to say. Leprechaun indeed!' But Dermot was not to be persuaded. He stuck to the leprechaun, left his old ways, and was hanged for house. breaking."

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FEMININE FANCIES, FOIBLES, AND FASHIONS. By A LADY. [All Rights Reserved.) I have just finished reading a very sensible and practical article on cheerfulness, real and acquired, including advice in respect to certain aids to cheerfulness and the attainment of that very desi- rable altitude of feeling, which has been well described as "The summer weather of the heart," a condition totally distinct from that spurious ele- vation known as high spirits," a mental state that corresponds to the action of the weather indicator, but with this difference: that while the human barometer suddenly rises before a storm, the natural mercury as suddenly sinks. Thera is a certain elevation of the spirits which the Scotch call "Being fey." It is regarded as a sign that something of a saddaning nature is about to happen, and any sudden buoyancy is, therefori, looked upon with innate suspicion. This super- stition is well borne out, for, after great pxube- raaco, by natural reaction the spirit3 too often sink bolaw zero. I notice that highly nervous organisations art peculiarly liable to these rapid changss. More phlegmatic—and shall I call thpm more happily?—constituted people know nothing of the elations nor of the depressions of more mercu- rial folk. Shall I, then, call them happy peopb ? Only, I think, in the doubtful sense that applies to the story of a certain young lady and her lor-r-sh-3, giving a little shudder, explaima to tho anxious swain, "'Tis only a grey goose walking over ray grave." To which the unwitting youth too hastily responds, "Happy goose!" Phlegmatic people are usually what is called" even-tempered," and, so far, so good, but they are often singularly wanting in those finer perceptions that, if not possessed in morbid excess, or, allowing for some excess, if judiciously controlled, make their repre- sentatives the most delightful people in the world to live with. These are the persons who never tread upon our metaphorical corns, nor, supposing any of one's progenitors happen to have been- hanged, Shall I say ?—thoughtlessly in our presence allude to the gallows, and facetiously go on to I describe the punishment as dancing on -air." People like these when reminded of the error think themselves sufficiently excused by admitting that they never thought of that little bit of your family history, elss they would have been more careful. It is our business at all times to consider our neighbours' feelings, and take special care not to lacerato them in any way. None but a graceless boor would be guilty of reference to tender sub- jects, no matter what animus he felt towards one or any of the company. However, it'was of cheer- fulness, and not of social politeness and the ordi- dinary amenities of society, that I was speaking at first. Cheerfulness and good spirits depend in a great degree on bodily causes, and the circum- stances of life also are not always favourable to cheerfulness, but much may be done to promote this turn of mind. Persons subject to low spirits should make the rooins in which they live as bright as possible. The paper on the walls, and the prints or pictures which hang on the said walls, should be pleasant to the eye and suggestive of agreeable thoughts. The chimney-piece, which is always a prominent fea<ure in a room, should likewise be decorated in a tasteful manner. In short, we should do our utmost to make our inani- mate surroundings pleasant and pretty above all, I would reverently, as is becoming in me, repeat the mandate, issued at first by the Creator of the Universe, "Let there be light—And there was light." I wish I might venture to hope for as speedy a realisation of my own mandate. In these esthetic times it is too much the fashion to exclude sunlight—sunlight, the great vivifier and animater of creation! My spirits sink when I go into dim, half-lighted rooms, a sort of aesthetic twilight, that depresses me more than I can say. No perfumery can dissipate that singular smell and heavy, well-like atmosphere always existing in rooms where the rays of the sun arc never allowed to penetrate. Is not health of more moment infinitely than some deteriora- tion of colour in curtains or carpet ? I do not say let the sun blaze into a room at all times, but let it have a sun-bath at least for an hour or two every day; and even afterwards let tho blinds only modify, not obscure, the sunshine and the noontide glare. The writer to whose article I referred at the commencement of my letter thinks a bay window that opens on a pleasant prospect a great advantage to persons of melancholy ten- dency. I agree with him. I find when I am ensconced in a pleasant, sunshiny window of the kind named my writing is infinitely easier to me than when I pen my articles in the semi-obscurity of a chamber that is about as cheerful as the cloisters of St. Paul's Cathedral on a November day, or less even. Books and papers are essential, I think, and perhaps, whenever the weather per- mits it, there is nothing in a simple sense more favourable to good spirits than a cheerful fire. That proper nourishment for the body is abso- lutely indispensable to health and good spirits no one can doubt, and on this subject I will not, therefore, enlarge. I know that very many deli- cately-constituted women, whose lives are not active ones, nor particularly happy ones either, often suffer severely from what appears to be causeless depression. Lacking apparent cause, these much-to-be-pitied creatures are greatly exer- cised by the Mrs. Chicks of their acquaintance, who never fail of the futile admonition To rouse themselves," and only themselves can know how all effort to do this will fail at times. A certain sufferer of this class with whom I am acquainted, none better, finds moderate early rising, a tepid bath, plenty of occupation, a daily walk, with an object, or without if an agreeable companion, excellent aids to summer weather of the heart. Hereditary tendency has much to do with that buoyancy of spirits which some persons happily are possessed of, and for which they receive credit in no sense their due. Theso people are always held up as admirable examples to the nervous, suffering beings who would, if they could, emulate, but owing to transmitted tendency, or otherwise to physical or mental cause, arc unable to do so, and find their unhappy condition sen- sibly aggravated by the said Mrs. Chicks of their acquaintance. A woman may be making the greatest possible effort to be cheerful, and even then be charitably condemned as giving way." Whomsoever is thus weighted in life will, if they will follow advice, thank me for any hints I may have given ia rcspect to the cultivation of cheer- fulnesa. By tho way, when I suggested early rising, I used the word moderately in reference to it. Only the vigorous can walk four miles, or even alke mile, before breakfast with advantage. Many persons, and I am one of these, cannot evea dress without a cup of hot milk, ten, or coffeo. As household arrangements do not always admit of this early refreshment, I have in my room smalt spirit lamp and kettle, also saucepan the whole apparatus, without spirit, costs Is. 3d. I set the lamp alight, and soon boil th, milk or kettle, if I feel, as Americans say, like taking tea instead of milk. There is an admirable prepa- ration of coffee and Swiss milk, a spoonful of which put into a breakfast cup, and boiling -v.itsr poured over, produces an excellent cup of coffee, equal almost to the beverage when made from freshly roasted coffet. To tell the truth, so much do I recognise fire as a factor of cheerfulness, that I regard with con- cern its banishment in summer. I never will con- sent to have the grate dressed in elaborate fashion, or in any way that precludes the materials being laid and ready for lighting on the first need or excuse, the removal of some simple fire screen being all the preparation necessary for the appli- cation of the match. Amongst fire screens of this sort, the very large fans of a kind superior to the ordinary Japanase fan is what I approve. These screens are somewhat flatter at the sides, and so fit the grate better. They are painted in subdued artistic colours and designs, and can be had from 2s. 6d. upwards; those at 4s. 6d. are sufficiently handsome. A small case filled with books is another approved means for hiding a tireless grate. The domestic carpenter might easily construct one out of a few deal boxes, and. with some wood stain, or black paint and varnish, some leather trimming, and a few brass nails to fasten the same to the shelves, all is complete. The book-case has now only to be furnished with prettily-bound books. To-day I saw a plate glass screen mounted in an ebony frame used for concealing an open firs- place, and a very handsome decoration it was—a long spray of roses being painted across, and so beautifully that one might fancy it quite easy to take one for a button-hole. The cost of this screen was, I believe, six guineas. I shall have something to say on the subject of spring cleaning" next week. It is folly to commence operations until fires are done with, and that will hardly be before the middle of May, unless intense heat suddenly sots in, such as pre- vailed on Sunday last. Worsted lace is again my theme. I wonder it my readers are tired of hearing how very fashion- able it is ? Some friends of mine who are going to trim their brown silk dresses with a wide yak flounce, are outlining the pattern of the same with fine gold thread; this considerably enriches the lace, and at small expense and trouble. Narrower lace to trim is similarly improved. If the lace is to be mixed with cashmere, and the dress meant for useful wear only, I should advise my readers not to introduce tinsel. Cronin and white woollen canvas is a material ever increasingly purchased. The colour give. a cool look, and when soiled the dress may easily be cleaned for a few shillings, and will then look equal to new, as I saw a white nun's veiling dress renewed after seeing much service as a tennis dress last year. I suppose rain would shrink woollen canvas, otherwise I do not suppose any fabric more sensible, useful, and becoming. Fancy ,tripe.- that is, open work stripes alternating with plair stripes-are introduced in canvas goods, and I aaw a dress of this kind made up with golden brown velvet-ribbon velvet-and the bodice had one of the pointed velvet waist bands which are so very fashionable. They are cut on the cross, but have the same effect as the ribbons which our mothers used to pin round their bodices, bringing them to a sharp point in front, and there secure with a buckle, streamers falling below. There are no streamers now, and the velvet is shaped to a deep point. Dresses so trimmed have the disadvantage of fastening behind. I say disadvantage, not in point of appearance, perhaps, but that this method ppe necessitates the assistance of others, which is not always available. The skirt trimming may bo four rows of ribbon velvet, set down one side onlf of the pointed apron. The said apron is a one-sided affair in other ways than in respect of trimming, for it is draped on one side; the opposite side the skirt is arranged in double box plaits, a piece of velvet going down each side the plaits, which gives the appearance of a panel. Back draperies are never bunched now, and fulnes9 round Ult hips is gradually increasing. Gathers at pment are little seen, but the skirt drapery in front U set on in plaits thick and close, so that there U muck volume given to the region of the waist. Women who happen to have long feathort by them may utilise the same for their high-crowned hats. Every bit of trimming is kept in the imme- diate front of these hats, and a long feather curled romid to form an aigrette is quite appropriate, an4 very stylish addition. A hat MMom waste HT other trimming beyond the simple band wHcfc goes round the base of the crown. Fashion, history, is ever repeatiag hendf. To day we have t.he grow and, pea greona which our j,-randmothers delighted in. a.nd gause ribbons, figured and plain, which were fashionable at least a hundred years ago are in all the ahop windows to-day. I am not 1 think very much of them for bonnet trimmings: but they are light and pretty for the neck decorations of ribbon a»»d lace, without which no afternoon or • vining seems now-a-dav« to be complete. I was in the region of St. Paul's Cathedral 08 Saturday a few hours before the interment of the Lord Mayor took place; hut having been frightened and nearly crushed to death on inaugu- ration da.y. I had no mind to run any risk on th* occasion of the Chief Magistrate's obsequies, rhert wo; very little manifestation of feeling it a gonwaJ ■s-sy. Near thr Mansion Housw must of the.bop- keepers had put up th" thin black panil which it "onsiderrj suricient indication of mourning; but b^ro'id this, and in other parts of the Metropolis, no sigR of sympathy appeared. Vehicular tr~f £ c was congested St. Paul's, aud I was set down in an unwonted region, omnibuses cot being pM- u.itted to follow th" ordinary rout. ^I——————mmmmrnp

TO CORRESPONDENTS. ENGLISH Poetry intended lor insertion in the Wetidi Mad should be addressed to the Editor, at the Oardlr offices of the paper; all Welsh compositions to Dew Wyn o Essyllt, Pontypridd. OoRKJUPoNckNTS who wish their unused Mffef. It turlled mUlt iu all cases euclose stamp* tor tfeei purpose.

BARDDONIAETH. AWDL AR USIGEDD. PENNÓD I.—Natur, dybenion, manteision, effeithla^ a dylanwadau Unigedd. Fendigedig Unigedd —dihalog Yw'th dawelwch I'hyfedd; Wyd hvyn fyd O'f dyfnaf liedd, I'rfron gartref rhinwedd. O mae net vn min afon,—neu lanerch Lonydd èi chysgodion: Mae mê; mewlI cat ellcilioD,- didor, Bodfa i We 0 bër adfyfyrion. Ar hynt draw drwy'r dyffryn tawel—rhodiaf Yll miiaradwys angel: "YHO a mi ni ymwel Ond Duw ar fwynfryd awel. Yno 'r wyf pen yn rhydd, o rwymau y gortJuymyåd,- I'w awyr bell ni byd, Anfoddog, gelfyddyd. Wele, yno cat lonydd,—ga<i IIwydau- Gan nawdol ddarfelydd; I fyu'd tu cefn i cldefnyd—i'r dwyfol* Neu yr vsprvdol dros y parwydydd. Wyneb yn wyneb yno,—a Natur Yt.wyf yn yrngoinio: Ei hawyr i/n teneuo,—oaf ganfod Cysgod lor hynod tu draw i bono. Kid digon ydyw agwedd—alianol, Er llenwi'i chwilfrydedd Egyr haenau'r gwirionedd,—ties dyfod o iiyd i'w widuds'i ysprydoledd. Mwynhau lie tawel ruewn ymnellldue4d. Er edrych i iawr ar fawr oteredd Byd tlawd a gwael, a chael troi'n ueboladd Bywyd arall, a rhoi gwib i'w dirwedd; Fu 'rioed i <lduwioUiyd«xld,—oadoaau Yn y goiau, yu faeth ac ymgeledd. I'r ogo sydd rhwng y Oreigydd—mudioa A.'I' meudwy, (I herwpdd dawel o Jywydd—y byd 4.11.. Mewn cell unig y mae'n cael 110nycl4. I'r mynydd yr A i'r monach,—i yfed O nelol gyfriuach Yno mwynha beb anaoh,—uwch digltoa Fyd ofalon, fywyd dwyfolach. Isaac oedd hoff o feusydd-Llabai-roi Xilawer awr dra de.lwyd<l, O fvfyr, a gai'r prif ofydd— Yn miD yr hwyr, yn y man rhydd. El as dan urddas N6r,—yn nefoedd Dirgel-leoedd a drigai lawer. Y gwr yn Horeb,—a dyfal Yn mhob dwyfol burdeb A nerth, fel nad ofnai neb, Ni wenal yn un wyoeb. Yn ddewr-yu ddirith-pnat ei 44 Curai euogrwydd heb wisg o ragriUt. MwynweJd Unigedd y not, Ddiyngan a wnai d4anCOl 1 JeW, yr nyn nl wybydd Umhyw dwrf yn oriau dydd. Ar un o heirdd fryniau Us-y 8&fai"r Nos-ofydd hewydus,— Odd yno r wedd taoenus,—lenwall galea I'w pbir yraylon acbyffro malus. G-wetai NSr yi mhob sewn,— Duw Iôu oedd yn llon'd y OM, Yn y nos y canfvddwn ni.—ball* Pan bo boll bryderi Y byd, brysurueb wedi—'n gadaal; A ninau'n cael i olrhain aiD Oeli Lonydd, mewn rtayw oleunl—mwy dwyfol, A dyddanol, na ailai'r dydd weini I Awr y ffydd a'r hoff weddi, Ac awr o hedd y ceir hi. Nos olau wybren Salem, A thawel hwyr Bethlehem, Eol i Dafydd wrth defaid, Awen hedegog a chin fetidigaid > Yno dan yr wybr ganaid — u nigedd A'i nef-arddunedd, wefreiddiai'i enald. Y leuad wenwawr delw dywynol, Yn ioew ar y Mar Marw Meemeirlol.— Yny dystawrwy.id mwyn. mlystyriol, lieb wr yn agos i'w lwybr nriigoi j EdlTehal ef i wybrau aerchafol, Y 84k iiedd-wenog. drwy'r gifts ardduool i Yno eai wledd o fawread myfyrioll Oh fel y didrai yfai o'r Dwyfol Oedd ar wyneb y glir nen ddwyretniol: Drwyddi'n llygad dreiddioi,—ai ei awen Ar ei haden, i btitli yr ysprydoi; Dywedai mewn iaith dadol—" gwaith bysedd," Fv Iôr rhyfedd yw'r drem fawr ddifrifoi. Hyd y dydd hefyd, efrydai Ddafydd Wrtho ei hunan, drwy'r prvdterth weanydd > Trainwy y Uenyrch a r trumau liouydd. Draw breswyl wna'r auw vl awenydd; A'r lôlI oedd ei arweinydd.—Ef droato A ledai yuo'i ddwyfol adenydd A'i gin oedd fawl km gyllydd-bendltbion. A hedd ei Dduw IôlI. ei fawr ddyddany44. Trigai'i aweu 'mhliUu tiagywydd—minion, Yspeiliai hon o olygfeydu ysblellydà- Hen fro enwog y cysegrol fryniau- Y pur afonydd a'r lacl1 iMwr-fanan, A'i llaeth a'i mê: yn lleithio'i iiymylau !— Bethlehem araul,-byt.hol ei muriau- Hudol o hyd ei cbreig-adeiiadau < Ffigyswydd, olewY,il.1 0 ami liwiau, Khoiidai wyeh drem i'w hiraidd iach drumau Kliyw Dd- yfol Eden o euraid,t flodaa Yu lluctiio'u haddurn hyd ei lteehweddau— Bro hyfryd grawn, yd, a pliomgranadau Grras i'w phrydyddwas fu ei phrydweddau: Addurn 1\ rh.oweddau-ei phrydfertliwch, A thawelwch ei gwyllt-brydferth ddolau,- Unigedd mwyn ei onreigiau-roes ryfedd Hwyl a hyawdiedd i'w rasol odiau. Mynai addysg ° blith ei mynyddau ellald uwch ei dyfTrymui E' welai wedy'n mewn dail a biodau Wir egwyddorion mewn rhyw gudd eiriall, Caffai wirionedd mewn c.reig.. "hreaau. A doethineb drwy eu dl-iaith ellau; Grwersi i oes a grasusau—'r oviiawn, Welai'i galon yn v tawel ili&u, loan oedd—yntau'n heddweb,—a dwysder Dystaw y "diffdthwoh," Yn farw i bob rhyw gnawdol ddifyrwoh, Rhoi ei galon i wybod diogelweh A hedd ei Dduw idn. a'i nef-ddyddanwoh Yno mewn dwyfol nerth a phrydferthweb, Pregethai, galwai i ddirgelwch, Annuwiolion auialwch, Yn rhyfedd ei ddifrifwoh ;—Umgedd Osodai fawredd ar was edifelrwch." Duw lor—ei geoadwri-roea yntau I'r santaidd brophwydi Mewn Unigedd,—ami fu'r weddi—'n nheml Yr ogo' lonydd a'r sobr wig-lwynl. Ein hallwyllesu ninau—hoffai'r wledd 0 ddwfn hedd ar y santaidd fynyddau. Wedi ei daith hyd y dydd,—a'i lafur, EUi ef i'r mYlJyd<t," I'w dyner Ie 0 dan yr olewydd, Neu 16 adwaenai augei-atlenydd i Ae ar ei y faugre 10llydd, A than ei hawyr oal Ei nerih newydd o law ei Dad uwyiol, dedwydd—ami waith 1 wneyd ei fawrwaith do'i .t o't berwydd. Unigedd burwedd, heb bail, A wyr enwoli arall; Ond lesu cu, D'wysog hedd," Enwogai BC UlIi(e<1d! O'i 61 yr Olewydd, o dan twyn i'r pryd bWII syddi Mwy enwog Oethsemane, Wedi ing el enaid Ciwylau hir pen Callaria— Ei farw Ef a'i fawrhft; Mae'r bedd J'II enwog lieddyw 0 t 01 Ef, mor ddwyfol (J'tc barhau.)

Miss MART ANDKRSON.—Our beautiful eoasia and guest, Miss Mary Anderson, is food eMtttft to Say el dears' Soap, 1 have used it for two yew* with the creates* satisfaction, for I find it the very best Peart' Soap, UN faiuoiu complexion soap, is recommended by Sir jftrasaiM Wilsou, late president of the College ot Surgeons of K-fUjyd and is sold by every dealer. BeWMc, however, Of im1. out of which dishonest dealers hope to make ten tiwra MMM profit, aud consequently endearour to substitute thea* <•S Fears If you want fears Soau insist ou havint it. TRIMNHLL'S TIC-EKADICATOB will instaotb remove Tootlmche, Tic-Doloreux, Neuralgia, or ail) Paine in the Head or Face, by simply applying it to tin part affected, its superiority over all others being tha< it is applied outwardly, while many ot the liMirwR) tiiatare in the market contain strong poisons, and art take II III wardly. N.15.—This will neither leave any mark nor injure the skin where applied. Is.l^d. porbotile, per post h. 3ij. TRIMNKLL'S LLFE-GLVIMG AND PRK8FCJTVIM« V« £ OE» T.UII.B Uttttvmt ToKIc (tor l>ot»i sexes) for Jndigón, liver complaint*, weakness, and neivous uebillty, arising from auv caulle wÜ.,t.evèr, iil tile best ever offered to 1M. public, as it combats against, ali impurities and WeakUfte that the human frame is lieir to. -"v"—I' r«<lUirBa alteration of diet, or confinement, and may be taken by females at anv period without the slightest danger. One trial is suiticient to prove the virtue of the above ceoapouudt, toO b<! had at most respectable Chemists and Druggtttt and Medicine Vendors throughout the world. fiyou have any dlflftoulty in obtaining it. send Btampl ar I^Jst office Order direct to tbeProprietor, aud it will he forwarded at onoe.—Sole Manufacturer and Proprietor, W. Trimnell, Medical Botanist, Moira-terimee, Car. diff. 602Wc "CUtCCLAR POINTED PENS."—C. BBANBAVMSMM Co., Cireular Pointed P«ns" hare met with general approbation. Write as «moot lily as a lead pencil, aa< neither scratch nor spurt, the points being rounded by a aew ptwoess. Six Prize Medals awarded. Ask yam Stationer for a Sixpenny Asserted Sample Box, pott tm for seven si amps, from C. B andauer't Pen Wtrkli Sir mingham.or from their Wholesale Warehouse, 24-. Edward-su-eet, London K.C. Is YOUR CRILl) In. ?—If so, try WilHaftu'e reD tai-dawe Worm Lozenges, which have been ill UN We twenty years, and eclipsed all other remedies. Sold be most chemists, at Styd., 13tà., and 8s. 9d. PrefSNl l»e the original recipe only by J. Davies, OheaaJettSl* Klfb street, bwansea. The Lozenges are agreeable aud een tain nothln.injuriou.. 1tICO PARRY AND Rocu's IFelsh Fanu best. 7Woe