Weekly Mail

THE GOOD FORTUNE OF PRIVATE SECRETARIES. The official return of the position and income of private secretaries who have obtained high places in the Civil Service, which is just out, may be in strict accordance with the motion for its preparation, but it is 0, u a most misleading document. It had its origin in the chronic complaint that the best posts under the Crown are filled by the favourites of Ministers, and that the Civil Service is practically governed by ex-private secretaries. Now, the return shows less than twenty names all told, and this proportion does not appear to be extravagant. Owing, however, to the artful way in which it has been compiled, some of the prin- cipal offenders have been left out. It has been confined to those who from the positions of private secretaries to Ministers were at once promoted to chiefships in the permanent service of the Crown. The rule of the Civil Service is that the private secretaries, if chosen from the body of clerks, should be juniors, and that if a vacancy in the senior olass should arise during the period when the officer is acting as private secretary, he at once relinquishes the latter office. He may have been a senior for no more than a few months when one of the" plums" of the service falls into the disposal of the Minister whom he has recently served. He becomes comptroller, commissioner, or whatever post of sufficient emolument may bs going. But because he has passed though a profitable intermediate stage bs does not figure in the return just printed by order of the House of Commons for the mystification of the British taxpayer. Amongst those who are thus missed are such big fry as Sir Stephenson Arthur Blackwood, Secretary to the Post Office, now enjoying L2,000 per annnm through the kind remembrances of Mr. Gladstone. Another fortunate individual not to be found in the return is Mr. Digby Pigott, whose appoint- ment to the Comptrollership of the Stationery Office led to much heokling of Lord Beaconsfield. A third omission is Sir Charles Ryan, now Comptroller- general, and, more striking than all of the rest, a fourth is Sir Reginald Welby, the Secretary to the Treasury and head of the permanent service of the Crown. There are a number of others who, as their oppor- tunities were less, have not attained to quite the first rank, but who, nevertheless, have managed to make a private secretaryship a convenient stepping stone to something pretty comfortable. The foregoing will, however, enable your readers to gauge the value of this particular return —————————————

A Novelty in Cricket Matches. On Thursday afternoon the members of the Ryde Corporation and the Vent nor Local Board met on the Ryde Ground for a friendly return cricket match. The match was rendered all the more interesting by tho great age of some of the competitors, one gentleman on the Ventnor side being 82, and several of the Ryde men three score and ten. Ryde had pre- viously beaten Ventnor on their own ground, and went to the wickets first. Play commenced at noon, and at four Ryde had put together a score of 200, when, although they had five men to pipy, they determined to let their opponents bat. Ventnor then went in, and made only 107.

Cleverly Caught. A short ttime since a married couple left Liver- pool for New York, and after a brief sojourn in the latter city the husband eloped, leaving by the Guion liner Wyoming, which arrived in the Mersey on Friday evening. There he was met by his in- jured spouse, who had sped across the Atlantic in the White Star liner Majestic, which left the day after the Wyoming. The surprise of the guilty pair was great when they were confronted by tho injured wife, who invited her husband, her rival, and the latter's mother, who had accompanied them across the Atlantic, to a neighbouring hotel, there to settle the connubial difference, the injured one hold the trump card.

THE Editor of the Medical Annual after a care- ful examination of CADBUKY'S COCOA. pronounces it to be both a food and a beverage of the highest quality. Lc5 ASK tor Tyler and Co.'s Gold Medal Flannel.

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False Dawn. BY RUDYARD KIPLING. No man will ever know the exaot truth of this story; though women may sometimes whisper to one another after a dance, when they are putting up their hair for the night and comparing lists of viotims. A man, of course, cannot assist at these functions. So the tale must be told from the outside-in the dark—all wrong. Never praise a sister to a sister in the hope of your compliments reaohing the proper ears, and so preparing the way for you later on. Sisters are women first, and sisters afterwards: and you will find that you do yourself harm. Saumarez knew this when he made up his mind to propose to the elder Miss Cop- leigh. Saumarez was a strange man, with few merits, so far as men oould see, though he was popular with women and carried enough conceit to stock a Viceroy's council and leave a little over for their com- mander-in-ohief's staff. He was a civilian. Very many women took an in- terest in Saumarez, perhaps, because his manner to them was offensive. If you hit a pony ovei* the nose at the outset of your acquaintance he may not love you, but he will take a deep interest in your movements ever afterwards. The elder Miss Copleigh was very nice, plump, winning, and pretty, The younger was not so pretty, and from men dis- regarding the hint set forth above, her style was repellant and unattractive. Both girls had practioally the same figure and there was a strong likeness between them in look and voice, though no one could doubt for an instant wbich was the nicer of the two. Saumarez made up his mind as soon as they came into the station from Behar to marry the elder one. At least we all made sure that he would, which comes to the same thing. She was twenty-two and he was thirty-three, with pay and allowances of nearly 1,400 rupeees a month. So the match, as we arranged it, was in every way a good one. Saumarez was his name and summary was his nature, as a man once said. Having drafted his resolution he formed a select oommittee of one to sit upon it, and resolved to take his time. In our unpleasant slang, the Copleigh girls hunted in couples." That is to say, you could do nothing with one without the other. They were very loving sisters, but their mutual affection was sometimes incon- venient. Saumarez held the balance hair true between them, and none but himself could have said to which side his heart inclined, though every one guessed. He rode with them a good deal and danced with them, but he never succeeded in detaching them from each other for any length of time. As the hot weather drew nearer and Saumarez made no sign, women said that you could see their trouble in the eyes of the girls—that they were looking strained, anxious, and irritable. Men are quite blind in these matters, unless they have more of the woman than of the man in their composi- tion, in which case it does not matter what they say or think. I maintain it was the hot April days that took the colour out of the Copleigh girls' cheeks. They should have been sent to the hills early. No one, man or woman, feels an angel when the hot weather is approaching. The younger sister grew more cynical, not to say acid, in her ways, and the winningness of the elder wore thin. There was more effort in it. About the middle of May, and just before the final exodus of Hill-goers, when the weather was very hot and there were not more than twenty people in the station, Sau- marez gave a moonlight riding picnic at an old tomb six miles away, near the bed of the river. It was a Noah's Ark picnio, and there was to be the usual arrangement of quarter- mile intervals between each couple, on account of the dust. Six couples came altogether, in- cluding chaperons. inlidiiightpicnios are use- ful just at the very end of the season, before all the girls go away to the hills. They lead to understandings, and should be encouraged by chaperons, especially those whose girls look I sweetest in riding-habits. I knew a case once. But that is another story. That pionio was called the Great Pop .Picnic," because every one knew Saumarez would propose tiieir to the eldest Miss Copleigh; and, besides, his affair, there was another T7uich might possibly come to happiness, The social atmosphere was heavily charged and wanted clearing. "VY s met at the parade ground at ten the liight was fearfully hot. The horses sweated even at walking pace, but any- thing was better than sitting still in our own dark houses. When we moved off under tho full moon we were four couples, one triplet, and Mr. Saumarez rode with the Cop- leigh girls, and I loitered at the tail of the procession, wondering with whom Saumarez would ride home. Everyone was happy and contented; but we all felt that things were going to happen. We rode slowly, and it was nearly midnight before we reached the old tomb, facing the ruined tank, in the decayed gardens where we were going to eat and drink. I was late in coming up, and, before I went into the garden, I saw that the horizon to the north carried a faint, dun-coloured feather. But no one would have thanked me for spoiling so well-managed an entertain- ment as this picnic—and a dust storm, more or less, does no great harm. I had felt that the air was growing hotter and hotter but nobody seemed to notice it until the moon went out and a burning hot wind began lashing the orange trees with a sound like the noise of the sea. Before we knew where we were the dust storm was on us, and everything was roaring, whirling darkness. The supper-table was blown bodily ¡ into the tank. We were afraid of staying anywhere near the old tomb, for fear it might be blown down. So we felt our way to the orange trees, where our horses were picketed, and waited for the storm to blow over. Then the little light that was left vanished, and you could not see your hand before your face. Ihe storm lulled slightly after the first half-hour, and I heard a despairing little voioe close to my ear, saying to itself, quietly and softly, as if some lost soul were flying about with the wmds," 0, my God!" Then the younger Miss Copleigh stumbled into my arms, saying, "Where is my horse ? Get my horse! I want to go home Take me home!" I thought that the lightning and the black darkness had frightened her, so I said there was no danger, but she must wait till the storm blew over. She answered, It is not that I It is not that I want to go home! Oh, take me away from here I" I said she could not go till the light came. but I felt her brush past me and go away. It was too dark to see where. Then the whole sky was split open with one tremendous flash, as if the end of the world was coming, and all the women shrieked. Almost directly after this I felt a man's hand upon my shoulder and heard Saumarez bellowing in my ear. Through the rattling of the trees and the howling of the wind I did not catch his words at once, but at last I heard him say, il I've proposed to the wrong one! What shall I do ?" Saumarez had no occasion to make this confidence to me. I was never a friend of his, nor am I now but I fancy I that neither of us were ourselves just then. J He was shaking with excitement and I wTas feeling queer all over with the electricity. I oould not think of anything to say except More fool you for proposing in a dust storm," but I did not see how that would improve the mistake. Then he shouted, Where's Edith—Edith Copleigh ?" Edith was the youngest sister. I answered out of my astonishment, If Whaf do you want with her p., Would you believt it, for the next two minutes he and I were shouting at each other like maniaos-he knowing that it was the younger sister he had meant to propose to all along, and I telling him till my throat was hoarse that he must have made a mistake 1 oan't account for this except, again, by the fact that we were neither or us ourselves. Everything seemed to me like a bad dream-from the stamping of the horses in the darkness to Saumarez telling me the story of his loving Edith Copleigh sinoe the first. He was still clawing my shoulder and begging me to tell him where Edith Cooleigh was, when another lull came and brought light with it, and he saw the dust-cloud form- ing on the plain in front of us. So we knew the worst was over. The moon was low down, and there was just the glimmer of the false dawn that oomes about an hour before the real one. But the light was very faint, and the dun cloud roared like a bull. I wondered where Edith Copleigh had gone and as I was wondering I saw three things together First Maud Copleigh'i face oome smiling out of the dark., ness and move towards Saumarez, who wac standing by me. I heard the girl whisper "George," and slide her arm through the arm that was not olawing my shoulder, and I saw that look on her face which only oomes once or twioe in a lifetime—when a woman it perfectly happy and the air is full of trumpet* and gorgeous-coloured fire and the earth turns into oloud because she loves and is loved. At the same time 1 saw Saumarez's face as be heard Maud Copleigh's voice, and fifty yards away from the olump of orange trees I saw a brown holland habit getting upon a horse. It must have been my state of over-exoite- ment that made me so quick to meddle with what did not oonoern me. Saumarez was moving off to the habit; but I pushed him back and said, "Stop here and explain. I'll fetch her back!" And 1 ran out to get at my own horse. I had a perfeotly unnecessary notion that everything must be done decently and in order, and that Saumarez's first cara was to wipe the happy look out of Maud Copleigh's face. All the time 1 was linking up the ourb-chain I wondered how he would do it. I cantered after Edith Copleigh, thinking to bring her back slowly on some pretenoe or another. But she galloped away as soon as she saw me, and I was forced to ride after her in earnest. She called back over her shoulder, 11 Go away I'm going home. Oh, go away two or three times; but my business was to catch her first and argue later. The ride just fitted in with the rest of the evil dream. The ground was very bad, and now and again W8 rushed through the whirling, choking, dust devils" in skirts of the flying storm. I don't know how far we rode, but tha drumming of the horse hoofs and the roar of the wind and the race of the faint blood-red moon through the yellow mist seemed to have gone on for years and years, and I was literally drenched with sweat from my helmet to my gaiters, when the grey stumbled, recovered himself and pulled up dead lame. My brute was used up altogether, Edith Copleigh was in a sad state, plastered with dust, her helmet off, and crying bitterly. Why can't you let me alone ?" she said. 11 1 only wanted to get away and go home, Oh, please let me You have got to come back with me, Miss Copleigh. Saumarez has something to say to you." It was a foolish way of putting it, but I hardly knew Miss Copleigh, and though I was playing Providence at the cost of my horse, I could not tell her in as many words what Saumarez had told me. I thought he could do that better himself. All her pretence about being tired and wanting to go home broke down, and she rooked herself to and fro in the saddle as she sobbed, and the hot wind blew her black hair to leeward. I am not going to repeat what she said, because she was utterly unstrung. When we ref-Ttted to the tomb in the t.!¡;, aead stillness that followed the storm, the dawn was just breaking, and nobody had gone away. They were waiting for our return. Staumarez most of all. His face was whit( and drawn, As Miss Copleigh and I limped up he oam« forward to meet us, and, when he helped her down from her saddle, he kissed her before all the picnic. It was like a scene in a theatre, and the likeness was heightened by all the dust-white, ghostly looking men and women under the orange trees, clapping their hands—as if they were watching a play-at Saumarez's choice. I never knew anything so un-English in my life. Lastly, Saumarez said we must all go home or the station would come out to look for us, and would I be good enough to ride home with Maud Copleigh ? Nothing would give me greater pleasure, I said. So we formed up, six couples in all, and went back two by two, Saumarez walking by the side of Edith Copleigh, who was riding his horse. The air was cleared, and little by little as the sun rose 1 felt we were all dropping back again into ordinary men and women, and that the I" Great Pop Picnio" was a thing alto- gether apart and out of the world, never to happen again. It had gone with the dust storm and the tinge in the hot air. I felt tired and limp and a good deal ashamed of myself as I went in fot a bath and some sleep. There is a woman's version of this story, but it will never be written-uoles8 Maud Copleigh cares to try.

Rats and Gooseberries. A correspondent writes from owetils CoSlegt Museum to the Manchester City Xews :-It will doubtlois interest many readers to learn that a few years ago, in my garden, situated three miles out from Edinburgh, I had some very fine goose- berry bushes, the fruit o £ f which were all bul devoured by rats having tneir habitat in a small barn in the immediate vicinity of the garden. Some time elapsed before I could account for the destruction of the berries, but after close watching I had the pleasure of capturing several of these cunning rodents in the act of selecting the finest of the fruit. What is more surprising, however, during the following two seasons nothing was either seen or heard of my midnight four-footed poachers, but in the third season they returned in their battalions and began with much vigour thoir destruction. Guns, traps, and poison had very little effect, but on sprinkling crystals of caustic potash in and about their runs tbay disappeared as suddenly as they had come.