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np an ft Baton the (Eoasi.

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np an ft Baton the (Eoasi. NOTICES I,t.) CORRESPONDED TS. BARMOUTH."—La;1. Barmouth afford the money ? lhat is the question. We have put the case. Freedom from over- drafts is a good thing. TEMPERANCE."—You say that- you do not agree with me. Well, and cuen what I do not want you to agree with me, nor do I care whether you agree with me or not. I express my opinion and read other people's expressed opinions and try to form correct judgments. Do you likewise, but do not imagine that your difference of opinion i.s of the least consequence to anybody. CHURCH MEMBER."—The subject is of im- portance, but I am not sure it is one that can be satisfactorily discussed in a newspaptr. There are sound reasons why ministers of religion should not ex- press what are oalled extreme opinions. STUDENT."—No, it.Ï.i only rarely tihat books are reviewed in taeee columns. Honest reviewing is hard and difficult work and not even remunerative. "SLEEPLESS.Have you ever realized what is meant by asking me to ventilate your grievance, but to be sure and leave your name out" OBSERVATIONS. No greater mistake could be made than to estimate "the happiness and enjoyment of people by the amount of their riches or the extent of their leisure. Comfort and complaoency may come of being loved, but bliss and ecstacy of loving. There are probably creatures not only with more delicately balanced senses than ours, but creatures with altogether different senses. It is better to live and die in obscurity than achieve fame at tfte cost of having cause to feel ashamed. If a persbn is mean enough, or coarse enough, or stupid enough to do or say a shabby thing, there need be no hesitancy on his account about calling the shabby thing by its right name, or for not asking him to look at it in its naked ugliness. It sometimes strikes me that God is a great humourist, and I could imagine him holding his sides with laughter when he looks at the creatures He has mad-e-so grotesque solemn-so ridiculously self-important. No- thing is more irresistibly comic than to watch the people pass in the streets. I do not understand men's contempt for what they call commonplace things. A man realizes that any given day of his past life is dead and gone, but h? thinks that in some way which he never defines the sum total of his days—his life—will survive. It is wiser to help men to do the seoond- best thing for themselves than to do for them tlf more perfect thing without their help. There is nothing so riaiculously easy as the accomplished task of the other person. The world is too eager for love and gentle- ness not to accept them gladly when avail- able. HAPPINESS AND PLEASURE. Happiness is from the inside; pleasure 1.. from the outside. Contentment is the base ef happiness; excitement, in aome form or other, is the base of pleasure. My .L Y mind to me a kingdom is," expresses ths main oondition of happiness. Pleasur^jand happi- ness are two sides of human explajenoe and they often mean the same thing owing to the way words are loosely used. Whatever gratifies the senscs-tute, sight, hearing, feeling—gives pleasure or its oppo- site, pain. Whatever contributes to realization of general well-being and deepens conscious- ness of existence gives" "happiness or the re- verse, unhappiness. Pleasure is absolutely necessary to the person who has not much imagination, if that person is to have any enjoyment, but to the imaginative person pleasure—the gratifica- tion of the senses—is not necessary, and happiness brings enough enjoyment and, per- haps, more real enjoyment than pleasure call ever bring to those who are p:-zic-. .ally void of imagination. I would rather sit in Cwm Woods, or look at the sea from the margin 0: one of the reefs, or watch a passing crowd, than I would go to a picture gallery, or go to a race meet- ing, or visit a theatre. Hapiness is more con- genial to me than pleasure—le^3 tiresome and not so exhausting. One picture is enough for me at a time. I have no desire to drive a horse, or a motor car, or a railway engine. I do not want to see strange sights, or to hear new things, or to take part in great functions. There is no strong desire in me to gratify the senses, and even eating is more or less a trouble to me, but the contentment of having eaten, or of warmth, or of beauty, or of sense of freedom, or of absence of worry, or of exemption from pain brings contentment to me and I am happy. Ex- perience shows me that I will do more to free myself from worry than to secure the most sought-for pleasure. My friends have sometimes accused me of indolence because I am not eager to go here or there or to do this or that. This reluctance to move does not arise from indolence, but is due to the fact that what many people call pleasure is distasteful to me and worthless and breaks m upon my happiness. I will work a-s long and as arduously as most men. I will walk, or travel by train, or do anything else that is necessary, but I hare no ever-present desire to be somewhere else. I am not a desirable acquisition to a pleasure party, because what gives most people pleasure is distasteful to me, and never seems to me to be worth what. it costs, for the cost includes in my case loss of con- tentment and happiness which are my equivalents for their pleasure. Some people cannot be content unless they are doing something. They need distrac- tion. I do not need external aids to dis- traction. I can detach myself at will from all my surroundings. To those who are content and who find happiness it is necessary that pleasure- excitement of the senses—should come gently and gradually and without offence to the imagination or disturbance to the conscious- ness. It must not be thought that those who enjoy pleasures can never be happy, or that those who are happy can never enjoy pleasures, but they are not in the main the same sort of people and for the most part live in different worlds. It happems that sorrow oomes to the plea- sure-seeker, say, in the form of bereavement, and he is torn with agony. The world be- cernes a torture place-terrible. The same sorrow oomes with not less a wfut force to flie seeker after happiness. He, too, is smitten, but he does not rave or ory. He goes into the still night or the blank day and is silent—dumb as any stone. Those about him may think that he does not feel as the wounded pleasure-seeker feels: they are different. Sorrow smites them not in the same way. He whose key-note of life is happiness puts much aside as worthless which is essential to him whose key note of life is pleasure. Both pleasure and happiness can be greatly intensified and purified by friendship, sym- pathy, wealth, favourable circumstances, good health, freedom, education, natural ,endowments, and artificial aids. A great deal depends in both cases on the tempera- ment of the individual, but this ia a side of the subject I must leave. I think that happiness grows more surely than pleasure with age, but it is difficult to say, for pleasure leaves many delightful mem- ories, while happiness is an ever-present joy. It is a great thing so to live, whether we seek happiness or pleasure, as not to accumu- f late memories that will be uncomfortable to us in their recurrence, for they will recur. One of the joys of right life are pleasant memories, and one of the tortures of wrong life are unpleasant memories. It is a great thing so to live that you can turn back life's pages and read without being unhappy or ashamed. It is a great delight to realize past ecstacies. SOME DAY. Some day, Sweet, you may look upon me dead- When all that might have been can never be- Then I shall lie still as any, stone While times and times and times go fleeting by. What matters then I lived, or loved, or died- Then all will be as if it had not been, Except that you, my love, will still be here To think of all we dreamt but never reached. It may be, sweet, our dreams are more complete Than ends achieved and blisses realized. We have not ever been bereft of hope, Although we have not known satiety. How still it is. There, take my hand in yours. My life seems stronger so, and sweeter too. How great a thing our love has been to us, And, darling, how it has been beautiful! The daylight wanes! No, I do not regret That you—that I—that we—that adverse fate— Why should we make ado? We have drunk deep Of lifo's ooQt fountain. That is enough for us. I Besides we would not buy with what we have All that men say we foolishly have lost. I'd rather see the sunlight in your eyes Than glittering gold and flash of precious stones. How we have loved! Through days and days of bliss! We have been near enough for souls to touch. All that we lost we lost for what we gained, And what we have is more than all we missed. SILENT. I have not spoken. No, nor will I speak. Silence shall hide what love would fain coneaal; I will be dumb-not garrulous and weak, And wait till time, or death, mv wounds shall heal. A VERY LARGE ORDER. Five hundred poets are being advertised for in the columns of a London paper. 1 am delighted. Surely I shall be among the suc- cessful five hundred. One of the things that distresses mo is that I cannot get my friends to look at me poetically! It is a hard, un- grateful, and umippreciative world—even when you wear long hair and carry bundles of books under your arm. A SURE SIGN. No surer sign of falling national prosperity can be found than a decrease in the con- sumption of beer. Temperance advocates will rejoice in the decrease and take it as a sign of growing temperance, but the failing off is too sudden for the temperance plea. Intemperance—drunkenness—does not de- pend so much on the quantity of drink eon- sumed as on the way it is consumed. A man, for instance, may drink a pint of beer twice a day and never be drunk, but if he drank fourteen pints at two sittings he would be drunk on each occasion. Temperance is increasing and would iii- crease more rapidly still if temperance and not total abstinence were the object aimed at. There are scores of public houses all over the country which are losing money, and it is folly to close them compulsorily and to give them compensation. Leave them alone and they will have to be- closed. The difficulty is that the teetotal fanatic does not see the trend of the people towards temperance. This trend is shown by the growing taste for light beers. Temperance teaching has had far greater in- direct than direct beneficial influence-s. Its own compulsory tactics have greatly hindered its progress. Compulsory virtue of any kind is imnnssible. The Coast. J.G. -+

A BftliYVrw YTH I

NOTES FROM ABERA VROJN.

St David's College School.

.LLANILARI

TALGAUKEG

WILL OF MR RICHARD OWEN.

LOCAL LAW CASE.

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Njfcj VY(JAtt'I'L-bj EMLYN

MR. LLOYD-GEORGE AT LUTON.

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