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------I JF %AR1>P CYMREIG.
I JF %AR1>P CYMREIG. BARDDONIABTH. PRIODA8.GERDD tobert Forreat, Ysw., Greenwood, St. Ffagaa, a Mill Flora Mathews, Glaa Elai, Llaadaf. jr vil cdydd ax ugain 0 C^wefror, ■ R TA&WYD dwy gtlon bur, ttyddlon yi'ghyd: »?NJCG R. F< rrt-ST > awjlun eini;oror, IS "JUTW MISS Mathews, LAU galon, Jan bryd: yr haul ar foreudriydd priodas, DDAU ddedwyddnch yn mvned i*> Llan; P 7E*H YR allor i'w ^MRO inewo unldas, d dd&u Atiw^lach.—fcrioed jn uu mm I' I'W llonpyfarch yn codi yji foreu-, I VILR^I^W>EV & A bouedi-IG ddymuna en ltwydd PE EWYOI cjlcbyi.ir eu Uwybrai, T ^D tafod p<.b daltn—" 'Jaw iddynt ya rhTydd; LK R,A<*AR JW CAUU, mae'r gwauwyu YII duttro, 1-ae'r L'wybr yr. giasu ar d ieehreu y daith; IT 3"C^'LLIRN'T "n are a, roto'r byd i Rodeu;), AE nat'.a i gyd yn awgrymu y Ifaith. tihieu D'* ED Y D pwy yw Y 'peadoflff. T«AB'I TNW yn hysbjs drwy'r wlsd y' r>hobman; J^^FTH iruchv VI;WR XYDD gaa y BONEDDMR, — -A » DD Windsor— MAC'A ffyddlon I'N RAN KWTITLIWYR svdd dauo YU '>ystiono'i BURDA^ T J&OB un A'I PTODVRID y n tori'C ei let; "OH o'i t4>1,a,¡"tia.i< o GAIWI agored. F B ddyrcliaut y fanllef BYW byth yb'o « £ seres fyth glodus, S.*ibron lawn o GARIAA, THWILIA bob cisyc, aca ediycii bob EARN J ,I a anw ANUBERIOW y tlodhm arnddifad, TA GAL? siiioloebI wyneb Y TIM; HW\ bvau SY'A GOOLII-M O Balas S?AN E'Y I 211 *8' YN I D^TTFTTU by hy trod y gwan • — |W8W<0»>RI yu HSALWG F«L EU«SU LDG*DWYUI ihwyniot-gymdogaeth O AILGY :Ch y fan. JJ* byfryd gweled dan tarmot nrddaeol. YN Ilivryeiyn priooa« yn cychwya i-r byd; ^HYDTCF a ct yfoetk, a tiie mlad Rwiadgaiol, 1'n uno i fy W ac 1 FM-VY'TBHYD • ?N uche? i>O baner FI JLW.SN C^'HWFAN, A r awel o U ty YU ei cbwateu a'i ehwyth: LT V V1 O ♦aba-U i faban.- I gadw r hen UNCI' I fynu UEI by;H! 68 '• J ^AR ^EUBRC O. THIFLIR;D llaw iechyd. in>> I?/TR RRS3 nau i harddu eu gwedd; (BOT NEWYRD boed LI.jul wen ea bywyd, S n uangos eu gyrfa yn vrfu o hedd! A nef yn y fyiiwen, A nef yn y teulu. F V^OEDD o'u cvlch drwy'F gym'dogaoth i sryd; y FLAU ^ASWSOL o'a eyich fo'n blaeudarddu — "JEI,BRAWF O'U carkref 'nol gadael y byd. Beudredenny. THOMAS LEWIS. f YR AFON HASA.N. HPN »*OU Jlo t.reuJiais ty mebyd Arhyd dy dorlanau ilawn swyn, A ehwili cudcile .edJ dy feini Am fri hy 1 yn ARAF a mwyn: Ac WITBI^Q DI .isgwn tv mdad, Gan neidio i Jyn byd yr en, A ndiwil mor gyfi' m ^'R alarch, Ond hedojw rivy'n mynedyn hen. Ilne ccfio ate l>e1a y rviwer Trwy go«OY !d dy leriydd yn nch. Fel ce»R ■ WD OLLLWTR yn yccLidd Am fywyd path hynod o fact; y r 1I.i¡\, OFEAD >U AIIT-AIA bloeddiadau Y plaiit a O'hjfiiTthiad y own; M EI T 011 erd fy hu-- wedi 1.1>'i, Y beddan a lyngcodd eu swn. Llyn mawr oedd yT1 croni dy ddyfroedd, OWnS enwog y ftlinft'raisj A ib flexdd with rhoi 11am dros y mnriao, Agfjnai syifcini y gTaig: Fe greoai beu bobi v pe^txef, P"n tafeLt yn IUd ar dy fin I rhaiadrawg hyawdledd, MAE ti ydoeud profiwyd yr Iun. I*objlyn a phob trobwllsydd ynot, fcydd yn gyisygrodig I mi; Mi suddais i'thddwr hyd y Iwyoan, ÚlI. GMI-R aith wrth heta'r dwf-gi, gwynion fythenaid. a'u ileiniau Y n MaRin boH fl yuiau y fro; Ona heddyw euparchen ey'n huoo YB dawel ar we]y o I ô, HBYW 'ehydigo ymy! dy ddyfroedd, Y gorweda iy maID a ly nhad, Yn mynwent hen Gap;l Lla haran, Yn ngh«nol< ystawrwydd y wlad; Ac yuoy gorwx!d ungerais Cyn iddi i'r bedd "hoddi Ham, LIe heiyd y rhoddais i orwedd hgyles yn mynwesei mam. Heddyliais wrth radio dy lanan K*d oeddonddedwyddweh i fod,— Y cawown y byd yn wir gyfaiU, I'm gwisgo a'i lawryf a'i giod; Ond (tweJais cyn hir fy nghamsyniad, A bYliY cyn dyfod yn ddyn,— Os byti.y cyrb¡¡.dllwn enwogrillydd, fodrhaia i'm lafuIÍo fy hun. Pe gwyddwn pan oeddwn yn ieuanc .1 Am law. r tro niom a gee i, II SUddasvm i waoloG. dy ddyfNedd I ctwedd mewn hedd ynot ti j Ond g bmth a'M daliodd i tyny, I yftod 0 wcrmof1 y bj d., AI) engy 1 fy ngofld a:m gwynfyd, Yn teitbi /n gyfochrog 0 hyd. DEWI Huu)I. L TO THE MEMORY tlIy Grandmother, Mrs, Elizabeth Hopkins, KTE of the Glamorgan Arms, Tondu. NE ^-R REST, aud her conflictii are o'er; ills all sorrow and pain this life which she patiently bore L}0 N VER DISTRESS ber, si all grieve her no more, 1 A«ver Bhall gnave her again, TO her rest; sweetly gone to her rest; FS^ O'SPIRIT hap PSGSED away; J1- »sthe sun gently tints in the west, TELL asletp O:I liumauuti'S breast, U AWCKFC in the regions of diiy. ^ONE ^€R REGt, to that city EO bright, A AR'«YED ID >LET garment so clean, in horhand she is w-jlking in white, Am «°dand the Lamb art i'.s i?lory and light, IFTE King INHIS bfeauty is been. Y&FN. to her rest, and she views that dear face. FE honmr cnce here was her aim. Hid STIVFTURES DIVINH AU HIS beauties shall trace, SAW E ON HER B&RL>THA* sweet authem of grac3. V«TION to God and the LAMB. ■TRJ5 gone to her rEost. then from sorrow forbear, "hy should we thus wefop and repine? J* US giru np our LC ins, ana for mftichi- G prepare, ONWBRD and seek in her glory to share, 4n<1 partake of her rapture divine, is gone to lier rest, THEN a loving g'ood bye, ,° MY dearesr grani'.nother adieu, THINK of her bl?ssing, ana my tears shall dry, r 1\>i I joyful Lope yes to join her on high, ^RIEI.DSHIP ATD. love to renew. bre, Crosses. D. H. EVAKS, Crwyefib. t WHAT HAS HE SEEN? I stood upon a silent hill, I And watched the tired day to close; And as I watched, I wondered what $The sun has seen since first he rose, When God's Creation was a babe, And angels sung its lullaby, | He 8Il.w from oil bis glowing throne F The first of living things to die. I BE saw the first uneasy wave, To kiss, unheard, the silent shore; AND then to ebb away again, I As if to do so neTer more. Be saw the first of lovers sweet To j in m marriage, true and deir;. AND saw the first of tender babes, Like the tirst bluø60m ot the year. Be saw the fiIstof tender smiles, Tbe face of man to soften so; And then again adown his cheeks, He saw the first of tears flow. Be saw this world a shoreless sea, J And on its wave a ship of life: AND saw whac smiles were lost beneath That shoreless sea's tumultuous strife! BE saw the first of clouds to soar, And wondered what was drawing nigh J^D saw the first of rainbows fixed I Y hands of angels in the sky. his Maker walk this earth YJ^BOUT; a friend, and all alone HIG hands nailed to a cross— "ANDS that kept him on his throne. ¡ WITN»8B!L!IHA.T glonous eye of time, Anu who ISIL"??6 first he proudly shone; ire time AND LWBAT he WLU see. O fcQDarlwjdd BOARJ W?TW ME G°TNEJ SCHOOL. J. ROWLA.1U>,g. }¡ QtYN I.GHWILEN COLERADO NILGWNEND gloddest O?N'(TA'I NOD BYF Hau dystr> w. bryf SWLAD °8T^'7 Ar och a GWAE M, REHY/ DEGWELFAB. Y MEL. ^BAD DUW yn &UR goSrau'r diWY<J YW-r mel.-mana u bywJD :YA WENYA Brasder haf-bri L A maeth ar ben moethau r byd. D,¡;:<nn:.LF_U¡. ^STADLEUAETH Y "WEEKLY MAIL." Englyn i Gelfyddyd," 4:nwy] forwyn Gwyddoniietli-wastad >. *-PTYN eigwa^anaoth,— Celfyddyd"i tyd RHYDIH" TV,. °OD i bob trefuiadaeth. ^ORLA £ ,L>579. LI *ADAY- G W 0 B R y WeeUy Mail AM cliwarter BLWYDDYN h 611glyn goren i Arluniaeth" {Painting); I E^N Haw erbyn dlwedd mis Mawrth.
1JLSH MUSICAL SCHOLAR" I SHIP.
1JLSH MUSICAL SCHOLAR" I SHIP. I^SIRE great pleasure in inaerting the follow- S? appeal made by Mr. John Thomas in B 5.CAU8E; AND WE EINEERELY hope that it meana of enabluig him to suocessfully < THE 00 PATRIOTICALLY Scholarship for Wales at the Royal F°R KMY ^ILL8IC' London; to be competed Candidates from ali parts of TIE Prinoi- 7* ?D^ TO open alternately to Vocalista <I 11atrtlmentalists.. U 'ITR ^E THOUSAND POUNDS REQUIRED. -•H N I homae, having suoceeded in col- A»T^R ^200 towards the above scheme, is KI> FOTN TQA^E A FURTHER appeal to his oom- the hope of realising the <61,000 LO endowment. He therefore ITF0,ETIEAB specially to members of choral IG, PROMOTERS of eiateddfodau, and all lovers in the Prineipality, to assist in !K] S \V I8, this permanent scheme for educating musicians, possessing ampla musical .EO MEANE FOR ITS cultivation. The ^4TFI «.*8 to give each sncoessful 40N* PE YEARE' rousioal eduoation at the OTTJFMY of Music so that, at the termi- (WW P<??IOD OF scholarship, another NFIKAW^8IEIAN MAY BS ADDED to those who FI«T> W F T dietiEguished themselves, and are R^^I- -AT IASTITNTIOA for the high position .W^ H LN T5LAIR PRCFFT6,sioa. Three hundred &Iread? invested in CONEELETJ in the /P *16 foliowirjr trusteesMr. John ^EN /■?0{'R £ ID Profeesor FAY?). *>, J'J*APICAL O? the'ROYAL Academy of WIUIA*9S, London. Sab« W^TL RE <?U?Y acknowledged, AND FIT* icca tiato to time), to be £ OT- J. "JH J03?N TEOM/Q (Pencerdd Grntlia), '< A*PI«T to HER MAJOFCTY tha Queen, L'« <>3, "VYeibeck-ati'Set, Loccion, W. IUF-W^^Y.1879. (ENDORSED), will BO forwarded to f AT,° KINDLY «ndori,afco to oollaot sub- F their fi-ecds."
--,4,. PHASES OF "mm LIFE…
,4,. PHASES OF "mm LIFE AND CilARACrER. BY T. J, HUGHES, MEBTHY*. (All Bights ReservtdJ. 8.T BOil A S CHAKLES. I (U CHARLES, OF BALA.") (Continued from last week.) The next prominent feature in the career of Mr, ^Charles ia one which, if he had done nought else, to txtend Christ's kingdom, would, of itself, have covered hie name with lasting glory. South Wales had been favoured withnambera of Welsh Bible copies, Peter Williams BiOle and Commentary, and the Bible editions procured through the efforts of Jones, Llanddowror. But the North Wales Bible-supply was very Doeagle, and the 10,000 copies whicn, after some objections and ourt refusals, l? r joint efiorts of Mr. Charles, and the ttev. v, Jones, Oreaton, oonceded by the ^ooiety ^or uotinR Christian Knowledge, to that part of the Frincipality-in 1799 atter some extraordinary religious revivals, fell far short of the require- ^••The joy of those who received the Bibles," "The joy of tbose wp,o receIve e I wrote a. contemporay, amounted to exaltation, and the grief of thobe-and they were many—who could not obtain a copy, amounted almost to anguish. • Not one fourth part of the country was supplied." JMr. Charles was eorely vexed at this dearth of Bibles, but could not find any speedy method of relief. Late in the year cf 1802, he was walking through Bala streets, when he met a little girl with whom he was acquainted. He asked her if she could tell him what text ho had preached from on the last Sunday. Instead of giving a ready answer to his question, as usual, she hung down her head in silence. Cannot you tell me the textmy child," asked the minister. Still she remained silent, and then burst into tears. At last she said, "Tae weather, sir, has been so bad, that I could not get to lead the Bible." "Could not get to read the Bible," said Mr. Charles, How was that?" He soon learned the cause. There was no copy of the Word of God to which she could getacoaaa, either at her own home or amongat her lriends, and she had been accustomed to travel seven miles over the hills every week, to a place where she could get a Welbh Bible, to read the chapter from w hich he had taken his text on the Sunday. But, during the preceding week, the weather had been eo bleak and stormy that ahehad been prevented fiom taking her customary journey. Mr. Charles was much pleased with the child, and, attei she had gone, he began again to reflect U[on the number ot persons wno were destitute of the Scriptures. He enquired amongst the people in the town and the villages adjoining, how many of them possessed the Bible. To his sorrow he found that there was but one copy to every eight iamiliea. What was to be done ? He re-studied the problem. He was not a rich man, so he could not himself supply the neces- sity, and, even if he could manage to procure the money, he well knew that copies of the Welsh Rible could not be bought as they were so exoep. tionally scarce. He resolved when he visited London to try and make some satisfactory arrangement. On the morning of the 7th of December, 1802, he went to the committee of the Religious Tract Society, and made known his errand. He made certain suggestions to them, and they were con- sulting how they could procure a supply of Bibles, first tor Wales, and then for England, when a Welsh minister present, the Rev. Joseph Hughes, ofBattersea, interjaculated "A Bible Society for Wales! A Bible Society for England! Why not a Bible Society for the world?" The committee carefully disoussed this proposal, and the issue was, that they resolved to form, and did torm, the British and Foreign Bible Society. Grenville Sharpe was oonspicuons amongst the philanthropists who assisted in the work. Monies were subscribed in aid of the society from all quarters. Mr. Charles collected in Wales alone, in twelve months, £ 1,900. "None of our poor people, he wrote to the society secretary, "are willing to die without sending their mitea to further this glorious scheme." Who would have thought that the fact of a little Welsh girl not being able to recollect the Sunday text would have led to the formation of a society which has since distributed throughout the globe scores of millions of copies of the Scriptures in Bcores of languages and dialects ? Mr. Charles was appointed by the society to prepare a copy of the Welsh Bible for the Press. He decided to adopt the orthography of Dr. Owen Pugbe-oonfessedly the foremost Welsh scholar of that a«e—and this raised a spirited, but decorously. conducted, controversy, which was decided against Mr. Charles by the person deputed to arbitrate in the matter. This con- tributed to delay the production of the vernacular Scriptures. In July, 1806, the first instalment of the pro- mised Biblical boon to the Principality was trans- mitted to the North. The Welsh peasants went out in crowds to meet the first sacred load (conveyed in a cart); they welcomed it as the Israelites welcomed the Ark of old, drew it into the town, and eagerly bore off every copy as rapidly as they could be dispersed. The young people might have been seen reading it the whole night through, labourers carried it with them to the nelds. that they wight misa no oppor- tunity of becoming conversant with ita life-giving truths. A hundred-and-five thousand copies of the Bible were distributed in Wales in four years. In acknowledgement of the vast servioes of Mr. CharleB, the Bible Society unanimously elected him honorary life governor ot the institution. him honorary life governor ot the institution. The magnitude and goodness of the work done by the Welsh Methodists did not lessen in any degree the display of Episcopal spleen, jealousy, and hatred. The bishops insisted that the large- hearted clergymen who—still ill the Church— insisted the Methodists by administering to them Eacramental rites, should do so no longer. This unwise procedure modified the reluctance which Mr. Charles felt to a public withdrawal of the Methodists from the Church ranks, andtheoonae. cration of Methodist ministers to sacramental work. In 1810, at Bala Association-after the death of Jones, Llangan, his friend-(to whom was Jones not a friend ?)—and Christian auxiliary —he declared in favour of a secession, and promised to prepare a code of denominational rules and at the following (Northern) Association, in July, 1811, eight preachers were appointed to the full ministerial offices.. This waa the turning-point in the history of Welsh Calvinistio Methodism. The remainder of the life of Mr. Charles was principally occupied in literary and pastoral work —the literary then, as before, being subordinate and helpful merely to the pastoral. Hialiterary productions—written "generally in the morning, for, except when prevented by illnesa, he was always up at from four to five o'clock—include "The Spiritual Treasury." (2 volumes), a quarterly magazine of religious and missionary intelligence; "A Vindication of the Welsh Methodists," against some glaring mis- representations; an Exposition of the Ten Ccmmandments" numbers of theological and Sunday* chcol treatises and Christian biographies— his Sunday school elementary works wen c through 55 tuitions (350,000 oopies), in eleven years —a Concordance" (unfinished), and a "Scriptural Dictionary" (four thick volumos)- to thi's day a standard work, not unreasonably esteemed by many the next best book to the iiible, and of itself a valuable library. He printed this and other works at his own printing prt es, at Bala. The "Dictionary "gives the etymon of every Welsh word—sometimes the different versions—and generally the correspond- ing word in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. The most significant and useful Welsh proverbs are also embodied. From 20,000 to 30,000 copies have been circulated in Wales and America. The writing is idiomatic, and the doctrinal elucidations clear. He wrote one or two beautiful Welsh hymns. That commencing Dyfaia fawr tragwyddol gariad." (The great scheme of endlesd love.) is one of the sweetest which a poet could have composed—maintains and always will maintain a deep hold on Welsh congregations—Methodists and non-Methodists. Mr. Charles was possessed of a most amiable temper, and an exhaustless fund of forbearanos; that inward" peace which passeth all understand- enabled him to bear buffets and rebuffs earleBely and with calmness. Ltit.lhs face was a picture of benevolence— ^ater would havo wished for no better. joutne6 t^lan once, whilst on his ministerial his abater, he was known to have taken limbs of g oa,t off bis back to cover the unolad meet. 0nie P°or person whom he happened to lie was a d" powerful reviv i fished preacher—and several but, aa the readit ^ok place under his ministry; rhristian inferred, it was aa a lIe endured *a £ alto shone most. terial settlement in hi. minïs- ^Ssphem^B^^scruelly ill-treated by ^o R'oce was hurled at ^roat,8. TeEe ratnPanc> a x +v, Ho had to ««which broke one of hlS tfCt5;rs of the atta&a f<* ^is The two leaders ^ntjon party were visited with v for their *Lnd of tbeir days; -both tad to beg ^tneir breathe first a halt lunatic, and the ten.hearted criminal Horsley, {hr^ten^ng^nf11180 trie? to gag Mr. Cnarles, Hwh[ch enaCteHr°+la8:ain8t him an obsolete 'w^aan ^;led that any Church of England person who bad been ordained to tnat Position) WHO officiated amongBt otbe Bishon NT be fined and imprisoned. of EXETER had just instituted LIKE Pr ° QBt the Chape3, in London, three months^every^^r. and by means of Lady Huntingdon he histori^°i" dttced to Lady Erskine, siater to the historical chancellor, Lord Erskine. Upon receiving the bishop 8 AND ah« Charles communicated with Lady Erskin speedily laid affairs before her brother. h Lord Erekine thereupon wrote to tne bUI op, and informed him that if Mr. CLarlea waa p ■ eroded against, &e (Lord Erskine) WO'aid t measures to get tho obnoxious ecclesiastical u* epeoified abrogated. This silenced the biB&op, aad lie refrained from silenciug Mr. Charles, 0 Mr. Chailas had a wonderful escape duns? fawney to Liverpool ia 1806. His saddle-bag by mistake pet icto another boat than that in which he mtciided proceeding. This necessitated hIS lcfcviig ths boat in which he had fciken a Les-th. The litior fJterwaFda niuik, aad ail tae pfiBhe'Dgcrs in it *cre drewnsd. I In tide wciideifulw^,y did God pres&fya hio "an- ointed." Theeorvants of God are immortal wbila jBelm I & Yjork fcr them on earth to do," The rtory has a eequei, The incident terrified Mre. Charles, ana when the time arrived for him again to set off to the Lancashire metropolis the expressed herself very unwilling to let him go. but the night prior to the DAY on which Mr. Charles had to start, one of the children fell down from bed on to the floor, and it was at first feared that one of the little lad's arms was broken. Happily, this did not turn out to be the oase. The event reassured the mind of Mrs. Charles, „ God," she said, can bring judgment on us whilst we are at home as well a8 when we are from heme; therefore," she added, addressing Mr. Charles, I will trust you in His hands to do what He pleaseB with you, while you are doing His work either on sea or land. Mr. Charles's spirituality of mind was apparent in his conversation, pulpit discourses, and even in his aspect. At the conclusion of a missionary sermon, which he pI eached in London, an eminent minister who was present went up to him, and, ao. costine him, taid, Why. M*. Dharies, you are a good eermon yourselfhe considered that the mere appearance of Mr. Charles was instruc- tive. There was not a shade of egotism about him. I went with your father to see Mr. Charles," wrote one minister to another, "when he was in London, and your father asked him to favour us with a brief outline of the Bala revival—its origin and progress. He did so for upwards of an hour, when we had left, your father remarked, Did you Dot observe the wonderful hnmility of Mr. Charles in the narrative he gave? He never once "mentioned himself, though he was the chief aotor in the whole matter.' Mr. Charles was a cordial advocate of the London Missionary Society. To the last Bible dissemination and Bible edu. cation engaged his thoughts. 1 have lately," he wrote joyfully, visited a district between our mountains, where a widow, htr two children, a girl of twelve years of age and a bey of eighteen, have taught all the inhabitants to read well, and to understand Christian prin- ciples—AND that only by Sunday schools aud night schools. Several of them repeated ohaptera to me with great propriety and intelligence," Mr Charles was the originator of the Welsh Methodist" Society meetings. The further extracts which are appended from his diary correspondence, &c., shew how pure was the spiritual atmosphere in which he grew :— "Faith is the Queen cf the Graces." "1 he Apostle speaks of the length, as well as of the breadth of God's love. His love has n? beginning it will have no end." All the graces ot the Spirit bear some propor- tion to each other. Like the members of the body, they grow together, and all of them gain strength in a proportionate degree. Order, sym- metry, atd btauty characterise all the works of God- the smallest spear of grass, and the tall cedar—the meanest reptile, and the great Leviathan, and in the Christian faith, hope and love reciprocally influence ODe anoth8\P. A particular grace may be called into greater ex. ercise than the other graces, but the latter will, nevertheless, bear some proportion to the former." It is in suffering and under the Cross that the believer has the largest and sweetest foretaste of Heaven, because toen he is most oonformedto Christ, and sees most of His glory." "In the midst of all my perplexities and troubles, from without and from within, from in- ward corruptions, and from dark 'providences,' my only sources of comfort are the faithful promises of Him who is unchangeable—that His presence shall go with me—and that He will never leave me nor forsake me. The knowledge of these truths calms my mind in the midst of storms, doubts, and fears gives grace, stability, and firmneBB to my soul. If He is with me, and for me, who can stand against me?" "When 'the eye is single, the whole body is full of light,' full of holiness, and full of happi- ness. When God has been the onlyobjeot in view, 1 have been calm and serene in the midst of thick storms and tempests." How hard it is to be angry and sm not! Anger is sinless only when it is excited by the love of God," When sin appears as sin, men cannot live for one moment without Christ." We are oftentimes much deceived by our rest ing contented with general thoughts about re- ligious matters, instead of descending to particu- lars. I never knew any person who thus halted to make any progress in the Divine life." Let others believe and say what they please, the doctrine of the Trinity is the foundation of all my hopes, the life and soul of all my comforts. 1 he more I study it and meditate on it, in eonneo. tion with the Gospel scheme, the more of Heaven I find in my soul. I can freely and heartily join with the great and pious divine who says, It is much to be lamented that believera in general take so little pains to get a clear knowledge of the doctrine of the ever. blessed Trinity. For want of this their faith is unsettled, and they are liable to many errors, both in judgment and practice. I would, therefore, most earnestly recommend all who are weak in faith, to be diligent, and read what in Scriptures i revealed concerning the Trinity in Unity, looking always up for the inward teaching of the Holy Spirit. The influence of the Spirit must indeed teach us this, as well as everything else to any effectual purpose. A barren specula- tion about these things is as different from the teaching of the Spirit as darkness from light. I find daily that I may as well endeavour to take up the waters of the ocean with my pen as attempt to comprehend, spiritually, in the smallest degree, any of the 'deep things of God,' without His teach- ing Who searcheth all things.' "Effectual fervent prayer performed great things in former daya it is as effectual now as then, for God is the same, and as ready to hear." • The mercy which encompasses God's people is as rich and omnipotent as God Himself; it has all grace to bestow, all power to protect, and all wisdom to guide." How little do I know of these profound mye. steries-the mystery of iniquity, and the mystery of godliness." There is no living to God without living by faith on the Son of God." "It is a melodious sound in the ears of the Diety Himself, to hear poor, perishing sinners crying out by scores, What shall we do to be saved r "The prayers of the Churoh on earth are next to the intercession of Christ in Heaven." The Cause is in the hands of Jesus, and though appearances may be unfavourable, yet Jesus lives, and Hia cause must live aud prosper," "Though God loves his people, yet he will finally destroy every unlovely thing in them." "To be without the Bible—the praotical belief OF it-is to be without Christ, without hope, and without God in the world." The Bible has everything to recommend it. (1) It is from God, and therefore partakes of the Divine excellencies—being wise, holy, just, and good. (2.)It has all fulness of knowledge. (3.) it is all unerring and eternal truth. (4.) It can save our souls, and administer comfort in every tribulation. (5.) Believing in it ennobles the mind; and walking according to it is our highest honour, ornament, and comfort. It is everything we want." „ "Christ inHis person and onlce is the glass which represents the glory of God to us. And when we see Bis glory in thia glass, we are trans- formed into the same image. In this glass alone the scattered rays of Divine goodnesa are brought as it were into a focus they shine, they burn they inflame the heart held before it; con- viction overpowers unbelief, goodness overcomes unworthiness, and love subdues enmity." "Communion with God sweetens everything— makes our comforts more comfortable, and renders every bitter thing sweet. Whenever we meet God, it is never in vain. If we meet Him under the Cross, or in tribulation, His presence it sure to make it a heaven to our souls. His inward fellowship supplies the absence of all outward friends." I know of no sight so distressing in this world as that of an ungodly sinner on the confines of eternity. All his worldly comforts leave him; his eoul is left naked, friendless, and hopeless, and all his sins, like eomany harpies, follow at hit heels." Commit all to the Lord, and do not look too far forward; melancholy apprehensions will then soon vanish. A single eye to God banishes at once all anxious cares and fears." "They only are right and safe who make God s glory their end, God's word their rule, God's spirit the guide of their affeotions, and God's pro- vidence the guide of their affairs. They may not be led the nearest, but they are always led the best road." Grace is fire and life itself, even a Divine flame, and a spiritual hfe. It cannot rest; it must be active according to its degree and strength." Angels will know but little of our joys in Heaven because they are unacquainted with our sorrows. We shall play on strings which angela never touched." We are never nearer to God than when we are lowest in our own estimation." "Pride enters into the very essence of every other sin so humility enters into the essence of every other grace." There is nothing but love in the Divine law, and when we shall be perfeoted in love we shall be perfectly happy." Tell me how a man employs his time, whether he is slothful or industrious, and I will tell you what proffress he makes in grace." "We may have light, and this light may also shine; yet, if it does not so shine as to glorify our Father it is not the true light, but false light, which glorifies ourselves, and leads into outward darkness." A little Divine light in the heart will shine brighter and glorify God more than all the mere intellectual knowledge of men or angels." Solitary moments are the most happy and profitable moments of my life." The smallest trial is too great for me; but the greatest triai is nothing if the strength of God is perfected ii1 my weakness." Nothing but self, in one way or another, makes the cross appear formidable to us." "The more olear our comprehension of God's love to us, and the firmer our belief in it, the more ardent will be our love to Him, and the more actrva will we be in His service." By the advice of Mr. Charles, Bible instruction movements, closely resembling the Welsh organisa- tions, were founded in Scotland AND Ireland. (At the request of the Hibernian Society, Mr. Charles had visited Ireland in 1807.) Gaelic and Irish day fichooU were established. LU 1813 he commenced preparing for the Bible B^IETY a REVISED octavo Welsh edition of the THO 11^E.7RAA IN ill-health, but he laboured at WLTH energy, for it was his strong and 0_. L QTFCIRE to piocure for hid countrymen an CAILY correct and indefective ediuou of • "XV RCS. ah-UL WIIWIM™ COVETED this," he said, "I MY head and die." WMTT-AND VII IB NOW finishod," he FI -RSTI KEIER WROTE MOTHER line. 1 AD SUFFERED much through an LN"6NDU'N MRN?»NRI!had accidentally BUB. tamedun MONTGOMERYSHIRE in 1812, and in 1814 bis L ODILY was so GREAT that his friends KTEARNE alarmed. Bra. Charles was partiajly prostrated by dc- biL..i.y ai:! weu, rT 11 butb scem to be going to another world," he remarked, but my wife seems to be going ihe faster." ("he survived him three weeks) The mild sea-airs of Barmouth were in August reported to—uselessly. The fifteen years," he said to Mrs. Charles, (alluding to the prayer of Richard Owen), "are nearly completed." And so they were. The invalid returned to Machynlleth, and there Mr. Charles preached his two last sermons; his texts were Luke. o. 15, v. 7, ("I eaynntoyon, that likewise joy shall be in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just pereons, which need no repentance/') and 1 Cor., c. 16, v, 22, (" If any man love not the Lord Jesus. Christ, let him be Anathema Maranatha.") The discourses teemed7 with eloquent appeals to the hearers, and created an abiding impres- sion. On September 10 Mr. Charles reached home again. lie was assisted upstairs, and, after ex. prtBsing his pratitude to God for hitving enabled him to get back, observed, Now I have nothkig to do but to cie." Bis disorder was attended with excruciating pa n—but Dot a murmur escaped from his lipa. An operation which he underwent eased him vety much, and hopes were entertained by sevela friends of his reoovery. But if yon rally out of this," remarked his medical attendants to him, you must avoidmuoh exertion." Adverting to the doctor's counecl, he afterwards Eaid to his acquaintance, "If I recover, I eballpreach more than ever I have done yec." A dear friend called to see him on the following Sunday afternoon, after having attended church. "Well," said Mr. Charles to him, was there enough Gospel in the sermon to save a sinner ? If not, it is of little consequence what was preached. I hope Bala people will never take up with aay. thing short of that." The den.fee of a faithful female servant, Bord the illness of his eldest son, aggravated his weak- ness. But there," he remarked, "I know the rod ia in the hand of a tender Father." On learning that his son was recovering, he exclaimed, rejoicingly, "The Lord ia very good; His mercy endureth to; ever." "Mercy," he subsequently observed, His a rich word." His disorder became worse, and his pains again became intense, but not a. hasty expression did he utter. On Tuesday, the 4th of October, he awoke out of a short slumber, and observed to those around hiir, I have been thinking whereabouts Heaven ie, and how I eball find the way there; but 1 think that perhaps the Lord will send some kind angel to show me the way." t: e repeated with gladness several Scriptural, passages, thanked his attendants for their care and, looking at Mrs. Charles, said:" Well, my dear, if 1 ehould die and leave you, God will still live to take care of you; He cannot die." H« ro.niooc. but on Wednesday morning said that he was very oold, ua uegan tt> shiver. His medical attendant was called, and was immediately at his bedside. The shivering continued for about an hour; he THEN remained easy and still without speaking a word. A friend then Approached him, and remarked, Well, Mr. Charles, the day of tribulation has arrived Mr. Charles's instant reply was—"There ia a refuge." (" Y mae diangfa.") Some Maaeira. wine was afterwards given him; he took it with difficulty. Yon strive wonderfully, Mr. Charles," was again observed to him, "I hope this will be of seme service to you." Yes, if the Lord pleases," was the quiet an. swer. "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in lhee," Who, gazing on this expiring Christian, oould find any difficulty in applying the prophetic prediction ? Weaker and weaker grew the respirations of Mr. Charles; stiller and stiller grew the surround. inga. And at a quarter past ten o'clock on the 5th of October, 1814, this illustrious ornament ot the Christian Church breathed his last.
I ALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES.
I ALES AND SKETCHES OF WALES. (BY CHARLES WILKINS.) SECOND SERIES. [AI.II EIGHTS BEGK&VBD.] LE ESTERLIKG, AND THE DOOM OF COLYN DOLPHYN. There are few subjects connected with Welsh history that possess more interest than the few and faint annals of the valorous Norman knights who aided Fit zhamon in the con quest of Glamorgan. Gathering up the scarce details is like musing over the half obliterated roll of Monkish Latin, on which the priestly progenitor of the literary world of to-day quaintly traced their mixture of legend and history. In the time of Edward IV., the Le Esterling øf Fitzhamon's day was Sir Harry Stradling, a knight who exhibited, like so many of his olaaa, the peculiar mixture, so to state, of the soldier and the lecluee. In that time journeyings to Jerusalem by knights who had figured actively in many a stubborn fight .was au event of ordi- nary occurrence. It opened oat a new world of interest, and while presenting a great deal that was romantic, and adventures well suited to the JNorman mind, offered at tae close a noble goal for religious contemplation and fervour. I trace from the religious fervour of Norman knights not only a great mass of our Church establishments and glorious piles of architecture, where the rapt devotion ot the knight ia sym- bolised by lefty heaven soaring spire, and noble aisles, but the germs of that adhesion to Church and State which in our own time, as in that of past generationB, characterises the gentry of Eng- land. So deeply has this fact been impressed upon the public mind that even now it is regarded as exceptional and strange for the squire of a district to be a chapel goer. The Norman knight preserved his form of leligion in the seclusioh of his oastle. In the midst of the great many buildings erected to secure him from an active foe, there he offered up thanks to God, and fought for strength 10 renew his battles. When the foe became a friend the castle chapel must have witnessed many a strange gathering of Norman knight and Welsh chieftain, with here and there the followers of knighta, and leather jacketed Welshmen in companionship. It is interesting to trace the infant faith, nourished in the one place on mountain height, and in the other in the gloom of frowning castles, gradually become one, even as the Norman and the Saxon and cognate races; and still, to this day, the old. feudal impress lingers on the mind, and the noble- man is as much associated with the aisle and devotion with turret and keep, barbican and moat." This is a digression from the narrativa of Sir Harry Stradling. His correspondence shows the man of reflection and of devotion. Tender soli- citude for family, with occasional melancholy thought, as of an untimely fate, and earnest aspi. ration permeate through his quaint phraseology. There is nothing of the rough, warlike noble dis- tinguishable religious pursuit must have softened and refined his character,' even as Time throws an air of romance, and sunset and summer yield a charm to the grim ruin on which Norman fought and fell. Stradling had a residence in Somersetshire, and journeying from St. Donat's thither formed a pleasant episode in life. The pleasure had, how- ever, one time a serious alloy. In hia little bark, which ceuld not have been of greater dimensions than a yacht, he encountered no less a personage than a noted pirate, one Colyn Dolphyn, whose "doom" has been practically described by Ab Iolo (Taliesin Williams, son of Iolo Morgan wg). This Colyn— doubtless the "Dolphyn" was assumed as characteristic of the scene of his exploits, the eea—was a native of Britanny, and his great haunt along the Welsh coast and up the Severn. Colyn and his sturdy band of freebooters soon overwhelmed Sir Harry, and bore him away a prisoner, and kept him as such until a ransom of 2,000 marks was paid. This was a bitter misfor- tune for Stradling, and the money was only raised by .the sale of several of his fine manors. To amas of Straaling's nature, in whom prowess and conquest I were deeply seated, to be overcome by a mere pirate, and after vanquishment to pay so heavy a penalty must have been galling in the extreme, and be vowed revenge. Returning home one of his first duties waa to erect the lofty watch tower, the ruins of whioh are still visible, and on this, placing men and arms, he bided his time." The position of the tower near the noted Nash Sands shewed that Sir Harry did not post his men there as he would in an ordinary place of strength, ready to sally out upon the foe, but that the alluring light in the tower might tempt the pirate to his destruction. A sorry day for Colyn when he tock Stradling prisoner; a gloomy day his last when the storm caught him beating up Channel. More intent on raids inland, and of getting fresh booty, than ot noting the shoals and dangers of the coast, mistaking the light for Dnnraven, he ran in and Btruck upon the sands. To the watchers in the town, over the surge of the sea and the wail, of the storm came faint cries for help, and Sir Harry and bis crew poured down to see the vessel going to pieces, and the waves tossing now one and then another of the crew upon the shore. Better for Colyn had he sought on raft, or in frailest boat, an escape, for, saved from the waves, he found himself in the hands of his greatest enemy. The imaginative mind may picture a short, stern conflict for life; but what could drowning men, fierce and untamable as they were, do, opposed to a band well armed, and led by a knight whose nature recoiled from defeat, and whose vow had been not to forgive, but to revenge. The miserable remnant of the pirates, Colyn amongst them, had but a short shrift. Every man was summarily hanged, and the only "poetic justice" accorded was to bury thorn under the hillocks by the sea within reach at times of the element upon which their life of devastation and murder had been passed. Revenge accomplished, Sir Harry threw aside the warrior and became the pilgrim. He journeyed to Jerusalem, became a knight oi the Holy Sepulchre, and, on his way homeward, touching at CypruB, tbeRE died.
[No title]
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THE CLOVEN FOOT.
THE CLOVEN FOOT. By the Author .J" Lady AudUy'e Secret,"$c.,$c CHAPTER XXIX. GEORGE GEKABD. John Treverton waa out of the doctor's hands before Christmas was over, and able to appear on his mare, Black Beta, with hia wife mouatad on the rentlest of grey Arabs, at the Lawn meet, which was held at the Manor House on New Year's Day. It waBthefirat time the hounds had met there bit co the death of old John TreverWn, Jasper's father, who had been a bunting man. Jatptr had never cared lor field spirts, and had SUBFEORITTCI 1.1> the nVUJ.a4 aa a <ia&Y. llu" now, John Inverton, the youiiger, who loved hordes aidhtuncis, PS it is natural to an Englishman to lo..e them, meant that things should be as they had been in the daju of his great unole, generally known among the older section of the community as the old Bqi.?re." He had bought acouple of hirers and a first-rato pîock for himself, an Arabian, and a smart 000 for his wife; and Laura and he had ricioan for ma.ny a mile ovar the moor in the mild afternoons of early autumn, getting into FECOD ieriu for the work they wero to do in the winter. Laura took kindly to the cob, and patted the Aiab to a distracting degree. After a inontn's experience on the moors, a good many standing jumpB over iurze and water, abe began to ride really well, and her husband looked forward to the oeJightof piloting her across the oountry in pursuit of the red deer, before the hunting Beaton was over. But he meant, if he erred at all, to err on the Bide of caution, and on this New Year's Day he had declared that he should only take Laura quietly through the lanes, and let her have a peep at the hounds from a distance. Celia, in the shortest of habits, a mere pettiooat, and the most coquettish of hats, was mounted on her father's steady-^oing roadster, a stalwart animal of prodigious girth, who contemplated the hounds with unvarying equanimity. "What has become of your brother?"' Laura asked, as she and Celia waited about, side by sice, watching the assembling of the field. "I have not seen him since my children's party." Ob, didn't I tell your He is in London making arrangements abcat a play that he is to write tor one of the big theatres. Maxima had a letter from him this moraing. He is coming home the day after to-morrow, and he is going to bring a London acquaintance to stay two or three days at the Vicarage. A young doctor, good-looking, clever, a bachelor. Now, Laura, don't yoa really think the world mnetbo coming to end very BoonP" "No, dear; but I congratulate 10n on the bachelor. lie will be an acquisition. You must bring him to us." Oh, but 1-dward says he can only etayjtwoor ihtee days. He has hisw practice to ?*• ac id only coming Tor a bre&wu. country air. Poor fellow. What is his name r" x "Edward did not tell us that. Something horrid, I daresay. Smith or Jones, or Johnson-a name to dispel all pleasant illations." Here comes Mr. Sampson." Yes, on the horse he drives in his dog-oart. Could you believe, Laura, that a horse could support existence with 80 much bone and so little flesh ?" 'I bis was all Laura heard about the expected guest at the Vicarage, but poor Celia was in a flutter ot wondering anticipation for the next two days. She took particular pains to make her brother's den attractive, yet sighed as ahe re- flected how much of the stranger's brief visit would be spent within the closed doors of that masouline snuggery. 1 wonder whether he is foud of tea," ahe mused, when she bad given the last heightening touch to the multifarious frivolities of the poet's atndy; and whether I shall be allowed to join them at kettle drum. Very likely he is one of those dreadfully mannish men who hate to talk to girls, and looked glum whenever they're foroed to endure women's society. A doctor, scientiflo, perhaps, and devoted to dry bones. Edward oalls him handsome; but I daresay that was only said in order to prepossess us in his favour, and secure a civil reception for him." Thus, in maiden meditation, mused the damsel on that January evening, when her brother and her brother'B friend were expected. The omnibua from the George was to bring them from the station, and that omnibus would be due at a quarter past seven. It was now striking seven by the deep-toned church clcok; a solemn chime that had counted out Celia a hours ever since she could remember. She hardly knew time or herself out of earshot of that grave old clock. "Seven," she exclaimed, "and my hair any- how." She slipped off to her room, lighted her dressing table candles, and took up her hand mirror the better to survey the edifice of frizzy little curls which crowned her small, neatly shaped head. "Dear little head, brimming over with curls," she eang gaily, Bmiling a.t herself in the glass, as she put her pet ringlets in their proper places, and smoothed the corner of an eyebrow with her little finger. What a blessing not to be obliged to powder, and to have lips that are naturally red," she said to herself. it mufht almost reconcile one to be buried alive in a village." She put on her prettiest dresa in honour of the visitor. It was by no means an elaborate costume. Ihere was no intricacies of style, no artistic com- binations of material, Celia's best indoor gown was only a dark grcfen French merino, brightened by a goud deal of ribbon, artfully disposed in un. expected bows and knots, and floating sash ends. Happily, the oolour suited Celia's complexion,and the soft fabric fell in graceful folds upon her slender nguce. Altogether, Celia felt herself look. ing nice, when she put out her candles and ran down staus. A substantial tea-dinner was waiting for the travellers in the DINING-ROOM, to the sore discomfort of the vicar, who hated a tea-dinner, and was accustomed to dine at a punctual half- past six.. Why must we have a makeshift meal ot this kind?" he asked, fretfully. Why couldn't these young men be here in time for our regular dinner ?" Why, because there waa no train to bring them, you dear, stupid old pater," retorted the flippant Celia, "I'm aura the table looks quite too lovely." A fine piece of cold roast beef at the end oppo- eite the urn and tea tray, a pigeon pie, a salad, an apple pasty, a home made cake or two, diamond- cut jars of marmalade and jam, and a noble glass bowl of junket, aid not promise badly for two hungry youn? men but the Vicar looked across the board, from Dan to Beersheba, and found it all barren. "I suppose nobody has thought of ordering anything hot for me," he remarked with au injured air. It was a tradition in the family that the Vioar could not eat a cold dinner. It was not that he would not, but that he could not. The conse- quences were too awful. No one but himself knew the agonies whioh he suffered if he was forced to dine on cold beef or mutton. His system could accommodate lobster, he could even reconcile nature to cold chicken, but his internal economy would have nothing to do with oold mutton or beef. Dearest creature," eaid Celia, raising herself on tiptoe in order to caress her father's iron, grey beard, there is a particular dish of cutlets for you, with the mushroom sauce your soul loveth." The Vicar gave a sigh of satisfaction, and iust at that mefhent the wheels of the omnibus Bounded on the road outside, the Vicarage gate fell back with a clang, and Mr. Clare and his daughter went out to receive the travellers, while Mrs. Clare, who had been indulging herself with a nap by the drawing-room fire, opened her eyes, and began to wonder vaguely whether It was night or morning. What sort of man did Celia behold when ahe went into the lamplit hall, sheltering heraelf shyly under her fathers wing, to welcome her brother and his guest? Not at all the kind of man she expected to see, yet his appearance im- pressed her favourably, notwithstanding. He was strikingly original, she told Laura after- j wards, and that in an age of hum-druis was much. She saw a tall, broad-shouldered man, with marked features, well shaped yet somewhat rugged, a pale complexion, slightly pitted with small-pox, black hair and beard, dark grey eyes, with a wonderful power and light in them, under thick black brows. B "The idea of calling this stern looking craaiure handsome," thought Celia., while her father and Mr. Gerard were shaking hands, and then in the next instant the stern looking creature Siatted, and Celia admitted to herself that his smild was nice. "Ttiu must be desperately hungry," said the Vicar, "unless you've dined on the way." Dined on the way," echoed Ed ward peevishly. "We've travelled third class, and we've had nothing but a split soda and a couple of Abernethy biscuits since nine this morning." Poor, poor things," cried Celia, with intense pity, but I can't help being rather glad, for you will so enjoy your tea." „ Edward had introduced hia friend to his father and sister, and now presented him to Mrs. Clare, who came out of the drawing rcoin,emiliug bhtadly and trying not to lcok sleepy. They all went into the dining-room, where the table which the Vioar had despised seemed to the two young men a land of promise. The urn hissed and Celia made the tea, while Mrs. Clare aa' at the other end of the board and carved thebeel with a liberal, motherly hand. It was quite a merry party, for George Gerard had plenty to say for himself, and the Vicar was pleased to get hold of an intelligent young man, fresh from London, and steeped to the lips in the knowledge of metropolitan politics, which are about a month ahead of rural politics. They sat at table for an hour and a half, and the three-quarters of an hour, during which Gerard leaned back in his chair, talking to Celia oa one side, and the Vioar on the other, and consuming numerous oups of tea, was in the surgeon's estimation, tha pleasanteBt part of the time. It was long, very long, since Gerard had found himself in so bright a room or in suoh agreeable company. The homelike air of hia gorroundinga warmed his heart, which had been chiJted bylonR homeleesnesa. The family history that lay behind his hard career was not a happy one. A profligate father wasting his opportunities and 8qaaBd«ring his resources, 8: mother struggling nobly againBt adversity, trying against all disadvantages to maintain, by her own efforts in art and literatara, a home for her unworthy husband and her idolised Bon. A boyhood at a. cheap Scotch univeMiLy, Mid just on tha .hreshold of manhood, the loss of shi^ patient, dearly loved mother, some yearsawidow. And than the young man had found himself face to face Tiith stern necessity, and in a liatd iudi^etonti world that knew nothing of him, and oared nothing for him. Be bad begun the battle of life with » deter, mirafcoii to placo_ himself amoag those who eoiitjaer. Eis ambition was hard and biU^?. 216 had nono of tliosa inoenliyos to effort ihafc swseten tfil, where a man knovra that he is working iex mother, or wife, or cliild^Ji. Those was no creature cf his own race to rejoice in hia or to ocmpaefcionate hia iil.fottuiie. If j nature bad not made him of strong stuff be would most likely have drifted to the gutter. For a weaker soul the unaided struggle would haft been too dreary. Happily for George Gerard HE loved hia profes- sion for its own sake. That love stood him ia the atead of human sympathy and HUMAN affection. A word of commendation from one of the famous men at the hospital, a word of gratitude from one of own patients, the knowledge that he had managed a case well, these things cheered and sustained him. and he tramped along the elicit road with a bold front and a lofty heart, sure OF suooesa at the end of it, if he but lived to reach the end. To.night he abandoned HIMSELF to the new delight of pleasant society. A bright rookn, furnished *ith that heterogenous comfort which n AIKS the gradual growth of a family dwelling; cark CIIM^ON curtains drawn across the brawl BAY window family portraits on the walls; lamps on the table, and candles on tho maubel* pit-ce and eioeboard a firo heaped hijfh with woiod and ccal; tho Vicar's favourite colley stratched LUXURIOUSLY on tbe hearth rug. "I don't think I will eo into the drawing-room t<-r ight," "said the Vicar, wheeling hia chair round to the fire whtn the t:llOle had been cleared. I'm Bure you haven't so good a fireas thiain there." Mrs. Claie a(1R.:itted that tie drawing-room are vtae not so good as it might be. Very well, then, we'll finish the evening here. I If thfse two young men want to emoke they can go ioTtd's room." Mr. Gerard declared that he did not want to FCJTKE. He was much too oomfortable where he was. And then tbe Vicar began to question him about his profession, what snch and suoh men were doing, and what these new men were like who had won reputation lately, Gerard talked beet when he talked of his own calling, and Celia working point lace in a corner by the fire, thought that he looked really handsome when ha was animated. It was a face so different from all those prosperous, fresh-coloured, oountry bred faoes that her daily life had fchovvn her a face marked with the strongest determination, vivified by a powerful intellect. The girl's observant eye noted every characteristic in that interesting counten- ance. She saw, too, that the young man's black irock coat had undergone harder wear than any garment she had ever seen worn by her brother; ttat his boots were of a thick and usaful kind, and lacked the style of a fashionable maker; that he wore a silver w.^tch chain, and exhibited Ecne of the trinkets affected by prosperous youth. ISow, Celia Clare was not fond of poverty. She considered it a necessary evil, but liked to give it as wide a befth as possible. Any visiting she did amongst her father's poor went sorely against the grain and she always wondered how it was that Laura got on so well with the distressed classes. Yet, she felt warmly interested in this ycurg doctor, who was evidently most unm. TERESIIUFLY poor. «XT A T>TRR. "V~V"X". THOU ART THE MAN. The next day waa Sunday. George Gerard was up as soon as it was light, and off for a ramble on the moor before the nine o clock breakfast. Ihiø glimpse of the country was sweat to him, even in the bleak January weather, and he wanted to make the most of his brief opportunity. When he came back to the Vicarage after his walk he found Edward Clare smoking a oigarr in the shrubbery. "Wbat a fellow you are to be rambling about in such wintry weather," cried Edward, by way of salntation. "I want a few minutes talk before we go in to breakfast. We may not get a chance of being alone afterwards. Celia is so funy on Sunday mornings. I should like you to go to ohurohwith us if you don't object?" "I had made up my mind to go. I hope yon don't Buppose I have an antipathy to churches?" One never knows how that may be. I don't imagine there's much church going among young professional men in London." I used to escort my mother to church every I Sunday morning when I was a little boy, and those were my happiest days. If I didn't like the Sunday morning eervice for its own sake, I should like it because it puts me in mind of her." "Ah," sighed Edward, "I daresay when a fellow loses his mother in early life he feels senti. mental about her ever afterwards. But when a mother gets to the elderly and waddly age, one may be fond of her, butonecan't feel poetical about her. I'll tell you why I want wou to go to ohurch with us, Gerard. John Treverton is sure to be there. It will be a capital opportunity for you to take stock of him. Our pew is just opposite the Manor House pew. You'll have him in full view all through the service." Very good," assented Gerard. "If thia Mr. Treverton and Jack Chicot are the same, I shall know him wherever I see him." Celia was in excellent spirits all breakfast time, and poured out tea and coffee with a vivacity and a grace worthy of French comedy. The presenoe of a strange young iraa had a wonderfully brightening inflaence. Celia felt grateful to her brother for having afforded this unaccustomed variety in the mono- tonous course of rural life. She took more pains than usual in putting on her bonnet for church, though that was an operation whioh she always performed carefully, and she happened somehow to be walking by Mr. Gerard's side for the few hundred yards between the vicarage and the lycb gate. The .Vicarage party were,. amongst the first arrivals. There were only the charity children in the gallery, and a few gaffers and goodies in the free seats. The gentry dropped in slowly. Here was Mr. Sampson, the Lawyer, looking his sandiest, accompanied by Miss Sampson, in a distinctly new bonnet. Here was. Lady Barkor, short and fat, and puffy, in an ancient velvet mantle, bar. dered with brown fur, like a common councillor's cloak on Lord Mayor's Day, and with a bonnet that reached the climax of aowdiness—but when cue is Lady Barker, and has lived in the same house for five and thirty years, it matters very little what one wears. Here came the Pngsleys, the retired iron. monger and his wife, from Beechampton. Mrs. Pugsley, positively gorgeous in velvet and sable, and with a bird of many colours in her bonnet. Next arrived Mrs. Daraoott, the rich widow, whose husband was the largest tenant farmer in the district, and who looks as if all Hazelhurst belonged to her; and here, after a sprinkling of nobodies, came John Treverton and hiS wife. The Vicar gave out a New Year's hymn two minutes after this last arrival, and the congrega- t.on rose. The man is marvellously changed," George Gerard said to himself, as he stood face to face with John Treverton, but heia the man 1 knew in Cibber-street, and no other." Yes, it wag Jack Chicot. HappinesB had given new life and colour to the face, prosperity had ) softened the harshnesa of its outline. The hollow cheeks had filled, the haggard eyes had recovered the glory and gladness of youth. But the mau was there—the same man in whose face Gerard had looked a year and a half ago, reading the secret of his loveless marriage. Did he look like an undetected murderer ? Did he look like a man tormented byremorae, weighed down with the burden of a guilty seoret. As. suredly not. He had the straight outlook of one whose conscience is clear, whose heart is free from, guile. If he were verily guilty, he must be the prinoe of hypocriteB. His wife was at his side, and George Gerard looked at her with a painfal interest. What a lovely, trustful face, radiant with innooenoe and contentment. And was this guileless creature to I be made wretched by £ he knowledge of her bus. band's deceit ? Was her heart to be broken in order that John Treverton should be punished ? Edward Clare had said that it was for her sake he wanted to know the truth about her husband, it was that she might be rescued from a degrad- ing alliance, protected from a man who waa at heart a villain. George Gerard watched the husband and wife at intervals during the Bervice. He could see nothing but placid content, a mind at ease, in the face of John Treverton, The idea of this free. dom from care on the part of him who had been La Chicot's husband, embittered Gerard. Had that woman been my wife, I should have been sorry for her cruel fate, I should have mourned for her honestly, in spite of her degrada- tion. But had she been my wife she would never have Bunk 80 low. I would have made it the busi- ness of my life to have saved her." Thus argued the man who had passionately loved the beautiful, soulless woman, and who had T ever comprehended the utter emptiness of her imnd and heart. t)nce in the progress of the service John Trever- ten looked across the aisle, and saw the stern, grey eyes watching him. In that one glance Gerard saw that he was recognised. "What will he do if we meet presently?" Gerard asked himself. He'll cut me dead, no doubt." TLey did meet, for in leaving the church porch laura stopped to talk to Alra. Clare and Celia. Edward and his friend were close behind. "Is it the man?" Edward asked in a whisper. Yes," answered Gerard. They went along the churchyard path together, and at the gate there was a pause. Laura wanted the Vicarage party to goto lunoheonat the Manor House, but MrB. Clare declined. Of oouraQ the House, but Mrs. Clare declined. Of ooureo the children could do what they liked, she nald, AS if her children had ever done anything else since they had emerged from the helplessness of infancy. Even in their cradles they had had wills of their own. Celia looked at her brother, and saw by a warn. ing twitch of his eyebrows that she was to say no. I think we had better go home to luncheon," the said, meekly. Papa likes us to be at home on Sundays." Then ahe gave her brother's sleeve a little tug. "You haven't introduced Mr. Gerard," she whispered. Ah, to be sure. Mr. Gerard, Mrs. Treverton, Mr. Treverton." Mr. Gerard and I have met before under circumstances that made me deeply indebted to him said John Treverton, holding out his hand. • Gerard lifted his hat, but appeared not to see the offered hand. Thia unexpected frankness TOOK him by surprise. He had been prepared for anything rather than for John Treverton'A acknowledgment of their past acquaintance. It was a bold stroke if tbe man were guilty; but Gerard's experience had taught him that guilt is GENERALLY bold. I should be plad of ten minutes' talk with you, Mr. Gerard," said Treverton. Will yoa walk N-Y WAY ?" Wefll all walk as FANAE the Manor House?'1 said Celia. "We need not be home sill two, need WE.MAP' "No, dear, but be erre you are punctual," an- swaredthe good-natured mother. "I aha-a say Rood bye, Laura, my dea*. *V hiie Laura lingered a little to take lea?e of MRS. Clare, Treverton and Gerard walked on ia [rout of Celia and hsr brother, along the frost- road, UNDER tho LEAFLESS ELIN«0 The world is much' smaller than I took it to John Treverton befran, after a pause, or YON AN A I would hardly meet in such AA out-of. THE.WAY corner of it as tliiu." GAR aid said nothing. # Ware you not SURPRISE TO see RAEIH eo altered 10 Position the other asked, after an uccomfort- aole pause. » J! "5 ee, I was certainly eurpriaod." 51 I am going to appeal to your kind feeling— E8Y, to ycnr hcjuour. iJy wife kooms nothing of J toy post life, save thtt it was wild and foolish. You know too well what degradation there was fcr nt n my first marriage—I am not going to siptak ill of the dead "Pray do not," interpoaedGerald, very pale. But I NUT apeak plainly. When you kne W me I was A mo#i miserable man. I have atoad upon one of the bridges manya night, and thought that the beat thing I could do with myaelf waa to drop quietly over. Well, Providence out the knot for me-im a terrible mallDer-but still the knot was eut. I have profited by my release. Fate has been very kind to me. My wife is the dearest and noblest of women. To pluok the veil from my paat history would be to give her infinite pain. I ask yon, then, as a gentleman, as a man of honour, to keep my secret and to spare her and me." And you," said Gerard, bitterly. Yes, it is dcubtlese of yourself you think when youa9k me to be silent. To epare you? Did yon pity or ppare the wretched creature wholoved you fondly even in her d..gradatioll r As for your seoret, as you call it, it is no SEWFT,. M r, CL»re, the vioar's son, knows as well as I do that John C'hioot and John Troverton are one and the same." 'Be knowa it? Edward Clare?" •• Yea." "Since when P" Positively, since this morning in ohurch. He had lis suspicions before. Ihis moruing I was able toeonflm them. I am SORRY for it," said John Treverton, after they had walked a few paces in silonje. "I am Eorry for it. I had hoped that part of my life was dead and buried-that no phantom from that hateful past would ever arise to haunt my innooent yunng wife. It is very hard upon me, stilt, harder upon ber." u 1 here are some ghosts not easily laid," returned Gerard. I should think the ghost of a murdered wife was one of them." Edward Clare is no friend to me," pursued Treverton, hardly hearing Gerard's remark. "He will make the moat malicious use of this know- ledge that he can. He will tell my wife." "Might he not do eomething worse than that?" What?" "What if he wfre to tell the police where Chicot, the wife-murderer, is to be found r My God," cried Treverton, turning upon the speaker with a look of infinite hqrror. You do not think me that p" UBbappiiy, I do." On what grounds ?" First, on the strength of your cowardly con. duct that night. Why should you shirk the responsibility of your position if you were not gudty ? Your flight was damning evidence epainst you. Surely you must have known that when you fled." I ought to have known it, perhaps; but I thought of nothing except how best and q.nokest to escape from the entanglement that had been the bane and blight of my manhood. My wife was dtad. Those glassy eyes, with their awful look BA.BEEJ—^HAT marble hand—told me that life by remaining? Attend ANLUAQUEB^AI wKJifk story of my life would be ripped up for the delight of every gossip-monger in the kingdom, until I, John Treverton, alias Chicot, stood face to faoe with the world, so tainted and infected that no innocent woman could own me as her husband ? W hat good to me, to that poor dead woman, or to society at large, could have come of my cross- examination at the inquest?" This much good, at least; your innocence— if you are innocent—might have baen made manifest. As it is, the inferences are all in favour ot jour guilt." '"Bow oould I have proved my innocence? I cculd have offered no stronger proof at the in- quest than I offer you now—my own word—the word of a man who at worst never stooped to dis- honour. I tell you face to face, as man to man, that I never lifted my hand against my wife never, even when words were bitter between us. and of late we had many bitter words. I tried, honestly, to save her from her own weakness. The day had been when I was fond of her, in a reckless way, never looking forward to the future, or thinking what kind of a oonple she and I would be when age had sobered us, and life had grown real and serious. No, Mr. Gerard, I am jiot a cruel man; and though the fetters hung heavy upon me I should never have striven to set myself free. When I saw those people-Dest"olles and the two wftmen—standing round me that night; it flashed upon me all at once that in their ejes I might look like a murderer. And then I foresaw suspicion, difficulties of all kinds, and above all that which I most dreaded, a hideous notoriety. If I stayed all thia was inevitable. I might escape everything if I could get away. At that moment I considered only my own interest. I saw as it were a gate standing open leading into a new world. Waa I very mach to blame if I took advantage of my chance, and left my old life behind me?" No man oan leave his past life behind him," answered Gerard. Well, if you are innocent, I am eorry for yon, as 1- should be sorry for any innocent man who had so acted as to seem guilty. I am still more sorry for your wife." Yes, yon have need to be sorry for her," said Treverton, with a quiet anguish that touched even the man who thought him guilty. God help her, poor girl. We have been very happy together, but if Edward Clare holds our happiness in his hand our peaceful days are at an end." They were at the Manor House gate by this time, and here they stopped and waited in silence for the others to join them. Celia and Laura had been talking together merrily, whila Edward walked beside them, silent and thoughtful. John Treverton shook hands with Celia, but he cnly cave Edward a curt nod of adieu. Good morning, Mr. Gerard," he said, with cold courtesy. Come, Laura, if Celia has made up her mind to go home to luncheon we mustn't detain her." Duty prevails over inclination," said Celia, laughingly. If I were to come to the Manor iiouse I should forget my Sunday School work. From three to four o'clock I have to give my mind to Scripture history. How dreadfully absorbed jon look, Mr. Gerard," ahe exclaimed, struck by 'he surgeon's thoughtful aspect. Have YOIl •R.CY serious case in London that is preying upon )our mind P" "I have plenty of serious cases, Miss Clare; Lut I was not thinking of them just then," he answered, smiling at her piquant little faoe, turned to him interrogatively. "My patients are mostly sufferers from an incurable malady." Good gracious, poor things. Is it an epi- demic ?" No, a chronic disorder—poverty." "Oh, poor souls, then I'm sure I pity them. I've been subject to occasional attacks towards the end of the QUARTER all my life." They were walking homeward by this time, Edward in the rear. Now, do you seriously think, Miss Clare, that a young lady, living in her father's house, with e-very want provided for, can know the meaning of the word poverty ?" Certainly I do, Mr. Gerard. But I must tell you that you start upon false premises. Young ladies living in their father's houses have not always every want provided for. I have known what it is to be desperately in want of six-button gloves and not be able to get them." You have never known what it is to want bread." "I'm not particularly fond of bread," said Celia, but I have often had to complain of the disgusting etaleness of the loaf they give us at luncheon." Ah, Miss Clare, when I was a student at Marischal College, A berdeen, I have seen many a young fellow walking the street in his Bcarlet gown, gaunt and hungry eyed, to whom a hunch of your stale loaf would have been a luxury. When a Scotch parson sends his aon to the University he is not always able to give him the price of a daily dinner. Well for the lad if he can be sure of a bowl of porridge for his breakfast and supper." "Poor dear creatures," cried Celia. "I'm afraid Edward spends as much money on gloves and cigars as would keep an economical young Kan at the University—but then he is a poet." Is a poet necessarily a spendthrift?' "Upon my word, I don't know, but they seem generally given that way, don't they? One can hardly expect them to be very careful about pounds, shillings, and pence. Their heads are in the clouds, and they have no eyes for the small transactions of daily life." After this they walked on for a little while in silence, George Gerard thoughtfully contem. plative of the fair young face, with its mignon pettiness and frivolous expression. It would be a misfortune, as well as a folly, for a man of my stamp to 'admire such a girl as that," he told himself, "but I may allow myself to be amused by her." A minute afterwards Edward Clare came up to him) and took him by the arm. "Well," he said, "what passed between you and Treverton P" A good deal, yet it amounts to very little. I am sorry for h;m." Then you do not "believe that he killed his wife ?" I don't know. It is a profound mystery. I should advise you to let things take their own ccuree. What good will it do for you to make tht peor young wife of his miserable? If he ia guilty punishment will come sooner or later. If he is innocent, it would be A hard thing for yoa to persecute him." What, do you suppose I am such a milksop as to let him go on his way unquestioned ? I, who have loved Laura, and lost her. Suppose him even innocent of the murder—which is much more than I am ready to believe—he is guilty of a cruel fraud upon his present wife, of an impudent fraud upon the trustees to Jasper Treverton's estate, of whom my father is one. He has no more right to yonder Manor House than I have. B is marriage with Laura Malcolm is no marriaga. Am I to bold my peace, knowing all this ? "To reveal what you know will be to break Mrs. Treverton'a heart, and to reduce her to begtrary. Hardly the act of a friend." I may give her pain, but I shall not reduce her to beggary, She has a email income of her own. "And the Manor Houee estate will be devoted to the creation ot a hospital." Those are the conditions of Jasper Trever. ton's will. Aa a professional man I AM bound to rejoice, but as a mere human being I can't help feeling sorry for Mrs. Treverton. She seems devoted to her husband." "Yea." answered Edward, "he has contrived to hoodwink her; but perhaps when ahe knows that John Treverton is Jack Chicot, the ballet I dancer's husband, she will be disenchanted." Gerard made no reply. He began to understand that personal malignity was the mainspring of Edward's desire to let in the light upon John Treverton's secret. He was almost sorry that he I had lent bis aid to the discovery, yet he had ar. dentl" desired that justice should be done upon La Chiost's murderer. It woe only sinca his re- cent CONDENSATION with John Treverton that his opinion as to-the husband's guilt had bogiln to waver. He WFCS HAUNTED all the rest of be day bv un- coTr»fortaV>e NOUGHTS about the MASTER of Hazel- hurst Monor aiid TIS foir young wile; thoughta so uncomfortable aa to prevent hie enjoyment o: Celia's lively COMPANY, which had ail the charm of novelij to a NAN whose youth had not BEEN brightened by girlish society, and whose way O* life had been dull, and hard, and laborious. HI) waa to go baok to London next morning by tho first although the Vicar PRESSED him to was to go baok. to London next morning by tho first although the Vicar PRESSED him to remain, and even Celia put in a kihdly worl, he atuck to hia intention. "My practice is not of a kind that will bear being trifled with," he said, when he had thanked Mr. Clan for hia proffered hospitality. The few remunerative patienta I have would be quick to take offence if they fanoied I negleoted them." But yon give yourself a holiday sometimes, I suppose, eaid Mrs. Clare, whoee largo maternal heart had a kindly feeling for all young men because her son belonged to that section of aoaiety. "Ton go to stay with your relations, now and then, don't you ?" No, my dear Mrs. Clare, I do not; and for the beat of all reaaone, I have no relations. I am the last twig cf a withered tree." How sad," replied the Vioar's wife. Celia echoed the sigh, and looked compassion- F, the surgeon, and compassion in Calif's DESPISE** WAA 'ENTIOJONT no man oould afford to v. WIJ? come again someday when I SLSLALLTTLE PROGRESS in my profession you fcr- II My drar fellow, W9 shall always bo glad to eeA JOu," the Vicar answered, heartily It strikes me you are the kind of friend my son wanta. (TO BB CONTINUED.)
FEMININE FOIBLES.I
FEMININE FOIBLES. FAKCIE8, AND FASHIONS. j By A LADY. j (All rights Reserved.) j WEATHER PROGNOSTICATIONS HINTS AND PKEOACTIONS—COMMENCEMENT OF CONSUMP- TION — A WOMAN'S RIOHT MEKTING IN FASHIONABLB SOCIETY-A WOMAN'S NOTION OF WOMEN'S WRONGS-" THE SHBIBKING SISTE&HOOD"—MISS MULOCH SPEAKS — A IBBILTLIC IN GOLDEN CHAIN — ARTIFICIAL INSECTS A HIDEO us OBNAMISNT —.EXIT WHITE TABLECLOTHS ENTER CRIMSON TURKEY TWILL—AN ARTISTIC DINNER TABLE, "Beware of the Ides of March," said the augur to Julius Caesar, a pieoe of ancient advice which applies to one critical period, but we may Wisely give it a. general application as regarda the rest of this month, and safely follow it throughout the ensuing one. Happily in modern I times we do not incur much risk from dagger or poisoned cup at the assassin's hands bat there are other perils lurking near us none the less fatal, BECAUSE rarely suspected, and then very little feared. Do we need no soothsayer to bid ua beware of the treacherous east winds, and the Epecious sunshine of these early spring days, which are very like false friends, who use fair wOlds, and NARRY smiling faceo, only to hearts- *V-° F»I»ohoou —^ treachery in their Except Charles Kingsley, who wrote a panegyric in praiae of it, no one has ever been MST WIND^P^RBARD V^N FATOAR OF THO withering east wind. Perhaps his muscular training, and £ *1?energy, made him indiffa»«r/ W lts killing effects, R- perhaps THO W OAE was written as a mere daring challenge of the opinions of all other creatures, both man and beast, Lap. landers, and Polar bears excepted. Open and ac- knowledged enemies like frost and snow, we prepare to meet in our proof armour of flannel and fur but at the very first appearanoe of warm weather we are all off guard as it were, and eager to lay aside our warm garments for thinner clothing; foolishly forgetful of the, old aphorism "That one swallow does not make a summer,' nor one smiling spring day guarantee the certainty of others to follow never come March, never come winter, say our weather prophets; and frequent experience proves the truth of that axiom also. In this, as in all other matters, we are too ready to bel'eve what we wish to be true, and forget that in England especially, King Winter abdicates very unwillingly, and long retains a sort of intermittent hold upon that fickle period which we call spring. Concerning the temperature and atmosphere of which the only thing we may venture with safety to predict, is, that at this aeaaon of the year we are sure to have some sort of weather. This is a statement which, if it displays no very deep penetratioa, has at least once merit, that of being incontro- vertible. and has a negative amount of wisdom in it also, for as regards the weather no one will be able to convict us of having been in the wrong. We often feel the warmth of spring far more oppressive than the intenser,heat of summer, but no one who values life or health will forget old Benjamin Franklin's (poor Richards) homely pieoe of advice- Cast not your old coat away Till alter Ulut of May. I hope I have not wearied my readers by carry. ING this subject to a tedious length. It is because I feel strongly about the matter, and see the great need there is for oaution. Only a little eold, or cough. nothing of consequence persons slightingly say. Only the beginning of the end; only the first step of the destroyer, whose cruel work is only complete when the clods of the valley are heaped upon the victim. Those whose hearts and homes have been desolated by our country's ecourge—consumption, will feel that I have not written a word too much of warning and advice, since it is an acknowledged fact that more people have died of phthisis than were ever slain by pestilence or sword. A short time back it was my good fortune to receive invitations to attend two discussions on the question of Woman's Suffrage, and other topics relative to the social and political condition of women. Both these meet- ings were held in the drawing-rooms of married ladies of influence and position. My invitation was sent on the ordinary "at home card. I accepted it with much pleasure, mingled with a little curiosity as to what I should see and hear. I do not hold what are called ad. vanced opinions on the question, nor, perhaps, any very definite views at all; but whatever affects the interests of women is the concern of all the sex. It was, therefore, with a laudable desire for enlightenment and instruction that I listened attentively to the arguments on all sides. Those well-known advocates Miss Becker, Miss Taylor, and Miss Tod addressed us in favour of the movement; a Q.J., an M.P., a professor, and Mr. Trollope, the novelist, were also there. Mr. Anthony Trollope spoke in opposition, and most indignantly repudiated the idea of women ruling their husbands. Power, he said, went with money, and man was master because he held the purse. I fancied the ladies seemed slow to reoognise on these low grounds man's right to mastership, but had it been demanded on the higher score of intellectual superiority, some of the women even there might have acknowledged his claim to ascendancy. However, on such an occasion it would have been extremely injudicious to express these very unorthodox sentiments. Mr. Trollope further remarked, that he never knew a woman who did not think her husband fitter to rule her than she was to rule him." Certain sounds of dissent convinced me that the speaker had not made himself fully acquainted with women's opinions on that particular point. I am still old-fashioned enough to think that a woman's duties lie about her own hearthstones, ratber than upon hustings or platform; but that our sex have wrongs, which demand redress, no thoughtful woman can deny; for instance, when unhappy domestic differences arise, and the children are removed fro.n their mother, whilst still in need (sinoe when do they not need her care and love), every woman's heart burns with an indignant protest. Does not the mother's health go in bringing them up P I sympathised heartily with the expression of one woman, who when robbed of her children, cried out in fieroe resentment, If children oould be planted like liliies of the field, and one could trust to the rate, OCD THE sun to rear them, what a comfort it would be it the mother; then the father might come and cultivate" TLLW BEADS as he liked." But to quote Wordsworth:- There are ever unredressed wrongs, And insults unavenged," and there always will be. It is the condition of things mundane. Many women of cultivation and sense, who have few or no domestic ties, take up what they honestly believe to be their mission; going forward boldly to emancipate womanhood, and to redress the wrongs of taeir sex. That stinging epithet—by which these advo- cates are known, "The shrieking sisterhood," is only one of the many bitter, and ironical taunts by which they have been assailed from time to time. There may be a delusion of heroism, enthusiastic feelings may be carried to an ex. travagant pitch, and though it has been said, in other words, that a mere enthusiasm for doing good, if excited by vanity and not accompanied by good judgment, is very seldom serviceable to others, surely honesty of purpose in some de- gree Banctifies error. About these eager advocates of woman's rights, I feel much as one might do aboat Don Quixote's famous tilt-regretful and sorrowful that a some- times fantastic or mistaken zeal should be the means of dragging a noble purpose through the slough of ridicule, and besmearing it with the mire of contempt. I read in the Woma-n s Suffrage Journal that in New Zealand, in the House of Re. presentatives, a member said, I object to women coming here and making laws. SUPPOSING a married woman comes here and leaves a husband at home, she will, probably, disturb the thoughts of the two srentlemen between whom she sits, and therefore, I think the whole proceedings ot this House would have to be shut up." Miss Muloch we allow to be an authority, and she soys, Who, that has listened for two hours to the confused, verbose matinees QJ A Y. committee, would immediately go and vote for a female House of Commons or who nn ,«»„■ c a lady's business letter desirnn f- il receipt of TEMTE oa us i Perhap, NOT AUK.T men and women were made for, and not like, eaoh other, and strict equality is impossible. The one bed of ANFFCFIRT™ J TBE DAY, has Boothed one wearv DRRJ? PEERED and sustained SD KSL* J™ >»« » little of others BELRT.IL? BASJMIMSTERED to the HSPPIDES, brilliant +IF, U' NEVER TO envy the moat brilliant triunipheof the modern Sappho or Corrine. clamonr F^OMAN FAR happier than those who w;ll J so-called rights, which, it is evident, Iran CO™EDED, but must ,be wrenched irom the hands of power. PegaeuB in pound could hardly have been more out of plaoe than a beetle in chains, yet a contem. porary writes that one h" been seen in London, can we say adorning a IROYR dress P This living insect was a brilliant foreign beetle, tethered by a Blender golden chain and fastened to the shovlder of its owner's dress. The description even mAker one Bhudder. I have a wholesome horror of orawierB; but, apart from the bad taste, the act itself was barbarous. Does not the Society for t -e Prevention of Cruelty to Animals extenq its humane protection to these lower grades M am- mated nature Yet one great master tells 1t8 TH?pof>rbfietl=» whioh we «P»»dwpon in corpoial sufferance lindaa p*ng — As when A giant dies. I AND WE ekonld never forget two lines ef ataother of our greatest poets, Who waa also one of Nature's most loving disciples. He bids AS— Pcve: to iiimd I WITH ICITCS oflbè XCEANOET THING thfrt FEELS, Artificial insects are all much worn aa ever. A new eccentricity are earrings shaped like eggs, from which an inconsistent wasp ie emerging. Other ear ornaments represent small plates upon which precious stones are placed and I read the description of a pair of aleeve links of ghastly design, which exhibited the death like oountenance of a murdered king; the ballet hole not forgotten, as Othello says, On horror's head horrors accu- mulate," and with Akenside we might fitly remark, Such and so varied are the tattew of men." We see many startling innovations on old OBSTOMA. The white damask table linen which used to be the pride and glory of all good house- keepers is no longer considered the Bole appro. priate oovering for the dinner table. acquaintances of mine who pride themselves much on their artistic tastes, invited me to Sak. my chief meal off a cloth of crimson Turkey twiU bordered with the imitation Irish laoe mientionei in a former letter. The servioe, which wte wur* white, contrasted well, but to my uninitiated sight the effect was rather starring. The floral decorations were also sing Ill., j they were laid on the tablecloth and pot in shallow trenches as is usual, but arranged to form a ribbon border three inches wide, made of artificial, JBOSS and natural etaowdrops this border was cwrried all round the table a little aistanoe beyond our plates. For everyday TWE theee flower decorations would be too expensive a. luxury so mJ friends are working on- -hofiaad a border in worsted crewels, which could be used on white or coloured table cloths. Soineperecns, I am told, put bands of coloured satin on white cloths, and border both odgea with flowers, care being taken to choose ■FCHOTO WIIIOLI DO NOT fade very quickly. But I do not think any of theee coloured covert- will en- tirely supersede the far more useful and economical damask napery. ACCIDENTS will occur at the BEST regulated dinner tables. Alas, then, for eatin covers. But- if the gravy is upset on the ordinary table-cloth, it 18 SIMPLY conaigoed to the washing-tub, from whence it EMERGES imtnaoaiats as before.
WIT AND WISDOM^
WIT AND WISDOM^ An insurance policy co\IRS a multitude of old shells. Where an army is cooped up, is it neigeejfarily bea-caged ? Ie there any connection between a false set o teeth and a a falsetto voice ? Te what age do hogs grow ?'' aeks au ETCRIIII^S. Why, sans-age, of oourse. The beet way for a mas to get out of a low y position is to be conspicuously effective in if,. Vincyardist" is the newest ugly word, in. vented by men who are too iazy to wr'te English. A lady, describing an ill-naturbd lUan, says he never smiles but he feels AS HAMED of it. Never step on a dog's tail unless the other end "f the dog ia a mile away from the tail. Some crabbed old bachelor writes that Many a sealskin sacque covers a ragged dress, a dirty apron, and an empty stomach." If it be trne that no news is good nows, some o! the Boston dailies ARE emphatioallv "•hsst- Alaocion women always wear a narrow band of gold in the centre .of the large bows that compose part of their head- dress. The true poet lacks no incidents for inapizatioa. Robert Burns wrote a sweet song after turning up a mouse with a plough. The ball season has commenoed among tbe trade and societies of New York.. The pawnbrokers will have three, as usual. A young woman, who never was in love and never was married, is lecturing in Iowa upon Love and Marriage." The two organs propose to keep still and see if it won't blow over; but this is a pretty bard winter. The meanest man this season lives in Cincin- nati. Hia wife hung up her stocking aad he filled it with Old Farmers' Almanacs. FASHION ITEx.-Close. fitting waists again prevail. Economical ladies, who are in favour of as little waist all possible, will herald the news with joy. The latest dispatches to the Government-dis- credit all former advices about Sitting BaU having recrossed the Canadian border into this country. A student inquiring for Prometheus Uobound at a certain Chapel-street bookstore, reoently, was informed that they only kept the bound copies. We regret to read that so striot a temperance woman as Mrs. Hayes wore a wine-eoionred silk the other night. Water oolours would have been better. A rumour comes from-across the sea that Julia Ward Howe amokea cigarettes. The next thing, we Buppoee, Gail Hamilton will be smoking a dudeen or a Chatham-street cigar. It is an open secret at Teheran that the RU saian Embassy is doing its utmost to prevent Jfiaglish capitalists from receiving any aonoesaions for the public works that we Shah is desiretts- of having executed. When the great books come to be opened and the sheep are separated from the goata, considerable lenity will bn shown to goats who have lived in furnished rooms in New York City. What is sweeter than a winter sunsetr" asks an exchange. Really we don't know, but it it's a very colc night, and there's a vacuum in the region of the vest, an oyster etew will lay 'way over the sunset! With a red, red rose in his coat la.pel: a bold bald pate above, and a winsome wink in, hia wind* ard eve, General Butlev fills hia seat in the House, gathering together bricks enough to build a church. Mr. Lincoln has often been credited with the expressive phrase "Of the people, by the paople, for the people." It was not original with him, however; Theodore Parker first uaad it, and often used it during the last decade of his life, The Cornish folk in England are noted as wonderful pie-makers. They even earve,rogetablear in this manner, and the labouring classes in these hard times are said to exist largely on a carious compound known as turnip turn-over." A conceited young man, in talking with an aged clergyman, said, with a most dogmatic air: i will never believe anything which I oanaot understand. The old clergyman responded Then, young mm, < it is probable that your creed will W a very short one. A dancing idiot, ten years of age, is a resident of Indianapolis. Ever since his birth he has been going through the motions of a waltz to silent | music. He is never still in his waking hours. His mother had danoed to excess at a ball just oeton he was bora. Never kiss a girl if she doesn^t JPANT you to,V^| Bays an artiole on the "Art of Kissing." But. pretty often when a girl says she doosn't wiit yoa to kiss her is the very time she does want yo& toT and you'd better take the benefit of the doubt* There is a "Book of Hairearea" in oiraalation among the young men of London. The compiler has devoted much time and trouble to his work, and has appended notes relating to the ages, tempers, good looks, and scoial position of the various entries. Twelve HUNDRED POUNDS a year, or its equivalent in ready money is the lowest qualification for adisittanoe to the work. Mr. Spurgeon writes from London I cannot write about the second advent save only that I look for the Lord to come in the same MANNER as he went away—viz.: in person. Of the day and the hour I know nothing. I desire to wait and to watch, but not to etar-gaze. If ever I have more light I will spread it, bat at present I look for THE Lord to come, but I know not when. One night at the Theatre of San Carlos, Naples, Dumas the elder found himself chatting familiarly with It stranger, who, when the play was over, said to him patrcnisisgly, I have greatly en. joyed your conversation, air, and hope to see more VI you, II ever you visit Paris, oall on me. I am Alexander Dumas." "The devil you are.' So am I!" replied the novelist. with a roar of laughter. Talk about your theatres I" exclaimed an old stager riding in a horse car a few evening since. "V' on ought to have lived in the good old times when the curtain rose at seven o'clock, and they gave five plays in one evening. GOING to the theatre meant solid enjoyment then." There was silence a moment, when in low tones WAS HCIRD the remark, Wonder if he went out to AOE A MITN every time the curtain went down." A sapphire weighing two pounds is RANR«.F<*«L have been found in Ceylon, £ I, IFT^UEITIST^ largest *em of the kind known. The Bomans used and Ulherent virtue, which. And the tiel V of inward passion. RR,YEFIHA/EI.LEF:NJOOKINK NP TH* Ahkoond of Swat, ANA find that he was the cousin of N»*ab of I^DA!,HAR',N?C E OFTHE &AJAH of Kolapore, and Jconaghar, uncle of the Rajah of Kolapore, and distantly related to the Bhow Sanib Sungh. His wife a brother was the Rao Ragpoot, PUD his brother-in-law WAS the Nawab of Pahlunpoor. ihe Ahkoond of Swat's uncle's cousin's BROTHER was the Dewah of Gwalior, and the BT*F Bhopal waa a distant relat ive of his mothor-iarlaw. The JOM of Nowannygur was his most insimate friend, while the Nawab of JRaohampoor nsod to live in the same town he did. Nevertheless, the Ahkoond died.. A clergyman said that he onoe VMited.a laay of his parish, who had just lost her husband, M order to offer consolation; and UPON ht*r EARNEST inquiries as to the reunion of 1B heaven he strongly asserted his belief in that £ AC^, ausl WHEN she asked with anxiety whether ANY timi MUST elapse before friends would oe able to find each other in the next world, he emphatically said, NO! they will be unit*d at onoe." He we* thinking of thetoppioessot BEING able TO the relief of such a ^"HEN she broke in npon bis meditations by exclaiming sadjy, VW11, his first wife has got him bv this time THE Qu*fTI05f^ Pfciic»DjtNc*.— Xou look sad and DEAR," SAID the £ W £ T'I« IT? DO RIDEM HALL. Nn r ?1U? heath-clad HLUL ^NOT tW W" «<UD th« Mar- quess. & ox; THAT, but my mind mia £ »iv«<I M« U THINK THES-MARQUESS, *ot|lh»L r SNR F^I? C^NADIAM wiater; thinW LI'F ON a buter BITUU? morning, with the P THE thirties; think- °^W free*#—of my dear, Lowie being eowipellod by that preeettenea «ET:*3 first apd BWILD the kitohen firs."
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