The Pontypridd Chronicle and Workman's News

SYMPATHY. Like dew unto the thirsty flowers, When drooping 'neath a burning sky, » So to the heart in sorrow's hours Is the tear of earnest sympathy. Though thickly o'er us clouds may gather, And in out pathway thorns may spring, When one we love bears half the load, It takes away their sharpest sting. Like the soft moonbeam's silvery light, Glancing upon an angry sea, Soothing with saddened rays, yet bright, The turmoil raging wild and free So with the billows of the soul: When roused by grief they madly 4age ? Sympathy's kind loving tones Will the great trouble soon assuage. This great and ever-changing world Would be a desert dark and drear If none would answer back our smiles, Or wipe for us the falling tear. Earth's blossoms could not bring us gladness, It's trials we could never bear, Unless a dear one shared our joys And lightened half our grief and care.

[ALL EIGHTS RESERVED.] TESSA; | DY EMILIE SEARCHFIELD, j AUTHOR OF "SNOWDROP," ETC., ETC. j CHAPTER I. I first met her in her brother's house. I well re- member the time—I was a bride then, and Rob took me to see her before we were settled down to our every-day life. (As though life with him could sver be that!) He had told me about her before, how that they had been neighbours once, and that he had loved Tessa as a sister. Then came a break -he had gone away to carve out a future, and her parents had died, leaving her to the care of an only brother, who lived far away from her childhood's home. Now that brother was married, and Tessa was going out into the world to fight for herself. Her father had had no fortune to leave, so that unless she chose to remain a burden upon her brother, it could not well be otherwise. I see her now as I saw her then, in the bright, spring sun- shine, seated in her brother's parlour. Her figure was lithe and graceful, her face pure and fair as a little child's, while her hair, which was a golden brown, was twisted simply, yet tastefully, at the back of her head. That queenly head, how well it was poised on her graceful shoulders, and her hair made me positively envious. Mine was black, without a shade of brown at all, and I remember looking at Rob, to see if he were not lost in admira- tion of this fair girl. His eyes were, however, fixed on me, and the quiet smile he gave, in exchange for my glance, quite set me at rest. She wore a black dress, with a crimson bow fastening her dainty collar at the throat; yet, I noticed, otherwise simple as her attire was, she had some massive rings upon her- fingers, together with rich, -jewelled drops hanging from her shell-like ears. By her side sat her brother's wife, a nice woman in her way, but completely in the shade when Tessa was by. Yet to me she seemed not envious of her sister-in law's beauty; it was as it were, but a binding link between the two, for I read in the wife's face that she loved Tessa as a being wholly superior to herself. Nor was she very far wrong—but it was not then that I learnt to know the girl as she really was. 11 Right sorry I feel now to confess that I was glad when the interview was over, and Rob, looking at his watch, said that our train would soon be due for we had but stopped on our way home from Wales, whither we had spent cur honeymoon, to see this Tessa, whom we had often talked about during our sojourn amid the mountains. We said, Good-bye," and hurried away but when we were once more whirling away to what I called" my future," I asked Rob if he know why Tessa had neverhnarried. He started, as though some strange idea had flashed upon him, then smiled, and said in a tone of bantering good hufThmr—" Why, Dora, what a strange thing to ask ? I've known Tessa all my life, and such a thought has never even entered my head. Tessa, married, indeed Why I believe the long and short of it is, she's too good for any man living." Of course, I pouted at this-phinly he thought her better than myself, since he had not imagined me too good for him. He soon set me right upon that subject, though, for he petted and flattered me, till I was soon led to believe that Tessa's charms were as nothing compared to my own, and then I began once more to question him concerning her. Why did you so much wish me to see her, Rob ?" Well, darling, I had an idea that if anything ever happened to me, Tessa would stand by you as a true friend, or sister-" Here I interrupted him. But what is going to happen ? "Nay, little one, don't be frightened," and he stroked my hands fondly (be it known Rob and I were always going to be lovers). Still, you know, Dora, we are so utterly alone in the world not a single relation have we, far or near, and I thought inanyemergency Tessa wouldcome;to us, should we want her, and that was why I wished my little wife to know her." I paused awhile. Rob, I wonder how she got all those beautiful rings she wore ? You have often told me that they are poor, and so they must be, or Tessa would never think of working for a living. Quite a woman's idea, my dear. Now, I dare say you envied her those paltry baubles." But they are not paltry," I hastened to say. They arc real, and those earrings of hers must cost a small fortune in themselves." Yes, yes, I dare say," and Rob laughed. Then where did they come from ?" Where should they havccome from But foronce I will satisfy you. A lady, whom Tessa's mother knew, had in her family some very expensive jewels which were heir-looms she being the last of the family, and Tessa's godmother as well, left them to her by will, so that, you see, should Tessa be ever driven into a corner for money she has but to sell these, and she will be, as you say, worth a little fortune at once." I was beginning to feel generously disposed towards this girl, whose beauty I had at first envied. She will never want," I said warmly. "Indeed, I do not myself see why she need ever go out as a teacher. Let her come and live with us, Rob, I will be very good to her for-for your sake." There, it was said, and I was glad—glad to think that I had put away the last bit of jealousy out of my mind. Dora, you are a darling and he pressed me to his heart (we had the compartment all to ourselves) but Tessa would not think of such a thing. She will not even stay with her brother, now that she would be useless to him. Both he and his wife have asked her to stay on, I know, but she cannot be a burden, and, kind as your proposal is, I should not like to press it upon her, as she is far too independent to accept anything which is not hers by right," Has she nothing to call her own-I mean, no money at all ?" Yes, out of the small property left by her father to her brother, a sum of twenty pounds is paid to her yearly, being half of the whole he had to leave." Awhile I sat musing upon the strangeness of life's chances. Here was I, an almost stranger in my native land—for it was but three months since I had returned from India, and under most dis- tressing circumstances too. My father had died during the voyage, and I had landed as forlorn and friendless a creature as you can well imagine, and now my cup of happiness was full, for Rob was my husband. My mother had died before inv remem- brance, and at an early age of nine year s my father had taken me to India with him, in which land he had fondly hoped to acquire a fortune for me, his | only child. He, however, stuggled in vain, and ten years latfer he set sail for England, alike broken in health and spirits, and with scarcely sufficient to make a home for us when we sgain stood upon I our native soil. I, petted and spoilt, was totally unfit for what seemed in store for me—seemed, did I say Ah, it was more than that, for my dear father died on the way and I was left, poor and alone, in the wide, wide world. I met with Rob at the house of a lady, who kindly received me > till I could smother my grief sufficiently to do something, and he, bless his dear, kind heart, loved me as I was, with all my failings and shortcomings, and at once otlered me a home. Knowing, there- fore, how bare and hard the idea of working had been to me, I pitied Tessa, and then I iell to wondering how Rob, knowing her all his life, could have helped falling in love with her. Some- how I had quite settled it in my mind that she loved Rob, yet I do not think I put the idea into words it was little more than a vague feeling then, waiting, however, to dawn upon me more fully in days which were yet to come. Why little woman how serious you have grown." It was Rob who spoke, and the train had stopped 1 at our station. he, my husband, stood ready to hand me out, his handsome face looking unutter- able things the while. I am afraid Tessa was forgotten after that, for in my new home I was so happy and so busy, I having everything as yet to learn in the way of household matters. Still, in spite of my many blunders, Rob loved me, and the summer days were all to short for us, so full were they of deep love and precious hope. Oh, Rob Rob those were blissful days! days I shall never forget, days, too, thinking of the days which are yet to come. CHAPTER II. Again it was summer, and the sun shone brightly, but its heat only oppressed me, and I do not really think I felt it-I was simply wretched. Everything was dark to me, for my sun had set for ever (yet, oh, not for ever !). Rob was dead—died in those bright midsummer days, only the year before I had been so happy. We were happy, too, to the very last, for Rob was only ill for three short days-in fact, it came upon me so suddenly that I was utterly un- prepared for the blow. The questiop which pre- sents itself now to my mind is, v. hether any of us are prepared for such blows. I think not, and yet it seems that we ought to be when the light of life wanes and wanes, waxing still dimmer and dimmer as the days go by. Still, I know that, even, we cling to hope and believe, somehow, that the dying flame will yet grow stronger, and its very flickering uncertainty seems to bind us all the more firmly to this same hope, which in the end serves to make the blow all the more heavy to endure. I know that this is true, for I have watched by another death-bed since Rob went away, and the fair life *vhich died out then had been fading for months before the end came. But Rob I am forgetting him. He had com- plained of a bad pain in his head all one day, a; d then for two days he was ill, very ill. They said he had brain fever, and I knew not that his life was in danger. Had they said it was sunstroke, I should better have comprehended the truth. As it was I did not, could not believe that my husband was about to be taken from me. I nursed him carefully, and did not leave him for a single hour. There was a little Rob, too, demanding my attention at times, and they said that I ought to spare myself, ought not to stay so long in the sick room but a few minutes now and then were all I could bestow upon my baby, for Rob was more to me than all else in the world. Yet I did not know his danger, and stared in blank astonishment when the doctor told me that he would, in all probability, be sensi- ble towards the last. I must have been blind indeed not to have understood, from their many hints, how it would end, and yet I did not, and when at length it dawned upon me, my anguish seemed greater than I could well bear. Oh, Rob Rob I kept on moaning. It was the evening when I first learnt the truth, the evening upon which Rob died. So I rocked to and fro in my agony, and by-and-by, as I sat calling upon him, he, my dar- line, answered. What is it, Dora t I was calm at once, for if he were sensible, might he not get better ? Oh, I hoped so, and I grew calm for his sake, for I knew that my sobs would but excite and pain him. Nothing, dear, cnly I feared you would never spc.ik to me again," and I laid fresh ice upon his burning head, and kissed him fondly. Don't' speak, Rob, dear," for I saw his lips beginning to move. "It will make your head worse, and I want you to gob well." "Dora "-he would speak, and oh, I loved to listen to his dear voice— you will miss me sadly when I am gone, for—darling—I ?:<< go. I feel that I am going now but, Dora, there is a life beyond, and "—oh, how the agony swelled up in his voice, just here—"our love can be the same, we can belong to each other in heart, my wife, even as now." Again the bitter cry, Oh, Rob Rob wailed forth, and I instinctively lay my head by his on the pillow. He put one hand on my cheek, and even that was a great effort for him—he was dying-dying fast. "Dora, you have our boy. He will take my place, by-and-by, and be a com- fort to you in the meantime, you must try to think of all you have been to me. You have been, dear, the light of my life, you have made me happy -so happy," and his voice died away in a faint whisper. If I had made him happy before, at least I would not augment his sufferings now, so I put my own anguish aside, and there is a joy in my heart even now in thinking that I spared Rob all I could. His mind wandered at times, but I think he knew me till the last, and when all was over, I turned to my boy. They said that I bore up bravely but I only know that I suffered intensely in the days which followed. The darkened rooms, the soft foot-falls, the noiseless opening of doors—all struck upon my nerves, so that at times 1) feared that I should go mad, or die. It would have been worse but for little Rob but for him I struggled against my feelings, and, in the end, won. At times— little by little, I mean, as he was D.ble-Rcb had told me to write to a friend of his, who was a lawyer, and who would, as he said, come at my request and settle everything for me. I ought, -1 .7, perhaps, to say that Rob only left London at my request, and as India had done but little for me in the way of health, he said that country air would be best therefore we took up our abode amid rural scenes as soon as we returned from our brief honey- moon. He further told me what I did not know before, namely, that he had insured his life, and that the sum I obtained upon his death Mr. Burnett (his lawyer-friend) must invest, so as to secure me a small, yearly income this, together with some little interest on money left by his father, and which Rob wished, if possible, to be preserved for our boy, was all I had to depend upon. Mr. Burnett came, and was most kind, and my heart seemed somehow to turn to him because he had known Rob. He stayed on with me two days after the funeral was over, and, when he left, per- suaded me to accompany him to the railway, urging that a walk would do me good. On the way he talked much to me, advising me as to what I ought or ought not to do, winding up with an inquiry as to whether there was any place to which I could go for change—any place where I could be among friends, who would care for me, and try to cheer me in my sorrow. I thought and thought, and then remembered that somewhere on the sea- coast lived a woman who had nursed me when a child, and who had married shortly before I left England for India, and settled down in this same sea-side village. I had written to her from time te time, so was quite sure of her whereabouts but since life had been for me so full of love and happi ness, I had entirely forgotten her till now. Still I had no doubt but that she would receive me, and Mr. Burnett seemed highly pleased with the idea, « provided old Martha, my one servant, accompanied me then, after seeing me settled, he said that she ought to return, if possible, to take care of my cot- tage home. However, that can be arranged afterwards," he said, and having reached the rail- way, he turned from me to procure his ticket. I felt very, very sad a friend was leaving me, and I knew it—I, who was so h-ipless to act and think for myself. After the final farewell bad be< n spoken I lingered on the platform, watching one and another. I would, at least, catch the last look and smile of Rob's friend, the man who had been so kind to me, too, for his sake. Looking round upon the crowd of passengers who had alighted, I ob- served one, a lady, standing with her back towards me. Surely I had seen her before—that 1 the, willowy figure and graceful carriage of the head. • i

1 JEALOUS WIFE'S FREAKS At the Stratford Petty Sessions Alice Giffard, • respectably dressed person, carrying a baby and living at Oeborno Roml, Forest Gate, was sum- moned for assaulting Elba Adams, a inarrict* woman at 220, Osborne Road, on Jan. J.—Cotn- plainant said that one afternoon she was sitting in her kitchen wit.h her family, when suddenly tha defendant appeared at the window. She went on 1.0 I.he door, threw it violently open, and going into tlio house hurled a pair uf fOlippcr8 at witness. They missed her, but. struck one of the children. -]11 reply to Mr. Smith (the Cleik), complaillaull further stated that the defendant lived next door. and that she must, have g(lt over the wall. Sinca Dec. 18, the defendant, bad repeatedly been a Source of annoyance, and the had accused witnesa of immoralty wit.h her (Guard's) husband, but wit. ness had never ppoken to that gentleman. Wit. neSH had received libellous post-cards, and she had had pn pers fastened to the door. Tho bench ordered defendant to pay the costs and to be bouud over to keep the peace fur i.5.

A DEVONSHIRE TRAGEDY. A shocking murder has been committed at Tawton, a rural parish about) four miles from Okehampton, Devoi^hire. Robert Arscott, author of the crime, is about gixty-tive, and the victim was his wife, ho was twelve vears younger. They had been married I hirt y-three years, and there had been fourteen children. Arscott and his wife had charge of a small farm. Owing to his threats and strange behaviour, M rfO. Arscoit one night slept at the house of a married daughter. -.On the follow- ing morning she returned with her daughter, and then Arscott made three attacks on her with a razor, telling her that her time had cftnie. Twioe tho daughter got him away, but on the third attempt he succeeded in cutting his wife's throat, and she died soon afterwards. Subsequently Arscott cut his own throat, and is in a critical Condition. No cause can be assigned for the act.

ARREST OF THE MURDERER OF AN ITALIAN MARQUIS. The Cunard Steamer Set via, which has arrived at Queenstown from New York, brings t he par- ticulars of the arrest of an Italian, named Petra Dinarvo, at Stamford, Connecticut, 011 l'ec. 27, foe the murder of the Marquis (liun'o Sonduzzi, a re- tired army officer, who was brutally killed in his own mansion at Torella, Italy, in February, 188^, his body being horribly mutilated, and all Lils family jewels and plate, valued at several million dollars, carried off. Dinarvo, who admits his com- plicity in the murder of the marquis and rubbery of his proper!3r, made a desperate resistance when the del.ecl.ives attempted to arrest him at his lodgings, but. he was overpowered. On being con- veyed by train to Mew York, he offered his escorfc ane thousand dollars as a bribe to permit hitn to escape. In a subsequent statement made by Dinarvo, he said two other men were engaged with himself in the murder of the marquis, and the booty stolen was equally divided between them fouc months afterwards. He managed to escape ta America. Dinarvo will be conveyed by Lhe Anchor Liner California to Italy for trial.

LEAVING A DEAD CHILD IN A TRAIN. The Canterbury Coroner iDr, T. S. Johnson) held tminquiry into the circumstances attending tha discovery of the body of a male child at t he local station on the South-Eastern Railway. The evi- dence went to show that a young woman took a ticket for Chatham, and while awaiLillg the arrival ol the train was observed to have a parcel in bee possession. When the train drew up i-he enlered a third-class compartment in which boy wat sitting, and deposited the package under the seat, bub alighted, saying she woul i be back in ft minute. SII. did not, however, return, aid the parcel wa. handed to the ticket collector as that train moved off. It was opened, and found to con- tain khe body of deceased. When this discovery was made, the ticket-collector remembered that the young woman referred to had left the station -6" 1.1.- "'1.1'' 'IV UI' ,V I", 'J frielld8 hall not ¡lfTi"e(1 she should not travel. The police were promptly communicated with, aiul the g-irl apprt-hended about ;i couple of hours later. She was fonud to be the daughter of a labouring man residing at Tyler Hill, near Canleibury- named Nicholls. An open verdict was returned.

SHOCKING ATTEMPTS AT SUICIDE The ot her night a man and a WOlllall were Iyln £ In the Edwarl and Alexandra Wards, at Sts. Thomas's Hospital, in a (lying stale from self- inilieted wounds. At ten o'clock on the previous morning, w hile I'oIice-oiMcer John Sheppard, No. Road he was informed that his services were re- quired at No. SS in the same road. 011 forcing open one of the bedroom doors the officer dis- covered a man stretched across a bed and bleed- '"n profusely from a terrible gash across his neek. severing the windpipe. An open razor was lying j near his liuht hand, showing that it. was a case of attempted suicide. He has been identified as Ale. Josea Frederick Las! a master baker.—Tin second case was a most deliberate attempt suicide by flow bleeding. The would-be suicide, Emily A. Pitts, aged 53 years, residing at No. 7\ Harleyford Roa 1, KenningUm Ova!, was di*- covered by a lodger in a semi-comatose state. la order to terminate her existence she severed ties radial artery of her left wrist, with a small tabid knife. Police-constable No, 01, L Division, was* just called in time, and bandaged her arm or slid would have died from exhaustion consequent upoa the self-inflicted wound.

IMPOSING OX THE BEXEYOLENT. At the Manchester County Police Court Fanny Thornley, aged 19, domestic servant, was charges with obtaining money by false pretences at Eccles. Evidence was given from which it appeared that many complaints had been made to the police of a woman w ho was obtaining money on the pretenoc that she was collet ting fur a charitalJlc institution. I On Doc. 10 the prisoner went to the residence of Dr. Rae, and said she was collecting money for provid- ing the poor with cheap meals at a ragged schooL She produced a book, alld Mrs. Rae gave her i's. 6d. and entered (.he amount, in the book, wuich con- tained other subscriptions. Mr. Fred Scott;, ho»u secretary for the Cheap Meals Committee, deposed that he knew nothing whatever of the prisoner* and she was not. authorised to collect subscription* for the committee. The girl was further charged with stealing a cloak in November last. Tlw prisoner had called to obtain subscriptions for s ragged school, mid on the following day the cloak was missed. The stipendiary sentenced the pri- eoiier to 21.

THREATS OF VIOLENCE. At the Liverpool police-court,, before three of the borough magist.ra! es, Catherine Curl and Catherine Umber, mother and daughter, were charged with using threats of violence towards Margeret Garretty, in Gieat. Homer Street, on Dec. 2(1. The younger prisoner, Curl, ha,1 already sulfered tlii-ee imprisonment, through bitillg finger oft the complainant. The latter wag walk- ing along the street on the day in question, when the defendants came up to her, and Curl said the next, timo she met her she would bit« her nose otf, and she would then be a nose short as well as a finger. The defendant Umbec j then said to her daughter, "No, don't bite her nose throw vitriol over her and blind her, M that she will have l.o be led about, by a dog with string." The defelice, was that this story was a fabrication. After hearing the evidence the magistrates bound over the defendants in £ ]0eacb to keep the peace for si.,c and ordered them to pay the costs before they left the courk The money, 3'.s., was paid.

REPORTED ATROCITIES IN MACEDONIA. Very unfavourable news has readied Vieunc from Macedonia, where the oppression of thtf peasantry hy the Begs, or landowners, is said be have reached a culminating point. TitoBefsa.M represented to be behaving with the old rapacity towards the unfortunate peasants, and to be emulating the monstrous tyrannies t = a i" heralded the severance of Bulgaria from Tu ey. Thosa peasants who have applied for legal proceeding. against these acts of injustice have usually been imprisoned, the Turkish authorities being in !eagu« with the Begs. The Sultan is kept in absolute ignorance of this state of things. The dcspaic and exasperation of the peasants have, it is adiied. reached a dangerous stage, and if things continue as at preset)b serioua consequences will inevitably follow. 1,