The North Wales Chronicle and Advertiser for the Principality

VALE OF CLWYD RAILWAY-FEBRUARY, 1860. -————————————————— UP TRAINS. ——————————'—————— DOWN TRAIN8. Denbigh to Bbyl. 2,3 1,2,3. l.&2,18&31,2,3. 12 Pai Rhyl to Denbigh. 1 & 2 1,2,3. 1. 2. 3. 1. 2, 3. 12 & 3 12Par Lea" am, 1.1 '1. P-1. P-1". p.m. Leave a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. a.m. DES BJG't;a: 'Õ I',j a:. r'Tö à' .mÖ L..do." 6 5 7 SD Ttefnant 8 28 10 ?4?: 1 38 ? :I 68 Birmingham 8 45 n 45 1 0 St \»aDh 8 36 10 55 146"36t6 CMMrton. 7 35 8 30 12 40 5 0 Rh?n 850 11 10 156??630 BM?r 8 15 9 15 1 20 5 40 f?d S57tt7 I> n ?f 't,r,ia*'rinltn. 100 12"04 30 F",Yd 5 11 25 2 10 6 47 Liverpool 6 50 110 I'a 45 0 Ch?.t?? 10 10 3 55 9 15Ch,?.t" 8 15 12 0 2 30 56 35 ti?rDoo'l" H5 ? 4 50 9 35 RHYL 9 30 11 50 245 5 0 8 0 M'ter via W'inirtn » 0 6 55 Foryd, arrive at 9 35 11 55 SJ 5 5 « 5 R.?n 1 35 71", Rhuddlan 9 43 12 5 3 5 13 8 13 9 51 12 2 0 E,.5' 2 5 13 8 13 B'?' 1040 3 25 4 55 6 25 9 8 St. Asaph 9 55 12 20 S'S5268M Ca ?on' HI530 7 5 9 45 Tref?nt 105H30:=S53;835 ;o. V. Vi là 1& 930. DENBIGH. t015i94< g 7, n

BANGOR AND CARNARVON RAILWAY-FEBRUARY, 1860. Week Days. Sun y.. il,2,&l&21,2,&l,3,& 1&3 C.von to I & 2'1 & 2 Cl.?, 'ir,d. Parl. 5rd. Mail. Bangor. c,aafi 3rd, Leave a.m. ,,n ? p.m. p.m. j p.m. p.m. -7 Carna..on 7 35 8 30 11 ?O'-2i4?0 oI P. 5 p 0 8 I..29.6 "T 4i 5 p 50 8 p 29 Griffith'. Cr88ing 7 41 830 1\ 56 1246 5 6 651 556 Po,t Din.r??, 749 8 44 12 4,)11 54 5 14 8 39 6 59 6 4 8 i9 in Sif;1?8? Ig 8.-9 |5| |jJ 8." "abrWT"Ardv^ 8 &5 9 °0 11 20fjj05 30 8JU 7 15 6 20 8"51 Ban r?ri?e, a5 90,11 '.0,10 530 a7 15620 8.51 ?_ "Week Davs. Sundays. W?ek Day.. Sundays. » ^| r&TT' & TTT&X" „ 2 I j i „ | |cia»a. 3rd. Mail.1 Tarl. 3rd. [ Bangor to M" 2 1 2 rd 1. 3rd. i « m a m. a m. p.m. p.tn. | p.m. p.m. a.m. a.m. p.m. ~™1 LeaT8 3 58 9 30 10 45 U 2 30 P. 9 15 3 56 10 5 9 10 a56 116 ?l? 4i 2 30 6?'ipp P' Menai Bridge 934 10 49 2 34 6 919 9 14 l'reborth. 937 1052 I" 2 87 \42 922 \1012 917 Trebor?h. 945 110245 5 0 20 9 2 ío;"ig:I:: g 6 l Cr..??. ng .4" 6 1 io6 1; :3 0 75 94514 210 35 9 40 <261035 940

NANTLLE RAILWAY—FEBRUARY. I STATIONS. N.I-- No, 1. No. 2. No. 3. No. 4. I LRTVBS P M. P.M. LEAVES A.M. A.M. A.M. P.M. P.M LEAvEs A..0 3 0 5 30 Nantile'A. A.M. P:" ° NBy' 1 20 3 IS 6 48 P e nygro e 9"io 11 *i5 4 0 6 'i5 nro; 9 30 n"l5 4-0 6 45 BontN?ydd. 11 30 3 'o 6 3 G res ?. 9 45 11 30 4 12 7 0 pivllhN,! ei =.1 1 30 ?? ?? pwUh.tiRoad 9 52 U97 4 20 7 7 Gro.oLon. 1140 338 612 pwllheliRoad. 952 1137 420 11 Pen-y-groes 12 0 4 « « 5 6 30 Bont Newydd 10 10 13 55 4 35 7 25 'tli:r.o. I. 0 4.. 0 6..0 :nre,ai1'" :n g g gg ng NantUe ""??"???p?YS and F?iRDAY?.. Train win)MVt CMrnarvon Ca.tle at 4 p.m.. for Pen.???oes.

CHESTER AND MOLD RAILWAY—FEBRUARY, 1860. l'KA~ DOWN TRAIN. Mold to Chester. -p?- '??"r???T? "s?ttay. Chester to Mold. 12? 1 2 12 1 2 ?unday-. -¡:-e- P m. p.m. a.m. a.m. Mold Leave. 0 a1 435 ?''??  M ? Cheater..?.?.? ??0 ?!) ?' 7 30 ,?iold 9 3 "'S7 8M6M Brou'j!htoR.982285S!89i!.<9&3T38 BroughtoH 9 8 2 38 5 28 8 23 9 53 7 38 p 8 8 11 8 4 43 723 85 58 6 43Hope 9?24?942 8 37 10 7 7 53 Padeswood 8U 11 U 4 47 1 jj 7 §527 9 32 2 53 g & 1 8 441 7 1'1 0 1?i i li lIroug" ".16 Lio?.93.!25'!5M)i47tUI782 "h.pr -.arrive 8 35 11 31> _5 10 7 50 19 29 ?,, M.M.arr<-<.9403C608M)0258IO

■ LLA» NMIiDnLi OOEcfS b AAJNMU D NnEr. WTOWN AND NEWTOWN AND MACHYNLLETH RAILWAYS. TIME TABLE FOR FEBRUARY, 1860. i-^——'Truina. Kitra 'I'raina. Ordinary 1 rains1 ffEx.itrn a T1 rraniinnn s. £ — L. M. tttf '??? ?? STATIONS. G. H. I. K. L. M. STATIONS. A. B„ | c c- u" LL_ I 1, 2,3, ruesdayslSaturdaYB luegdays. °&t. 1,2.3I,2,P.l,2,3.I,2,3.I,2,3,I,2,3. ?9.P.l,).?.3?.?3.1.3.).i!,it. w m a m n m. -L;I- p.m. p.m. 'Le?e '°.?'"i';?'°°,; !) ?30 ?'30' Newto??.X'<)?§'? 8 15 5 30 12 '3!) Uani<i)<.M.??tS'"?438238 MoatL.n.)! 342 9ti! 825 542t!!4S! n I 2 ? 1I11 I 9 15 4 45 2 45 I'ea:¡g2 i g g ¡; Han?m. ???????4Ma50 Dol,,?n 10 i71 3571927 8 37 557 112 57 Moat Lao. 5 1-1 5 ? 9 33 5 0 3 0 Ll,.idio 10 351 45 9 85 8 45 65 1 51 I .l"IIeW¡'\lWU 1 A. Arri.etatNewtownintimeforthe?yaina? Coach through Weishpool to oswestry Station daily also. for Powell's Coach through Montgomery and ChirburytoShrevB J station on Monda)s, Wednesdays, Thursdays. and Saturdays. The Alliance thro?h M.ntxomery and Ch.rbury ? Shre? ? i?.?ction with the Royal Oak Cuach.-B. The Greyhound Coach from Aber- C?hho"' ?'?'??????n?i??hthi. Wa on u T??"' y,, a"' "tu" D, E. K. L. On Tues- r n tio d only.-F. M. -n 'u?d so. T hu.' Co.?h ?r- 7 w"ury t,to, 'or Abervstivith runs in connection da?'o??M??aHr'?oniy.-H. TheGr?un? ??.? ????? ttort:; mry nOt wS? S Train on Mond..?, ?'?''?.? ?aturda?. and the B.yat O.k Coach daity hem O.we.try SUUon through ????:??'???? ??? Shrew?ury). arr?. ? _to_. in ti f ra. TD Irfliuia Fair Days,

ST. GEORGE'S HARBOUR RAILWAY-FEBRUARY, 1860. Qt> HaIIM. Fm 1 & 2 I I O. O LLANDUDNO T??WtT JUN. __I_ 1&2. — A.M. A.M. p.m. P-M ?' Leave I JQ 5 15 Llandudno O 35 | 1 40 '*5 •• Junction,trri'ett. ?? 5 51 Conw.y.. "?: MM SM 6M CM?MTon 10 «. 2 38 &? 11 45 !55 •«•• "15 Cb,t.r 123 450 935 !t:)\; \\I!\ ¡\\ II 'III! 1111 ill" :1 II Li",r", •• 25 7,45 Manchester (via Crewe) 2^ •••••• wol,.rh-"t.n -? ?5 Biraingham 15 ?o Lo.d- DOW.. 'l'AH'' ONWAYJUNCTJONTOLL4NDUD — j'?_' ? L""I 2| I_ ? ?__ I,8,&8'  ?we *-°'' ?? ? ?: io1 ,n1o 5 -=- 0 0 London 8 45 Birmingham 8 45 1 15 150 Wo?h"mpten 150 (oIa Warrington) 10 0 130 ? (via Warrington) n „ 3 [5 Liverpool   m :1:1 :¡ r Cheater 007 1 12 5 80 Rhyl ? ? ?-"? ;„ )240 50 0- $so 1 go •••• •••• •».. 5 40 B. 910 20 5 40 BM<or. jj? tM ;? :¡ 4° I I. CO .J Q **4 2 0 1 12. {r:}i ? E ? '}? ? ?

GREAT WESTERN-SHREWSBURY. CHESTER& LIVERPOOI. SECTION—F £ BROARV. -■ WEEK DILYS. SUNDAY- Leave 1 2 1 21 2 12121212 1 211 2 1 2 3 I 2 ¡ -1- ?b?. 6' i'35. i,a :'Tö 'ö l? 7* ? ?? Ih,Illll 449 9355 0 2 35 4 58 5 3 55 11 229 45 5 2?, B..h?,?h J 7 "« 8 40 2 35 4 58 5 30 7 55 11 22 9 45 5 25 ?r. 722 12'45 I> 5.0 n 5 16 10 5 5 4S Whittington 7 31 5 16 10 5 645 Oobowen 7 38 » o u — 8 5 2 5 50 8 „ u 4l 500 O.t?y (B,. ) d 7 25 8 55 I ?o 55 12 45 2 48 5 5 5 40 8 7 11 30 to 3 5 40 —.(?: ? 9 ? s ?r???.??? ;» :g 2g 4g Chirk 7 45 9111111 17 3 5 529 825 11 48 10 2060 f:oli;'d: u g à I :5 6"2 8 ¡ 1l.8 :g: g Cefn 8 2S5 3 .9 -2j5 11 -A2j 2 1 w 3 *is 540 '103610 Ruabon 3li'ig l'i2 3Ï8 54 9 6it 8 i7 120 0 3767 ,fot.d 88 16 9 37 11 34 34 3 30 II 624 849 12 12 0 48630 W".h 8 21 9 45 # 10 51 131 ::d. 3'39 ?? 8 59 ¡ 5g .tt I "1 I.r 6'o 1110655 cheswr' « "? ?'M I» JM gg 6:io 9"i5 12'35 n g 5 Chester 8 50 511 1 3630 9 11 l? 11 20 7 5 Chester dep. in 0 1i5 t ?t?' !)a 4 0 7õ/7õ 9i8 iï25 7"lá" Ch?.r.d.p. C"'?'°'? (j) ?73094S5)5 H55810 Ir kenL h:: ding?i.' ?_ ? 1? H JJL 1? =1? 10 5 5J5 12 15 8 30 Birkenhead 9W ll__ ==g= ^fgr== SUNDAYS. ———t?e???7T??Tl2I2j?????????_ 'J3123 ——————— Tm7 Tn.7 T. '???'P.P.? ??3!i ?' ITo Cheater .arreivpe I" 7^ 11 0 45 4 20 5 0 6 30 8 30 4 10 ??: ???;;?? ? :??j?_  Cheater Rrrive8 50 1145620 10 15 Cheater .depart 8 0 815 99 0 jo 45 190 2 45 4 15 5 30 5So ?45 9-50 5 10 Chester 5 36 5 36 7 51 9 56 5 16 8 23 r:=:[t IO"ÔS 428 rs g p I lloasett 8 36 10 436 5 JW 57 5 57 8 9 10 18 0 3 Grerford 8 44 il 6 ?° 557 55718 9 10 18 38 Wreaham 8 57 9 25 11 16 12 25 3 10 4 46 10 44 S 4 Kuabon 9 10 11 30 3 22 4 58 10 44 6 4 Cef. 916 11 35 6 28 628 10 00 610 9 16 11 35 8 39 10 55 J 15 ?'"?. ? :??33?9 ? g: :g ¡ obown 9 34 9 11 53 i2 55 3 40 5 18 6 48 a 48 8 55 11 111 S8 ?———.B?. 924? :? ?33. ?5 ? ? ? J^8 O.we.try ( ) 94(0 0 is3 110 3 bO 530 7 07o9 5  SSL-b: |S" 'bI 55 6 55 88 « I .dnal 48  [) 28 7. 7 2 8 5 11 196 39 5 ? 7 .1 713 ?5 Iso « igS?'-= ?? ?!? ? ? ? ? ?!S I 7 r,l 140 7 0 j—s_??s 10 25 10 30 12 35 | 1 25, 4 15 5 55 I [7 35 9 30 I

"FATE."—By S. PALMER. I ( Concludedfrom our last.) I Six months have elapsed. The bells of S-- church SiF t i onths have el, ap i :al, h. b.,? = i a el are ringing a wedding peal, the churchyard is strwn with dowers, and all the houses are decked with gar- lands. It is a balmy morning in Spring, the hedges are bursting forth into living green, and the com is waving like a sea of gold. It is twelvemontbs all but one short week since Phillip parted from Mary in the Green Lane to return a honest man to claim her as his own bride. Standing in an animated conversation are two beings, blighting the fair morning and the balmy air with an at- mosphere of crime. Madge Martin and Tom the Skin- ner are there, the former leaning on a stout oaken sap- ling, "I tell yer I heard it twelve months ago; and they parted in this very lane, and she said, Return an honest man, and I will marry you." Madge spoke this with vehemence, as though her words had been doubted by her companion. Well, tell me how you could bear it, and then I'll believe yer." said Tom. With an im- precation she rose her staff, as though to strike him, and her lips were pale with wrath. Tom's brow lowered, and the staff fell to the ground. Now, good Tom, you should not rise an old woman's blood; you know I love you like a mother," said the old hag; with a ser- pent's smile she continued, "I saw Phillip Rawdy pass the hut one day, and make for the turnpike road I fol- lowed out of curiosity, as I wanted to know his haunts it was Sunday, and he came here to wait till she came out of church. They walked together talking, and he told her he had horded with worse than beasts until now, meaning you and I, Tom," (she looked at the skinner under her brow, as she said these last words; there was a scowl of vengeance on Tom's face, and with a chuckle she went on) and how he'd tried to get a living, and nobody would have bim; and then she told him to come back honest, and she would marry him.- You know where Rawdy is; all you have to do is to send a letter to him from Mary's father; do you under- stand? (Tom nodded) telling him to return to marry Mary; of course he'll come, and then we have our bird trapped trust to me for the rest, and the reward is our's but I bear the happy bride and bridegroom approaching; off to your work, post the letter which is to bring Rawdy here; when that is done, meet me at the but." They parted, each different ways; the old woman scrambling over the churchyard wall with extraordinary agility, whilst the skinner scampered down the road. Just as he disappeared, two carriages with postillions, and two pairs of borses to each, dashed round the turning oppo- site the church. The horses had white favours to their heads, and the postillions flowers to their button-holes. At the church door they stopped, the wicket was opened. From the carriage stepped the happy bride and bride. groom-Mary Leslie and David Dalton,-Changed in- deed was she who now was going to swear to love and cherish one for whom she had no feelings but contempt. Her face was deadly pale, and the eyes were sunken and dim that but a short time since had sparkled with health and liveliness. The bridegroom looked smiling and happy, only once as a strange circumstance occurred, did his brow cloud in its brightness. As they opened the wicket to enter the church yard, an owl with a strange wail toppled dead from its nest in the ivy, and dropped right in their path. The ignorant by-standers shook their heads and whispered it was an omen of awful im. port; but on the bride it had no effect: she had omens enough in her own heart. They entered the church, they stood at the altar, the old minister was there with an open book, and the sun through one of the windows shone round his white head like a glory ray. Mary was calm, and did not shed a single tear. The responses she gave in a firm voice. It was soon over, and with a fal- tering benediction from her friend, (the old minister) it was dqne for ever together till "death did them part." When they re-entered the carriage, they were whirled away amidst loud huzzas from all around Poor Phillip Rawdy! The first act of the tragedy is over; the last act is Death. Amidst the whirling of machinery with hundreds of men working around him, sits at a desk Phillip Rawdy his face is more full in its lines his eyes have lost all that sinister light they had when we saw him last; and when he speaks to any around him, it is with a smile.— He had struggled hard with the demon Vice, and had conquered; when he felt the struggle hardest, he would look at the ring Mary had given him, and pressing it to his lips, would persevere in the right path for her sake. When he left S- it was without any settled idea in his head as to what he was going to do. He went to Birmingham, and having tried his hand at designs for furniture, for which he had talent, and pleased some lurge manufacturers who had engaged him regularly in their employment as a designer, gave him constant em- ployment, on the conditions that he designed for no one else. He agreed; and thus happy and contented, we find him" an honest man." There was aglow of exulta- tion about his heart he had not experienced for years before. That morning he had received a letter, the con- tents of which astonnded him; but astonishment soon gave place to joy, and his heart fluttered like a bird in his breast. The contents of the letter went thus:- Dear Phillip,—Mary has confessed all to me. My feelings are changed towards you. Come over at once. —JAMES LESLIE." Long he pondered how could Mary's father have found out his address ? What had so changed his feel- ings ? In vain did he try to solve these enigmas. By the night train that day Phillip was rattling along to- wards S-, How strange are the workings of fate in the same carriage with Phillip was a man who slept muffled up in great coats and wrappers, sleeping the whole joumey. He was the butler of Lady Danvers, on his way to seek the very man who sat next to him, but whom he knew not. How different may have been the ending had they but have spoken. The train at last reached its destination, and a coach which met it was to convey Phillip on to S-. As the coach was start. ing, they were conveying a man to the infirmary who had been taken with apoplexy. It was the butler of Lady Danvers who should have gone by the same coach as Phillip. Thus fate seemed workmg around and around Rawdy with all its meshes, until at last came the awful finale. At early dawn the coach reached within two miles of S-. It went no further, and Phillip proceeded to walk the remaining distance. Every spot was well known to him, and he blushed as he passed some spot where wrong had been done; his past life came more palpably before him now than it had ever done, but he tried to forget it, as he would have done a hideous dream. Just as these thoughts came upon him, he turned a corner of the road fast hobbling towards him was Madge Martin. In the grey light of the early morning, and with his thoughts full of past misdeeds, her coming seemed a fitting accompantment. When she met him, he would have passed on but standing right in his path, she said, "Phillip Rawdy, if you are wise, stay. "Thank heaven, Madge Martin, I am free now from your thraldom of crime. Cross not my path the past by me is forgotten, and your presence but conjures up scenes I would fain forget." His brow darkened as he spoke, like shadows over a lake." Phillip Rawdy, when you were starving, did I not get you gold ?" asked the old hag. True, Madge, you did but by what means ? I shudder when I think of it, and in the silent night, I awake from my dreams, bathed in perspiration at those deeds. But now," he added, changing bis manner, and standing erect, "lam honest, and shall 1. Your head is very herd with such as you no more^ Your head is very high now, Phillip mind, you have not yet to come to the old hut; I came to tell you news, as a friend but go on to your wife and happiness." Without waiting for a,reply, she turned abruptly on her heel. Madge was grieviously disappointed she had expected a cordial reception on their meeting, when she could so have worked on the man's passions, that he would have done ottt/?tM for revenge. ;s e have seen how he met her, and she now trusted, when he beard 01 iviary a marriage, ne would at once come to the but, as that was formerly his home. Rawdy walked on absorbed in thought, which would be difficult to analyze. How would Mary meet him? Why did she not write? And Madge Martin his old companion in crime being the first to wish him joy; these things beset and beat about his brain like a nut-shell tossed by the sea waves. James Leslie's bouse was before him, unchanged in the honeysuckled porch, and the primly cut holly trees before the door, unchanged in the whiteness of its door step, and the brightness of its knocker. There was a stillness in the air; and the beating of his heart could be heard as he rapped. At the first summons the door opened, and he was face to face with Leslie. Leslie looked in silence at him, evi. dently not knowing him. Phillip began—"Mr. Leslie. Walk in," he replied. Rawdy obeyed, thinking this a strange welcome. Leslie's brow darkened, he recognized Rawdy. —" What want you here 1" he said sternly. He He received no answer, for Phillip was speechless with astonishment. At length he stammer'd-" Mr. Leslie, do you know me ?" It would be strange if I did not know Rawdy, the reprobate," said Leslie. Dark pas- sions were gathering round Rawdy's heart at this recep- tion but curbing his passions till the veins in his fore- head swelled like cords, he calmly said, I do not understand this reception Mr. Leslie, after receiving this;" as he handed the letter he had received to Leslie. He read it-His face grew livid with rage, and pointing to the door, he hoarsely wispered.—" Fool, you have been gulled, this letter is a forgery." Ap. proaching Rawdy so closely that his hot breath burnt his cheek, he hissed forth,—" Why did you obey this sum. mops?" What. know you of my daughter?" With rage, high as he who spoke, Rawdy shouted,—" Old man, I came to marry your daughter.-She is mine before heaven, and by the vows she swore to me, I claim her. Where is she ? Tamper not with, me; I'd teat down the house but I would find her." Mad with passion, he fiercely shook the olet man, (who had sunk into his chair resting his head on the table.) He shook him furiously, be stirred not. Rawdy gazed into his face, his profane arm dropped, as though palsied to his side. He had been shaking a corpse. The shock had broken the golden bowl-the silver cord was loosed, and the boat had drifted into death. Rawdy gazed a moment on the dead; turned afld walked away- Where ? we shall see. When one of the domestics entered the kitchen she found her master dead. None had seen Rowdy enter; none saw him depart. An inquest was held upon his body, and a verdict returned of "Natural Death." The prey was netted; safe in the hunters' toils was the victim. In the hut on the Glen is Philip Rawdy, with a wildness in his eyes similiar to that when he leaned over the churchyard wicket. His chin rested on his hands, and with his elbows resting on his knees, he was listening to Madge Martin, who on the opposite side of the fire, was talking earnestly to him. She had an apt pupil, and as she talked, his eye gleamed brighter :n nd he muttered to himself. It was night. All day since the morning bad he wandered listlessly without an aim. Food he thought not of; and the corpse of Leslie was before him, mingled with the confused memory of the letter that had caused it. He wanted to see Mary Leslie, but he could not approach the bouse,-be was going mad. It was night; and through the small window shone high up in heaven the silvery moon. It fell with its rays on a sharp knife which lay on the rough table before them. Rawdy mechanically, as Madge spoke with greater earnestness, reached out his band and placed it on the knife. The hand and knife went into his vest; the hand alone re- turned. Madge saw and smiled. Philip knew all now. Madge told him tbe letter had been sent by Tom the Skinner before Mary's wedding, but it had been delayed and had reached him too late. He only tmiled, but in that smile there was an awful expression of ghostly despair—despair without a hope, without a single star of comfort to gleam o'er the dark night of his soul. Madge went on she told him that she and her husband had gone to a ball; they would return late; they would pass a certain part of the road; if Phillip wished to see her, he could see her there, for the last time, as she went past. Thus the old hag talked softly as a cat purring. As \beT:¡k: obfptal,tlY Sh c\¡,uJt he was soon forgotten. He would see her as she passed He abruptly arose and opened the door. The moon- beams streamed now on Madge's figure in the back- ground. There was a glow of demoniacul joy on her face and from her lips came a chuckle of joy. Without uttering a word Rawdy stepped out of the hut, and his figure soon appeared like a shadow far down in the glen. « Tom. run, lose no sighfof him, and when he has seen her be will," she drew her finger across her throat signi- ficantly, -1 and then without any fresh crime on our part we sball get the thousand," shouted Madge. All right, Madge; he's book'd," said a voice through the window, and from his concealment Tom the Skinner walked rapidly down the glen after Rawdy. A travelling carriage was proceeding along the road at a rapid pace in the moonlight; inside were two people. Dalton and his wife were there they were on their way to their father. At his death, a messenger had been sent to where they were staying; and from the ball-room, with all its glittering splendour, its beauty and its chivalry," had she come to watch in solemn silence the dead at home. Since her marriage a sort of apathy had settled over her spirits, and good or ill news had no effect on her. To her husband she was dutiful; he asktld no more, and he was kind and gentle to her. Thus was she gradually sinking into a quiet state of contentment; and now as they rolled on with the moon flooding the white road with its fantastic shadows, she thought of Phillip, but not with love, for her duties to her huiband forbade that, but with gentle pity and com- passion. A figure stands with folded arms clearly defined in the light, waiting, with strained eyes, for the appeamnceofsome one. It is Phillip Rawdy. The carriage is near-is closer—is gone—and he has seen her not, bat gazes with a stupid stare after it. There was a devii gnawing at his heart and whispering revenge on her perfidy. But how? And when he asked this question of himself, his hand would seek his vest and rest upon the handle of the knife he had there. He wan- dered down the road and in the direction of the church, whose "ivy-mantled tower" was visible through the plantation of trees which Phillip entered, and soon was in the churchyard. In one corner was a green mound, and over it, waved a willow, weeping gracefelly with its drooping branches, an everlasting mourner. Phillip stayed here: it was the grave of his parents. He had not wished to see it; but when the demon was at his heart something drew him, as though by an invisible cord, to this spot. All his acts of disobedience and heartlessness rose to his mind as he looked upon the turf that covered them, and with strong agony he wept. Turning on his beel. he left the spot. Where now ? He would go to her house, he thought. Down the lane until he reached Leslie's house he went. From one of the windows streamed a light. He felt what chamber that was it was the chamber of death; and he knew there was a silent watcher o'er the body that he wished to see. Through the door, which was unlocked-up the staircase to the room which held the dead, he went. Silently he raised the latch and entered. All the mor- tal remains of James Leslie were there, but there was nothing horrible in the sight; the lips were half parted with a smile, and on the cheeks was almost a bloom like life. On a chair was Mary Leslie. She was watching the lineaments of the dead so intently that she heeded not Phillip's coming, until a voice said, Mary Leslie, we meet, hut strangely at last." She started with affright, and saw Phillip Rawdy, The woman's tenderness came gushing to her heart m of old but she thought of her husband, and her love for the one before her vanished. Philip Rawdy, my name is Dalton," she said calmly. Ob woman false to thy vows shameless in thy perfidy look upon me (she looked him stedfastly in tbe face). I am an honest man to what end; think you I shall remain so now ? No, and when I die-lost for ever-I' remember your work." Mary silently pointed to the corpse, saying, It is not meet that with death before you, passion should have its sway. Leave the room, Mr. Rawdy, or I will summon assistance." These words cost her pangs innumerable, but they were said. Rawdy seized her hand, and forced her to her knees, Down, woman, and pray," he said. Madness was in the eye; madness was in the uplifted hand. The moon was obscured behind a cloud when it was visible again it shone on a white floor dabbled in blood, and a form beautifal in death. Above her stood a moping idiot. Phillip Rawdy was mad at his feet lay the victim of his insanity. When the domestics arose, thus they found it. Rawdy had seated the body of Mary Leslie in a chair, and had one of the hands in his own, talking and moping to it. Soon the news spread (when does mur. dernot?) Dalton arrived the previous evening. Mary begged to stay alone by her father's body. We will spare the reader the harrowing scene. Rawdy was hand, cuffed unresistingly, and borne away laughing to prisoa. The room was cleared, and the dead were left with the dead, whose souls were joined above. Alone in her but sat Madge Martin, wondering why the Skinner had not yet come with any news of Rawdy. A step was at the door, and with a heavy kick, Tom's unmistakable voice said almost breathless, "open Madge, I have news—the money's our's." With alacrity she opened the door, and sinking on a seat, he told her all. When he had finished, she said," Tom, what if in his madness he was to prate of us, we must fly; this place is too hot for us." The sooner the better said Tom. But how about the reward Madge anxiously asked ? wiU go to-night and see employer, get the reward, I will go to-night an d see mw t en we will start as mother and return here to-morrow, when we will start as mother and son for Australia." They sealed the compact with gin, and Tom departed, whilst Madge went into the village. At night a woman saw her cross the glen for the hut, with a man. In the deep midnight a bright flame shot up to heaven, and lasted many hours. In the morning Madge Martin's hut was a charred heap, and a heap of human bones in it left no doubt as to her fate. The man had escaped his fate if he went in with Madge --a man engaged a berth that morning for Australia; it was Tom the skinner; he bad robbed Madge, and after murdering her, set fire to the hut. Rawdy's trial for murder was but a mockery. They who were in the court and saw the vacant eye, and the silly smile, knew it was not assumeil only once did he change when Dal- ton stood in the witness box, and described the finding of his wife's body, the bloody knife, and Rawdy playing with one of her hands which was wet with blood. Then, and then only did he seem to be trying to recollect some past event, with his hand to his forehead; but when Dalton left the box, the film returned again. The sen- tence was of course guilty and with a mere formality the judge passed sentenced on him of Death. He re- ceived it as he had the whole trial, careless, as though he did not hear it. He was confined during life, which did not last long. One day he was sitting in the sun in the courtyard, which struggled through every little clink to give its H¡¡bt; his keeper was with him, when be sudden- ly fell with his head on the turnkey's shoulder, murmer- ing, I have prayed.-I am forgiven.—Mary beckoned to me dressed in white.—I am going to join her.—God has forgiven me."—Without a sigh or struggle, his soul, let us hope, did join his victim in heaven,—he was dead. Strange was his life, and sad his fate. The rustic who told me the tale, pointed from the grave-stone where we were sitting to two head-stones. I approached and read them. They were very simple, only this: -11 James Leslie, and Mary Dalton pray for their souls." And what became of Dalton ?" I asked of my rustic friend. "After his wife's death he went iroayd sold his property here, and I have not heard of him since," replied the grave digger, as shouldering his sade, he trudged away.

It was with Sir Watkin Wynn that the idea originated of the Duke holding Strathfieldsaye of the Crown by the presentation, every 18th of June, of a tricoloured flag, as tie estate of Blenheim bound the successors of Marl- borough to make an offering of a banner of fleur-de-lis 01 each recurring anniversary of the rout and capture of Marshal Tallard.

I SAILORS' INSTITUTE, CARNARVON. I The following address was delivered to a crowded audience of Sailors, at the Sailors' Institute, Carnarvon l on Monday night last, the 30th of January, by Llewelyn Turner, Esq., Mayor. The address occupied an hour and ten minutes in the delivery, and was listened to with the most marked attention The liberal and charitable lady (Mrs. Holcombe) to whom you are indebted for this comfortable room, hav- ing done me the honour to nominate me as the Patron and Chairman of this Institution, I thought I could not do less than come forward and deliver to you an address. The partiality which many of you know I have always felt for sailors, has caused me the more readily to fall into such a suggestion at the onset, however, I must caution you against expecting too much. The duties of an arduous profession, coupled with those extra duties which are cast upon me by my public position, have pre- vented my doing anything in the way of preparation, and all I pretend to, is to give you the plain reflections of an educated man, upon a subject near and dear to his heart. I have alluded to public duties. Firmly impressed with the conviction that the magistrate may do more by exam- ple-by the encouragement of institutions of a social and moral character, than by the mere punishment of offend- ers; I am anxious in the public office I hold to foster anything having such a tendency. In giving utterance to that which I have to say, I will endeavour to bear in mind that I am addressing men who are accustomed to express themselves in the plainest language, and will confine myself as far as possible, to that which is simple and easily understood. This reminds me of an anecdote which my venerable father used to relate of an old cler- gyman who was rector of a rural or a country parish; and a young clergyman fresh from college who came to visit him, and requested leave to preach his first sermon in his church. The old gentleman at first refused on the ground that his congregation were rustics, accustomed to very homely language, and he feared that a young man who had so recently left the learned regions of Cambridge, would not be able to use language sufficiently simple to suit their ears. Upon the young man assuring him to the contrary, however, he allowed him to preach, and after dinner on the Sunday afternoon, the young man asked the rector how be liked his sermon, to which he replied that the sermon was very good but that some of the words used were too far fetched for the people for instance, he said, there is the word • felicity' which we always call' happiness' here." "Surely (said the young man) every one knows the meaning of the word felicity." "Let us see" (said the old gentleman,) and ringing the bell, he desired the domestic to send in his husbandman. John (said the old gentleman), do you know -the meaning of the word felicity?" Why yes maister, I thinks as how I does." Well John, what is it ?" John considered a moment and replied-" Well maister, I thinks as how it is summut insoids of a pig." Now I know sailors are a long way a-head of rustics; but I also know they are men of plain sailing words; and as my audience consists of foremast men, as well as shipmasters, I will endeavour to suit both. In the yarn I am about to spin, I slmll try to be honest with jack, as to his virtues. and his vices. From a great experience of the class, I know that there is none so warmhearted and generous as the sailor; and it unfortunately happens, that from this very circumstance, be is often too easily led astray,— thus many of his vices spring from his virtues. The mariner who sails much abroad is often too apt to lose that love of country and home it is so desirable for men to retain. Few things are more excellent-few things exercise a more solid and humanising influence over a man than the love of home—there is a feeling, almost a divine feeling, created within the breast by the many endearing associations that the sacred name of home calls forth; there is generally some loving thought of a parent, a sister, a wife, or a child and as a sincere well-wisher to you all I would counsel you to foster and encourage by all means so holy a feeling. This train of thought leads me to a subject which has long made a deep impression on my mind, on which I have thought much, and spoken about to many well versed in the subject. I allude to the practice of British sailors sailing under a foreign flag. Now for this, I believe there are two prevailing causes, neither of which will bear the test of a plain examination. Some tars allow themselves to be tempted by the bait of high wages to serve in halt- manned Yankee ships, where they are graded like slaves, -others get drunk and allow themselves to fall into the hands of the most debased and degraded villains on earth, the Crimps,—and if there is one piece of advice, one greater caution than another, which I would offer to a sailor, it is this Whenever you arrive in a port where there is a sailor's home (the best substitute for the home I have spoken of), go at once to that, take your clothes there, and avoid the Crimps as you would a pestilence- a more pestilential influence than they exercise over the sailor cannot be conceived, and by these wolves in sheep's clothing, so ready to advance money to the honest, unreflecting sailor, the sailor is handed over like a hogshead of pork, or any other commodity, to serve perhaps in some Yankee ship, in which the laws of God and man are trampled upon with a present impunity la. mentable to witness. I desire to speak with every res- pect of the people of America, and I shall presently quote from a work written by an intelligent and worthy American officer, Lieutenant Maury, of the United States Navy,-a man who would be an honour to any age or nation,-but truth compels me to say, justice to the English sailor requires that I should publicly assert that the brutality to which English sailors are subjected in American ships is such as the mind cannot conceive without horror. Unfortunately the flag covers the wretch who abuses it; and when a Yankee ship in which murder or other crimes have been committed at sea ar. rives in England, tbe utmost we can do is to band tbe accused over to the American Government, where too often the trial becomes a mockery and a farce. At this time the cases of two American ships in English ports, in which murders are alleged to have been committed on the high seas, are undergoing investigation, and the sub. ject generally has most properly been brought before the House of Commons. Some time ago five sailors, who had been entrapped into entering an American ship, jumped overboard at night in the river Mersey, the tide at the time running at the rate of five knots an hour. Now these men knew their danger before they made the leap. By God's mercy they were saved, through the in- strumentality of one, who told me with his own lips that one and all of those men,—men who but for the aid af. forded would at the time they spoke have been in eter- nity,—declared they would rather have sunk under the billows that a few minutes before threatened them, than have longer endured the fearful cruelty to which they were subjected. There are hundreds of young seamen belonging to this port, and I desire to point to all the duty and advantage of serving under their own ftag- That fl.g which m1 float o'er a foe or a wreck, But never floats o'er a aloe." It is true that in the English merchant service we sometimes should hear of a Captain Rogers but what do we hear of bim ? We hear that though he was strong in his brutality, the law was strong too,—though he was unjust and cruel, the law of England was just and im. partial, and the life of Rogers was forfeited to the of. fended Majesty of that law, as an example to teach men, that though they are of necessity allowed to exercise great power, that power must not be abused. Why then I would ask, why, when the merchant ships of your own country are so regulated that masters and mates must pass examinations, and hold certificates of fitness ? Why, when any abuse of power is punished by the law; when the law ensures proper provisions, proper medicine, and as far as it can, good usuage ? Why I repeat do hundreds of British sailors, sail under a flag which does not offer these inducements, and does not prevent the decks of its ships being stained by murder and the at- trocious system of booting," by which the image in which God created man is so often recklessly defeated. But some people say Oh! there are such villaiiis afloat in the garb of sailors, that strong means are necessary." —Admitted, but this does not touch my argument, which is, let every true sailor stick to the flag that protects him, to that flag which is a shield over the mariner's path, and let the refuse seek the foreign flag." The Royal and merchant navies of England afford ample emploment to every true heart of oak, at the same iI,:etr;:e we:7urst him :!kd protection. Go where you will in foreign climes, you have an English man of-war, or an English consul to lay your case before. U The mariner where'ei he steers, In every clime he see. The flag, that braved a thousand years The battle and the breeie." At home, England provides in her large ports sailors, homes, every custom house is a 88Yins bank, through =, England reminds you of your wife and the little ones at home. She provides also life boats in the ex- posed parts of the coast, and the Shipwrecked Manners Society (of which my respected friend Mr. Jackson, whom I am glad to see here this morning, is the local honorary secretary) provides funds to carry you to your home if the life boat saves you. Is it not a duty then to serve so good a parent. England knows she owes her sailors much; does she not do much to repay tbem The greatest naval hero of all time said-ngland expects every man to do his duty." Do yours, and stick to your own flag; but as advantage offers to some stronger claims than duty, as I nitinct prevails Where phUMophy MI. I have shewn the advantages and the duty. Hitherto I have spoken principally of the commercial marine-of the merchant service let me now say a word for that glorious service, the Royal Navy, without which our splendid commerce could not exist. This noble service offers the greatest advantages to well-conducted sailors in the shape of pay, pension, and pot-luck, and the most wholesome discipline to the untamed. Of course the navy, like all human institutions, has its drawbacks and j imperfections, still it is a noble service; the power of the j omcers is exercised under the influence of great response | bility, and as a eneral rule, the seaman is made as hap?y àt :furf:ra:i t sja;e :o':oe si.Pt!. tant new service, that of the Naval Reserve." Engran has done with wars of conquest,—her Queen, her govern- ment, her people, averse ae of unnecessary wars. They desire, however, to protect her shores; and as France (as I shewed on a recent occasion elsewhere) has a naval reserve called the Inscription Marine," which yields her 40,000 trained and 20,000 half. trained seamen, the Admi- ralty have very wisely adopted the Naval Reserve, which will ensure a large body of seamen in time of need, leaving them free for the mercantile marine during peace. The Admiralty say in reality to the sailor, whether foreign-going or coaster, Jack, here's jE6 a-year for you, all we want in return IS, that you go aboard a tmining-ship when you are at home, and Tearn to use great guns and small arms, so as to be ready to defend your country in time of need. The advantages of pay and pension offered by this service to the merchant seamen are so great, that as a friend to the sailor, I advise every man to join it. It may seem strange to say, that if many do join it, they will probably never be called upon beyond their periods of drill,-strange at first sight to say, that the country is willing to pay for that which won't be wanted. But I tell you why, England has a splendid Beet of ships, and no nation under the sun will dare to attack her, if they know for certain that she has a sufficient complement of "blue jackets ready trained to man them. We may, it is true, be bearded by some petty nation, just as a cow- ard will sometimes insult a brave man when he knows he will not retaliate, as a cur dog snaps at the mastiff who passes him with scorn. Naples bearded this country not long ago, and this country was above retaliation but depend upon it, if England can command a full comple- ment of men for all her ships, no great nation will attack her. You are offered unheard-of advantages for simply qualifying yourselves to be ready, in case of emergency, to fight for your country. It is a natural duty every man owes; Who'd not die for his rights, should not live to enjoy them; The coward can claim neither country nor friends." The great commercial company, the" Peninsular and Oriental Company," have advised all their crews to join at Southampton, which they can do, without interfering with their own work-they come home from Alexandria, and are offered splendid terms for learning gun drill in the very ports in which they reside. There is another system of training, however, quite compatible with this, which Jack may use with advantage, and of which great numbers are daily availing themselves, I mean the train- ing of the mind, and the advancement towards greater self-respect, towards a knowledge of those great sciences which create the highly skilled and accomplished mari. ner, which teach him that the great currents of the air and of the ocean are no more the results of chance than the most deliberate act he performs, that they are the workings of that wonderful system which begun when God created the heavens and the earth." A strict ob- servation of, and attention to, these great laws of nature, will enable the careful navigator often to take advantage of those currents of sea and air, to shorten his passage, by avoiding the former when adverse, and the latter when changed into the raging blast. Much light is now being thrown upon this interesting subject, by the investiga- tions of scientific men. The best book I have met with in my researches, is that by the talented author and excel- lelt man before quoted, viz., "The Physical Geography of the Sea," by M. F. Maurey, L. L.D,, U. S.N., a book abounding with scientific interest to the educated stranger, in which the author has carefully cited the experience of others, compared their conclusions with critical justice, and modestly pronounced his invaluable opinions upon the results. I propose now to give you an account pub- lished in that book, of a voyage made by four clipper ships from New York to San Francisco. It was my in- tention this morning to borrow a large school map on Mer- cator's projection, and to fix upon it at different points four bits of paper to denote the positions of each ship, at the most important points of that great race of science which successfully carried commerce over the trackless ocean for 15,000 miles, each ship (with one exception, which the talented author justly terms, "the mistake of the voyage") going over almost the same ground. LThe Mayor then went carefully over the whole details of this exciting race, drawing attention to the principal features.) The shius started as follows: Wild Pizeon." Octo. ber 12; John Gilpin," October 29; "Flying Fish," November I Trade Wind," November 14; each was provided with Wind and Current Charts. Wild provide l, fell into a streak of calms, then into a gale, against which she contended for a week, and out of nine- teen days, logged 13 as calms and baffling winds during this time Gilpin," with better luck gained seven, and "Flying Fish" ten days, leaving 11 Pigeon" only ten days ahead. Flying Fish" performed the extraordinary feat of crossing on the sixteenth day out from New York, the parallel of 5 deg. North. Next day she was well South of 4 deg. North, and in the Doldrums, long. 34 deg. West. Here Flying Fish" made the mistake of the voyage, by standing along, instead of across the Dol- drums, spending four days about the parallel of 3 degrees North, leaving the Doldrums nearly upon the same meridian at which she entered them, with this exception these ships all followed pretty closely the same directions, and took nearly the same course -the result of this race (of which we here neces- arily give but a brief outline) was as follows Flying Fish," 92 days and 4 hours; John Gilpin," 93 days and 20 hours; "Wild Pigion, 11 118 days; and Trade Wind," 102 days, the latter took fire by the way. The result (says the talented author) of this race, may be taken as an illustration, as to bow well na- vigators are now brought to understand the winds and tbe currents of the sea." Here are these ships bailing on different days, bound over a trackless waste of ocean, for some fifteen thousand miles or more, and depending alone on the fickle winds of heaven, as they are called, to waft them along; yet, like travellers on the land, bound upon the same journey, they pass and repass, fall in with and recognize each other by the way, and what perhaps is still more remarkable, is the fact, that these ships should, each, throughout that great distance, and under the won- derful vicissitudes of climates, winds, and currents, which they encountered, have been so skilfully navigated, that, in looking back at their management, now what is past is before me, I do not find a single occasion, except the one already mentioned, in which they could have been better handled. Now, I have finished that which I have endeavoured to perform, I trust that what I have said may have proved interesting and instructive. As I told you, I have not had any time to prepare any sort of lec- ture or address for you; what I have said, however, it the result of reading and deliberation, and as such I have placed it before you. If I have time hereafter to pre- pare anything more worthy of attention, I shall be de- lighted to offer it to you, and will now conclude by thank. ing you much for your great attention to what I have said. I find I have omitted one subject, and that is to mention the case of Mrs. Edwards, the teacher of navi- gation, who lost her husband the other day. I have been in communication with SA influential gentleman about her, and trust something may be done to employ her M a public teacher, and to reward her real services to sailors. On the motion of Mr. Jackson, seconded by Mr. Humphreys, a unanimous vote of tbanks was passed to bi um P bre ?,; for the interesting speech he had detiveMd, to which the Mayor briefly returned thanks.

PBNTRKVOELAS.—On Monday se'nnight, the Rev. O. Jones entertained the Pentrevoelas Church Choir at Bron Eglwya to supper. They assembled at half-past six o'clock, and were kindly received by Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and in a short time afterwards were seated to a most bountiful and substantial repast. Grace having been said, ample justice was done to the good things set before tbem, Mrs. Jone, her sister, and others (as it were vieing with each other), aasisted in waiting upon their guests, and really they performed the undertaken duty well, and personally saw that no one was neglected. Af- ter a short time spent in desultory conversation, the com- pany adjourned to an adjoining room, where anthems and other choice tunes were sung, the Rev. O. Jones presid- ing at the harmonium. Mr. D. Thomas proposed the health of Mr. and Mrs. Jones, to which Mr. Jones re- sponded, and said that he was happy to see them all come together, as usual, and above all, to see them in tbe en- joyment of good health. Mr. J. Roberts proposed* vote of thanks to their incumbent and lady for the kind manner in which they had entertained them, and he urged the choir to persevere in the regular attendance of singing meetings, expressing a hope, that as thev had began to sing their Redeemer's praises here on earth, they would strivi to enter into that rest which remaineth to the peo- ple of God, to sing His praises to all eternity. At a sea- sonable hour the guests retired, highly delighted with their kind entertainment. To BE FOREWARNED IS TO BE Fol&EARMEX).-MediM investigators are of opinion that almost all diseases are preceded by promonitory symptoms. In some instances these symptoms are invisible to the ordinary observer. There is one malady, however, disease of the chest, which gives unmistakeable warning of its advance, and yet how few pay proper attention to the ominous signs. In too many instances, a cough which threatens mischief to the lungs is neglected, or merely palliated with sedative remedies Those who wish to obviate the disastrous results w hich may succeed to an apparently simple but prolonged cough, have recourse to that most safe and efficacious remedy, Dr. de Jongh's celebrated Light- Brown Cod Liver Oil, which does not merely mitigate, but effectually cures the cough, and prevents the develop- ment of chest disease. The following eommunicatioo from Dr. Waudby, late Physician to the Htreford In- firmary describes the beneficial action of this unequalled Oil" I can take Dr. de Jongh's Oil without difficulty or dislike, and with as little inconvenience as water alone. Not only in my own case, but in many others I hate seen, it has caused an improvement of chest symptoms and an increase of weight so soon and and so lastingly as to be quite remarkable."