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RESCUED BY BANGERS: A ROMANCE…
RESCUED BY BANGERS: A ROMANCE OF THE MEXICAN BORDERLAND. BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, Author of the" White Chief," "Headless Horseman," &< CHAPTER I. "HATS OFF!" Within the city of Chihuahua, metropolis of the northern provinces of Mexico—for the most part built of mud—standing in the midst of vast barren plains, o'er-topped by bold porphyritic mountains —plains with a population sparse as their timber- in the old city of Chihuahua, lies the first scene of our story. k Less than twenty thousand people dwell within the walls of this North Mexican metropolis, and in the country surrounding it a like limited number. Once thay were thicker on the soil; but the,, tomahawk of the Comanche, and the spear of the Apache, have thinned off the descendants of the Conquistadores, until country houses stand at wide distances apart, with more than an equal number of ruins between. Yet this same city of Chihuahua challenges weird and wonderful memories. At the mention of its name springs up a host of strange records, the souvenirs of a frontier life altogether different from that wreathed round the history of Anglo- American borderland. It recalls the cowled monk with his cross, and the soldier close following with his sword; the old mission-house, with its church and garrison beside it; the fierce savage lured from a roving life. and changed into a toiling peon, afterwards to revolt against a. system of slavery that even religion failed to make endurable; the neophyte turning his hand against his priestly instructor, equally his oppressor; revolt followed by a. deluge of blood, with ruinous devastation, until the Walls of both mission and military cuartel are left tenantless, and the redskin has returned to his roving. Such a history has had the city of Cliiliuihua,, and the settlements in its neighbourhood. Nor is the latter portion of it all a chronicle of the olden time. Much of it belongs to modern days; aye, similar scenes are transpiring even now. But a few years ago, a stranger entering its gates would have seen nailed overhead, and whisked to and fro by the wind, some scores of objects similar to one another, and resembling tufts of hair, long, trail- ing, and black, as if taken from the manes or tails of horses. But it came not thence it was human hair and the patches of skin that served to keep the bunches together had been stripped from human skulls! They were se(tlps-tlie scalps of Indians, showing that the Comanche and Apache Savages had not had it all their own way. Beside them could be seen other elevated objects of auricle shape, set in rows or circles like a festooning of chile peppers strung up for preserva- tion. No doubt their procurement had drawn tears from the eyes of those whose heads had fur- nished them, for they were human ears! These ghastly Souvenirs were the bounty warrants of a band, whose deeds have been already chronicled by this same pen. They were the trophies of Scalp Hunters "—vouchers for the number of Indians they had killed. They were there less than a quarter of a century ago, waving in the dry wind that sweeps over the plains of Chihuahua. For aught the writer knows, they may be there still; or, if not the same, others of like gory record replacing or supplementing- them. It is not with the Scalp Hunters we have now to do-only with the city of Chihuahua. And not ")Ucli with it either. A single scene occurring in ts streets is all of Chihuahuaense life to be depicted 111 this tale. It was the spectacle of a religious procession—a thing far from uncommon in Chihuahua or any other Mexican town; on the contrary, so common that at least weekly the like may be witnessed. This was one of the grandest—representing the storv of the Crucifixion. Citizens of all classes assisted at the ceremony, the soldiery also taking Part in it. The clergy, of course, both secular and Jugular, were its chief supports and propagators. Jo them it brought bread, and if not butter—since there is none in Chihuahua—it added to their lncomes and influence, by the sale of leaden crosses, images of the Virgin mother, and the Numerous sisterhood of saints. In the funcion figured the usual. Scripture characters:—The 7ftedeemor conducted to the place of Passion; the crucifix borne on the shoulders of a brawny, 1 brown-Bkinned Simon; Pilate the oppressor; Judas the betrayer-in short, every prominent personage spoken of, as having been present on that occasion when the Son of Man suffered for U%U sins. Ch Kere 'S' or was then, an American hotel in lhuahua, or one conducted in the American fashion, though only a mere posada. ttnOD¡: its guests was a gentleman, stranger to the °*n, as the country. His dress and general appearance bespoke him from the States; and by Jsame tokens it could be told that he belonged to their southern section. He was in truth a kentuckian; but so far from representing the type, tall, rough, and stalwart, usually ascribed to the people Kaintuck," he was a man of medium *ize, with a build comparable to that of the ^elvidere Apollo. He had a figure tersely set, J**th limbs well knitted; a handsome face and Matures of amiable cast, at the same time ^pressing confidence and courage. A costly Guayaquil hat upon his head, and coat to corre- 8pond, bespoke him respectable his tout ensemble Proclaimed him a man of leisure; while his air -nd bearing were unmistakably such as could only belong to a born gentleman. Why he was in Chihuahua, or whence he had come to it, no one seemed to know or care. Enough that he was there, and gazing at the spec- tacular procession as it filed past the posada. He was regarding it with no eye of wonderment. In all likelihood he had seen such before. He could not have travelled far through Mexico "Without witnessing some ceremony of a similar «ind. Whether interested in this one or no, he was SOOn notified that he was not regarding it in the fanner proper or customary to the country. Standing half behind one of the pillars of the hotel Porch, he had not thought it necessary to take off "is hat. Perhaps placed in a more conspicuous Porch, he bad not thought it necessary to take off his hat. Perhaps placed in a more conspicuous Position he would have done this. Frank Hamer- sley—for such was his name-was not the sort of tuan to seek notoriety by an exhibition of bravado, and, being a Protestant of a most liberal creed, he Would have shrunk from offending the slightest sensibilities of those belonging to an opposite laith—even the most bigoted Roman Catholic of that most bigoted land. That his Guayaquil still remained upon his head was due to simple forgetfulness of its being there it had not occurred to him to uncover. While silently standing with eyes turned towards the procession, he observed scowling looks, and heard low growlings from the crowd as it swayed slowly past. He knew enough to be conscious of What this meant; but he felt at the same time dis- toclined to humiliate himself by a too facile com- pliance. A proud;American,|in the midst of a people he had learned to despise-their idolatrous ob- servances along with them—no wonder he should feel a little defiant and a good deal exasperated. enough yielding, he thought, to withdraw farther back from behind the pillar, which he did. It was too late. The keen eye of a fanatic had been upon him-one who appeared to have autho- rity for meting out chastisement. An officer, bearded and grandly bedizened, riding at the head of a troop of lancers, quickly wheeled his horse ■'rom out of the line of march, and spurred him towards the porch of the posada. In another in- stant his bared blade was waving over the hatted head of the Kentuckian. Gringo! alto sw sombrero! Aha jo a sits ^odillar, ("Off with your hat, greenhorn! Down upon your knees !") were the words that came hissing from the moustached hps of the lancer. As they failed to beget compliance, thev were instantly followed by a blow from the blade' of his 8f • t.V sideways, but with sufficient sleight and force to send the Guayaquil hat whirl- ing over the pavement, and its wearer reeling against the Wall. It was but the stagger of a sudden and unex- pected surprise. In another instant the gringo had drawn a revolving p«tol and in yet another Hs bullet would have been through the brain of the swaggering aggressor, but for a third person- age, who. rushing from behind, laid hold of the kentuckian's arm, and restrained the firing. At first it seemed to Hamersley the act of t another enemy; but in a moment he knew it to be heiiaviour of a friend-at least a pacificator (nt upon seeing fair play, You are wrong, Captain Uraga," interposed he had intermeddled, addressing' himself to the Officer. "This gentleman is a stranger in the Untry, and not acquainted with our customs." "Then it is time the lieretico should be taught them, and, at the same time, respect for the Holy Church. But what right, Colonel Miranda, have you to interfere?" The right, first of humanity, second of hospi- hty, and third that I am your superior officer." fiah! You mistake yourself. Remember, seoor coronel, you are not in your own district. jT lt was in Albuquerque, I might take commands r<^rn you. This is the city of Chihuahua." Chihuahua or not, you shall be made answer- ble for this outrage. Don't imagine that your Patron, Santa Anna, is now Dictator, with power 5° endorse such base conduct as yours. You seem t'O forget, Captain Uraga, that you carry your J-otnmission under a new regime—one that holds J^elf responsible, not only to fixed laws, but to the ~°de of decency—responsible also for international oyirtesy to the great Republic of which, I believe, ) this gentleman is a citizen." > once more exclaimed the bedizened Preach your palabras to ears that have --Jo listen to them. I shan't stop the procession f either you, or your Yankee protege. So you both go to the devil." la>! th'S benevolent permission, the captain of ncers struck the spurs into his horsft, and once Ore placed himself at the head of his troop. jThe crowd collected by the exciting episode soon » ^tfred away—the sooner that the strange lial raan» alon £ '•th his generous defender, had V**Ppeared from the portico, having gone inside Thm- ^st'K Processi°n was still passing, and its irre- e attractions swept the loiterers along in it* ent-most of them soon forgetting a scene which, in that land, where "law secures not life," is of too frequent occurrence to be either much thought of, or for long remembered. CHAPTER Jl. A FRIEND IN N Elm. The young Kentuckian was half frenzied by the insult he had received. The proud blood of his republican citizenship was boiling within his veins. What was he to do ? In the agony of his dilemma he put the question to the gentleman, who, beyond all doubt, had restrained him from committing manslaughter. The latter was an entire stranger to him—never s'een him before. He was a man of less than thirty years of age, wearing a broad-brimmed hat upon his head,a cloth jacket, slashed calzoneras, andared crape scarf around his waist-in short, the fanchero costume of the country. Still there was a military bearing about him that corresponded to the title by which the lancer captain had ad- dressed him. Caballero," lie said ia reply, if your own safety be of any consequence to you, I should advise you to take no further notice of the inci- dent that has arisen, however much it may have exasperated you, as no doubt it has done." Pardon me, senor but not for all the world would I follow your advice-not for my life. I am an American-a Kentuckian. We do not take blows without giving something of the same in return. I must have redress." If you geek it by the law I may as well warn you, you won't have much chance of finding it." I 'know that. The law: I did not think of such a thing. I am a gentleman; I suppose this Captain Uraga supposes himself to be the same, and will not refuse to give me the usual satisfac- tion." He may refuse, and very likely will, on the plea of your being a stranger—only a barbarian, a Tejano or gringo, as he has put it." I am alone here—what am I to do ?" The Kentuckian spoke half in soliloquy, his countenance expressing extreme chagrin. Puez, senDr 1" responded the Mexican Colonel; "if you're determined on a desafio, I think I might arrange it. I feel that I am myself a little com- promised by my interference and if you'll accept of me for your second, 1 think I can answer for it that Captain Tiraga will not dare to deny us." "Colonel Miranda—your name, I believe-need I attempt to express my thanks for so much generosity? I cannot-I could not. You have removed the very difficulty that was in my way for I am not only a stranger to you, but to every- one around. I arrived at Chihuahua but yester- day, and do not know a soul in the place." Enough you shall not be disappointed in your duel for the want of a second. As a preliminary,, may I ask if you are skilled in the use of the; sword?" Sufficiently to stake my life upon it." I put the question, because that is the weapon your adversary will be certain to choose. You being the challenger, of course he has the choice; apd he will insist upon it, for a reason that may perhaps amuse you. It is that we Mexican gentlemen believe you Americans somewhat gauche in the handling- of the rapier, though we know you to be adepts in the use cf the pistol. I take Captain Gil Uraga to be as thorough a poltroon as ever wore epaulettes but he will have to meet you on my account; and he would perhaps have done so anyhow—trusting to the probability of your being a bad swordsman." In that he may find himself disappointed." I am glad to hear it; and now it only needs to receive your instructions. I am ready to act." The instructions were given, and within two hours' time Captain Gil Uraga, of the Zacatecas Lancers, was in receipt of a challenge from the Kentuckian—Colonel Miranda being its bearer. With such a voucher the lancer officer could not do otherwise than accept, which he did with cooler confidence for the very reason Miranda, had made known. A Tejano, was his reflection, what should he know of the sword ? And swords were the weapons chosen. Had the captain of Zacatecas Lancers been told that his intended adversary had spent a portion of his life among the Creoles of New Orleans, he would have been less reliant on the chances likely to turn up in his favour. We need not describe the duel. which, if different from other ancounters of the kind, was by being on both sides bitter, and of deadly intent. Suffice it to say, that the young Kentuckian dis- played a skill in swordmanship sufficient to dis- arrange several of Gil Uraga's front teeth, and make an ugly gash in his cheek. He had barely left to him sufficient command of his mouth to cry Basta!" and so the affair ended. "Seaor Hamersley," said the man who had so effectively befriended him, after they had returned from the encounter, and were drinking a bottle of Paso wine in the posada, may I ask where you intend going when you leave Chihuahua p" To Santa Fe, in New Mexico; thence to the United States, along with one of the return cara- vans." 1:XTt. .I. '1" wnen ao you propose starting r' As to that, I am not tied to time. The train with which I am to cross the plains will not be going for six months to come. I can get to Santa Fe by a month's travel, I suppose ?" Less than that. It is not a question of how soon you may arrive there, but when you leave here. I advise you to start at once. I admit that two davs is but a short time to see the sights of even so small a place as Chihuahua. But you have witnessed one of them enough, I should say. If you take my advice you will let it content you, and kick the Chihuahuaense dust from your feet before another twenty-four hours have passed over your haad." But why, Colonel Atiranda Because so long as you remain here you will be in danger of losing your life. You don't know the character of the man with whom you have crossed swords. I do. Although wearing the uniform of an officer in our army, he is simply a salteador. A coward as I told you, too. He would never have met you if he had thought I would have given him a chance to get out of it. Perhaps he might have been tempted by the hopes of an easy conquest from your supposed want of skill. It would have given him something to boast about among the dames of Chihuahua, for Captain Gil deems himself no little of a lady-killer. You have spoilt his physiognomy for life and, depend upon it, as long as life lasts, he will neither forget nor forgive that. I shall also come in for a share of his spite, and it behoves both of us to beware of him." But what can he do to us ?" Caballero, that question shows you have not been very long in this country, and are yet igno- rant of its customs. In Mexico we have some callings not congenial to your people. Know that stilletoes can here be purchased cheaply, with the arms of assassins to use them. Do you under- stand me ?" I do. But how do you counsel me to act ?" As I intend acting myself-take departure from Chihuahua this very day. Our roads are the same as far Albuquerque, where you will be out of reach of this little danger. I am returning thither from the city of Mexico, where I've had business with the Government. I have an escort; a,nd if you choose to avail yourself of it you'll be welcome to its protection." "Colonel Miranda, again I know not how to thank you. I accept your friendly offer." Reserve your thanks till I have done you sAme service, beyond the simple duty of a gentleman, who sees another gentleman in a dilemma he had no hand in creating. But, enough, senor; we have no time to spend in talking. Even now there may be a couple of poignards preparing for us. Get your things ready at once, as I start two hours before ,sunset. In this sultry weather we are accustomed to travel in the cool of the even- ing." I shall be ready." That same afternoon, two hours before the going down of the sun, a party of horsemen, wear- ing the uniform of Mexican dragoons of the line, issued from the garita of Chihuahua, and took the northern road leading to Santa Fe, by El Paso del Norte. Colonel Miranda, his ranchero dress changed for the fatigue uniform of a cavalry officer, was at its head and by his side the stranger, whose cause he had so generously and gallantly es- poused. CHAPTER III. THE COLONEL COMMANDANT. Six weeks have elapsed since the day of the duel at Chihuahua. Two men are standing on the azotea of a large mansion-like house close to the town of Abuquerque, whose church spire is just visible through the foliage of trees that shade and sur- round the dwelling. They are Colonel Miranda and the young Kentuckian, who has been for some time his guest. For, the hospitality of the gene- rous Mexican had not terminated with the journey from Chihuahua. After three weeks of toilsome travel, including the traverse of the famed Dead Man's Journey," he was continuing to extend it in his own house and his own district, of which last he was the military commandant; Albuquerque being at the time occupied by a body of troops, stationed there for defence against Indian incur- sions. The house on whose roof the two men stood was that in which Colonel Miranda liad been born- the patrimonial mansion of a large estate that extended along the Rio del Norte, and back to- wards the Sierra Blanca, into territories almost uhknown. Besides being an oflicor in the Mexican army, the colonel was one of the ricos of the country. The house, as already said, was a large, massive struc- ture, having, like all Mexican dwellings of its class a terraced roof, or azotea. What is also common enough in that country, it was surmounted by a ■mirodur, or belvedere." Standing less than half a mile distant from the soldier's cuartel, the com- mandant found it convenient to make use of it as his head-quarters. A small guard in the saguan, or covered entrance below, with a sentinel stationed ouftside the gate in front, indicated this. Vi'irJ616 was D0 lamily inside, wife, woman, or child; for the colonel, "still a young man, was a bachelor. Only peons in the field, grooms and other servants around the stables, with domestics in the dwelling-all, male and female, being Indians ot the race known as 11 Indios mansos"— brown-skinned and obedient. But though at this time there was no living lady to make her soft footsteps heard within the walls of the commandant's dwelling, the portrait of a lovely girl hung against the side of the main sola, and on this his American guest had more than once gazed in silent admiration, it showed signs of having been recently painted; which was not strange, since it was the likeness of Colonel Miranda's sister, a tew years younger than himself —at the time on a visit to some relatives in a distant part of the Republic. Frank Hamerslev's eye never rested on it without his wishing the original at home. The two gentlemen upon the housetop were leisuring away the time in the indulgence of a cigar, watching the water-fowl that swam and plunged on the bosom of the broad shallow stream —listening to the hoarse croakings of pelicans and the shriller screams of the yrvya cranes. It was the hour of evening, when these. birds become •specially stridulent. "And so you must go to-morrow, Senor Francisco r" said his host, taking the cigarrito from between his teeth, and looking inquiringly into the face of the Kentuckian. There is no help for it, colonel. The caravan, with which I came out, will be leaving Santa F6; the day after to-morrow and there's just time for me to get there. Unless I go along with it, there mav be no other opportunity for months to come; and! one cannot Cross the plains alone." Well, I suppose I must lose you. I am sorry, and selfishly, too; for, as you see, I am somewhat lonely here. There's not one of my officers, with the exception of our old medico, exactly of the sort to be companionable. True, I have enough occu- pation, as you may have by this time discovered, in looking after our neighbours, the Indios bravos, who, knowing the skeleton of a regiment I've got, are growing saucier every day. I only wish I had a score or two of your stalwart trappers, who now and then pay a visit to Albuquerque. Well, my sister will soon be here; and she, brave girl, has pltmty of life in her, though she be but young. What a joyous creature she is, wild as a mustang filly fresh" caught! I wish, Don Francisco, you could have stayed to make her acquaintance. I am sure you would be delighted with her." If the portrait on the wall was anything of a faithful likeness, Hamersley could not have been otherwise. This was his reflection, though, for certain reasons, he did not in speech declare it. It is to be hoped we shall meet again, Colonel Miranda," was his ingenious rejoinder. If I did not have this hope, I should now be parting from' you with greater regret. Indeed, I have more than a presentiment we shall meet again; since I've made up my mind on a certain thing." On what, Don Francisco v» On returning to New Mexico." To settle in the country ?" Not exacth- that; only for a time-long enough to enable me to dispose of a cargo of mer- chandise in exchange for a bag of your big Mexican dollars." "Ah! 5*011 intend to become one of the prairie merchants, then I do. That intention has been the cause of my visiting your country. I am old enough to think of some calling and have always had a fancy for the adventurous life of the prairie trader. As I have sufficient means to stock a small caravan for myself, I think now of trying it. My present trip has been merely one of experiment and explora- tion. I am satisfied with the result; and, if no accident arise, you may see me back on the Del Norte before either of us be twelve months older." Then, indeed, is there a hope of our meeting again. 1 am rejoiced at it. But, Senor Don Francisco," continued his host, changing to a serious tone, a word lest I might forget it-a word of counsel, or warning, I may call it. I have observed that you are too unsuspicious, too regardless of danger. It does not all lie upon the prairies, or among red-skinned savages. There is as much of it here, amid the abodes of our so-called civilisation. When you arc travelling through this country bear your late antagonist in mind; and should you at any time meet, beware of him. I have given you some hints about the character of Gil Uraga. I have not told you all. He is worse than you can even imagine. I know him well. Do you see that little house—out yonder on the other side of the river ?" Hamersley nodded assent. In that hovel he was born. His father was what we call a pelado—a poor devil, with scarce a coat to his back. Himself the same, but something worse. He has left in his native place a record of crimes well known, with others more than suspected. In short, he is, as I have told you, a robber. No doubt you wonder that such a man should be an officer in our army. That is because you are igporant of the state of our service-our society as well. It is but the result of constantly recurring changes in our political system. Still you may feel surprise at his holding this commis- sion, with the patriotic party—the pure one-in power, as it now is. That might be inexplicable even to myself, since I know that he will be traitor to our cause when convenient to him. But I also know the explanation. There is a. power, even when the party exercising it is not in the ascendant—an influence that works by sap and secrecy, it is that or our merarcny. wi uraga is one of its tools, since it exactly suits his low instincts and treacherous training. Whenever the day is ripe for a fresh pronunclamento against our liberties-if we are so unfortunate as to have one —he will be amongst the foremost of the traitors. Carrui! I can think of him only with disgust and loathing. Would you believe it, senor, that this fellow, now that epaulettes have been set on his shoulders-placed there for some vile service-lias the audacity to aspire to the hand of my sister ? Adela Mira.nda standing in bridal robes by the side of Gil Uraga! I would rather see her in her shroud!" Hamersley's bosom heaved up, as he listened to the last words, and with emotion almost equalling that which excited his host. He had just been thinking about the portrait upon the wall, and how beautiful the original must be. Now hearing her name coupled with that of the ruffian, whose blow he had felt, and whose blood he had spilled, he almost regretted not having ended that duel by killing his adversary outright. But surely, Colonel Miranda," he said at length, there could be no danger of such an event as that you speak of ?" Never, so long as I live. But, amigo, as you have learnt, this is a strange land-a country of quick changes. I am here to-day, commanding in this district, with power, I may almost say, over the lives of all around me. To-morrow I may be a fugitive, or dead. If the latter, where is she, my poor sister, going to find the arm that could pro- tect her?" Again the breast of Hamersley heaved in a con- vulsive manner. Strange as it might appear, the words of his newly-made friend seemed like an appeal to him. And it is just possible some such thought was in the mind of the Mexican colonel. In the strong man by his side lie saw the type of a race who can protect; just such an oak as he would wish to see his sister extend her arms tendril-like around, and cling on to for life. Hamersley could not help having, vague and varied misgivings; yet among them was one pur- pose, he had already spoken of—a determination to return to Albuquerque. I am sure to be back here," he said, as if the promise was meant to tranquilise the apprehen- sions of the colonel. Then, changing to a more careless tone, he added- I cannot come by the spring caravans there would not be time enough to make my arrange- ments. But there is a more southern route, lately discovered, that can be travelled at any season. Perhaps I may try that. In any case, I shall write you by the trains leaving the States in the spring, so that you way know when to expect me. And if, Colonel Miranda," he added, after a short reflec- tive pause, in which his countenance assumed a new, and graver, form of expression, if any poli- tical trouble, such as you speak of, should occur, and you may find it necessary to flee from your own land, I need not tell you that in mine you will find a friend and a home. After what has happened here, you may depend upon the first being true, and the second hospitable, however humble." On that subject there was no further exchange of speech. The two individuals, so oddlv as acci- dentally introduced, flung aside the stumps ofjtheir cigars; and, clasping hands, stood regarding one another with the gaze of a sincere unspeakable friendship. Next morning saw the Kentuckian riding away from Albuquerque, towards the capital of New Mexico; an escort of dragoons accompanying him, sent by the Mexican colonel as a protection against marauding Indians. But all along the road, and for months after, he was haunted with the memory of that sweet face seen upon the sola wall; and instead of laughing at himself for having fallen in love with a portrait, he but longed to return, and look upon its original -chafing under an apprehension, with which the parting words of his New Mexican host had pain- fully inspired him. (To he continued.)
STREAKED WITH GOLD.
STREAKED WITH GOLD. ev R. E. FRANCILLON, Author of Earl's Dene," "Queen Cophetua," National Characteristics," &c., &c. CHAPTER VII. PHILIP THORNFIELII'S FOLLY. About six or seven years after Mrs. Thornfield's flight from her husband, a man, taller, broader and more strongly made than men often are, was tramping along a country road in the south of England. His magnificently regular features were scorched by hotter summers than ours, and he looked about him as he walked as if he were a stranger to that part of the country. He might have been a sailor were not a gigantic sailor a thing almost unknown or a wandering painter, were it not for his smooth face and short hair; or a prosperous pedlar, were it not that he carried no pack and he might be any or none of these with- out its being possible to decide whether he was or was not what is called a gentleman in any sense of the word. In any case he could not fail to attract notice, and there was no doubt of his look- ing like one thing—a man who followed his own will, and made others follow it also. By-and-bve he reached a large iron gate opening into a carriage drive that ran between two rows of laurels. He leaned for some time against the gate and looked thoughtfully through the bars, though there was nothing to see. It was a harmless amuse- ment, and yet I doubt if the owner of those grounds would have cared to see so formidable a figure, when combined with the face of a stranger, taking as it were a survey of his property. He was too much like an untamed lion considering whether there might not be good eating on the other side of his bars, and the bars were not strong. Presently he left the gate, and followed a path through a field that led him round the outside of the grounds. i At last he reached a low hedge that divided the grounds from the field. He left the path, and looked over. He saw a pleasant garden, with a lawn in the., middle of it that sloped down to a. pond, whereon sailed two white swans and by the edge of the pond ran a little girl, of about five years old, attended by a nursemaid. The man lookecLeven more intently at the child than he had examined the laurel bushes. He stayed there a full half hour, watching the child at play. The play must have ended in mischief, for he heard the nurse call out, Come here this minute, miss, or I'll give you over the hedge to the big man." The child turned round and stared at him with large black eyes. But whatever her pet Ogres were, they were apparently not big men. He saw there was no fear in the stare and smiled. That's right," he said. Don't be afraid. Come here and show me how fast you can run. Is this Miss Seymour's ?" he asked the nurse. Nor did the nurse appear afraid of big men. She WHS a young and good-looking country girl who showed no unwillingness to lead the chil4 I towards a handsome stranger who seemed inclined for a gossip. Not Miss Seymour's now, sir. She's been dead these three years." Dead, eli w She was an old friend of mine. There—jump up, little one were you ever held as high as that before ? And there-give me a. kiss; you won't be afraid of big men now." Oh. miss, whatever would your mamma say if she knew you were being held over the hedge by a strange man!" "Let her be, Mary" Susan, sir." Susan, then-I won't eat her, I promise you." But all the same he held her so closely to him that the child, brave as she was, and proud of being held so high over Susan's head, looked scared. Then Mrs. Thornfield lives here all alone now ?" Mrs. Thornfield that was, sir." IViiat-is she dead, too ?" Law, sir, you must have known her a real time ago if you didn't know Mr. Thornfield was dead in a shipwreck years and years!" Yes-I knew he was dead-but that doesn't prevent her being Mrs. Thornfield still y" Don't it, though! She's Mrs. Archer now-and he's dead, too—and they do say, sir, some of them, that she'll be Mrs. Somebody else before very long -—and I hope she will, for I like marryings." So does she, it seems. Well, she's welcome. I hope all your fathers will be good to you, my poor little Letty Me not Letty," said the child. She gone away., Law, sir, how you do mistake names, to be sure! You call me Mary, who's the under housemaid, and now you take Miss Rachel for Miss Letty that died of the scarlatina weeks and weeks ago." Too late again Too late in resolving to mend his life, too late in trying his experiment, too late in struggling back to England from the other side of the world to see his child once more before he buried himself out of sight for ever. That wonderful secret of gold-making had vanished from his mind never to return. The constable's untimely intrusion had quenched its re viving light, and, do what he would, he could not unearth it from the depths of his brain. He even doubted at times if his inspiration had not been a dream of the twilight in which it had come to him. But the fainter grew this dream, the stronger, in his Australian prison, grew the reality that it had for a time blotted out-bia love for the child that he had lost too soon. It was one thing left to live for; and to give her one parting kiss he had risked death, and now risked being sent back for life into slavery, and all the hopeless degrada- tion it implied to a man like him. And now she is dead, and he was wasting upon his wife's child the embrace he had kept for his own. He put her down so roughly that he almost threw her from his arms upon the grass. Dead lie could only exclaim. Yes, sir. You remember the poor little thing, I suppose ? A good little thing, too; but not to be named with Miss Rachel in the same day. She weren't so pretty, nor so clever, nor so-—" Dead!"—And then, I can dimly guess ho- but cannot tell—a horrible temptation entered the mind of the man who had never resisted a tempta- tion since he was born. I suppose," he said in a changed voice, that your mistress, Mrs. Archer, is very fond of so charming a child ?" Law, sir she dotes on Miss Rachel like the very apple of her eye." Is she at home ? I should like to see her again. It is lucky I met with you, though, or I should most certainly have been asking her after my old friend, Dr. Thornfield. Just take a message to her, there's a good girl, if you won't mind," he said, putting half-a-crown into her hand. "That'll buy a ribbon. Can you read, by-the-way ? Never mind, though—you won't know French, so it doesn't matter if you can." He wrote with a pencil 011 a scrap of paper, folded it into a note, and gave it to the girl. Thank you, my dear. I'll wait here till you come back, and make friends with Miss Rachel. I'm not a bad nurse, and I'll take good care of her." An old sweetheart!" thought the girl as she took the note. Perhaps he's to be number three —and I hope he will, for he's a fine, handsome gentleman, though sunbrown though what it is the men see in misses-but her money-beats me." 0. But Susan's opinion of the stranger's intention* changed when Mrs. Thornfield tore open the letter and then gave a piercing scream. Madam"—she read as hurriedly as her scared eyes could tear over the paper—" An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a child for a child. You robbed me of mine; the theft killed me; but I have contrived to come back to life to take yours in exchange. You doomed my child to the curse of growing up with you, of becoming hard, mean, and cold-happily, she died. I doom yours to the curse of growing up with me; and what that is likely to end in you can guess as well as I can tell you. Look for her high and low, you will not find her I am an old gaol-bird, and am no longer afraid of a constable. I leave you free to marry as often aS you like-but your Rachel you will never see again—and pray that you never may." And they did look high and low-but neither the stranger nor the child was to be found. CHAPTER VIII. THE HEABT OF THE HILL. Such was the story that was in Matthew Dunn's mind as he walked homeward with Rachel. Such, however, was not altogether the tale he told, because he omitted the one great fact of the whole, that she was not really his child. He told of his quarrel with her mother, of his vain search for gold, of his crime and transportation, but he gave her to understand that he had carried her away simply out of natural fatherly affection. He could not bring himself to tell her that his passionate love had grown out of hate aad revenge, and had been transferred to her from the dead Letty against his own will. After all the man was a man and not a fiend, and the child whom he had carried off to destroy, body and soul, had crept into his heart unawares. He could not risk losing her—she must believe herself his own child to the end. Your mother died long ago," lie went on in his own way. I don't think I killed her, though—I'm afraid she was incapable of feeling anything more than a week or so. People without hearts can't break them. Poor woman I forgave her long ago, and only wish I could think she had a heart to die of. Her money went among a lot of parsons, for she had no relation-you have nobody but me, I nobody but you. I'm not much afraid, now that it has come out, of your thinking the worse of me in your heart for being punished for a slip of memory —for that's what it comes to. You may be sure the net of the law would have been wide-meshed enough for the finder of the Great Secret to slip through. Never have I been able to so much as dream of that lost secret again-I fear it is gone for ever. But I am resigned to that-I have you. But what has all this to do with Evan Roberts, you'll say ? Wait a moment—I am very near the end now. There was a thieving rascal on the works of discovery at Caer Groes when I was starting it, whom I turned off for pocketmg the petty cash the very day I saw your mother for the last time. I won't tell you his name, but his history I will. He took himself off to Cornwall when I lost sight of him, and having to work under eyes less sharp than mine, cheated his way up till from a working man he became a shareholder, director, and chair- man, for aught I know. in any number of concerns. He never put his finger down a mine but what it failed, and the more there failed, the richer he grew. But you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, and this scoundrel was covered with hog- skin from head to heel. He wasn't stingy, and he used his money to indulge the miserable appetites of the brute that he was at bottom-he was a saint by trade, and made up for the trouble of respectability by sneaking off to some town big enough to hide in whenever he had the chance, and plunging into a hog's paradise-the dirtier the stye the better it suited him. And, as ill-luck would have it, in one of his haunts-as I found it was afterwards-he tumbled over me. A thieves' den, where they fleece sailors- a place that was afl well enough for a man like me, too poor to pick and choose, but for a man who could drink Chambertin if he only had the taste for it, and who passed for a saint, no. Though I was there I was not in the same boat with him. He was the only man in England that ever put his nose into such places who knew me-and there he was; and as I had for- gotten the very existence of the scoundrel, I let him look his fill. He watched me out and followed me-had the impudence to introduce himself as the man I'd turned off for cheating. And what do you think he proposed? Little I knew how far this cheating game had gone. It. was he—neither I nor Evan Roberts- who found out that a full half of Caer Groes is a gold hill. I remembered well enough his report- ing that a trial cut we drove—where you were to- night—led to nothing, and our making our open- ing, in consequence, on the side where the Caer Groes works are now. Perhaps if it had not been for your mother I should have gone down to Caer Groes again—and if I had I should have found out the trick in time, you may be sure. Well, being turned off, and being but a pbor man, he could do nothing—for, as you see, the only thing an honest man would have done, and what Roberts did, was inconsistent with the crooked build of his brain. He went off to Corn- wall, but was always hankering after this gold. But when he got capital, he wouldn't even use it as a common man of business would have done by sending the shares down, then buying in, and then finding the gold again. That would imply invest- ments, partners, royalties, and what not—he must have all or none. His notion was to drive a shaft and level straight to the gold veins under the Caer Groes land. If this was madness, it was the madness of genius, to judge the pudding by the eating. It would have been mad, with a vengeance, to work a secret that must be trusted to dozens of blackguards if he hadn't found me-but then lie did find me. I That comes of waiting upon Providence,' he said to me. 'I have capital; all I want is a man to work it—and you're the man.' I own the very impudence of the fellow amused me, and the confidence he must have had in the strength of the temptation to venture such a secret with anybody but a father confessor. The fact is, I thought two things-one that lie had been drinking more than enough; the other that he was a monomaniac. I Yes,, I said; !'m the man. Any old cow-shed would do for the stamps; I remember the very place for the turbine, and a man like me who has governed bushrangers can keep a few tame Welsh black sheep under his little fimger. I wish everything in life was as easy. But, no, thank you; I'm a tired dog now. I want to lie down and go to sleep over my bare bones. Besides, I don't see why you should think me such an ass as to rob for your beaefit; when I do that sort of business I'll do it for my own.' As you did in that mail matter,' said the scoundrel. 'Think twice before you refuse; you'll never have such another chance again—of not going back to Botany Bay.' « He drunk—he mad indeed! Not he. I had to choose that moment between becoming his slave and being torn away from you-for ever. Of course you know which slavery I chose! and. for the moment, I was tempted, for your sake, with what he offered me-you had hardly bread to eat, my poor girl! So I do all the work, and keep his name dark, even from the men, and carry him the gold which he knows how to dispose of safely, for atand. I can't say I've disliked the life—till to- there isn't a rogue's trick that he doesnt uader- day. My master pays freely, for his own sake it I keeps me alive, and I always liked a pitched battle, single-handed, against nature and man. But like it or not, on I must go. If I stopped—if I showed the faintest sign of treachery-I should find myself back in Botany Bay, for my master has no more compunction than a rattlesnake, and there is not a link to connect him with the business. He's only unlike the snake in not rattling his tail." "And who ii-" poor Rachel managed to bring out, after listening to her father's story as in a nightmare. There's honour among thieves, Rachel. When I became Captain of Pantcareg I made a law that no woman was to know a word of the affair. I have told you all that is needful to tell you, and for the rest a captain must be the first to keep his own laws. You would be trying to betray the man to save me." My mother-" Ah, you've been better off with me, after all —you might have been one of those wretched girls v. hose nature is squeezed out of them by stay- laces and strait laces, and who are taught to lie in kid gloves and to paint their smiles to order. You might have been a. Young Lady, Rachel—but I've saved you from that, anyhow. I've done some good, if only by saving one soul from a drawing-room. And now you must save me—I have told you why, and now I will tell you how. Roberts is not very quick, but all the more dangerous. A slow-thinking man, that hunts by scent and last instead of sight and speed. He's lost his head for the moment, but he'll get it back, and what's inside is clear and cool. I've put him off the scent for now with gunpowder and soft soap, but that won't do for long. The only way to settle him is to catch him and by good luck I can treat him to the double honey that would catch the biggest two-legged bluebottle that ever buzzed— woman and gold. Why, they have caught even me in their time. Make friends with him, Rachel— every woman is born with the knowledge of how to fool any man. I need not tell a clever girl how to use her own weapons—the youngest she-baby in Llanfawr could teach that to a Solomon. He's young and a man, you're pretty and a woman, and the thing 's done. But if he hangs back and turns too cold-blooded to follow you head-foremost blindfold, then he shows himself ripe for what turns cold blood sooner than hot blood into fire- the smell of gold. The colder, the fitter for that physic—give it him hot and strong—in pailfuls. He's a bit of a poet-fill his fancy; he's ambitious —show him the ladder to climb he's a man with a grievance, too—but I'll keep that sore raw. And then, what with anger, and ambition, and love, and greed, if he doesn't take Matthew Dunn's shil- ling he's not a mortal man. I could buy Socrates at half the money. I'm half ashamed" to waste such powder on a. Welsh miner, but it's best to make sure. He's already got one linger in the trap. Here—your philosophers want proof—when the time comes, sparkle that before his eyes," he said, handing her a rough lump of clean gold. That's the lodestone for a saint. Whatever you can do without it I leave to you." Mechanically she took the piece of gold, unable to speak a word. She had lost her brand of witch- craft—but at what a price! There was a certain proud grandeur in being cut off from the right to love by such a curse, but no arguments, no per- suasion, could now force her to make her lover the husband of the daughter of Matthew Dunn. Her father could' not cease to be the father who loved her and had even adopted the life he led to save himself from losing her. But there was one thing in which she could not bring herself to obey him —to turn her true love into a trap for a good man's: soul. She could not dessrt her father now, what- ever he might be so she must sacrifice the man she loved yet more dearly, and that without allow- ing him to suspect why. It was not a question to be thought about; it was a thing to be done. Matthew Dunn, in his belief in the power of temptation over any man and in her tried obedience might take her silence for assent, but it was in truth the silence of a paralysed tongue. She had learned from Evan himself the real difference between right and wrong. She must save her lover from her father, and her father from her lover and though she would willingly have died to save either, so plain and easy a way was not allowed. Meanwhile, Evan Roberts, forgetting even the very name of gold, was thinking of the real prize he had won in number five. Even love could not blind him to the fact that the poor girl, with all her learning, was wofully ignorant ia the most essentIal. things, and the best part of his happi- ness lay in looking forward to the pleasant task of driving away her cloudy fancies and superstitious fears, while she, in return, helped his mind to grow. He was too much of a man to feel below her in such accidents as manner of speech and bearing; he felt raised by her love into a match for the greatest lady in the land. And when he thought of her pale face, her pleading eyes, and her self- abasement before him, pity grew stronger than passion, and he vowed, in his own straightforward way, to devote himself to her so long as he breathed. But all this did not prevent his being a miner out of work, and in want of a week's wages. The next u i'^l8 forced holiday and, to the surprise of the little household where he lodged,he slept late and long dreaming as little of what was going on among the hillg as of gold. His were golden slumbers in a better way. When he woke, there was full golden sunshine to follow them. I shall go and see Rachel," he said to himself, as he dressed himself in his holiday clothes. And then I shall speak to Dunn. He will not mind, that's sure. And then, when all is settled, I will put Caer Groes out of my head, and ask Rachel to come with me far away—so far as Cornwall, maybe. Llanfawr is no place for her, and though her father is not so black as he is painted, still- Yes; we will begin to live, and to get a Nantfynnon of our own. She shall be a lady. Captain Martin's own self began no better than I, and he did not get rich by chance; he worked for it, and so will I too. When once the witch non- sense is out of her head, ahe will be as happy as the day is long." Griffith Owen passed by as he left the door. Good morning, Owen! You will not be in number five to-day f" he said cheerfully. Evan's old friend shook his head mournfully. I wish, Evan Roberta, there had never been any number five." It was a lucky number for me, though. Good- bye, Owen, and good luck to yourself too, if I do not see you again." You are going from LIanfawr?" "I am going first to Matthew Dunn's." He made a point of saying so, for having made up his mind to swallow such a father-in-law, he was not the man to be ashamed of the mouthful. "You are going to Matthew Dunn! You are going to be one of his gang!" exclaimed Owen in dismay. Then that will be good-bye—and you were the best miner in all Llanfawr. It is a shame for you, Evan Roberts, to speak to Matthew Dunn. You are too much for the books, and the witches will get hold of you." Heedless of the warning, however, he once more passed the fatal stone, and entered the kitchen of the house among the fir treea. There he found Rachel, with her hands in her lap, staring at the peat fire, as if she had never moved from the spot where he had left her the night before. Nor did she move towards him when he came in. But she turned her face to him after while— and he hardly knew it for hers. Had he been learned in the art of witchcraft, he would have suspected himself of surprising her in a moment of forgetfulness when she had neglected to put on the beauty in which she chose to appear to men. The charm of health and colour had faded away, and the eyes had become heavy and dim. Two dark circles round them told of want of sleep her hair was left loose and rough, and her dress was disordered and stained with mud—she might have just ridden home from a witch's Sabbath on the back ot Gelart, who lay curled up in a heavy sleep before the fire. Evan was about to speak when she interrupted him. I must waste no words," she said resolutely. "I have been thinking—and it cannot be." Rachel!" "Never I was weak last night—it .was all so new, so—but I am strong again now. Never speak to me again. Never think of me. And—leave Llanfawr and never return." Was last night's battle to be fought all over again ? he thought with a sigh of despair. He approached her, but she held out her hand as if to keep him off. Don't speak," she said, but go. That is my last word. Go, and do not ask me why." All the resources of a woman's utmost strength nerved her to act stubborn cruelty so well that she stifled down the sob that threatened to betray her. The effort caused her intense bodily pain, but she drew back her outstretched hand and hid it, that he might not see it tremble. My own poor girl! You have been called a witch till you believe them. What shall I do to make you see that if you are the queen of all the witches-" Nothing." "Your father! Has he said No." Do you want to see me go mad, Rachel ? You care for me—you said it yourself. I will not move from where 1 am till you say it again, and then if you will not come with me I will stay with you." Then I do not care for you," said Rachel, trying to tear up her heart by the roots and break it to pieces then and there. For the sake of God, say all but that-it is not true! You cared for me last might. Rachel, and— what has come since then ? I will not go before I know why. I will go if it is right; but if it was right you would tell me why. It is not the witch- craft still ? We will go where the people will not call a woman wicked because she is wise. We will help each other to be good, and I will love you and live for you every bit of me. Say the truth, and if there is anything to bear I will bear it and welcome. My own poor wife If you ever did anything you will not think right it shall be right enough for me. But there is nothing like that ?" he asked, turning pale in spite of his confidence.for the thought could not help at last arising that she might have some pas- sage in her mysterious life to conceal. After all, what did he know of her but that he loved her ? And though that was enough it was not all. You may tell me without fear what I shall say! I mar- ried you in my own heart last night, and there is nothing in the whole world——" In the pain of her silent battle she clasped her hands, snatching them from where they were hold- ing her heart together. The sudden gesture tore part of her disarranged dress open, and something bard rolled to his feet along the floor. Losing her presence of mind, she uttered a cry and threw her handkerchief over the thing. But her movement was as vain as it was rash—for a second time he had seen gold-Caer Groes gold. Her agitation was enough to tell him where it came from, and this time at least his eyes saw plainly. Were there witches—and was she an arch-witch after all ? Was he in truth, as Owen had warned him, falling into a trap for souls ? Or was he standing on the brink of some yet more un- intelligible earthly mystery ? He could not speak hè could only regard her in mute bewilderment that opened the way to every sort of terrible sur- mise. For there she stood before him, with a face paler than ever, with eyes that burned with mingled anger and shame, quivering in every limb, and holding out her hands towards the door. If he failed to read all the signs of detected and conscious guilt in her very look he would be tha f stupidest—or else the wisest—of men. Being neither, he could only assume that she was con- scious of some sinful secret of her own in connec- tion with the gold that he had found. It is an error to paint Love with bandaged eyes; he is given to see too mach at such times. So, just as she found cut she was no witch, but only the weakest of wo he felt that unless there were witches he must be mad, and that she must be the chief of them. His love for her might be deathless, but it seemed to die, for those who love witches are ever on the brink of hating. He could not consciously tell himself that he still loved one who had proved herself capable of the most systematic treachery. He obeyed her at last, and left her without another word. Only one thing was quite clear. She had dis- missed him because she preferred the safety of the secret of her wealth to him. To save that secret she had silently lied to him, even when he held her last night in his arms. All things were likely now—even that his discovery of the gold was but a trick of black magic to lure him into the power of Dunn and the devil. But as the fresh outer air cleared his brain, he knew that this would not do. He had seen gold in Caer Groes. Gold newly extracted—for he recognised the stage of its working from his book —was in the house of Matthew Dunn. Matthew Dunn was idle, but rich; a foreigner, but lived at Llanfawr. He had done his best to bid, at a ruinous loss, for number five. He knew all about gold—more than the Captain of Caer Groes or Mr. Sanderson. It needed no detective genius to scent foul play in the air. But what was to be done ? Whatever foul play there was, Rachel was at the bottom of it; and though she had betrayed him he could not betray her even now by taking advantage of a chance slip in the game. That was the unreasoning reason he gave himself for holding to a point of honour, for he would not admit that his heart was still his master. But he thought, If Caer Groes is being robbed, the thieves will have some way of getting under our land; a witch could not mine without a shaft, so a shaft there, will be. And if there is a shaft the Company must see it too. No—it is no business of mine now. Much I owe to them, that I should open their eyes —it would be but revenge now on her. If I will not be her fool I will not be their spy. And yet if I hold my tongue I shall be a thief too. Which shall I be—the thief or the spy ? Wait a bit! I will find out the trick and let Dunn know it—he will aot stay to be caught in Llanfawr. And when she is safe away, I will tell the Company of the back door. And then ?—Then I will go away myself; there are other places than Llanfawr where I can get my bread with my hands." Just to earn his daily bread was the goal of his ambition now. He spent the rest of the day in making circles round the mouth of Caer Groes, slightly increasing the radius each time, like a carrier pigeon before starting on its straight voyage. The task had at least the good effect of postponing the hour when he would have to sit down and mourn for the loss of Rachel more bitterly- than if she had only died. And at last his circuits, up and down hills, across quaking bogs and through rocky streams, so that no inch of ground within reasonable distance might be left unexplored, had its reward. After many hours of hard walking and steep clambering he found, in a hidden corner beside a deep and narrow torrent, a wooden door in the hillside that betokened the entrance to a metal mine. He pushed it with all his force, but it was either locked or blocked, so that it resisted firmly. But for a dilapidated cowshed a few yards off, all around was as lonely as the middle of a desert. No sign of recent labour was to be seen. Looking over in the torrent he saw the water-wheel over which the water splashed idly, and that was all. But it was also everything. Clearly enough here was a mine, old or new, within working distance of Caer Groes, and of which he had never heard. And what then ? Nothing could be easier than for a reputed lunatic to tell the sceptical Captain of Caer Groes, "I have found an old adit among the hills," and to be answered, What then ? Old adits are as common as blackberries." Lunatic that he was indeed not to have thought the obvious way out of all his doubts and difficul- ties as they arose !—Within a very few miles lived one whose good sense and good nature were pro- verbs, whose advice and aid were open to all comers, who had himself been a working miner, who did his duty himself and could tell others how to do theirs. Indeed he had a right to be consulted, for as next door neighbour to the Caer Groes Com- pany, he owned the very land on which stood these deserted works, and probably knew some- thiag of their past history. Captain Martin, of Nantfynnon (To be continued).
ODD HOURS WITH ODD PEOPLE.
ODD HOURS WITH ODD PEOPLE. BT THE RKV. F. WAGSTAFF, F.R.H.S. HOUR II.—ODDITIES IN RETIREMENT. From the earliest days of the Christian faith there have been those who deemed it incumbent upon them to withdraw from the world and refuse to share in the amusements and even the employments of the unbelieving. Gradually the tendency in the direction of exclusiveness deve- loped into the extreme practices of celibacy, absti- nence from particular sorts of food, the infliction of chastisement, &c., while from the third century onwards, multitudes retired altogether from social life, add either shut themselves up in communities after the fashion ot monks, or lived lives of absolute solitude. The Ascetics first set the example of retiring from towns and cities to enjoy the rural simplicity of village life; but these were soon surpassed in their austerities by the Anchorites, many of whom exposed themselves to all changes of the weather, living without the shelter of a habitation, and even without raiment, or very paitially clothed. One of the earliest and most famous of these was St. Antony, called also Antony of Thebes, who was born about 250, and concerning whom many marvellous legends are told, including stories of his encounter with Satan, whom he served, if pos- sible, worse than St. Dunstan did, although that saint is said to have seized the Prince of Darkness by the nose with a pair of red-hot tongs. More credible stories relative to St. Antony represent that he never washed his body and wore only a coarse shirt of hair. So exalted did he become after death that he was the most popular saint in the Romish calendar; and when, in 1089, an epide- mic of erysipelas raged with terrible effect in France, cures proved impossible till intercessory prayers were offered at his shrine. The disease was thenceforward known as "St. Antony's Fire,'> and a religious fraternity founded for the purpose of praying for the recovery of persons so afflicted survived till the year 1790. Of Hermits, certainly one of the most remark- able was St. Simeon Stylites, who lived in the fifth century, and whose saint's day in the Roman calendar is the 5th of January. This singular being not only lived on the top of a pillar himself but he was the founder of a sect all of whom fol- lowed his example. Beginning his career in a monastery, he soon grew dissatisfied with its regulations, and not sufficiently austerp discipline. Then he lived for some time on the top of a. mountain in an enclosure of loose stones. While there, having, we suppose, plenty of time for meditation, he invented a new sensation. Erecting a pillar near Antioch, about nine feet high, he got on the top and lived there about four years. On a second pillar, twice the height of the first, he lived three years and then for ten years on one about 30 feet high. At last his admirers erected a. pillar, 60 feet high, where he contentedly spent the last twenty years of his life. It was only three feet in diameter, but there was a railing rouudit, to prevent Simeon from falling off. He had no seat, and could only rest by leaning against the railing. His clothing was composed of the skins of beasts, and he wore an iron collar round his neck. From his lofty pulpit he is said to have addressed the people below twice a day—it is to be feared some of them had a, crick in the neck from looking up so high—spending the rest of his time in devotion. Tradition says that he often bowed himself in prayer a thousand times in one day. One of Tennyson's most vigorously-written poems pur- ports to be a prayer offered up by St. Simeon Stylites. Reades of Dickens will remember the extra- ordinary characters of the hermit in Tom Tiddler's Ground," and of Miss Havisham in Great Expectations," both of whom are said to have been real persons, but slightly caricatured. Only a few years ago there lived near Ashby-de- la-Zouch, Leicestershire, a person who styled him- self "The Old Hermit of Newton Burgoland." Wearing garments of the oddest description, this person used to perambulate the village, or spend his time in his strangely-arranged garden. This was laid out in what he termed a symbolic manner, and he used to obtain a small income by admit- ting pic-nic parties in search of tea, to whom he made a slight charge. In a passage leading to the garden were "the three seats of self-inquiry," each bearing as an inscription one of these questions, Am I vile ?" Am I a hypocrite ?" Am I a Christian?" The garden was adorned with repre- sentations of purgatory, and the Inquisition, effigies of the Apostles, and mounds adorned with flowers, which were intended to represent the graves of the Reformers. He had also erected a gallows, on which hung a scare-crow figure sup- posed to be the Pope; and a large tub, with a rough desk in front, served him as a pulpit. When his garden was full of visitors he would get into his tub, and for the hoar together pour forth a mixed harangue, denouncing popery and all sorts of religious and political oppression. Occasionally he would print small pamphlets or tracts to set forth his peculiar ideas, and these would be freely purchased by the curious. Few travellers in North Wales return home without photographic copies of a painting repre- senting the Ladies of Llangollen." The story of these fair recluses is worth the telling. Both were of gentle birth—the one, Lady Eleanor [ Butler, being sister to the Earl of Ormonde, and | the other, Miss Mary Ponsonby, daughter of a gentleman of property. Hie mutual affection of these ladies was so strong from childhood- though they were in no way related—that when they arrived at a marriageable age, although several eligible suitors presented themselves, they were all rejected. Lady Eleanor's friends were bent on securing a suitable alliance for her, and to remove her from the influence of Miss Ponsonby placed her in close confinement. Love laughs at locksmiths and so it was in the case of the two friends. The prisoner made her escape, and the I young ladies fled together; but being soon over- taken were restored to their respective families. Every inducement was held out to Lady Eleanor Butler to give up so romantic an attachment, and form a matrimonial alliance worthy of herself and of the prestige of her family, but without effect. A few months later a second elopement was planned between the two ladies and trusting the secret of their hiding-place to a servant of the Ormonde family, they again left their homes, deputing the servant to assure their friends of their happiness and safety. Each took with her a small sum of money, and the only request they appear to have made to their families was that they might not be disturbed in their attachment, and that some small annuities might be continued to them. Thus these two ladies retired from their friends and the world of fashion and building a suitable cottage in the beautiful Vale of Llangollen, prepared to spend the remainder of their days in seclusion. Attended by two female servants, and happy in their mutual affection, they lived for maay years. One who visited them thus described the ladies and their home:—" Lady Butler was of masculine build and manners, and very tall. She usually wore a riding habit, and had all the air of a finished sportsman. Miss Ponsonby, on the contrary, was fair, gentle. pensive, and effeminate. Their home had a singular air of neatness and comfort, and domestic duties were divided according to their respective tastes-.Mias Ponsonby superintending the house, and Lady Eleanor taking the oversight of the garden and land, of which they had about two acres. This retreat is about a quarter of a mile from Llangollon, hidden among the trees, on ascending the vale behind the church." In retiring from society, these ladies by no means gave up their interest in passing events. They waylaid Sir Walter Scott on his return from an excursion to Ireland in 1825, and induced him and his companion to Visit them. Their guests were astonished to find them so curious respecting the world they had quitted, and so well acquainted with its proceedings. "Their tables were filled with newspapers from every corner of the kingdom, and they seemed to have the Deaths kingdom, and they seemed to have the Deaths and Mar,iages I of the antipodes on their fingers' ends." Their cottage was a perfect museum of curiosities, and every circumstance of the visit made a deep impression on their guests. Strong peculiarities marked the personal appearance of the ladies, both at that time well advanced in age. Mr. Lockhart, Scott's son-in-law, described them as "dressed in heavy blue riding-habits, enormous shoes, and men's hats, with their petticoats to tucked up that at our first sight of them we took them for a couple of hazy or crazy sailors." Feminine vanity, however, was not extinct, for thev wore a profusion of jewellery. The two ladies appear to have regularly exchanged visits with their neighbours,but no outward influen ce ever interfered with their mutual attachment, and they died within eighteen months of each other-Lady Eleanor Butler in June, 1829, and Miss Ponsonby in December, 1830, both being about 90 years of age at the time of their death. A three-sided monu- ment in Llangollen Churchyard records their affection, and also preserves the memory of their faithful and attached servant, Mary Carrol. It is not every one who retires from the world that can assign so goad a xeason as the Ladies of Llangollen. Some of our readers may perhaps recall the singular escapade of the Rev. Benjamin Speke, who, some twelve or fourteen years a.r disappeared for several weeks. Mr. Speke was a gentleman of wealth and social position in the West of England, and brother to Captain Speke, the African explorer. The motive which led him to abandon home and friends was never explained —probably there was no explanation possible. In the early part of the last century a verywhim- sical proceeding took place in London. A person named Howe, possessed of an estate worth 1.700 or L800 a year, married a young lady of good family, agreeable in person and manners, and the match was apparently in every way a suitable and happy one. Seven or eight years after his marriage, Mr Howe left home very early one morning, telling his wife that he was obliged to go to the Tower on business. About noon his wife received a note from him stating that his business unexpectedly required his presence in Holland, and he should probably be absent three weeks or a month. Seventeen years passed before anything was heard of him. One evening Mrs. Howe received an anonymous letter asking her to meet the writer on the following evening in Birdcage Walk, St. James's Park. The letter came while the lady was at supper with sotne friem* including her sister and her sister's husband, Dr. Rose. Mrs. Howe tossed the letter across the table to her sister's husband, saying." Old as I am, brother, you see I have got a beau Dr. Rosa, after examining the letter very carefully, declared it was in Howe's handwriting—a statement which so surprised and affected the lady that she fainted. It was after- wards agreed that those present should accompany her to the place of assignation, when Mr. Howe calmly walked up to them, saluted his friends, embraced his wife, walked home with her, and the pair lived very happily together till his death. The strangest part of this story has yet to be told. When Mr. Howe left his home he resided in Jermyn-street; but instead of going to Holland he went no further than Westminster, where he lodged in a little street, in room for which he paid 5s. a week. Changing his name, he disguised himself by wearing Q, black wig. He lived there the whole time. He had left two children, both of whom died a few years after their father's mys- terious disappearance. Before their death, how- ever, and about two years after her husband left her, Mrs. Howe was compelled to apply for legal powers to deal with his property, and the absentee must have read about these proceedings in the newspapers. She had at first feared that his estate was involved but Mr. Howe had paid every debt before he vanished, and left his papers in sin- gular order. After the death of her children Mrs Howe removed from Jermyn-street to a smaller house in Brewer-street, Golden-square, opposite the residence of a cornchandler, named Salt. Howe—of course under his assumed name-con- trived to make the acquaintance of Salt, and frequently dined with him and from the room in ,which the two friends sat it was easy to see Mrs. Howe and her visitors in the lady's dining-room. Under the idea that his acquaintance was a bachelor, Salt often joked Howe about getting married, and even recommended his own wife to him as a suitable match! No explanation was ever given of this wild freak, and Dr. Rose always declared that he believed his brother-in-law only returned home because the stock of money he took with him was exhausted. The list of curious folks who have amused them- selves and the world with such adventures is not ended, but our space is, and the reader must be content with these examples. (To he continued.)
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BAR DDONIA ETH.;
BAR DDONIA ETH. TO RHIANON, On reading of her recent illness, and her longing for the Spirit Land." I have beard and dreamt of regions fair, Far, far above the fields of air, And rolling worlds on high Where, from some source no eye hath seen, A halo soft, sweet, and serene, Beams forth on every eye. The wicked cease from trouble there, ADd free from every hurtful snare, Within those regions blest; The weary by the rippling rills, That flow from the eternal hills, Are evermore at rest. In dreams on eagle-pinions oft, Released from earth I mount aloft, The Spirit land to see. And there communion sweet I hold, With dearest friends I knew of old, Friends ever dear to me. But ah: my friend, Rhianon fair, Twixt us and those bright regions rare, The Stygian deep rolls dark And oft as we approach its brink, Our spirits tremble as we think- We think of Charon's bark There's ne'er a friend whose soul draws near That rolling stream, so dark and drear, here sounds the last farewell! But makes my heart to faint and bleed- Aiysoul on sighs and sorrows feed, Their number, who can tell ? Sweet poetess! my fervent prayers, rs, Shall be that yet for many years From every adverse wave You may be kept in health and song, And oh: at last to join the throng, S.)-'n canu yn y Nef! Llandafi. lOAN DTFRI. I
LLINELLAU COFFADWRIAETHOLI
LLINELLAU COFFADWRIAETHOL I Am Mrs. Y ora-th, Molton, Llancarvan; yr hon a gladdwvd yn Eglwys Llanharry, yn meddrod ei theulu, Chwefror 5ed, 1882. Beth yw mawredd bvd a'i olud, Pan yn t.ynu at y bedd ? Yno derfydd pob rhwysgfawredd, Teyrnwiail aur ac ysgwydd cledd' Ond mae enw da'n arogli," Ac yn dilyn rhai i hedd Enw Mrs. Yorath ervs Y ina'n hwy na'j chareg bedd. Wedi claddu'i hanwyl briod, Byw a wnaeth mewn parch a moes, Gyda'i theulu diwyd, hawddgar, Heb yr un yn tynu'n groes Wele addurn pena'r teulu Heddyw'n gorwead yn y glyn, Gwraig rinweddol a mam'dyner, A fu yn harddweh bro a bryn. Heddyw'n gorwedd yn y glyn, Gwraig rinweddol a mam dyner, A fu yn harddweh bro a bryn. Pan oeddwn i yn llencyn gwridgoch, Fwy na thri'gain mlwj-dd yn oJ, Cofio-r wyf 'r edrychid arm Fel y lili ar y ddol, Yn rhagori mewn prydferthweh, Ar ei chydgyfoedion eu Mae'r prydferthweh a'r tynerwet, Heddyw'n mhlith y pethau fu. Fel y blaned Gwener byddai— Y n rhagori ar y ser, Yn nysgleiraeb ei goleuni, Yn llewyrchu eu llwybr&u ter, o mor siriol ymddangosai, Pan o gylch yr ugain oed,— Mor ysgafndroed, braidd y plygai Y glaswelltyn dan ei throed. Pob gofalon wedi darfod, Heddweh idd ei llwch yn awr, Esmwyth huned nes dadebro, Foreu'r Adgyfodiad mawr; Gorwynt a tharanau, pwvllwch Pan yn rhuthro heibio'i bedd, Cofiwch fod ei chorph i godi I fwynhau'r dragwyddol wledd. Hunweh yna gyda'ch gitydd Draw o dwrt a berw'r byd, Lie gorphwysa y lluddedig, Wedi treulio oes yn nghyd; Bendith lor trwy fyd ddilyno IR plant a'r wyrion hyd y nef; Mwy 0 werth na mil o fydoedd Fydd derbyn Ei drugaredd Ef. BEDDARGRAFF. Yma gorwedd un a dwym garai- ï theulu A'i thalent ymdrechai I'w meithrin mewn rhin, fel rhai.—yn ffrwythlon Etifeddion pob mawl a braint fvddai. DEWl HARRAIT.
Y CYFIEITHIADAU O'E GAN I…
Y CYFIEITHIADAU O'E GAN I ME. EVAN JOHN, PENTYRCH. Derbyniasom y cyfieithiadau o law awdwr y penillion gwreiddiol, a rhoddwr y wobr am danynt, sef Mr. William B. Morgans (Gwilym Brycheiniog) Tynewydd Limeworks, Llantrisant. A dyma ei feirniadaeth ef a.mynt Y mae chwech cyfieith- iad wedi eu derbyn; ond y mae tri o honynt, sef aiddo Ap Cymydog, Cyfaill, a Brodor, islaw sylw, a'r tri goreu yw J. Price, Philologist, a W. G. W. Y mae J. Price wedi cadw at y mesur yn dra chywir, ac yn meddu rhai llinellau gwych iawn • y mae ei ddwy linell gyntaf yn y penill cyntaf yn rhai gwir dda, a'r ddwy olaf hefyd, ond y pedair eraill yn hollol anheilwng o'r gwreiddioL Philo- logist.'—Y mae ef yn rhagori trwy yr oil o'r logist.'—Y mae ef yn rhagori trwy yr oll or penillion ar Price ond y mae ef wedi cymeryd gormod o ryddid ar y gwreiddiol yn y penill, ac mewn rhai llinellau eraill, ond er hyny, y mae ei gyfieithiad yn llawer mwy o werth na'r wobr a I gynygir. I W. G. W."—Efe o ddigon Tdyw y cyfieithiad goreu, sef yr agosaf i'r gwreiddiol; y mae yn un o'r rhai goraf a welsom ni erioed, oddieithr cyfieithiad neu ddau gan loan Emlyn ond gan fod y naill yn colli yn y peth hwn a'r llall yn y peth arall, tybiwyf mai rhanu y wobr rhwng dau o honynt, gan nad beth am y tri, a fyddai y peth tecaf." Dyna eiriau Gwilym Brycheiniog, a chredwn nad yw yn mhell o'i le ond rhaid cofio nad oeddem yn dysgwyl na chwenych cael cyfieith- iad hollol lythyrenol; dyna oedd un o amodau y gystadleuaeth, ac nis gallwn dynu ein geiriau yn ol; y mae un neu ddau o'r ymgeiswyr wedi cyd- ymffurfio a'r amodau uchod; teg, gan hyny, yw cymhwvso y safon a osodwyd o'u blaenau at «u cvfansoddiadau; os gwnawn hyn ynte, Philolo- gist" yw y goreu o ddigon. Nid yw "Philologist" wedidilyn yr ymadroddion gwreiddiol yn llythyr- enol, ond yn unig y meddylddryciiau ac y mae efe wedi gwisgo y meddylddrychau hyny mewn ymadroddion mwy grand a barddonol o lawer na ei gydymgeiswyr—y mae ei arddull yn fwy classical a phendefigaidd, ac yn arwyddo chwaeth uckelach a, phvrach. Pe cyfieithid barddoniaeth Gymreig. neu, yn wir, barddoniaeth unrhyw genedl arall, yn ymadrodd a meddylddrych yn hollol lythyrenol i'r iaith Seisonig, edrychau yn hyll a dieithr iawn-ni oddefa pob ffugyr na phob ansoddair eu cyneithu yn hollol lythyrenol; a bydd yn fynych yn rhaid defnyddio ffugyrau ac ansoddeiriau cyfystyr, ond mewn ffurf a gwisg wahanol. Dyma rai o'r prif anhepgorau mewn cyfieithiad, ac at hyn y dylai fod nod ac amcan y cyfteithydd. Dechreua 1, W. G. W." gyda dweyd Mr. John "—brawddeg anfarddonol a gwerinaidd iawn ond dechreua Philologist'' drwy ddweyd Honoured Sir," ac os nad yw vr epithet hwn yn oithaf barddonol, y mae yn cario ystyr llawer fwy moesgar ac urddasol nag eiddo "W. G. W." Er mai Mr. John" sydd yn y gwreiddiol, eto nid oedd rhaid i'r cyfieithydd arfer yr un epithet yn gymhwys yn yr iaith arall, am ei fod yn swnio yn anfarddonol a chyffredin, buasai rhyw epithet tebvg i "Hael foneddwr," "Enwog frodor," "Hoff or'chwyliwr. Enwog SNr," &c., yn fwy urddasol, ac yn ymgodi yn uwch i'r awyi- gylch barddonol. To kill the sin and not the sinner, This is what is fair and true." Brawddeg hynod o ryddieithol a baledaidd a gynwysa y llinell olaf o'r ddwy—beth sydd yn fair and true mewn lladd y pechod ac arbed y pechadur; a ydyw y gyfraith wladol, new rhyw gyfraith arall yn dweyd ei fod yn beth fair and true," y m&e yn weithred drugarog a grasol, a dyna i gyd, ond am ei fod yn fair and true," nis gall athroniaeth ei gaaiatau; ond a chaniatau fod y syniad yn gywir, ai ni allesid cael gwell ymadrodd- ion i amlygu y syniad na'r ymadroddion cyffredin a rhyddieithol o fair and true P" Several splendid over-masters, His faithful work did supervise, Faultless found it, all excelling, None 01 it foolish, but all wise." Yn awr ni ddymunwn er llawer i un Sais fyth weled y tath benill a hwna-beth feddylir wrth faithful work," a beth feddylir wrth ddweyd fod y waith-" one of it foolish, but all wise r" Yr oeddem ni am i'r meddylddrych gwreiddiol gael ei gadw yn y goiwg yn y cyfieith- iad, ond nid yn y fillrf chwerthinus, ddichwaeth, a difarddoniaeth a liyna-nid oes yn y brawddeg uchod na barddoniaetli, athroniaeth, i-hesymeg, nac ymadroddion urddasol o gwbl. Y rna.e "Philo- logist yn rhagori yn mhell yn y penill hwn mewn cywirdeb, iaith a syniad, er nad yw yntau gystal ag y dymunesid:- Masters, all of noble standing. Closely watch'd him with delight, Always faultless, yea, excelling, As it should be-all was nght. Yn awr barned ein dartlenwyr, a ydyw y cyfi- eithiad yna ddim yn tra-rhagori ar eiddo "W G. W. A ydyw faultless, excelling, as it should be, ac all toas right," ddim yn briodolach des- orifiad o waith na "faithful, none of it foolish, hut all ° 9*> Medd W. G. W." yn mhellac.h Fame he won by busy labour, Fame to do and dare what's right." Beth sydd a fyno fame mewn cysylltiad a do and dare what's rightai nid energy, will, hand, heart, or conscience, &c., fuaaai y geiriau priodol ? Nid oes syn-yr o gwbl yn mrawddegau "W. G. W." And his time ere km departure, Sweet heaven prolong it in our land." Wei, wrth gwrs, os oes prolonging i fod o gwbl ar einioes Mr. John cyn ei departure y bydd hyny, ac nid ar ol ei "departure," gan hyny, gair dwl ac hollol ddiwasanaeth yw "d-epadtlre yn y cysyllt- iad uchod. (Pw barhem.)
[No title]
Most Ladies, no doubt, use RECKITT'S PAJiIS BLUE at home, but they would do well to insist on their Laun- dresses doing the tame, as tht purity and brightness ol' the colour of the linen is largely dependent upon the quality of the Blue used. 2 f
Iv_ODDS AND ENDS.
Iv_ ODDS AND ENDS. Sky-lights.—Sun, moon, and stars. A Good Natured Crew.—That of the jolly-boat. Motto for a Young Man starting a Moustache.— Down in front. New reading—A man is known by the company he keeps out of. Why is an infant like a diamond? Because it is a dear little thing. The Angkrs.—To properly bring up some fish you should not spare the rod. It is just surprising how manv people there art who don't like to work between meals. W hat useful implement does a cabman urging oa a seedy old horse resemble ? A screw-driver. What this country needs is an invention te con- vince flies that a bald head is not a skating rink. For members of Alpine Clube—Don t talk when you are climbing a mountain, because silence gives ascent. 6 The between hill and a pill it -that the hII, is hard to get up, and the pill is hard to get down. A fine old Cornish squire drinks brandv onlv on two occasions when he has goose for dinner," and when he has not. Irish servant, who had been sent with a letter to the nearest pillar-box, to her master, Shure, turr the door wis locked." hat is love asts evervbodv and somebodv repiies. "It is a feeling that you don't want another leiiow iooling around her." Gentlemen who smoke allege that it makes them calm and complacent. They tell us that the more they fume the less they fret. At the door of a ready-made clothing store in one of the poorer quarters of Paris is the sign, here1"1 g0 somewhere else to be robbed; waik m ) A farmer in Cumberland calls his gun" Life Insurance Agent." On being asked why he thus named it, he replied, "Because it's an old smooth- bore.' A Mississippian puts it thus:—"At the earnest solicitation of those to whom I owe money, 1 have A Mississippian puts it thus:—"At the earnest solicitation of those to whom I owe money, 1 have consented to become a candidate for county treasurer." A Yankee bicycle dealer has utilised the happy thought of presenting a pair of crutches and a box of court-plaister to each purchaser of a-bicyele. He is monopolising the trade. "What must I do," asked ameanandcoB. ceited man of a friend who knew him well, "To get a picture of the one I love most r" "Sit for your own portrait," was the reply. "Tommy, did you hear your mother call vou ?n "CourStl I did Then why don't you go to her at. once Well, yousee she's nervous, and it'd shock her awful if I should go too sudden." A doctor went out for a day's hunting, and on coming horns complained that he hadn't killed any- thing. "That's because you didn't attend tI your legitimate business, said his wife. The carpenter editor of the Boston Post is out- with this advice" The true way for a woman ti drive a nail is to aim the blow square at her thumb. Then she 11 at least avoid hitting her thumb, any way." J A distinguished general at Aldershot. ia his re port respecting the Secoud Armv Corps of Volun teers at indsor in July last, expressed the opinio* that each corps should have a great coat anc water-bottle." Oh, no. sharks dont eat human beings. They simply take sailors in out of the wet, give 'em a warm bed and lots of grog, and at a convenient time pop 'em aboard of an incoming vessel. Sharks live on pie and sweet cake. A Kentucky editor says we are not responsible for the article in our inside. It was contributed bv a friend," &c. Texas Siftings adds:—"In Texas it is the bar-keeper who is responsible for what is in many of the editors' insides." Teacher John, what are your boots made of?" Boy Of leather." Where does the leather come from ?" "From the hide of the ox." What animal, therefore, supplies vou with boots and gives you meat to eat ?" My father." The witty Dr. South, when preaching before Charles II., saw that the King and his attendant* were disposing themselves to sleep; when, pausing in his sermon, he said Lord Lauderdale, let me entreat you to rouse yourself you snore ao lowi that you will awake the King." The "intelligent foreigner" in questof informatics regarding English national traits would have bees much perplexed could he have read an advertise- ment under the head of wanted that appeared in a contemporary a few days ago :—" A voung man for sale, also a young lady for fancy counter." The editor of a German paper recently gave hit readers a riddle. Why," he asked does the Timet condemn the anti-Semitic agitation so severely Of course they gave it up so he told them to read the name of the great English journal backwards. And when they had done so the mystery was solved. At a fancy ball one evening Dupin met a lady of his acquaintance most superficially attired in green gauze cut very decollete, "Ah, Duchess," said he. what Ii beautiful costume! May I ask you what you represent T' I am Amphitrite," replied the lady, "the goddess of the sea!" "I see. At low tide, I suppose ?" Like the generality of kings and conquerors, Frederick the Great had a philosophic indifference to the death of others. In one of his battles, a battalion of veterans having taken to their heels he galloped after them. bawling out, Why do vou run away, you old blackguard* ? Do you w«nl to live for ever The chaplain of a church in the West-end, being sorely troubled by the determination of so many of his congregation to occupy front seats, put up a notice to the effect that this privilege would be granted according to age. His greatest difficulty now is to get any of the ladies to sit in the front part of the house. When a Kansas editor takes his affiidavy that he saw a grasshopper light down on the back of a robin and lift him two feet high in an effort tf carry him off it is simply one solitary instance of the wonderful richness of the soil of that State Next year they are going to tame the grasshopper and use him to hunt rats. A Detroit young man denounces the poke bonnet "because they chaie his ears." Here, now, is' question for scientists. Can they explain how i is that a bonnet worn by one person can chafe th: ears of another person not wearing it ? Eh How'_ that rOll-well, well, now, that may be it. Ho- stupid not to see it before. A pretentious person said to the leading-man of a country village, How would a lecture by me on Mount. Vesuvius suit the inhabitants of your vil- lage ?" Very well, sir, very well. indeed," lie answered: "lecture by you on Mount Vesuvius would suit them a great deal better than a lecture by you in this village, sir." My dear," said Smithers to his wife, "what gentleman of this community continually attracts a preponderance of the public attention And when Mrs. Smithers had given it up he told her A Mr. E., to be sure." His wife said it is a Mr. E. to her that Smithers hasn't landed in a lunatic asylum or the State Legislature long age. The latest joke about King Kalakaua of the Sandwich Islands is that he cannot help being a good man. The reason assigned is that his ancestor? ate so much missionary in their time that it worked into their system and was trans- mitted to their descendants. Missionaries who are eaten are, after all, not wasted, it would appear. The professor sat in an easy chair on the deck, looking very pale. The compassionate captain asked him how he felt. Miserable, miserable; I'm ill, captain, I'm ill! I have paid tribute to Neptune till 1 have lost everything." But," said the captain, "1 see you still have your boots left; "Yes," answered the professor, faintly, but they were on the outside." 1 can't very well express—which it-wha. there—I do noÎ-vou are very—I am not, sil insensible-the fact is," said the diffident man, suddenly called to his feet for a speech at a publitj dinner, 1 can't make a speech, and I can't say anything you would understand or would wish to hear; but if it pleases you to see me blush anc perspire, I will stand heie on one leg and perspirt for the next ten minutes." They let him off. One cannot always tell positively, from the appearance of a manuscript, whether a lady or a gentleman has held the pen. I had," a New York literary man tells us, a female relative, who was a strong, stout-built woman, to be sure but she wrote a hand so formidably masculine that th. only suitor who ever made her an offer was terri- fied out of his negotiation by the first billet dmu he had the honour of receiving from her. He was a slender and delicately-made man, and wrote a fine Italian hand." He happened to press the foot of a young lady who was sitting next the duor, in getting out of a street car. The damsel, compressing her brow into an awe-inspiring frown, ejaculated, "You clumsy wretch Many men would have looked foolish and apologised, but our hero was equal to the occasion. "My dear young lady," he exclaimed, "you ahould have feet large enough to be seen, am* then they wouldn't be trodden upon." Her brow relaxed, her eyes sparkled, her lips smiled, and th* injury was forgotten. Do you recall those fascinating, old-fashionH days, long before Daguerre made the sun pain- pictures for him and gave them his own name when our ancestors were all ranged along t wall in silhouettes? A rather dark-complexioned friend of ours was showing one of tliese pictur the other day to her maid, remarking that it was a good likeness of her grandmother. The maid looked at it for a moment in mute astonishment, and then said:—"Well, ma'am, I've often WûlY dered where you got your very dark complexion,, but I didn't know that vour ancestors wer" blacks." It is reported a new and curious branch of th, silk manufacture has lately crept into some of th American silk factories at Paterson. The proces: is a secret, and no information can be given about it, as every safeguard is maintained to prevent it getting out. The goods produced are nothing more nor less than imitation sealskin made of silk! It is a new process, and entirely different from the manufacture of velvet, or plush, or lIJlythmg of that sort, and the product is said to so closely resemble genuine sealskin of the finest quality as to deceive even experts. It is quite expensive, although, of course, nothing to be compared with real sealskin. A young lady from the rural districts latel, visited town with her beau. Getting into a cat for the first time, she took her seat, while her lovei planted himself on the box with the driver. Very soon the conductor began to collect the fares, anS approaching the rustic maiden, he said, Youi fare, miss." The youthfulrosebudallowedadelicat. pink to manifest itself upon her cheeks, and looked down in soft confusion. The conductor wai rather astonished at this, but ventured to remark once more, Your fare, miss." This time the pink deepened to carnation, as the rustic beauty replied, 'Deed, and if I am good lookin', you hadnl ought to say it out aloud afore folks