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BETROTHED BY MISTAKE, OR AN…
BETROTHED BY MISTAKE, OR AN EVENTFUL CHRISTMAS. v BY URIEN RHEGED CHAPTER I. THE JONESES OF LLANLLWYNAXTLLWCH. It was a few days before Christmas, 1862, that Mr. David Jones, of Llanllwynamllwch,satin front of a good fire ruminating over the vicissitudes of fortune as regarded his own life. Though his countenance was a little gloomy on the present occasion, his meditations, as a rule, were not un- pleasant, for his life had been a successful one. "The jnows of seventy winters" clustered about his head, leaving only the crown bare, a3 though a perpetual thaw was in operation in that neigh- bourhood. The fates had during that time been exceedingly kind to him. As a farmer in Carmar- thenshire he had amassed a fortune which formed a very comfortable safeguard against the troubles and anuoyances such as fall to the iot of those who retire under compulsion by infir- mity and find themselves but half provided for. His household companions were his niece, Minnie Jones the housekeeper, Bess Da vies; and his old servant, Jerry James, or, as he was called when out of his master's presence, Jerry Jimmy," who, Mr. David Jones used to say, had stuck to him dl his life through thick and thin." Llanllwynamllwch was a sequestered seaside vil- lage, not approached by any railway. The nearest jtation in those days was many miles away, so Mr. David Jones had but few neighbours. The few included many Joneses, but particularly one Evan Jones. Between the two Joneses there was a con- tinual feud. They—yes, and their great grand- fathers, too—had been farmers on neighbouring es- tates. and without, apparently, knowing why. the.;e last generations opposed each other's interests as far as ever they were individually able. This sort of thing had gone on many years, when a real dis- pute arose between the parties with reference to a small estate in Pembrokeshire, to which both, by some stretch of imagination, tried to believe they were entitled. They could trace their ancestry back—genuinely—about two centuries, but here they lost the track. People who knew of the dis- pute contended that they ought to have been well ".atisficd with that, as for a Jones to be able to tr.,ce his own clan back so far was little fhort of mimculous in a land where Tones could scarcely be regarded as a distinguished synonym. But Mr. David Jones did not think so, and; Mr. Evan Jones was obstinate in the opinion that the Joneses were a great race, and that the existenca of large numbers of them being justified by that fact, there ought to be no difficulty in tracing even for a longer period than two hundred years any particular branch of the Joneses which was greater than the rest. Consequently, even when the mis- ring link brought the calculations and aearcheato a full stop, and all the parish registers and all the available documents failed to supply the needful, hope was not quite abandoned. There was a gap of about twenty years, during which timu there was no record of any Joneses in that particular vicinity. This fact, I may mention, haj been con- sidered so extraordinary that it has been placed ut the head of a long list of "notable circumstances" J bout Wales, as it was never before found that any village, however small, was at any time short of Joneses. Mr. David Jones and Mr. Evan Jones, however, simultaneously skipped the twenty years and made a rush for the next Jone. which each claimed as a far distant relative. The clerk of the old parish church had pocketed many a shilling as the result of thi dispute, thus affording confirmation of the old adago It's an ill wind that blows nobody good." Mr. Duvid Jones had the opinion of this high functionary that his cause was the right one—a circumstance which gave him a great deal of encouragement until he ascertained that when Mr. Evan Jones increased his gift from one shilling to two shil- lings, for troubling the clerk to show him the register, the lutter had expressed a. similar opinion 1 with regard to that gentleman. The statement, therefore, lost all its weight with Mr. David Jones, who was content to console himself with the knowledge ol the fact that Mr. Evan Jones was likewise being duped. This was the stage the proceedings had reached at the date when our story opens. Christmas was approaching, and Mr. David Jones was daily ex- pecting the arrival of a nephew from America with certain documents, which it was hoped would establish him as the rightful Jones, and enable] him to snap his fingers at his rival. The rev*rie in which we find him at the opening 1 of the cliapter was suddenly disturbed by a knock kt his room door, followed by the entrance of old Jerry with a letter. Jonep hastily scanned the address and the post- mark. The latter was Liverpool," upon observing which fact he eagerly opened the missive and read ad follows:— Yankee Buster Hotel, Liverpool, "December 22,1862. My dear Uncle,— I reached herd from Xew York at ten o'clock this morning, and purpose leaving to-morrow for Llanllwynamllwch, where I hope to arrive on Christmas Eve, as I find it will be impossible to accomplish the journey in one day. Whilst crossing the Atlantic I took advantage of an opportunity ■ t0 the PaPers which my late father left, and which I am bringing for your assistance, and have not the slightest doubt that you will be able to prove your title to the Pembrokeshire estate now in Chancery. Wishing you and Minnie the compliments of the season, and hoping soon to be with you, I remain, "Your affectionate nephew, DAVID JONES." With a smile of satisfaction Jones read the letter over and over again. Then he rang the bell, which, as was customary, was answered by Minnie. "Read that, Minnie," said Jones in an exultant tone to a young lady of about nineteen who, with a charming countenance all smiles, then entered the room. Minnie's face became more radiant than ever as she read the letter. What think you of that, Minnie ?" asked her uncle. What think you of that ?" Oh, I shall be so glad when he comes," said Minnie. for lifwfft LlanllwynamUwcir is growing monotonous now, shut out from all society as we are." But the estate, Minnie—the estate!" exclaimed her uncle, apparently disappointed at Minnie's concern about company only. What think you of my chances respecting that ?" "From Cousin David's letter I should think your chauces of winning the day are considerable, uncle," said Minnie; "but," she added meditatively Cc I have not much faith in your case, taking it its a whole, I must confess." Rut the papers," said Jones. "Yes." said Minnie, "I am aware that every- thing depends upon them, so that for your sake as well as mine I wish Cousin David were here." This was not. what Jones wanted Minnie to say. He had been endeavouring to persuade himself that, apart from the papers he was expecting his nephew to bring, his case was a clear one, and the papers were only needed to make assurance doubly sure. But Jiinnic was a scepticin the matter throughout She cared nought about the estate, and regarded her uncle's attempt to get posses- sion of ir as little short of dishonest. What guide was there in the name 'Jones'?" '• Jones her uncle would exclaim. Why, that is the first name ever given to man. I have heard it stated—yes, and seriously, too—that Adam was created a Welshman, and that his name was Jones —Adam Jones." "And Eve?" asked Minnie, laughing. Was Mrs. Jones—as the most natural conse- quence in the world. Here, you see, you have t!11I very root and origin of our marriage customs with regard to names." I should' think, uncle," said Minnie, your faculties for research are in a tolerable state of de- velopment, and it would not, therefore, be by any means a bad thing for you in your retirement to devote yourself to giving the world some proof of the validity of the assertion." "What!" exclaimed Jones, "do you mean to auggiit that any Welshman considers it necessary. Is there a Cymro who doubts what I say ?" I fear there are many, uncle," replied Minnie. Name them," said her uncle. Well," said Minnie, to start with, there is David Thomas, of The Marsh, who has only lately come from London." "Who can scarcely be called a Welshman at .11," said Jones. "Thomas is a Welsh name, I Vnow, und David Thomas was born in Cardigan- shire, and his parents were really Walsh, bui thftj is ell you c*ri tay for him.' But, uncle, ij not that enough ?" asked Minnie. h Enough, Minnie," exclaimed her uncle in a tone ot great surprise—"enough.no. He was sent into England when a boy, and has come back to Whiles 25 years of &ge with all the bombast and good-for-nothingness which pertains to the Eng- lishman, with all his vaunted education. No, no, Minnie, lie is no authority on the matter, whatever its. may jay." But," said Minnie, he has read extensively." Ah, Minnie," said Jones in a tone of regret, "you are not a true Welshwoman, I fear. Do you not know, dear, you must not go to your English books to learn the true history of Wales and as you cannot read Welsh (here Jones sighed), why, you must listen to our bards, thay will tell you the irue story." Oh, yes," said Minnie, so I believe. I remem- ber how delighted you were when the old bard on tna mountain told you that Thomas, Davies, Wil- liam;, and Evans were the names given to certain chosen races when the world was young." Y:s, yes," :aid Jones, his countenance lighting up, you arj right, Minnie." And L remember how you frowned at me," said Minnis, "when I remarked that the chosen races did not -tppear to be the possessors of more than ordinary virtues." "The Joneses. the Willia.mses, the Thomases, and tb, fevanses are great races, Minnie," said Jones in measured tones. Extensive," said Minnie facetiously. And as great as they are extensive," said Jones. Well," said Minnie, that is saying much, I muet admit." But we had better change the subject, Minnie," said Jones. Your long residence in England has caused you to lose your national sympathies. Wales and Welshmen will have their day yet—I mean there will be a time when their greatness will be recognised wllèn the Welsh will havo college in their midst where their young people may be trained apart from the questionable associations attendant upon their being educated orer the borders. Then it will be Wales, Eng- land, Irela.nd, and :cothtnd-the htst will be first, tnd the first second—and I am not sure that it ought not to be last. Why, Minnie, where do you got music? In Wales. Where do you find braviry ? In Wales. Where do you find real good fellowship existing all round? In Wales. To-day we 2an put England to shame in all these things." But I must differ with you as regards music, uncle," said Minnie. I have never heard any music since I was at Cardiff." Pooh, pooh. Minnie," said Jones, how mis- taken your ideas are. I suppose you can find music only in a. rumbling old organ, a brass band, or a tinkling piano. But what do you hear every Sunday at chapel '? Our ba3s voice, old David Dairies, fifty years ago, was ths best singer in the county, and he is as good now as he was in his early days. Then there is old Mary Thomas, who has jung by his side those 4-0 yoora, and half a dozen others I could mention, Tthose voices go to make the harmony as charming and complete as could be desired." c, But an organ—" began Minnie. Would spoil it, and drive the congregation from the chapel," said Jones. i am very much afraid, uncle, that you will not make me a convert to your views on this iub- ject, and as I want to superintend arrangements for Cousin David's reception, kindly excuse me. When he comes we shall see what your ideas of American influences on the Welsh nature are Now, good-bye." Minnie left the room, and Jones was a.2am l",ft to his meditations. Jones was a moderate type of Welsh character. If hia notions were extravagant—and I feel bound to admit that they were—they were not singular. This particular David Jones only shared them with other David Joneses, or, in other words, with the majority of Welshmen. Tradition proyes that < thore ill much to admire in the Welsh nature, and the fcvents which have been foreshadowed in the ] year 1882 will, upon reaching consummation, go a < long way towards showing the correctness or ths 1 fallacy of David Jones's idea as to the greatness of Walø and its people. CHAPTER II. MIXED-UP.—A PLEASANT WAT OUT OF Tin: DIFFICULTY. Llanllwynamllwch in winter and Llanllwynam- llwch in summer were not quite the same. I have seen the place in the summer when yachting in the charming bay which it overlooked. Many a jng time hava I spent looking over the yacht's I tide at th-j Swiss-like village on the cliffs; its I uofitly built white residances contrasting strangely fet pleasantly with the rugged rocks which jutted Jut her" and there, the whole presenting a most picturesque appearance. Many a time too—twenty ywal's ago—have I watched old David Jones and his niece, Minnie, making their way up from the waterside along the uneven and rocky path to their homeat the summit of the cliffs. After all this Upss of time the scene comes vividly before me as ( ( though it were but yesterday. But what wonder is it that it should have made such an impression ? ] It was sublime. The solitude and quiet, the latter only disturbed by the rolling of the waves as the tide made its way in, or the flapping of the yacht's 1 ""it: served to make the scene more beautiful. < Yes, I have looked upon this grand picture for 1 full many an hour, first allowing all my faculties to become absorbed in admiration of the magnili- I csnt view I saw before me, and then listening to < the music of the waves, and wondering, like little Paul Dombey, what it was they were always say- ing, whilst innumerable seagulls flitted over them, i one or two occasionally making some part of my i yacht a landing place. But now, in winter, the scene was changed. Strong gales succeeded light] breezes, and the music of the waves gave place to 1 an angry roar, the sun was hidden for weeks toge- ther, ind darkness was now where sunshine had been. ] David Jones had displayed great wisdom in the I (election of a ;pot for his retirement, whatever ] may be said of his carrying old feuds with him j and devoting his study to malice and ill-will. Our friend Evan Jones was about as regardless of the Pembrokeshire estate and its value as any man could possibly be. He was fighting to beat his life-long rival David Jones, not to win the s»tat*. Besides, report—but report only—said that &11 his brothers and sisters had long joined the majority, so what could he want with doubtful < litigation about an estate worth at most £200 a year? Why should he want to go into a specula- tiT. law suit? Evan Jones would not have done so for the sake of JE200 a year, but he would have done it over and over again to conquer his rival. He wasmonscious that he possessed one great ad:- vantage over his opponent. Whereas David Jonef was impetuous, and sometimes allowed his ardour to outdo his discretion, Evan Jones was cool and self-possessed, so that when David Jones passed his window, as he often did, and threw up his head in a manner :signifying contempt and defiance, Evan Jones had nerve and reason enough to go on puffing dense clouds of smoke from a long pipe, without heeding his rival's exhibition of feeling. Christmas Eve had come, and David Jonos was in his sitting-room on the very tip-toe of expecta- tion. That night his nephew would reach Llanllwynamllwch with the papers which would put him in possession of the Pembrokeshire estate. Half-a-dozen times had he called Minnie into his room to inform her thll.t" Cou*in David would be hare directly." He was raising his hand to the bell-rope for the seventh time when h.3 was prevented by hearing a knock at the door, and a moment aftorwardd" Jeny Jimmy" was in hi* presence. Jerry was excited, and made a bungle over what he had to say in his endeavour to get it out as quickly as possible. After twirling his old hat round in his hand-* a dozen time3, and supplementing this little assistance by biting off as much of his finger-nails as convenient, he managed to inform his master that a carriage, con- veying a gentleman who was inquiring for Mr. Jones, of Llanllwynamllwch," had broken down. Now, Jerry's idea was that Mr. Jones, of Llan- llwynamllwch, was Mr. David Jones. Any other Jones, Mr. Evan Jones included, must he fully ad- dressed. Therefore he concluded that the gentle- man who had met with the accident was David Jones's visitor, and he accordingly directed him to the latter's residence, so that by the time David Jones was informed of the accident, Bess entered her master's room to announce the arrival of the gentleman. As the stranger —a young man of not more than 25 years of age—approached Mr. David Jones, the latter advanced with outstretched hand, and bade IBm a hearty welcome. Mr. Jones ?" said our friend David, in a tone of inquiry, which, however, seemed to be tempered with an amount of assurance that he was right in his surmise. Yes," replied the stranger; "and I have the honour of addressing my uncle-also Mr. Jones." That is so," said Mr. David Jones. Now come up to the fire, and make yourself comfortable whilst we talk over your long journey the chief object of your visit we may leave for another occasion. But first let me introduce your cousin Minnie," said Mr. David Jones, as that lady entered the room. Minnie, who had spent many years in London, felt the solitude of Llanllwynamllwch, so that the hearty welcome which she gave to the new arrival was by no means feigned. All the hubbub and commotion which was the concomitant of the reception of so distinguished a visitor as a gentleman from the other side of the Atlantic having subsided, the trio—uncle and cousins—made as much of a semi-circle as was possible round the fire pending the summons to the dining-room. Conversation went merrily on, and the company was for the most part about as cheerful as it could well be. Your journey has been a long one," said Mr. David Jones. Yes, very long." Fourteen days on water is shocking to think of." Dreadful." "I cannot think how poor souls bear it." Nor can I." Were you not prostrated by that horrible sea sickness ?" Here Jones's nephew cast a glance of inquiry first at Mr. David Jones, then at Minnie, and re- ceiving apparently no explanation from their countenances, he proceeded to keep the conversa- tion going. I never had the misfortune to witness the horrors of sea sickness, nor yet to experience them myself." Ah, it has been very calm of late." "I told Uncle David," said Minnie, that we should see, when you arrived, what the influence t of American training had been upon a Welsh ] subject." „ I am afraid I am but a poor illustration, con- ( sideririg the fact that I never was in What Mr. Jones would have said I must leave my readers to assume from subsequent events here I narrated, for just at that moment Bess announced ( dinner. An adjournment to the dining-room took 1 place, and the subject of "The Influence of j American training upon the Welsh subject" was j changed for something else. [ "I should like to see the papers to-day," said t Mr. David Jones next morning to his nephew. t "The papers?" Mr. Jones, the younger, slowly repeated. "Yes, yes." And seeing that his nephew looked «. surprised, he added, I mean the letters." Still Mr. David Jones's guest looked astonished, I but he made an effort to hide the circumstance, ( and replied, I I have not a paper with me. My writing case, t in which, for safety sake as I considered, I put my ( papers, including the most valuable, I left behind ] at my hotel. I telegraphed whilst on my way here, < asking that the ease should be sent on." Now it was Mr. David Jones's turn to be asto- ] nished. For some time he appeared as inanimate j as any figure in Madame Tussaud's exhibition. He soon recovered himself, however, And merely ex- ( pressed his regret at the occurrence, and hoped the case would soon arrive at HanIlwynamHwch. Christmas came, and I may assure my readers there was many a less happy circle than that at < the residence of Mr. David Jones, of Llanllwynam- llwch. Minnie and her cousin spent no small amount of I their time in each others society. They wended their way down the narrow, rocky path to the shore and sands below when the tide admitted, and listened to the waves as they splashed against 1 the rocks which jutted out seaward, and were un- animous in their admiration of the grand scenery ] before them. Is it surprising that they should have talked of love and the joy unspeakable of being ever in the society of those we care for most, that they should have drawn pleasant pictures of what. they could wish the future to be, and what it might be ? Minnie was young and attractive. Her com- panion was also good looking, and, moreover, had seen much of the world, and knew how to make the most of the advantages he possessed. Christmas Day had gone by, and the new year was close at hand, when one evening the nephew entered the room in which Mr. David Jones was ( smoking a long pipe, and inwardly regretting that the papers were so long putting in an appearance. ] Old David invited his nephew to a seat near him, and in a confidential tone and kindred manner in- 1 formed him that he had noticed his attentions to Minnie with pleasure. It would be to him an immense comfort in his old age if he could see his brothers' children united. They were cousins, and were, therefore, of the same honourable descent of Joneses. The nephew heard the uncle's announcement with mingled surprise and joy, and when, upon Minnie entering the room some few minutes after- 1 wards, her hand was placed in his by the old man, as the latter said, Bless you' my children. Always remember that you belong to an important branch [ of the great family of Joneses," it seemed like a c dream. The young people were simply happiness itself. j The world may be to a great extent what < people make it; but, at the same time, there is no doubt that circumstances which are uncon- trollable have much to do with the comfort of the actors on the great stage. That there is ever a 1 bitter to the sweet is just as true aa the statement < of the philosophers that there are always sweets which act as an antidote to the bitters. It was on the morning after the events just I narrated, whilst uncle and cousins were at break- ( fast, that Jerry Jimmy" presented a. letter, i which Mr. David Jones immediately opened and read twice, with the utmost astonishment depicted I upon his countenance. It ran as follows :— i Yankee Buster Hotel, Liverpool, December 27. j My dear Uncle,—The day I intended starting hence for Llanllwynamllwch I met with a severe 1 accident, which led to my being confined to my ] bed in an unconscious state for some days, so that I have been unable to write before. I hope to start for Llanllwynamllwch in a week or two at latest. Your Affectionate Nephew, ] D. JONES. Our old friend David passed the letter on to his nephew. Why, here is someone impersonating you," said the former. The nephew took the letter, and read it without evincing the least surprise. "I am rather afraid there are more Jonesesin our family than even you know or think of," said lie. It is not at all extraordinary that there should be one at Yankee Buster Hotel." "But is it not singular that there should be another nephew of mine there of the same name, writing the same hand, and speaking of the papers too ? It is a forgery. Some scoundrel is imper- sonating you." Scarcely that, my dear uncle, since I have never been in that neighbourhood." But you have been to Yankee Buster Hotel ?" Never." What ?" exclaimed Mr. David Jones, rising. Never." Did you not stay there after your arrival from America ?" What," exclaimed the nephew, in his turn sur- prised. When I came from America ? Why, I never was there." Old David Jones sat down, overcome by asto- nishment, which was becoming intermixed with anger, as the conviction that he was confronted with a complicated case of mistaken identity grew upon him. He leaned his head upon his hands, and for five minutes said nothing. Then he turned to his guest, and asked— Are you not my nephew, David Jones, from America, with the papers to prove my title to the Pembrokeshire estate ?" My dear sir," said the guest, I am afraid we have both made a mistake. I am not David Jones, of America, but Daniel Jones, of London. I am also the nephew of Mr. Evan Jones, of Llanllwyn- amllwch, whom I have never seen, and with whom I had arranged to spend Christmas. As to the papers I do not know to what you refer." Mr. David Jones was never so much astonished and disappointed in his life. To think that he should have as his guest the nephew of his life- long opponent, and that he should above all have accepted him as the future husband of Minnie! The situation was ludicrous in the extreme. Minnie scarcely pleased her uncle, because, though she appeared surprised, she did not share his disap- pointment. Daniel Jones had secured her affection, and she was not, inclined to believe that her cousin David would take his place, so far as she was concerned. when he arrived. But surprises and troubles seldom come singly, and so it happened in the case of Mr. David Jones, for in the midst of his perplexity he received theannouncementofa visit from Mr. Evan Jones. The latter joined the trio, and for a moment all differences, the Pembrokeshire estate question included, were forgotten in the surprise caused by the visit, and the explanations which ensued. Mr. Evan Jones had been expecting his nephew daily, and could not imagine the cause of his non- arrival. He heard of his nephew's betrothal to Minnie with the greatest possible pleasure, and extended his hand to David Jones, saying— "We have been life-long enemies without cause. We have reason to be friendly now. Let us be so." But the estate," said Mr. David Jones, not wish- ing to give up the idea all at once. Has baen handed over to the rightful owner that is neither of us. The object of my visit was to give you that information." This altered the case considerably, and Mr. David Jones returned his friend's grip heartily, and assured him that it would please him to mark the new epoch in the history of that great race of mankind, the Joneses, by the marriage of Minnie with Mr. Daniel Jones, and when, three months afterwards, Llanllwynamllwch was "all alive" with rejoicings on the occasion of the wedding, und Mr. David Jones, who had arrived with the valueless papers from America, acted as best man, there were no Joneses happier than those of Llanllwynamllwch. The union has proved all that could be desired, and Minnie and Dan" never tira 3f talking of that eventful Christmas when they were betrothed by Mistake.. f
UNDER A DISGUISE: OR THE IDIOT…
UNDER A DISGUISE: OR THE IDIOT DETECTIVE. BY CAERWEKYDD RAFTER I. N THE TRACK. Alick Macpherson had not been long In the de- active force, but he was much respected at Scot- and Yard, and whenever a case of special difficulty trose it was entrusts* to him with a feeling of :ontidence that, if it were possible, lie would ichieve success. For some months a large quantity of spurious noney had been in circulation in the City, and, lespite all the exertions of the police, no trace had seen discovered of the source from whence the fictitious coin was issued. At length it was deemed necessary to take more active measures, and our lero was told off for the duty, with the assurance ,hat if he brought the felons to justice he would 'eceive tho substantial reward of JE500, which the Home Office had determined to offer. Macpherson received the announcement of his lelection with a look of doubt and uncertainty. 3is courage seemed, as it were, to be oozing out at lis finger-ends; but with men of his spirit and letermination these moments of despondency are seriods of quiet cogitation, from which are evolved ,he germs of sanguine hopes and powerful resolu- tions. He remained for some time in a state of anguid abstraction, and then he rose from his seat, left his office, and walked quickly along Whitehall and the Strand, humming to himself a lively air. On reaching the —— Tavern he turned into the snug, and took his seat amidst a motley urowd of drinking, debating, and swearing men, one of whom greeted him with a familiar smile and nod. This was the landlord, James Williamson. "Well, Alick," said he, what brought you here ? IVe get angels' visits from you now, my old general." He called all his friends general," and with him it was a homely term of endearment. I want a word with you in private, James," mswered Alick. Oh! that is it," said the landlord. All right, my old general, this way." He ushered Macpherson into a private room, and :here they had some conversation together on the subject of the spurious money in circulation. Macpherson asked Williamson-who, as my readers will have surmised, was an old chum of his—to keep his weather-eye open. A large number of persons visit your house svery day, and through the agency of some of them you may be able to assist me in this matter." "All right, my old general," said the landlord. Come and see me again in a week's time, and then I may have some news for you." Macpherson soon afterwards went to his home. At the end of a week he called on Williamson igain, but with no result; and although he made extensive inquiries he was still, apparently, as far iff success as ever he was. On the following day, liowever, he was walking along the Embankment, watching the arrival and departure of the boats that carry passengers up and down the river, when lie was accosted by a tall, sleek individual of scant but orderly attire—a typical member of a frater- nity of the shabby genteel, who, with a polite How d'ye do," asked to be allowed to have a word with him. Macpherson assented, and the stranger began. I know you by having met you before at Bow- itreet. Williamson, of the ——— Tavern, sent me to you. I called at Scotland Yard, you were out, ind I have now the good luck to meet you here. You want to find out a gang of coiners who are at arge. I can lend you a hand, and will do so on conditions." Macpherson brightened up when he heard this, ind with some eagerness he said— How can you help me, and what are your con- iitions ?" Well," continued the stranger, I was acci- dentally thrown into the company of one of the jang, and when under the influence of drink he told me where his chief lives, and how the work of coining is carried on." Go on," said Macpherson. No," said the stranger. You see I can help you, 3ut before I tell you more you must consent to my conditions. The reward offered for the capture of she gang is JE500. I must have one-third share, C50 to be paid in advance, and the remainder as soon as the leader or any members of the gang are tinder arrest." Macpherson was silent for a few moments, and then he said, If you will allow yourself to be put ander police surveillance for a week, I will agree to four terms. I do not know you, and I have no guarantee of your honesty." The stranger proceeded, I shall not object so long as there is a legal bargain struck between us. But of my honesty you may be assured. I know the leader of the gang. I was in search of him when I ascertained his address. He is an old snemy of mine; he betrayed and ruined the girl who was the object of my first and last love, and years ago I vowed I would have revenge on him. I would have achieved my purpose long ere this, but that residing with him is one whom he called his daughter, and who, from the resemblance, I suspect to be the issue of his wicked amour with No, I won't name her. She is dead—he killed her; if I dare, I would kill him." The stranger spoke with great earnestness. [ Macpherson was surprised. He has seen better ) days, poor fellow," he murmured to himself, and then he spoke out, You have been unfortunate. But tell me, how did this man, whom you call your enemy, come to take to coining?" Like myself," said the stranger, he has seen better days. After tho girl to whom I have alluded died, he appears to Imve been driven to desperation by remorse, and from a respectable silversmith he became a reckless, good-for-nothing sot. He disgraced himself in his native town, came to London, and took to coining as a means of earning a livelihood." "Well," said Macpherson, "I believe you are honest in your statements, and if you will assent to place yourself under police surveillance, I will agree to your conditions." The stranger expressed his willingness to comply with this request, and after arrangements had been made for a meeting on the following day they sepa- rated. The meeting took place, and the conditions im- posed on both sides were complied with. Mac- pherson was furnished with the address of the supposed leader of the gang, and as soon as cir- cumstances would permit lie set off to reconnoitre. CHAPTER II. IN THE STRONGHOLD. Macpherson found that the house to which he had been directed was a dingy three-storeyed build- ing. in a narrow thoroughfare, open only at one end, and occupied by a middle-class population. In nearly all the houses there was a ticket in the window announcing Apartments to be let," and Macpherson knew from his experience of London that this cast a grave shadow of doubt on the seeming respectability of the street. Such places, he reflected, are generally open to lodgers of any description but this may be a reason why a man who is engaged in a nefarious business should reside here the fact that people come and go, and that his own house is ostensibly open to lodgers, might be assumed to be a circumstance that would avert suspicion. Macpherson had been informed that the man did not carry on the operations of coining in this house, but he thought that if he obtained access to it he might find out all the rest. He believed that the ticket in the window was a mere blind, and after he had surveyed the place and made a few inquiries, he was in doubt what further steps to take. After a while he recollected that when a youth he was clever at disguises, and more parti- cularly the disguise of an idiot, and the idea struck him that under this disguise a friend might obtain for him a domicile in the house if a high rate of payment were offered. He hurried back to the city, sought out his friend Williamson, and laid his plans before him for his approval. I am indebted to you for the discovery of the residence of this man. Will you carry your kind- ness a step further, and adopt me as your idiot brother." No idiot brother for me, my old general. I object to it, it ain't respectable. Ah, ah!" "Ah, ah!" laughed Macpherson. "Then not brother-r-a friend, a servant. Now I have it—a servant. Adopt me as an old servant, who, through grief or disappointment, has become insane." That's better, my old general," the landlord of the Tavern went on. Brother, I could not think of it—not respectable; but servant, ah! ser- vant, I don't mind. In that case there is no rela- tionship, and it cannot be supposed that the idiocy is in the blood—in the family. And now that is settled, what am I to do ?" You are to go to the house," said Macpherson, and say you have come from the country- No, no, not country-I hate country, my old general. Keep me in the city, and then I don't mind." Macpherson laughed again. Well, well, Wil- liamson," he said, I know you are proud of the fact that you are a citizen of London. Suppose we put it that you have been to the country, and that you have brought back to town with you your old servant, for whom you want a home, pending such a time as you can put your own house in order for him." That will do," Williamson said. "I'll go to the house to-morrow, my old general, and if I don't pass you off as my mad servant, may I be blo %d Mind you say I am a quiet, harmless idiot," sa.id Macpherson. Right, my old general- On the following day Williamson went on his errand, and on knocking at tho door. was ushered into the house by a girl of comely, graceful appearance. He was left alone in the sitting-room a few moments, then a man of middle age, with deep-sunk lines on his face, and a rather care- worn, besotted expression of eye, joined him. Williamson explained his business, and although the man pondered and hesitated for a long time, he was at length induced, by promise of a hand- some payment, and by the assurance that it was "only for a week," to receive the demented servant as his lodger. It was arranged that he should come into the house at once, and Williamson, in high glee, set off to find Macpherson. Our hero was at his own home. He had assumed the dress he was to wear during his week's exile, and this, with the aid of a wig and a few touches of paint on the face, completely changed his appearance. He heard the news of his friend's success with delight, and he proceeded to rehearse his part in a manner which caused the jocund landlord to roar with laughter. "Capital, my old general," he said, "you'll never be found out if you maintain that disguise. But, by the way, how natural you seem in it. Ah! ah "Ah! ah!" laughed Macpherson. "I once put glue on my grandfather's seat, and when he found himself stuck fast to the chair he threw a prayer- book at my head, and said I was a born fool." Williamson laughed again. Remember," he proceeded, I did not tell them you were a born fool. I told them you had gone mad through disappointment." They then got into a cab, and in less than an hour they found themselves at the door of the house. Williamson led Macpherson in by the arm, and placed him in a chair in a sitting-room in the second storey, which had been prepared for him. Our hero said nothing, but gazed around him with a vacant stare, and maintained such an expression of helpless idiocy that the girl who had accom- panied them into the room was moved with com- passion, and with tears in her eyes, said— "Poor, poor man! How sad Williamson wrote out a cheque for the amount to be paid for the week's lodging, asked the girl to be kind to his "old servant," and then went away with a promise to call in a couple of days. When Macpherson found himself alone, he made an examination of the place. There was nothing in the room but the furniture, the lock of tho door was without a key, and the window had been secured by large screws, which could not be removed without the proper tools. The screws were new, and he came to the conclusion that they had been put there just before his arrival. It is evident," he reflected, that I am to be kept under control; but then, there is that girl-if she is to wait on me, the monotony will certainly be relieved. Who is she ? She must be the coiner's illegitimate daughter—the person referred to in such terms of attachment by my strange informant." Macpherson was alone for about an hour, and then some supper having been given to him, the supposed coiner, whose name was Job Smith, con- ducted him upstairs to his bedroom. The door of the bedroom was locked on him, and with the thought that if his movements were to be thus controlled, he would not make much progress, he lay down and soon fell into a deep sleep. He remained in bed the next morning till his door was opened, and he was told by Smith to get up. Get up, you idiot; get up, or I'll empty the water jug on you," was the polite and affectionate language in which he was addressed. However, he arose at once, and with a silly laugh said, Good morning, master." "Don't laugh at me, fool," said Smith. Macpherson laughed the more, and Smith went downstairs, ejaculating "He's all right; mad as a March hare." One point gained," said Macpherson, his con- fidence. Perhaps I shall not be locked in to- night." During that day Macpherson was allowed to wander about the house a little, but he made no important discovery. At night he was sitting in the room allotted to him, when the girl before mentioned entered without any apparent object; Macpherson had heard her called Frances, and this was her name. She was a young and pretty maiden, moderate in height, slender and graceful in figure, and pleasing and attractive in face. Her golden hair hung in ringlets over her shoulders, and her pensive blue eyes bespoke sweetness and pathos of disposition. When she entered the room Macpherson began to tear the paper he had in his hand into pieces, and to smile with a vacant ex- pression of face as he scattered the remnants on the floor. Frances looked at him with an air of tenderness. Poor man," she said, how I pity him." Then she commenced picking up the pieces of paper from the floor, and as she did so she went on speaking. And yet he is better off than I am myself. I knew no mother; he who calls himself my father has some affection for me, but he often has his fits of passion, and then he abuses me. His com- panions are men of low character, and when he is with them I often hear them using horrible lan- guage. Oh my lot is a hard one, but beyond my father there is no one who cares for me." She turned to Macpherson, and with a longing look asked, as though not expecting any reply— Had you ever a friend, poor man ? Ah yes. I know you have a friend now, for it was he who brought you here. I have no friend. How I long to love and to be loved." Macpherson seemed not to understand, and lie remained stolid and silent. lIe was engrossed in thought. The being before him he felt constrained to pity. So young, so innocent, he thought, and yet immured in this prison-house, with no one to love her. She says she has been abused by her father. She is dissatisfied with her life here. Dare I trust her ? Shall I tell her the truth, and ask her tD help me? Frances had walked to the window, and then she turned to Macpherson again, placed her hand on his shoulder, and looking him straight in the face said, with sweet simplicity- Idiot, do you love anybody ? Does anybody love you?" Then she kissed him on the forehead, and said, Poor fellow, I'll love you." This was almost more than Macpherson could stand. He was a single man—not yet 30 years of age-and the pity which he before felt for this tender-hearted and lovable girl seemed now to be- come a living fire, with all the elements and attri- butes of a deep and real love. "Surely I can trust her," he said, "and I will but how ?" He thought a moment, and then in a kindly tone of voice he said— Frances, will you love me ?" The girl started, blushed, then turned pale, and at length said— Do you understand all I say to you ?" Yes, I do," said Macpherson, rising and throw- ing off the wig he wore. I am not what I seem I am not an idiot." He placed his back against the door, and Frances stood silent and trembling. She could say nothing. May I trust you ? This father who you say has abused you is the leader of a gang of coiners. I am a detective, and I am here to bring him to justice. Will you aid me, and I will take you away from this place." Frances gave a faint cry on hearing this, and sank on the floor in a state of unconsciousness. Macpherson rushed to her, placed her on the couch, and bathed her face with water. When she opened her eyes she shuddered, and with a frightened look said— "Where am I? Ah! I see. Oh, leave this house. My father and some of his companions will be here shortly, and if they discover you dreadful things will happen." Just then there was a knock at the front door, and Frances rose in haste and said— I cannot betray my father you must leave this place." The knock was repeated, and the girl left the room to answer the impatient summons. Now Macpherson felt that he was in a difficulty. He resumed his disguise, and after some reflection resolved to remain in the house. "Surely," he said, "that girl will not have the hardness of heart to communicate what I have said to her to her father." Frances did not return to him that night. His supper was brought to him by Smith, and he had no sooner finished the meal than he was conducted to his bedroom, and the door again secured. He had not observed any alteration in Smith's demeanour towards him, and he threw himself down on the bed with the feeling that his disguise was still a secret, and that he was safe. CHAPTER III. A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE. Macpherson did not sleep. He assumed that the companions whom Smith had brought with him were the coiners, and he was determined that he would dare much that night rather than lose the opportunity of obtaining the information for which he sought. He examined the lock, and found that it could, with very little difficulty, be forced open from the inside. He was about to make the effort when he heard a light footstep on the stairs. He listened. It came nearer, and then there was a gentle knock at the door. A voice whispered, "Fia I, Frances." A key was put into the door, and it was opened. There stood the coiner's daughter, with a candle in her hand, the light of which showed that there was a look of anguish and fear resting on her face. I ha.ve come to warn you," she said duty compelled me to put my father on his guard. He was gpiet for a time, then he began to drink whisky, and this inflamed his worst passions. He has told his companions about you, and the last words I heard them utter as I listened near the door were-, We will kill him this night.' They are going to murder you. Oh! sir, escape, for they are all desperate men." What are they doing now," asked Macpherson. "They have been balancing accounts," said Frances, "and I heard one of them say that he knew the police were on their track." Then they are the gang ?" "Yes," said Frances "but you must escape at once or it will be too late." But tell me," said Macpherson, what is to become of ycu ?" Never mind me," she said, they will not injure me. My father does love me much, and it is not often I am subjected to any abuse." Have you lived with your father all your life," said Macpherson, anxious to know more even then of this strange girl. "No," replied Frances, "I was for some time with a well-to-do relative of his, who is now dead. But you must leave here at once, or you will be murdered. Come with me quietly." She led him down stairs, but before they had reached the second storey the footsteps of several men were heard approaching. Frances said, Oh! they are coming. Hide yourself anywhere, but make no noise, or you will be discovered." She entered her own room, and locked the door. Macpherson had just time to conceal himself behind the open door of an adjacent room, when the head; of the party appeared above the landing. There were four of them, Job Smith and three companions—men of his own ilk, unshorn and uncouth, and apparently excited by drink or passion. They passed his hiding place, and in a few moments he heard them trying the door, which Frances had had the good sense to lock. Macpherson ran down stairs as lightly and as quickly as possible, and entered the room the coiners had left. On the table he found several pyramids of spurious coins, and an open book, in which tho accounts of the party were evidently kept. These lie seized, and then he made for the front door, which, with some difficulty, he unlocked. As he was about to sally forth he heard shouts of disappointment and rage proceeding from the gang of coiners, who, on bursting open the door of the room in which their victim was supposed to be secure, found that their bird had taken to himself wings and had liown away. Macpherson ran to the end of the street, and blew his whistle. He was determined that the coiners should not escape, and then lie made up hid mind to remain until the policeman on the beat came to his assistance. Fortune was on his side, and in a few moments a constable appeared. He recognised Macpherson, and expressed his willingness to act on his orders. Come with me," said Macpherson. There are four men here whom we must arrest. Have you any weapons?" Only my staff," said the constable. "Then give me your belt," said Macpherson. They are all under the influence of drink, and if we are resolute we can capture them." They returned to the house, and found the door still open. The screams of a female were heard from one of the bedrooms. They are taking their revenge on Frances," said Macpherson. Come, be quick." On the stairs they met the coiners, and a struggle ensued, in the course of which Job Smith, in trying to escape, fell over the banisters. This placed him hors de combat, and the other three were soon disposed of. They had no weapons, one of them was felled by a blow from the policeman's baton, and the other two, bleeding from severe wounds, gave up the fight, and allowed themselves to be handcuffed. Having made the four men secure, Macpherson went in search of Frances, and found her lying on I the floor in her room in a state of unconsciousness. After a while she recovered sufficiently to be able i to speak. I have been brutally kicked," she said. Take me to a doctor." Soon afterwards further assistance arrived, the coiners were removed to a place of safety, and Macpherson himself drove Frances to the nearest 1 hospital, where, in consequence of the severity 0 t her injuries, she was obliged to remain. The rest of my story is soon told. The coiners were convicted and transported. Macpherson obtained his reward, and carried out his bargain with his informant, who now boasted of having gratified both his avarice and his revenge. The excitement of the occurrence over, MaC" pherson bethought him of Frances. I love that girl," he said. She probably saved my life, and if I can tinJ her I will make her an offer of marriage. If she reject me, then I'll offe1- her my friendship." He did tind her; they were married, and now there is no happier household in Great Britain than that of which our hero, Macpherson, is tile founder and the head.
AT FAULT.
AT FAULT. BY IIAWLEY SMART. Author of "Breezie Langton." "Broken Bonds/' "Social Sinners," "The Great Tontine," &.C., &C-, &c. CHAPTER XXIII. BKSSIE'S CONFESSION. Dr. Ingleby. the next morning, half repented him of this promise he had made. He was exceedingly fond of Bessie Hyde, and he recollected the girl's distress the last time he had spoken to her auout her knowledge of Foxborough. True this was somewhat different, he was only going ask her this time to trust in him and let him be judge whether tliere was reason the happiness of two lives should be wrecked. If she really loved Philip, and he was not the man to say she had made that admission without due and sufficienl grounds for so saying, surely she would be anxious to clutch at a chance of clearing away the obstacles to her marriage. At all events, thought the doctor, if I am somewhat overstepping the privileges of an old friend, it is on behalf of two young people whom I sincerely desire to benefit. It may not b9 quite a pleasant business. I am afraid it won't; it; seemed so painful to Bessie before to touch upoiif that it would be absurd to suppose it will prov< otherwise now; still it's got to be done. I'm not going to have Bessie Hydo and Phil Soames drift apart if I can help it. She's just the wife for him he's plenty of money and lots more to come. Oh, no! I'm not at all above doing a bit of match- making whan I think it desirable, and I'll have the bells ringing at llaurnborough about those two, of know the reason why. No matter this to be put off, and the doctor de-* termined to go over to Dyke and have the thing out at once. Unlike Philip, he knew he should have no difficulty about a tete-a-tete with Miss Hyde. Bessie undoubtedly regarded the doctor as a trusted friend, and he was of that age she might look upon him as not likely to misinterpret her confidences. He called next day upon the two ladies, as was his custom, about tea time, and after such desultory conversation as was usual, and having quietly informed Mrs. Fossdyke that nothing fresh had transpired concerning her hus- band's melancholy end, said as he made his adieux, Miss Hyde, walk to the gate with me, please. I have something to say to you." You wouldn't deceive, me, doctor ?" cried the widow. "Surely there can be no more terribla news coming to me f" Not in the least, my dear madam. What I hava to say to Miss Hyde concerns herself alone, and iSl a thing she need feel little misgiving about listen- ing to. Will you come, Miss Bessie ?" Yes, of course my hat is in the hall. I feel half frightened, doctor," she continued, as they passed the hall door. I don't know what you have to tell me, but I can never forget the night when Phil—Mr. Soames sent for me into the study and told his terrible tale." I have nothing terrible to tell you, nor you me, but Bessie I want you to comprehend that I con* sider I stand to you in the light of him who haS gone. You know how intimate I have been at Dyke, and it has always appeared to me that poor Fossdyke looked upon you more in the light of » ward than his wife's companion. I was, as you know, one of his most intimate friends, and aia now his executor. I want you, Bessie, to regard me in the same light, and give me your confi- dence." The girl's face looked a little troubled for a minute or so, and then she replied, gravely, It is only too good of you to take an interest in nie. As for confidences—" and here she indulged in a little nervous laugh—" what should I have to con- fide further than it was I upset the cream, and not the cat." To begin with," said Dr. Ingleby, "PhHip Soames has acquainted me with all that has passed between you." Then I think Mr. Soames has been guilty ot much indiscretion," retorted the girl, as she reared her head proudly. "He might have relied on my lips being sealed, and though I have nothing to reproach myself with, still I did not anticipate 0UI?j affairs becoming common discourse Bessie, Bessie," replied Dr. ingietjy, gently. please don't meet me in that spirit. It was in DO braggadocio vein, believe me, that Phil told me tba story of his wooing. It was the wail of a rejected lover—rejected, forsooth, as he honestly ave5j and believes, for some shadowy reason that coula he but come by it might be swept away in an lll-, stant." Mr. Soames did me an honour, which, reasons good and sufficient, I felt compelled to de* cline. He has told you that he has asked me to be his wife, and, further, for his own sake, I waS obliged to refuse his request. I think Mr. Soames is not treating me generously. I told him frankly I could marry no man to whom I had not first told my story, and that I had not courage to do that; if I had loved him less it would have been easier, but I could not bear the dismay on his face when he learnt who I really was, or to have him stand by his offer from a pure sense of honour. I could not bear," she continued, passionately, to embroIl him with his own family, or that people should whisper and point to Philip Soames's wife as a. woman with a shameful story attached to her- No! Dr. Ingleby, you are very good, butllo^01 Philip too dearly to be a millstone round his neck> or to have him at war with society for my sake. If poor Mr. Fossdyke had lived the decision would have rested with him. He knew all about me, and' I told him what had passed between me and Philip, but his advice is lost to me, and I believa I am acting for the best, doing what is right, J[1 adhering to my original decision." Bessie ceased speaking, but it was evident she was deeply moved, the long, dark lashes of her eye? were wet, and the girl's whole frame trembled slightly with emotion. Dr. Ingleby was not a little nonplussed. There could be no doubt that Bessie honestly loved Soames. and that it was entirely for his own sake she refused him. She certainly W¡13 a better judge than either he or Philip could pre- tend to be of the circumstances was it fair to wring this girl's story from her on]y to endorseh-1' own view and acknowledge that the obstacles she deemed insurmountable really were so? Then, again, was it not better for Philip that thing!' should remain as they were, and he be free from what might probably turn out an unfortunate marriage, so far as connection went ? Society in country places is even more intolerant than in big cities; in London, for instance, who you are ¡g not so much consequence now-a-days, as what you've got per annum, and can you keep clear ot the law your iniquities arc not counted against you, provided your cook and your wines are unim- Reachable but none knew better than Dr. Ingleby that if the ladies of Baumborough once decided the antecedents of a new comer, made her admission within society's pale inadmissible, it would be a gigantic task to break through the taboo. Give me a few minutes to think, Bessie," hE said, at length- "I want to give the best advieff I can, to think what is best for both you and Philip." And as they strolled slowly on it occurred to the doctor that Philip was in very genuine earnest about winning the girl for his wife. and was llOt likely to rest passive with things as they were that whether he inLerferetl or nut tile chances were that. the young man sooner or later would come at the truth, and take his own wav then without much reference to the opinions of friends or rela- tions. It would be better, he thought, if he could induce Bessie to yield him her confidence; ha should be judge ot" the case now while he had yet opportunity to tender advice to both the young people. Bessie, you admit. the decision of this affair would have rested with poor Fossdyke had ha lived. Do you not think it would bo best to look upon me as standing in his place. True) in one case, unfortunately, you have a painful story to tell which would have been spared you iI1 the other; but you know I am sincerely attached to Philip. I have known him from achild, and know his character thoroughly—a man very reso- lute, and difficult to turn from a tiling when his mind is once made up, and he is terribly in earnest about marrying you. It will be no light thing that will stop him, and, Bessie, remember by your own confession he has friends in the garrison should ha press the place hard." The girl smiled, as she said softly, Too true; I've never denied it, but I'll bØ staunch to Philip's real welfare, never fear." Can you not trust an old friend of his, a tnan. like myself, who knows the world well, and .vb) would be a much clearer and more dispassi0™}*^ judge than himself, and who would not abet him in doing a foolish thing, to be the judge of tha case ? It may be I shall pronounce your scruples groundless it may be I shall say, Bessie Hyde, if you have any real love for Philip, run away from the place, and don't bring social rUIn on the man for whom you profess affection.' The colour came and went in the girls face afl she listened to the doctor's speech, lIe had struct the right key he ignored her and affected to bd only anxious about Philip's welfare. That wllg what she wanted. Would anyone decide between them, thinking only of him. If hor marriage waf! pronounced possible she should bo only too happy and thankful, but if for Philip's sake it were besS she should go she would depart without a naur" mur. Dr. Ingleby," she said at length, if you will promise to do that, to think only of Philip and never of me, I can perhaps muster up courage t tell you my story; but, mind, I am never to lIe cause of reproach to him. Tell me honestly if 1 am right in my view and, friends in the garriso notwithstanding. I'll take good care he never h;)9 chance to carry the place." My dear Bessie, I want to do what I deem best for two young people, of whom I am verv fond. but my first consideration here, I think, ought be Phil." Yes," she faltered, must "ot mind
| A VISIOX OF C0MTS10X. I---
3aade preparations for their departure, conscious the I Miile th. u the Cast'e was in a statu of siege. I "Well, gentlemen," laughed his Excellentr. "we have entered upon stirring times, indeed. Lit us pledge Ireland and her new Government Rath- let us pledge our own headj in our wills," suggested Colonel Tomlins, for," he added, "if what I hear be true, we are to receive upon them a pledge of the new period of order on which Ireland has entered." Don't you think, my dear Tomlins," asked Lord Fitzclarence, the equerry, that we had better drink to the life-buoy makers, and fellows of that class, for, if what I hear be true, we are to be driven like sheep into the sea." "And pray what arrangements are to be atad-5 for the ladies ?"as.kedth< Countess of Stirling. "Are we also to seek refuge in the slender sacurity of the life-buoy ?" Oh said his Excellency, there is not a word ttbout the ladies. I believe the rascals are an:ious only to see our b^ck. Just at this moment a secretary entered hur- riedly and banded a dispatch to the Viceroy. Humph-hum. Thing3 seem to be taking orioud turn," said his Excellency. Htra i. Sriton counselling immediate flight, fears a ruin* if the people, and inability of the handful of troops remaining in the country to quell it. Very annoy- ing that Childers recalled the cavalry." Really," exclaimed the Countess indignantly, • really, Colonel Briton ought to couple to hi* ad- juration to go the order of our going. Perhaps he would wish us to fly through the back door." Colonel Tomlins, the Military Secretary, however, protested that Briton was a gallant officer; and for himself, he counselled an immediate departure. '•No, by the blood of the Losries, I will not fly exclaimed the Countess. "Never shall it be said that a Lossie fled from before an Irish rabble." "Spoken like a queen, dear Di." cried Lady Stir- ling's .<i.ster. My lord, order up a brace ot Wool- wich infanta,' and let us die; like English ladies in front of the enemy." Discretion overcame valour, ho-versr. In ths gloom of a night which was conveniently dark for :n enterprise dependent upon secrecy for its suc- cess, the Viceroy, his wife. and the members of his .suite quitted th-j Castle, and proceeded in hot iiasto for King.town, -71 ¡ out", for England. Tlint night Mr. Parnell slept in the Viee-reyal cnamber of the Castle, whilst in the banqueting fiali down stairs a number of his adherent? cele- brated the triumph of disorder. When da-.rn ,ert-d itself the light revealed the rscumbent a<ures of sererol Irish gentlemen. Some lay h*c»- I in their chairs, their feet amid overturned decan- iers, while others, still clutching empty »iassss, lumbered noisily beneath the board, or at th* icet of their own chairs. These gentleman had succias. fully celebrated the night of the Saxonj in thi. axons' own wine. The Boers of the Trans?a*l were eclipsed by the Boers ot the Emerald Isle by universal acclamation Mr. Parnell was nomi- cr.Ud for the post of Prime Minister of the Irish Parliament. The elections proceeded rapidly, ami uoioily. The qualifications of membership wore loud voice and a strong arm. Ireland was ble.«*ed with manhood suffrage, which, as a "Vit remarked, was the cause of so much suffering manhood in [reiand. Briberv at elections- not having bean da- clared illegal, did not flourish in Ireland. Ah, bad cess to ye, and it's yer own fault, entirslr- Shure now, fin' if ve'd make a law agin bribery we'd bribe. But, bedad, an Irish r.Iecthor's an honeet boy, an' he'll do nothing that's not agin the law!" Mr. Parnell having been designated for the Pre- miership, acknowledged this act ot grace by desig- nating his colleagues in the English House of Commons to posts in his Cabinet. When thes* appointments were made the Irish Ministry was omposed as follows :— Prime Minister Mr. C. S. Parnell. Chancellor of the Exchequer -Alr. T. P. O'Connor. Minister of Public Order lIlr. X, Al. HeaJy. Secretary for War Mr O'Kelly. Secretary for Foreign Affairs Mr. O'Doniidl. Lord Chancel or )fro O'Counnr Pow!,r. President of tiio Local Go- vernment Board Mr. T. Sexton. Lord Chamberlain Mr. C. Dawson. Champion of Ireland The O'G-orman Mahon. Both Mr. Dillon and Mr. Justin M'Carthv declined office. The minor posts in the Administration were distributed with equal discrimination. Mr. Philip Callan was appointed Chairman of "Ways and Means," a post for which he possessed special qualifications; Mr. O'Sullivan, the tallest man in the benighted Chamber of St. Stephen's, was ap- pointed Serjeant-at-Arms |in the mor» enlightened House in College Green. Some diffit ilty was ex- perienced in finding a place suitable to the man-, sided genius of Mr. Biggar, and ultimately the hon. s<-ntLman wa3 appointed Speaker of the Irish Parliament. He was caparisoned a la Brand in a lowing silk gown, with shoes and buckles, a wig, tnd a cocked hat. The mace was the original "bauble" of Charles's Parliament, and was brought from the West Indies, where it had done duty for century. The spectacle of the Goliath-liko 4");Sullivan, with mace on shoulder, preceding little Mr. Biggar, was a scene for a pantomime, or a cartoon worthy of Hogarth. The new regime was inaugurated by the Prim. Minister with imposing state, the horse.) and car- riages of the Vice-regal Court, annexed for tlu purpose, together with the "liveried minions" If the Castle, giving a grandeur to the procession which it might otherwise have lacked. There were fully a hundred thousand stubble-haired elector* ai College Green. The enthusiasm, which had been gathering in volume as each of the members ofth. House and the Cabinet arrived, burst in dtafenin,? roars on the approach of the Prisident," ad the Republican party persisted in designating Mr. Parnell. Th° right f on. gentleman was taken out of his coach and carried by the nJob shoulder high, wluL- a number of more utilitarian patriots got ■nto the carriage and (1rove off with it, stripping •■he lacqueys of their gold lace, and carrying th: h->ses to the nearest horse fair. In ten second; or tit" "Saviour of Ireland," as he was called b- "c:ne, The uncrowned King" as he vrau. named by others, had changed shoulders a score of times, finally, when he entered the Chamber his hat was gone, a coat tail hart disappeared, a portion of hio collar had surrendered to patriotic hands, and his •watch and guard were carried off trophies of th* active affection of his friends. Mr. Parnell took his seat smiling. It is needless to say that the appearance pre- sented by the House was imposing. Everyrepeater Inokpd like business. Indeed, the majority of the members still bore about their darkened eyes and swollen noses relics of the lively period known a„ the •• Irish Elections." After a scene of riotous emotion, occasioned by the eagerness of the mem- bers of the Legislature and their friends to shak- hands pell mell with the Premier, Mr. Parr.ell read the following M: VISTKRIAL STA TEMENT. Gentlemen of the Irish Parliament,—I have great pleasure in meeting you, and I have to congratu- late you upen rhe crowning success of our long struggle—the h11 of the Act or Union and the surrender of our country to its people. (Great enthusiasm, cries or Down with the British JOV. rnmenfc.") Gemleuien, we have severed our won>:c- .:«»n Will I-aJand—(cries of "Mav ye nc. r new it ;—und we have regained our inde- penuen e. I haw little fear that what ha. been conceded as in xperitnent will not bj per- >etuated. nut although we have severed the bonds which bound to a vampire this nation of warm impulses, historic patriotism, and glowing aspirations —(cries of The land for t-i-i tinantry ")-it is not intention to hesitate even now to exact from itish Government that which has become the recompense of centuries of wrong. wiv juoginent, I have thought it desirable to a.-siniilate our institutions a, nearly as convenient to those of EngLind, and to construct my Govern- ment upon a superstructure of departments identi- cal with those which overshadow that artery o' corruption. Downing-street. I have, therefore, created a Foreign Office to embody my foreign policy, which is to leave England to fight hor own battles with her own levies and at her own expense. I :,h,dl, however, claim the right to levy taxation upon all goods exported into England from Ireland, and for this purpose I have created ny Chancellorship of the Exchequer. To this im- portant office I have designated my friend and faithful follower Mr. T. P. O'Connor, who has ong had experience of the truth of the old saw— 'Tis a very good world ve live in, To lend, or to spend, or to give in; But to beg or to borrow, or get a man' own, 'Tis the very worst world that ever was known. This mournful condition of life I hope to see set. right through the fertility, the courage, and tho unselfish genius of my Chancellor of the Exche- quer. (Loud cheers.) It has occurred to me that amid the vicissitudes attendant upon the rehabilitation of an old country, torn from the grasp of a dominant Power, we may find it necessary to resort to menace for the recognition of our rights. With this possibility before me, I have founded a re- sponsible department, and confided its control to the hon. member for Roscommon, whose military career has qualified him to organise such expedi- tions by which we may usefully harry the shore* )f our common enemy. (Enthusiastic cheering, .vith cries of English gold shall ba ours," and • Go on, yer; Majesty be jabers yer doing well, inyway.") f have also appointed my Lord Chancellor, who shall be responsible for the law of our country; my Minister of Public Order, who shall be respon- sible for the assertion of freedom of speech in our nation ("That's one for the Cloture—down with the gag'"); and my President of the Local Govern- ment Board, whose duty t will be to provide food and raiment for all who feci themselves superior to the debasing necessities of manual labour. .Great enthusiasm amongst the public behind the ..railings, witlifcries of Sexton for iver," He's the man for the Irish," Long life to him," We're ah J too good to work." Hoorah!") | I am glad to be in a position to announce to m\ Parliament that we shall levy taxation only upon the properties of the Saxon and that amongst the 1 Hills to which the House will be invited to give its I attention on an early day is one for completing, < upon a purely Communistic principle, the reform of the Irish Land Laws. (Cries of The land for the people." "Three cheers for Michael Davitt.") ] It is my intention to make Ireland an example r(,. to the remainder of the world, and reproach to all despotic Governments. With thut object before me I shall issue invitations to the heads of several I of the Great Powers to visit Dublin and inspect I niv institutions. Amongst the eminent persons whom I hope to have the honour of entertaining in my capital are Prince Bismarck and the King of ( Dahomey, a potentate of much distinction, who 1 wears his "Lincoln and Bennett" upside down, .nel his coat tails before. (Cri"s of "Hoorah for j the King of Dahomey !") Gentleman, I thank you for your attention, and now I commend you to your labours. May the genius of Ireland guide your deliberations. (Loud ',md prolonged chcering, with cries- of One more ( for the genius of Ireland.") The House now proceeded to business, and aotice of the following Bills was given Mr. Parnell: A Bill to popularise the tenure of Und in Ireland. The Chancellor of ths Exchequer: A Bill giving Ireland the power to levy taxation in England. Mr. Gray: A Bill to abolish imprisonment for ■Thatsver oiTence when committed by a member of tho Irish Parliament. Mr. Leamy: A Bill to legalise the payment of 11"i 'h members. Mr. T. D. Sullivan A Bill to mak? it compulsory to advertise in the patriotic newspapers. Mr. Shiei: A Bill to abolish capital punishment sare in the case of murderer. not natives of Ire- land. llr. A. O'Counor: A Bill to abolish prujecution for <mall debts. f" Three che-trs for the member for Queen's County Mr. CaHan A Bill for abolishing tho duty on whisky consumed in Ireland, anc* for increasing it on that exported for sxle in England ruch duty to be levied Kt the port of shipment. Mr. Dillon A Bil1 for conferring upon tenants power to evict their landlords. Mr. Sexton ± Bill for placing the Bank of lu. land at the service of the country. At this juncture a "row" broke out amongst a party of active "upporter.: of the new riyimc. These gentlemen wer-x quite agreed that the Bank of Ireland should b& placed at the service of th» country, but the question naturally arose whether the term service of the country would permit i of the people at large drawing upon the funds of the bank. An attempt wai made to collar the Premier 3nd induce him to explain whether tht, money in thi bank wa" tc bo the property of tha country generally, or merely of the Parliament but the right hon. gentleman contrived to elud? the vigilance of his friendi. The tumult becoming serious, th?- sitting of the HOUAS was hurriedly suspended. And so ended an eventful day. THE IRISH CABINET ANT THI PROGRESS OF HONJ: RULE. The fir-t meeting of the Cabinet wa» a momen- tous gathering, as well as r lively event. It was heid ir the building in Phccni* Park formerly known as the Chief Secret-try's Lodge, and now th» official residence of the Right Hon. T. P. O'Connor. The regenerators 0: Ireland were evi- dently in the boat of spirits, and there was a full aiU-ndanc: Mr. Parnell: Gentlemen, T hav* summoned you on this, the second day of our official existence, to con-sidsr a subject of vital interest to our .jcheme*. We must have some money. IVIr. T. P. O'Connor: Hear, h- ar. Mo. Pnrnell: But the difficulty is thi.>—Whert n iu to coMC from ? Mr. Haalj: Send to England for it. Kr. T. P. O'Connor Exactly. But Wh1't mmt. h: your indignation when I tell ye that I have written to the British Treasury for a loan of a few pobry millions, and have been euphemistically told to—go to blazes Mr. O'Kelly 'with deep emotion): An' who tould 1. to go to blazes Mr. T. P. O'Connor: The Saxon Chancellor of the Exchequer himself. Hereishisteleyam. I har» ;pok?n of its terms as euphemistic. -p ".From I | "To I Hugh Childers, "T. P. O'Connor, Esq., "London. 11 Dublin." -1 "We have no money for you." Mr. O'Kelly (vehemently): Can such things be! (To the Secretary for Foreign Affairs.) Declare war against the British. Harry their coasts with fire and sword. Mr. O'Donr.el!: How can I declare war without an army? (Confusion.) Mr. O'Kelly And how can I give you an army r. ithout troops ? Mr. T. P. O'Connor: And how can I give you troora without monsy ? (Renewed confusion.; Mr. O'Donnell: What's the use of you blethering there. How can I declare war without an army r Gire me bayonets. Mr. O'KoIly: Then gin me the troops first. Mr. O'Donnell: If you haven't troops what au jOll there fo~ ? Mr. O'Keily And if you haven't an army what's td. UM of your being Foreign Secretary? (The •,wo Mini.-tftrs shake their fist,; at one another.) Ivir. »arnell: >iow, gentlemen, do not let us quarrel. IT must hava money, that is certain, it is, of counts, ridiculous to talk of making war upon Znyl-ind. I have n. scheme by which I hope I{J obtain a loan from our friends in Washington. upon the security of the Irish land. Lord Donough- uaore his abandoned his estate at Koocklofty—a j; £ n, I thinlr, that the survivors of an ancient tyranny itri becoming alive to a sense of their J.uty to tho country which they have outraged and roo'oed. Colonft. Tottenham has shut himself up in his casrie, and ij advising all landlords to "kecp ft Di grip of their acres," but as Boycotting is on<-t> more in useful operation, I have no doubt that '3 who have von in so many struggles shall win; in t ilia. Let us dine. The proceedings in Parliament nowbecama gene- rally inharmonious. The House broke up into f*f-tion«. The popular branch began studiously to r:de-:t the proposal* of the Cabinet. The Cabinet itwj divided. Mr. Parnell's policy was consi- u'u-d too mild by certain of his colleagues. Yet p-opk began to think seriously of this state of thinj;. -.nd thought wis bad for Home Rule. Within a period of two months there had been fhre. general elections, and much nonsensical ion was, of course, passed into law, I. The frequency of the broils in Parliament soon diverted the attention of the people from the pursuits of industry. The ploughsharo was thrown aside for the shillelagh. The music of the foundry and the carpenter's shop was drowned in the hoarse harangues of tipsy politicians. The legendary battle of the Kilkenny cats, hitherto con. fined to the city of that name, became the prac- tical experience of Irishmen from Dublin to Gahvay, and from Cork to Coleraine. Dublin j became a city of broken windows, the landlords ] fled from their estates, seeking an asylum in England. Trade was paralysed, and bankruptcy stalked the land like a famished wolf. < HOME RULE DECLARED A FAILURE. ir»<sanT.rhil?, the impression, light as summer air ) sra* to pa-s over the land that Home Rule was .»ot. sc far a* l'_a^t,quite the success which its best irivnd.1 dcired. Another month deepened a sus- uicion into a conviction. The Irish newspapers] E"'> begaD to attack that which they had formerly ( aonroved. The Fret-man's Journal wrote :— ( Thres months since found us flushed with a j ersat victory. To-day finds us bankrupt, in po-:l:t and in reputation many of our best men have Wt our -hor<:s, our gaols are crowded, and ( ourselvw hava become the lllughing-stock of tho i uht-ion." Tho: lrLh Times Home Rule is an egregious failure. It has ruined our credit, and we are within measurable distance of civil war." ) Tht Xorthcm lVhi.'l: How much longer, w* ask. ill this period of folly and frenzy to endure ?" The y-itiof .—" Mr. Gladstone gave Home Rule to Ireland and then he hired professional assassin;! to defeat the ends of the Home Rulers." It i-juuired but these expressions of the Irish National prcs-i to precipitate a reaction in favour oi Kafland and the revival of the Act of Union, to- gether with the return of the Vice-regal Court to Dublin. A few desperate men in Parliament endeavoured to arrest the reaction, but the Parnell Ministry was impeached, notwithstanding the violenct and intrigue of its few remaining adhe- r<ntt. A motion in favour of a petition praying Mr. Gladstone to defend Ireland against itself, in othw words to restore the old state of things, was actually carried, and it was upon this motion that the division which I described at the opening of my story took place. The collapse was complete. The Cabinet broke up, and its members, but latd!' the idols of the nation, became objects of derision. Mr. Parnell admitted his failure, and retirsd into the seclusion of his erewhile estates, sold for the benefit of the Land League. Rejecting all companionship he lived the life of a recluse, and a :ew years later was known to English guide-books f the anchorite of Avondale. Mr. Healy and Mr. Michael D»vitt repaired to America. Mr. O'Donnell t;ave up political life, and devoted himself to thosu literary pursuits which he had abandoned in Lon- don in ordar to assume Cabinet rank under an impwisibia Irish Parliaafcnt. Mr. T. P. O'Connor he Chancellor of the Exchequer in the Parnell I Ministry, became a successful dabbler in Egyp- tians." Mr. O'Kelly returned to his allegiance on tho Xew York Herald, and when last heard of he had beeu sent by Mr. Bennett to find Stanley." Mr. Sexton obtained a curatorship in an English museum, married the daughter of an English clergyman, and was known for the suavity of his manner and the tepidity of his opinions. Home Rule in Ireland failed because the Irish have not yet acquired the virtue of self-govern- mant. The Iriah are an imaginative people, and they are indehted to their imagination for many of their blunders and all their miseries. Imagina- tion is the curse of the country, snd political «' carpet-baggers" have proved its ruin. But there ij little doubt that the Irish have received a lesson which they will never forget. They will have no more" Parliaments for the Irish;" no more P*,rndli.sm they will dally with no mora Communistic doctrines. Lord Donoughmore may return to his Irish estate, and Colonel Tottenham may leave his castle, which no longer is in a state of sisg-s. The absurd notion, invented by Michael Daritt find inculcated by Mr. Parnell, that the soil of Ireland is the property of the Irish people, has iieon formally abandoned by the people themselves "rith whom" fair rents" is no longer a synonym for no rents at all." As I walk up Sackville-street, on my way to the Imperial, or what remains of that once excellent hostelry, I notice two persons in eager conversa- tion. They are Terence O'Flaherty and Biddy Malone. "Well, Mister Terence, savin' yer honour's presence, an' maybe yeli agree now that we'll be iwoighty glad to have the Saxon back agin." Be me soul, Biddy, yere right. The thing's a regular do any way," is the frank confession of this cue-enthusiastic repealer. "The Evening Praia*. is blown up, lock, stock, and barrel, and we'r* going to raise the Morning baron out of its asher Never mind, Biddy, my honey, Ould Oireland '11 be *'1 thc better for this brief touch of Home Rule. V. hon she asks for another touch there'll be two moons in the sky. Hur::ah! The Saxon for ever By curious twist of fancy my thoughts suddenly reverted to a scene in the Irish Parlia- »«nt. We thought our mutual friend, Joseph CriHej Biggar, was i;t extremis. He had been draggsd from his chair as Speaker, and three or four burly ruffians, who had accused him of partisanship, were endeavouring to make him •ailow hi* official wig. Starting into wakefulness nay vixiori vanished, and I found myself sitting complacently in the British House of Commons, at the fag end of a dreary debate on Grand Committees." The writhing form of Mr- Biggsr straightened itself into tho dignified person of Sit H> nry Brand, who W, gravely putting the vrords, The Hou*e is now adjourned.