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SIR TOM.
> [SOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] Q T SIR TOM. By MRS. OLIPHANT. Author of The Chronicles of Carlingford," The Greatest Heiress in England," "He that Will | Not when He May," &c., &c. CHAPTER I. Bow SIR TOM BECAME A GRFAT PEKSOKAOE. Sir Thomas Randolph had lived a somewhat stormy life during the earliest half of his career. e had gone through what the French called a finesse oragev.se nothing very bad had ever been taid to his charge, but he had been adventurous,. Unsettled, a roamer about the world even after the period at which youthful extravagances cease. No- body ever knew when or where ho might appear. lie Set off to the further parts of the earth at a day's notice, sometimes on pretext of sport, some- times on no pretext at all, and reappeared again ItS unexpectedly as he had gone away. He had l'un out his fortune by these and other extrava- gances, and was at forty in one of the most uncom- fortable positions in which:, man can find himself, the external appearance of largo estates and n establishment and secure position, but in beauty scarcely any income at all, just enough to Satisfy the mortgagee, and afford himself a pittance not much more than the wages of a game- keeper. If his aunt, Lady Randolph, had not been 80 good to him it was uncertain whether he could have existed at all, and, when the heiress, whom '8n eccentric will had consigned to her charge, fell :in his way, all her friends concluded as a matter ■Of certainty that Sir Tom would jump at this extraordinary windfall, this gift of a too kind Providence, which sometimes will care for a prodigal in a way which he is quite unworthy off "While leaving the righteous man to struggle on un- aided. But for some time it appeared as if society for once was out of its reckoning. Sir Tom did not pounce upon the heireso. He was a person of revy independent mind, and there was some who thought he was happier in his untrammelled poverty, doing what he pleased, than he ever had been as a great proprietor. Even when it became apparent to the wise and far-seeing that little Miss Trevor was only waiting till his handkerchief was thrown at her to become the happiest of women, still he did nothing. He exasperated his kind he made all his friends indignant, and what Was more, he exposed the young heiress hourly to many attempts on the part of the inferior class, from which, as a matter of fact, she truly sprang; and it was not unti! she was driven nearly des- perate by those attempts, that Sir Tom suddenly Appeared upon the scene, and moved, it was thought, more by a half-fatherly kindness and sympathy for her, than either by love or desire of health, took her to himself and made her his wife, to the great and grateful satisfaction of the girl herself, whose strange upbringing nnd brief intro- duction into a higher sphere had spoiled her for that homely country town existence in which every woman flattered and every man made love her. Whether Lucy Trevor was in love with him was ^3 uncertain- as whether he was in love with her. So far as anyone knew neither one nor the other lad asked themselves this question. She had as 'lt were thrown herself into his arms in sudden flight and relief of mind when he appeared and Saved from her suitors while he had received tenderly when she did this, out of kindness and pleasure in her genuine, half-childish appre- ciation of him. There were of course people who E!:¡,id that Lucy had been violently in love with Sir ^°m, and that he had made up his mind to marry her money from the first moment he saw her but Neither of these things were true. They married a great deal more pleasure and ease of mind than many people do who are very much in love "•^th each other, for thoy had mutual faith in each ot.her, and felt a mutual repose and satisfaction in their union. Each supplied something the other Wanted. Lucy obtained a secure and settled home, a protector and ever kind and genial guardian' "While Sir Tom got, not only a good and dutiful and pleasant companion, with a great deal of sense and good-nature and good looks, all of which gifts he prized highly, but at the same time the control 'of a great fortune, and money enough at once to clear his estates and restore him to his position as ,a Si*eat landowner. i There were very peculiar conditions attached to the great fortune, but to them for the moment he very lit.tlo heed, considering them as fantastic follies not worth thinking about, which were never likely to become difficulties in his way. The advantage he derived from the marriage was enor- mous. All at once, at a bound, it restored him to ho had lost, to the possession of his own Property, which had been not more than nominally for so many years, and to the position of a man Of Weight and importance, whose opinion told all his neighbours and the county generally, ts did those of few others in the district. Sir Tom, the wanderer, had not been thought Very highly of in his younger days. He had been wild. He had been thought untrustworthy, fellow here to-day and gone to-morrow, who had solidity in him. But when the mortgages all paid off and the old hall restored, and Sir "^homasRandolphcameto settle down at home with bis pretty little wife and an establishment quite Worthy of his name, the county discovered in a ray, almost in a moment, that he was very much improved. He had always been clever enough, J-'iey said, for anything, and now that, he had sown wild oats and learned how to conduct himself, ald attained an age when foliies are naturally there was no reason why he should not be deceived with open arms. Such a man had a great 1bany more exuerionces, the county thought with a certain pride, thai; other men who had sown no oats and had never gone further atieid than j^e recognised round of European cities. Sir loin ^ad heen in all the four quarters of the globe he had travelled in America long before it became fashionable to do so, and even had been in Africa J^hilo it was as yet untrod by any white foot but 'that of a missionary. And it was whispered that itl the days when he was" wild" he had Penetrated into regions nearer at hand, but more °bscure and mysterious even than Africa. All Jhis made the county think more of him now when e appeared staid yet genial, in the fulness of Manhood, with a crisp brown beard, and a few rey hairs about his temples mingled with Ins abundant locks, and that capabilily of paying his "lty which is dear to every well-regulated commu- nity. But for this last particular the county not have been so tolerant, nay almost pleased h the fact that he had been wild." They saw all "is qualities in the halo that surrounTied the newly decorated hall, the liberated farms, the lands upon Avhich no creditor harl now any claim. He was the most popular man in the district when Parlia- ment was dissolved, and he was elected for the bounty almost without opposition, he, at whom all the sober folk had shaken their heads only a few Tears before. The name of Sir Tom," which had Oeen given rather contemptuously to denote a Somewhat careless fellow who minded nothing, became all at once the sign of popular amity and kindness. And if it had been necessary to gain vote for III nl by any canvassing tricks, this name f his would have carried away all objections. lr Tom;" it established a sort of affectionate re Iltionship at once between him and his constitu- • I The people felt that tliey had known him an his hfe a 'd Ijad always called him by his Christian name If d.y Kanaolph was much excited and delighted ^!th her husband's success. She canvassed tor m in a modest way, making herself pleasant to the wives of his supporters in a unique manner of her own which was not perhaps quite dignified considering her position, but yet was found very j Captivating by these good women. Sho did not pondescend to them as other titled ladies do, but she took their advice about her baby and how he wa3 to be managed, with a pretty "Umility which made her irresistible. They all felt ai individual interest thenceforward in the heir of the Randolphs, as if they had some personal con- cern in him and Lady Randolph's gentle accost, and the pretty blush upon her cheeks, and her way of speaking to them all, "as if they were just as good as she was," had a wonderful effect. When she received him in the hotel which was the head- quarters of his party, as soon as the result of the Section was known, Sir Tom, coming in flushed applauses and victory, took his wife into his 5i'ins and kissed her. "1 owe this to you, as well its so much else, Lucv," he said. Oh, don't say that, when you know I don't un- derstand much, and never can do anything; but I am so glad—nobody could be more glad," said Lucy. Little Tom had been brought in in his purse's arms, and crowed and clapped his fat little haby hands for his father; and when his mother took him and looked out upon the balcony, from Much her husband was speaking an impromptu address to his new constituents, with the child in her arms, not suspecting that she would be seen, the cheers and outcries ran into an uproar of ap plause. Three cheers for my lady and the babby," the crowd shouted at the top of its many voices and Lucy, blushing and smiling and crying with plea- sure, instead of shrinking away as everybody feared she would do, stood up in her modest, pretty youthfulness, shy, but full ot sense and courage, and held up the child, who stared at them all solemnly with big, blue eyes, and, after a moment's consideration, again patted his fat little hands together, an action which put the multitude beside itself with delight. Sir Tom's speech did hot make nearly so much impression as the baby's pattieake." Every man in the crowd, not to say •every woman, and with still more reason every hild, clapped his or her hands too, and shouted and laughed and hurrahed. The incident of the baby's appearance before the Public, and the early success he had gained—the il.rlie5t 011 record, the newspapers said—made juite a sensation throughout the country, am" iade Farafield famous for a week. It V/.KS MEN htonedinaleading article, in the first newspa-psi in the world. It appeared in large headlines in the placards under such titles as A Baby in Poli- tics," The Nursery and the Hustings." and such liku. As for the little heio of the moment, he was handed down to his anxious nurse just as symp- toms of a whimper of fear at the alarming tumult outside began to appear about the corners of his mouth. For heaven's sake take him away he mustn't cry, or he will spoil all," said the chair- man of Sir Tom's committee. And the young mother, stepping into the room behind, sat down in a great chmi behind their backs, and cried to re- lieve her feelings. Never had there been such a day. If Sir Tom had not been the thoroughly g0od-humnured man he was, it is possible tlmt he might have objected to the interruption thus made in his speech, which was altogether lost in the tumult of delight which followed his son's ap- pearance. But as a matter of fact he was as much cieiighted as anyone, and proud as any man could be of his pretty little wife and his splendid boy. He took the li; tie shaver," as ho called'him, in his arms, and kissed the mother again, soothing and laughing at her in the tender, kindiy, fatherly way which had won Lucy. It is you that have got the seat," he said I vote that you go and sit in it, Lady Randolph. You are a born legislator, and your son is a favour: i e of the public, whereas I am only an old fogey." 011, Tom Lucy said, lifting her simple eyes to his, with a mist of happiness in them. She was accustomed to his nonsense. She never said any- thing more than Oh, Tom!" and, indeed, it was not vcry long since she Imd given up the title, and ceased to say, Oh, Sir Tom!" which seemed some- how to come more natural. It was what she had said when he came suddenly to see her in the midst of her early embarrassments and troubles; when the cry of relief and tMight with which she turned to him, uttering in her surprise that title of familiarity, Oh, Sir Tom!" had signified first to her middle-aged hero, with the most flattering simplicity and completeness, that he had won the gil l's pure and inexperienced heart. There was no happier evening in their lives than this, when after all the commotion, threateningsof the ecstatic crowd to take the horses from the car. riage and other follies, they got off at last together and drove home through roads that wound among the autumn fields, on some of which the golden sheaves were still standing in the sunshine. Sir rom helcJ Lucy's hand in his own. He had told her a dozen times over that he owed it all to her. "You have made me rich, and have made me happy," he said, though I am old enough to be your father, and you are only a little girl. If there is any good to come outof me,it will be all to your credit, They say in story books that a man should be ashamed to own so much to his wife, but I am not the least ashamed." Oil, Tom she said, how can you talk so much nonsense," with a laugh and the tears in her eyes. I always did talk nonsense," he said; that was why j ou -ot to like me. But this is excellent sense, and quite true. And that little shaver; I am owing you for him, too. There is no end to my indebtedness. When they put the return in the papers it should be Sir Thomas Randolph, &c., re- turned as representative of his wife, Lucy, u. little woman worth as much as any county in England." Oil, Sir Tom Lucy cried. Well, so you are, my dear," he said, composedly. That is a mere matter of fact, you know, and there can be no question about it at all." For the truth was that she was so rich as to have been called the greatest heiress in England in her day. CHAPTER II. His WIFE. Young Lady Randolph had herself been greatly changed by the progress of these years. Marriage is always the great touchstone of character, at least with women; but in her Cilse the ehange from a troubled and premature independence, full of responsibiiities, and an extremely difficult and arduous duty, to the protection and calm of early married life, in which everything was done for her, and all her burdens taken from her shoulders, rather arrested LImn aided in the develoliment OJ her character. She had lived six months with the Dowager Lady Randolph after her father's death but those six months had been all she knew of the laager existence of the wealthy and great. All she knew—and even of these she did not know much, for Lucy had never been introduced into society, partly on account of her very youthful age, and partly because she was stillin mourning, so that her acquaintance with life on the higher line consisted merely in a knowledge of certain simple luxul ies, of larger rooms, and prettier furniture, and more careful service than in her natural condition. So far as that went, she belonged to the class of small townfolk who are nobody, and whose gentility is more appalling than their homeliness. So that when she came to be Sir Thomas Randolph's wife and a great lady, not merely the ward of an im- portant personage, but herself occupying that posi- tion, the change was so wonderful that it required all Lucy's mental resources to encounter and accustom herself to it. Sir Tom was the kindest of middle-aged hus- bands. If he did not adore his young wife with the fervour of passion, he had a sincere affection for her and the warmest desire to make her happy. She had done a great deal for him, she had changed his position unspeakably, and he was fully deter- mined that no lady in England should have more observance, more honour and luxury, and, what was better, more happiness, than the little girl whe had made a man of him. There had always been a sweet and serious simplicity about her, an air of good sense and reasonableness, which had attracted everybody whose opinion was worth having to Lucy but she was neither beautiful nor clever. She had been so brought up that, though she was not badly educated, she had no accomplishments, and not more knowledge than falls to the lot of an ordinary school girl. The furthest extent of her mild experiences was Sloane-street and Cadogan-place, and there were people who thought it impossible that Sir Tom. who had been everywhere, and run through the entire gamut of pleasures and adven- tures, should find anything interesting in this bread-and-butter girl, whom, of course, it was his duty to malTY. and having married to be kind tn. But when he found himseif set down in an English country house with this little piece oi simplicity opposite to him, what would he do, the sympathis- ing spectators said? Even his kind aunt, who felt that she had brought about the marriage, and who, as a matter of fact, had fully intended it from the first, though she herself liked Lucy, had a little terror in her soul as she asked herself the same question. He would fill the house with company and get over it in that way, was what the most kind and moderate people thought. But Sir Tom laughed at all their prognostications. He said afterwards that- he had never known how pretty- it was to know nothing and have seen nothing, when that was conjoined with intelligence and delightful curiosity, and never failing interest. He declared that he had never truly enjoyed his own adventures and experiences as he did when he told them over to his young wife. You may be sure there were some of these which were not adapted for Lucy's ears, and these Sir Tom left religiously away in the background. He had been a careless liver no doubt, like so many men, but he would rather have cut off his right hand, as the Scripture bids, than have soiled Lucy's white soul with an idea, or an image that was unworthy of her. She knew him under all sorts of aspects,but not one that was evil. Their solitary evenings together were to her more delightful than any play, and to him nearly as delightful. When the dinner was over, and the cold shut out, she would wait his appearance in the inner drawing-room, which she had chosen for her special abode, with something of the homely cares that had been natural to her former condition, drawing his chair to the fire, taking pride in making his coffee for him, and a. hundred little attentions. "Now, begin," she would say, recalling with a child's eager interest and earnest recollection the point at which he had left off. This was the greater part of Lucy's education. She travelled with him through very distant regions, and went through all kinds of adventure. And in the season they went to London, where she made her debut in society, not perhaps with eclat, but with a modest composure which delighted him. She understood then for the first time what it was to be rich, and was amused and pleased—amused above all with the position which she occupied with the utmost simplicity. People said it would turn the little creature's head, but it never even disturbed her imagination. She took it with a calm that was extraordinary. Thus her education progressed, and Lucy was so fully occu- pied with it, with learning her husband, end her life and the world, that she had no time to think of the responsibilities which once had weighed so heavily upon her. When now aud then they occurred to her, and she mdo some passing reference to them, there were so Vnany other things to do that she forgot again-forgot everything except to be happy, and learn and see, as she had now so many ways of doing. Siie forgot horself altogether and everything that had been hers, not in excitement, but in the soft absorbing influence of lier new life, which drew her away into endless novelties and occupations, which were, indeed, duties and necessities of her altered sphere. If this was the case in the first thrne or four years of her marriage, when she had only Sir Tom to think 31, you may suppose what it was when the baby came, to add a hundred-fold to the interests of her existence. Everything else in life, it may be believed, dwindled into nothing in com- parison with this boy of boys—this wonderful infant. There had never been one in the world like him it is unnecessary to say, and everything was so novel to her, and she felt the importance of being little Tom's mother so deeply that her mind was quite carried away from all other thoughts. She grew almost beautiful in the light of this new addition to her happiness. And how happy she was; the child grew and hrove.. He was a splendid bey. His mother did not sing litanies in his praise in public, for her good sense never forsook her, but his being seemed to fill up her life like a new stream flowing into it, and she expanded in life, in thought, and in understanding. She began to see a reason for her own position, and to believe in it and take it. seriously. She was a great lady, the first in the neighbourhood, and she felt that, as little Tom's mother, it was natural and befitting that she should be so. She began to be sensible of ambition within herself, as well as something that felt like pride. It was so little like ordinary pride, however, that Lucy was sorry for everybody who had not all the noble sur- roundings which she began to Imjoy. She would have liked that every child should have a nursery like little Tom's, and every mother the same pros- pects for her infant, and was charitable and tender beyond measure to all the mothers and children within reach on little Tom's account, which was an extravagance which her husband did not grudge, but liked and encouraged, knowing the sentiment from which it sprang. It was with no view to popularity that the pair thus endeavoured to diffuse happiness about them, being so happy themselves; but it answered the same purpose, and their popularity was great. When the county conferred the highest honour in its power upon Sir Tom, his immediate neigh- bours in the villages about took the honour as their own, and rejoiced as even at a majority or a marriage, as they had never rejoiced before, for so kind a landlord, so universal a friend had never been. The villages were model villages on the Ran olph lands. Sir Tom and his young wife ha- gone into every detail about. the labourers' cottage with as much interest as if they had themselves meant to live in one of them. There were no such trim gardens or bright flowerbeds to be seen any- where, and the rector of the parish was judicious and kept his charities within bounds. There had been no small amount of poverty and distress among these rustics when the squire was poor and absent, when they lived in tumbledown old houses which nobody took any interest in, and where neither decency nor comfort were considered but now little industries sprang up and prospered, and tile whole landscflpe smiled. A wise landlord with unlimited sway over his neighbourhood and no rivals in the field, can do so much to increase the comfort of everybody about him and such a small matter can make a poor household comfor- table. Political economists, no doubt, say it is demoralising, but whon it made Lucy happy, and the poor women happy, how cauld Sir Tom step in and arrest the genial bounty ? He gave the rector I a hint to see that she did not go too far, and walked about with his hands in his pockets and looked on. Ail this amused him greatly even the little ingratitudes she met with, which went to Lucy's heart, made her husband laugh. It pleased his satirical vein to see how human nature dis- phtyed itself, and the black sheep appeared among the white even in a model village. Hut as for Lucy, though she would sometimes cry over these spots upon the general goodness, it satisfied every wish of her heart to be able to do so much for the cottagers. They did not, perhaps, stand so much in awe of her as thby ought to have done, but they brought all their troubles to her with the most perfect and undoubting confidence. All th's time, however, Lucy followed the dietates of her own heart., and using what after all was only a little running over of her great wealth to secure the comfort of the people round, was neglecting what she had once thought the great duty of her life as entirely as if she had been the most seirish of worldly women. Her life had been so entirely changed—swung, as one might say, out of one orbit into another—that the burdens of the former life seemed to have been taken from her shoulders along with its habits and external circumstances. Her husband thought of these as little as herself; yet even he was somewhat surprised to find Lhat he had no trouble in weaning Lucy from the ext ravagances of her eat Her independence. He had not. expecl ed much trouble, but still it had seemed likely enough that she would at least pro- pose things thitt his stronger seilse condemned, and would have to be convinced and persuaded that they were impracticable but nothing of tho kind occurred, and when he thought of it Sir Tom himself was surprised, as abo were V<1.r:"llS other people who knew what Lucy's obstina. _• mi the subject before her marriage had been, and especially the Dowager Lady Randolph, who paid her nephew a yearly visit, and never failed to question him on the subject. "And Lucy ?" "he wuuld sav. "Lucy never m'tkes any allusion ? She has dismissed every- thing from her mind ? I really think you must. be a Illagieian, Tom. I could not have believed it, after uH the trouble she gave us and aU the money she threw away. Those Russells, you know, that she W;¡,3 so ridiculously liberal to, theli are as bad as ever. That sort of extravagant giving of money is never successful. But I never thought you would have got it out of her niiud." flutter me," he said, it is not I that have got it out. of her mind. It is life and all the novelties in it—and small Tom, who is more of a magician than I am——" "o0i1, the baby said the dowager, with the in- difference of a woman who has never had a child, and cannot conceive why a little sprawling tad- pole in long clothes should maka such a differ- ence. Yes, I suppose that's a novelty," she said, to be mother of a bit of a thing like that natu- rally turns a girl's head. It is inconceivable the airs they give themselves, as if there was nothing so wonderbl in creation. And as far as i can see you are just as bad, though you ought to know better.Tom." Oh, just as bad," he said, with his large laugh. "I never had a share in anything so wonderful. If you only could see the superiority of this bit of a thing to all other things about him Oh! spare me," cried Lady Randolph the elder, holding up her hands. "Of course I don't undervalue the importance of an heir to the pro- perty," she said, in a different, tone. I have heard enough about it to be pretty sensible of that." This the Dowager said with a slight tone of bitterness, which indeed was comprehensible enough, for she had suffered enough in her day from the fact that no such production had been possible to her. Had it been so, her nephew who stood by her would not (she could scarcely help t., fleeting with some grudge against Providence) have been the great man he now was, and no child of his would have mattered to the family. Lady RlIIdolph was a very sensible woman, and had long been reconciled to the state of affairs- and likei her nephew, whom she had been the means! of providing for so nobly; and she was glad there was a baby still for the sake of her own who had never existed, she resented the self-exaltation of father and mother over this very common and in I no way extraordina-y phenomenon of a child, Sir Tom laughed ag-tin with a sense of supe- f riority,which was in itself somewhat ludicrous but as nobody is clear-sighted in their own concerns he was quita unconscious of this. His laugh nettled Lady Randolph still more. She said with a certain disdain in her tone— And so you think you have sailed triumphantly over all that—thanks to your charms and the baby's, and are going to hear nothing of it any more Sir Tom felt that he was suddenly pulled up, and felt a little resentful in return. I hope," he said, that is, I do more than hope, I feel convinced, that Œ.y wife. who has great, sense, has outgrown that nonsense, and tklt she has sufficient confidence in me to leave her busi- ness matters in my bauds." Lady Randolph shook her head. Outgrown nonsense —at three and twenty ?" she said. "Don't you think tint's premature? And, my dear boy, take my word for it, a. woman when she has the power, likes to keep the-control of her own bUflinesg just as well as a mart does. I advise you not to holloa till you are out of the wood." 1 don't expect to have any occasion to holloa; there is no wood for that matter. Lucy, thuugh per- haps you may not think it, is one of the most rea- sonable of creatures." She is everything tha.t is nice and good," said the Dowager but. how about the will ? Lucy may be reasonable, but that is not. And she can- not forget it always." Pshaw i The will is a piece of folly," cried Sir Tom. He grew red at the very thought with irri- tation and opposition. "I believe the old man Was mad. Nothing else could excuse such imbeci- lity. Happily there is no question of the will." But there must be some time or other." I see no occasion for it," said Sir Tom, coldly and as his aunt was a reasonable woman, she did not push him any further. But if the truth must be told this sensible old Udy contemplated t.he great happiness of these young people with a sort of interested and alarmed spectaiorship (for she wished them nothing but good), watching and wondering when the explosion would come which might in all probability shatter it to ruins. For she felt thoroughly convinced in her own mind that Lucy would not always forget the conditions by which she held her fortune, and that. all the reason and sense in the world would not con- vince her that it was right to ignore and baulk her father's intentions, is conveyed with great solemnity in his will. And whan the question should come to be raised, Lady Randolph feit. that it would be no trifling one. Lucy was very simple and sweet, but when her conscience spoke even the influence of Sir Tom would not suffice to silence it. he was a girl who would stand to what, tihe felt to be right if all the world and even her hus- band were against her—and the dowager, who wished them no harm, felt a little alarmed as to the issue. Sir Tom was not a man easy to man- age, and the reddening of his usually smiling countenance at the mere suggestion of the subject was very ominous. It would be better, far better, for Lucy if she would yield at once and say nothing about it. Hut that was not what it was natural for her to do. She would stand by her duty to her father, just as were it assailed she would stand by her duty to her husband but she could never be got to understand that the second cancblled the first. The Dowager Lady Randolph watched the young household with something of ths interest with which a playgoer watches the tage. She feit that the explosion would come, and that a breath, a touch, might bring it on at any moment; and then what was to be the issue? Would Lucy yield? would Lucy conquer? or would the easy temper with which everybody credited Sir Tom support this trial ? The old Iltdy. who knew him so well, believed that there was a certain fiery element Mow, and she trembled for tlt peace of the household which was so happy and triumphant, and had no fear whatever for Ïr- self. She thought of "the torrent's smoothness ere it dash below," of the calm that precedes a storm, and many other such images, and so frightened did she become at the dangers she had conjured up that she put the will hurriedly out of her thoughts, as Sir Tom had done, and would think no more of it. Sufficient," she said to herself, is the evil to the day." In the meantime the married pair smiled serenely at any doubts of their perfect union, and Lucy feit a great satisfaction in showing her hus- band's aunt (who had not thought her good enough for Sir Tom, notwithstanding that she so warmly promoted the match) how satisfied he was with his home, and how exultant in his heir. In the following chapters the reader will dis- cover what was the cause which made the dowager shake her head when she got into the carriage to drive to the railway at the termina.tion of her visit. It was all very pretty and very de- lightful and thoroughly satisfactory, but still Lady Randolph, the elder, shook her experienced head. (To be continued.')
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FAULT.
FAULT. BY HAWLEY SMART. Author of "Breezie Langton," "Broken Bonds," "Social Sinners," "The Great Tontine," Sic., kc&c. CHAPTER XXXIII. LOOKING OUT THE KEYSTONE. Sergeant Usher, over the Bunbury mystery, is now a sight for the gods, as the old books say. One can understand it; when we have achieved the solution of any great mental problem there is always an inclination, speaking figuratively, to stand upon our head or throw our hat into the air notable especially in the solving of that great annual spring riddle c.n Epsom Downs, when those who have successfully elucidated the great conun- drum are wont to express their satisfaction in fantastic fashion. It's a lovely puzzle," chuckled Sergeant Usher, as he smoked his pipe in his own lodgings in Spring- Gardens, "and it's all put together now with the exception of the last few bits, and they are obvious. First thing is to see if Sturton knows this hand-writing," and here Mr. Usher tapped his breast pocket in which he kept the precious note and the photograph of the late John Fossdyke; accordiug to my reckoning h will. "Secondly, to see if that wearisome old creature, Totterdell, recognises this as the photograph of the man who sat next him at the opening of the Baumborough Theatre, which, of course, he won't. Lastly, if I can, to get hold of a photograph of Mr. Cudernore, and then show Totterdell that, and if it don't give him tits well I'm mistaken some. Now, how the deuce am I to get about this last, business. Yes, I think my precocious young friend, with his still more precocious views regard- ing the £200 reward, might really eafrn a £10 note over this little bit of business. In the meantime," said Mr. Usher, sUB chuckling with satisfaction at his piecing of the puzzle, a man of fashion like me really ought to get a new rig out from Sturton. None of your reach-me-down ready-money tailors for a man of my position. Dukcs and detectives should be waited on .by first-rate artists, and, yes, by fust-rate tickists; Sturton taking my older for a trock-cnat and all to match, and doing my little ninety bill for a hundred. 0 Lord," said Mr. Usher, bursting into a tit of laughter, "just to think oi myseU as a real Bond-street lounger. It's a rum 'un, it is." Sergeant Usher had put the obtaining Mr. Cude- more's photograph last in his cogitations because it was by far the least important of the three last bricks in hisirch of evidence. Miss Lightcomb, Mr. Totterdell, the people at the Hopbine, and the label on the portmanteau, all sufficed really to identify the money-lender if he was the man, a.h- the sergeant had now no manner of doubt he was but, as was before said, Mr. Usher was an artist, and liked to hand his cases over to the solicitors of Lbe Treasury without a llaw in them. The first thing the sergeant did was to send for Timothy Whipple, that very junior, and now dis- missed, clerk. Gentlemen of Mr. Cudemore's vocation usually find one confidential clerk quite enough for their actual requirements, although a junior or two ot the Whipple calibre are useful. Timothy, although he had been sternly disabused of that. Golconda- like dream of grasping the £200 reward, stili cherished hopes that he might realise something handsome by his information, and responded to Mr. Usher's summons with alacrity. It would have been utterly wanting in accordance with the sergeant's pracLice to ask anyone to call upon him at his own lodgings, so the Wellington Restauram was the trysting place he selected. There he found Timothy duly awaiting his arrival over a pint of ale and some bread and cheese. Now, my lad," said Mr. Usher. you really, considering your age, have some little gumption. That portmanteau business is creditable; not much importance to us, but creditable. Now, it's just possible you might earn an honest ten-pun noto over this business. It might run to that, although we can easily do without you. Hut remember this time you're working to orders, and when people don't act strictly to my orders, they'd best lead lives of virtue and circumspection. Now, 1 shouldn't think, 1113' young friend, that'll be quite your future. If you don't turn gamekeeper you'll become poacher; if you don't join us you'll drift into the ranks of the criminal classes." "I'm sure, Mr. Usher, l'li do anything you tell me," replied Timothy, meekly. Well, look here, my lad. Mr. Cudemore's given you the sack, but still for all that you might be able to get what I want, and that is Mr. Cude- more's photograph. Do you think you can ?" I can't be sure, sir. He's a book oi 'em in his sitting-room, aud I'm pretty sure there's one of himseif in that; but you know, Mr. Usher, 1 make very sure of getting into that room now." "There's no making sure of anything much in this world," rejoined the Sergeant, senteutiously; but you'll imike sure of a tenuer if you'll manage that, and to a young gentleman of your sort, wiio't> out of employment, aud don't permit his imagina- tion to run riot, that should represent profitable business." Tim simply thanked the omniscient one, promised to do his best, and withdrew. It ain't of much account," muttered th" Sergeant, "but I do like to. send in a case com- plete." The next thing that Mr. Usher had to achieve was obviously to interview the fashionable Bond- street tailor, and there, accordingly, the sergeant proceeded next and sent in his card. Mr. Sturton was at home, and at once sent out word that he should be happy to see the eminent Scotland Yard official. Well, Mr. Usher, what can I do for you?" in- quired the Bond-street Maestro, urbanely. The humour of the situation tickled tne sergeant, and it was with a grim smiie that he retorted, Well, you know a gentleman in my profession wants a good many costumes at times. Now, sup- pose I ask you to pitch me out as a real swell about town." The great sartorial artist was some two or three minutes before he made reply, during which he eyed his visitor gravely, at last he refused. "No offence 1 trust. Mr. Usher, but it's best to be candid in these cases. I'd do my very best for you, but you couldn't look it not if we did our utmost to oblige you. Now, please, don't get angry, because I shall be only too willing to do all lean to assist. IVsten to me! As the slightly eccentric member for West Broadacres, member of th* Carlton, and with violent Conservative tendencies, I can turn you out to the nines, or if you like it better as the advanced Radical member for Fioiireuppertown, rejected of the Reform, because he goes a little too far for that played out institution, 1 also can do you justice. AS a man of tashion, Mr. Usher, you won't come off." Tho sergeant gave vent to a grim chuckle at his littie joke and said, Mr. Sturton, it's not quite true then that men are what their tailors make them." Good heavens, Mr. Usher," cried the enthu- siastic Sturton, who really did believe in his pro- fession, h it every clay suits the sculptor, and goodness knows it isn't every clay thar suits the tailor. No disparagement, my friend, but it's not in the power of broadcloth, tweed, serge, oransroia to turn out a lord." b And you wouldn't if you could." retorted the Sergeant, perfectly aware of Mr. Sturton's weak- ness, "not you; nobody knows better the days that are coming, and that coronets will be amongst the relics of history, eh!" "Well," replied Mr. Sturton, who, despite his professional Radical opinions, entertained a servile adoration for the aristocracy, "they are not quite to be over-looked as yet by my profession." "Quite so. Now, Mr. Sturton, come to business," rejoined the JSergeant, curtly. "I suppose you're a judge of handwriting ?" I don't understand you," replied Sturton, in blank amazement. Well, 1 mean this: In the course of your busi- ness you must have had 'a wrong un' given you occasionally." Again did the eminent tailor stare blankly at his questioner. What I mean is this," said the Sergeant, confi- dentially, you've taken ,1 cheque 01' two in your time when the drawer's imagination had proved too much for him when, in fact, he had forgotten his own name." Ah, yes," said Mr. Sturton, that, of course, has happened, but, vou know, Mr. Usher, as a rule they are rather lucrative things than otherwise; the family always pay to avoid an exposure, and never object to a pretty stiff percentage under the circumstances." Just so," rejoined the Sergeant, quietly, but to return to my original observation, you're a judge of handwriting. What do you think of this r" and here Mr. Usher produced the famous note that was so nearly burnt at the Hopbine. It was folded after" the mysterious manner in which the sergeant invariably had shown it, so that you could see little more than the signature, but one glance at it sufficed for Mr. Sturton. "Yes." he said, I know that hand, but I have no intention of telling you whose it is." Mr. Usher broke into a low laugh as he replied, I don't want you to tell me whose handwriting it is, because I know, but you will be wanted to give a court of law your opinion before three weeks are over your head, and lean only tell you with what 1 am in a position to prove, it would be mad- ncss on your part not to speak out." The collapse of Mr. Sturton was quite equal to that of Timothy Whipple. He knew well that there could be no fencing about his relations with Mr Cudemore in a witness box. The more candid he was, the less harm would it do him, but he saw to his dismay that the detective meant to have him in the witness box, and so replied quietly, "Yes, it's Cudemore's. I know nothing about the note, and you have given me no choice of knowing; but even if you did I fancy it is a thing with which I had nothing to do." Not you, Mr. Sturton," replied the Sergeant, as he picked up his hat. I know that well enough but have to testify to that handwriting. Good day, sir, and it's real trouble to me to think you could not make a genuine Bond-street toff of me." Very uncomfortable was Mr. Sturton after the detective left him. He was far too shrewd a man not to thoroughly comprehend the whole situation. Ho 8aw that he should be called upon to identify Cudemore's writing in court, and quite understood how very unpleasant a sharp cross- examining barrister might make it for him. That he lent money to his clients was no particular mystery in a select set, carefully as he endeavoured to make it, but he certainly did not want that fact advertised in the journals. Mr. Sturton d-d the Bunbury mystery with no little energy, fascinated as he was by it, as soon as Sergeant Usher had departed. It had never occurred to the great Bond-street Maestro before that he might be t j ictively and disagreeably inculpated in the eluci- I ation of the crime. 1 "Thflt little bit of business is Settled," mused Mr. Usher, as he wended his way leisurely back to the Wellington Restaurant in Spring Gardens, where he had appointed Timothy Whipple to meet him. As he expected, Tim was waiting for him. Well," said Mr. Usher, have you got what I wanted t" "Yes," said Tim, "I have, and a good deal of trouble it's caused me. I had to watch the governor out, and then wait for my chance to steal upstairs but I've got it. Mr. Usher, and here it is. Good, my lad," said the Sergeant, as he took a capacious pocket-book from his breast. "Now," continued Mr. Usher, as he dropped the photo- graph into one of the pockets and extracted a b^nk-note from another, there's ten pounds for you, and, remember, my young friend, it's not many of us can ever knock that out of their first murder j case." It ought to run to more, Mr. Usher, indeed it ong-ht. You know you've incited me to steal that photograph. There's penalties, you know, for prompting anyone to commit a fe10ny." The sergeant's face really was a study at this retort. He looked Tim Whipple over for a moment, and then said solemnly— My young friend, your sole chance of escaping the gallows is joining 'the Yard.' 1£ you don't ckvote your talents to hangi ngyour fellow creatures, they will some day undoubtedly hang you. I told you to, if possible, procure a photograph of Mr. Cudemore. I never authorised your stealing it; and, if I did what I ought, should take you into custody now on that charge. I should know then where to lay my hands on you. I should save this ten pounds, and in fact, damme, I believe that's tho best way out of it." But here Tim Whipple's audacity utterly gave way. He burst forth into no end of apologies for isis presumption, declared he was perfectly satis- fied with his remuneration, that his address was nlways at Mr. Usher's disposal, and that if the sergr-ant would at. some future time recommmend him as a candidate for the police force or the Criminal Investigation Department his ambition j wouldbesat.isfied. He quil e grovelled before the great detective, and even offered to restore the ten pound note. "Well, my lad," said Mr. Usher, at last. "I think you've the making of an officer of my department in course of time. The sooner you get over bumptiousness and thinking things out for yourself at present, the butter. We don't stand that sort of nonsense amongst our subordinates. We do the thinking and merely expect them to do what they're told, and any one who can do that satisfactorily in our line is certain to come to the ^P"°f the ladder if he's any gumption in him at Oh, Mr. Usher, if I thought that," exclaimed Tim. Beware of bumptiousness," rejoined the Ser- geant, solemnly, "and it's possible you may escape the gaiiows yet. New, my lad, hook it— I've done with you." CHAPTER XXXIV. LAST LINKS. Once more did Mr. Usher take train for Baum- borough—the riddle, was solved, the whole story of the Bunbury mystery was clear as noon-day to him, with one exception. What had beAn Cudc- more's motive? Why had he killed John Fossdyke, I and about that, rack his brains as he might, the sergeant was compelled to confess himself beaten. He had no doubt whatever about Cudemore's guilt; he had no doubt whatever about pioving it inn court of justice still, just as a great artist insists upon either having back, or detaining a picture for a few final touches, so did Mr. Usher want to com- plete two or three trifling links before arresting Cudemnre. The first person the sergeant desired to see in Ikumborough was Mr. Totterdell, and no sooner had he deposited his modest luggage in the hotel he affected tha i he started off tolhat gentleman's residence. Mr Totterdell had gradually taught himself to believe the Bunburv mystery could only be elucidated by himself; thai the police "were born fools, sir," lie expiessed to everyone un- guarded enough to listers to him that if that idiot of a coroner and still bigger imbecile, Mr. Trail. had only listened to his evidence the murderer would have been arrested, was a fixed fact in the Totter- dell brain, and fixed facts in the Totterdell brain were apt to become just a little hard upon other oeople, especially those of an irresolute turn of mind who had not nerve to risk th. loss of a lapel sooner than submit to button-holing. Still Mr. Totterdell was conscious of having been somewhat snubbed by Mr. Usher at their last interview, and with all his contemptuous opinion of the police in the abstract, had a dim idea that, the sergeant in particular was a little awkward to put- down, but on the other hand his curiosity was insatiable, and, therefore, when Mr. Usher's card was put into his hand he gave prompt, directions for his admittance. The sergeant, after his wont, trod close on the heels of his name, and the elllin8nt town ouncillor received him with no little effusion. "Ha, Mr. Usher," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, so you've come back to me again, eh No getting at the bottom of this complication without my assistance, eh ? Well, sir, what is it now if I'd been listened to earlier the whole affair would have been cleared up long before this." "I'm beginning to be of that way of thinking myself, sir," replied the detective. I'll take a chair with your permission, and then, perhaps, you'd answer me a question or two." "Sit rlown. sit down, by all means," replied Mr. rotterdell, with pompous patronage. "I'll help you all I can, my good fellow anything, you know to forward the ends of justice." "Quite so," replied the Sergeant. I know I can rely upon you. Now, Mr. Totterdell you couldn't possibly be mistaken about the identify of the man who sat next you at the opening of the H iumborough Theatre, I presume ?" What, James Foxborough Certainly not; I'd "wear to him anywhere." "Just so; you never saw him before, and like everybody else apparently have never seen him since." No. I never saw him except on that occasion," rejoined he; but I tell you what, Mr. Usher IIalf„ a minute, sir," rejoined the detective, as he took the stout pocket-book from his breast, half a minute, if you please," and producing a photographic carte he handed it tc Mr. Totterdell, and said abruptly, "Is that him ?" The old gentleman glared at it for a minute, and then exclaimed, "Good God, no! Why. that's poor Fossdyke, anyone could recognise him "Dear me, dear me," said Mr. Usher, "how I stupid I am. I've given you the wrong carte! Kxcuse me, sir, but this is the one I want you to look at," and as he spoke the sergeant exchanged the photograph for that, of Mr. Cudemore. "That's him, that's him, Mr. Usher," cried Mr. rotterdell, that's the scoundrel who sat next me in the stalls; that's James Foxborough. It's an awful thing, Sergeant, so to speak, to think you've bobbed and noubed with IL murderer." Well, I don't know about the bobbing and nobbing," rejoined the detective, "but, you see, I've had intimate relations with so many in my time that it don't strike me that way. They're, as a rule, inoffensive crcatures, and one rather wonders how the v came to do it." Well, Mr. Usher, this was a. nice, civil-spoken gentleman—the last person in the world you'd have suspected of any, any sad, any "Sad games, rejoined the Sergeant, curtly. Bless you, sir, they usually are. The worst of generally goes to church pretty regular, and you wouldn't think they would wring tho neck of a sparrow, much less, as one I made professional acquaintance with, polish off a whole family." "Dear me," rejoined Mr. Totterdell. with both eyes and mouth wide open, "you don't say so! Now, Mr. Usher, I really should like to hear the particulars of that case." Well, sir, one of these days, if you'll give me a dish of tea, I'll he proud to tell you the story, but just, now I really am pressed for time. We can't afford to let this fellow slip through our fingers, eh; Mr. Totterdell ?" said the Sergeant, as he gently withdrew the photograph from the old gent1emn's fingers. "Certainly not; and you know where to lay your hand on him, Sergeant?" Undoubtedly, and you shall be face to face with him before many days are over. Yes, sir, I'm going to hang your friend of the theatre, and you may take Silas Usher's word for it. I don't make many mistakes, and this is about as lovely a case as ever I worked out." "Allright, sergeant, if you'll just; ring the bell they'll bring- you some tea, and then if just tell me the story as far as you've got it. worked out. why I'll give you my advice about it," rejoined Mr. Tott.erdeil, his face all aglow, and his inquisitive old eyes positively glistening with excitement. "That's just it." replied Mr. Usher, rising. You're the very man I want to talk the whole thing over with; but time, Mr. Totterdell, don't admit. of my doing it just now. There are telegrams to send off, sir, orders to despatch, other people to see, so I'll bid you good-day, sir, for the present. Once 1.,re thanking you for your valuable assis- tance,"continued the Sergeant, as he brushed his hut with his coat sleeve, "allow me to wish you good-day." They can't get a step without me in the busi- ness," murmured Mr. Totterdell, with it complacent smile, its Mr. Usher's footsteps died away in the distance. When it comes to a question of law, ha. ha, I fancy they've nobody quite so good on the bench. Usher sees it. at once. Good man Usher. This case will probably make him, and whose worked out this business for him—why ■we .and then Mr. Totterdell threw himself bacle in his chair and indulged in ecstatic slumber. Darned old fool," muttered the candid detec- tive as he walked leisurely away from Mr. Totter- dell's residence. "Si ill I've got the one fact out of him I wanted. Cudemore was the man at the Haumborough Theatre. Well, I fancy Cudemorcis one of those this world must suffer by the loss of. The next thing is just to show old Marlinson and I one or two of the Hopbine people the photograph, and then the case is just as complete as ever I turned one out. But the motive. Why did Cude. more kill Fossdyke, why did he think of it? I'm I dead beat about that.; if he meant going in for money and bleeding him it was the last thing he'd have done. Wringing the neck of the goose that lays the golden eggs is not done in practical life, whatever may take place in fable; especially philosophers like Cudemore, who make their living cut of the weaknesses of their fellow-creatures, don't fall into such mistakes. Cudemore has owned too many geese of this kind in his time to do anything so foolish as that. Well, we shall perhaps have it out of him at the trial, and, more- over, a man goes to the gallows for conclusively proved murder, even if the why of it is never made clear. Some of the most remarkable cases on record have never been ciphered out in that re- spect." The next day saw Air. Usher lounging leisurely into the Hopbine at Bunbury to the extreme horror of old Joe Marlinson, who, by his surly greeting, quite gave the sergeant to understand that he had no desire for his patronage. I'm glad to see, my old friend," said Mr. Usher easily, that you've not. forgot ten me. As for me, you know I never forget anybody." If you could make an exception in my case," rejoined the landlord of the Hopbine, "I'd take it as a favour I don't want any more mur- ders or inquests committed in this house." No, my man, and you don't want to appear in I t witness-box, no doubt," observed the Sergeant jocularlj*. It's a scandalous thing at my time of life, it I'm dragged into court to be worried about an affair I know nothing about. Do you suppose I keep a throat-cutting hotel. Do you suppose I murder and robbery is licensed on these premises. I ain't going to have it, nor inquests either-no, nor detectives loafing about my place." Now, look here, Mr. Marlinson," rejoined the Sergeant; it's not a bit of use your getting shirty over the matter. The murder was com- mitted in your house, and if you didn't actually do it, I'm not quite so clear you didn't have a hand in it. Just you pay attention to what I've got to say to you, or you'll find yourself in the dock instead of the witness box." Mr. Marlinson's face was simply a comic study for the moment, then he went deliberately to a cupboard, from which he produced a couple of glasses, and taking a greenish bottle from the liqueur rack of the bar parlour, solemnly filled them. Mr. Usher was quite equal to the occasion, although an abstemious man he tossed off the Chartreuse oi- Kiniiell preferred to him, and then said, Now, Mr. Marlinson, you'd know this Fox- borough again if you saw him; could swear to him anywhere, I suppose?" •' i should think I could, and I should rather think I would," replied Mr. Marlinson, excitedly, to which no doubt considerable absorption of liquors contributed. "D -n him, what's he mean by coming to a respectable hotel to commit his murders, when there's any amount of hedge ale- houses about the country that seem built special for him. I don't want no more inquests here, Mr. Usher. I don't want to have anything more to do with the business; but 1 don't mind swearing to a scoundrel who's brought, disgrace upon the Hop- bine. Hanging he deserves, and hanging I trust he'll get. dash me." Quite so," replied the Sergeant, quietly; "now look here," and, somewhat to Mr. Marlinson's dismay the detective produced that fat leather pocket-book, which might almost have been called "his familiar." It was the black poodle of Faust. You see this photograph," continued Mr. Usher, as he produced from its depths Air. Cude- more's carte. "Who is it?" That's him—that's the villain who has caused all this trouble. I could swear to him any- where." We shan't trouble you to do that; if you'JI swear to him in a court of justice it's about as much as we shal! ask you to do. But now, I just want Eliza Salter and John Jcnkinson, the waiter —a mere matter of form, Mr. Marlinson, but when people outrage respectable hotels, houses with a county and crusted port reputation, they must be punished, Mr. Marlinson, eh?" They must be thinned, sir, that's what it is. Have another glas", Mr. Usher, it's mild as mother's milk, this Chartreuse, and comforting under affliction," and as he spoke Joe Marlinson poured out a, couple more glasses of the insinua- ting compound. "We can't have such vipers about, sir, they must be scotched. I don't, quite know what that means, but I believe it's a term applicable to vipers." Weli, just send for the waiter and chamber- maid, my friend you may rely upon it that this particular viper won't come across your path any more." 1 hope not, Mr. Usher, it's upset me altogether. For all I know, I've been harbouring andentertain- ing murderers for years. Here's a gentleman comes here with all a gentleman's manners, and shows a taste in wines and cookcrv that, stamps him as a member o' the upper circles, and then he just in the middle of the night sticks a, fellow- creature as if he were a pork butcher. I give it all up, sir. I never believed the aristocracy* were up to such rigs as this, and now they tell me there was a French duke took to it only a score of years back." Don't you trouble, Mr. Marlinson. and take my advice and be a little careful of your fine Char- treuse. Good tipple but demoralising. Now. run in Salter and Jenkinson, for I've no time to spare, and must catch the next train for Baumborough." Thus advised, the landlord of the Hophine speedily summoned those servitors, and Mr Usher exhibited the carte of Cudemore for their delecta- tion. Neither had the slightest doubt about it. Yes, that, was Number EIeven: Mr. Foxborough, as they- knew him to be afterwards The photo-i-iph was an excellent one, and they could swear to him anywhere. Was there any chance or immediate prospect of apprehension. You needn't fret yourselves about that. I, Ser- geant Usher, tell you that I know exactly where to find James Foxborough when I want him. and that there's never a man in England less likely to change his abode. Thai you will be all able to recognise Foxborough when you see him in the dock is all [want. And now just, tell BillGibbins I'll run down in the 'bus." That stolid, open-mouthed admiration charac- teristic of country folks was visible upon the faces of the whole Hopbine establishment from the landlord to the boots as the great detective took his departure. Arrived at Baumborough Mr. Usher made his way straight to Dr. Inglebyj's, and yvas at once admitted. He found the doctor alone. Sit down, Usher, and have a glass of port," re- marked the medico. "Am I to have the story of the Bllnbury mystery to-night?" Well, sir," said the Sergeant, as he filled his glass, "to tell 3011 the truth, that's just what I came to do but I should like both Mr. Soames and Mr. Morant to he present when I relate it." "Ha! a little unlucky. I'm not g^ing to make any mystery to a man so completely behind the scenes as yourself, but Herbert Morant took Misn Hyde up to London to-day to introduce her to her half sister. The girl was mad about it; and joung Morant—yveii, I suppose he was pretty keen, too, to get a look at his sweetheart." Yes, sir, yes," said the Sergeant, with a low chuckle, that's human nature, about, one of the few cards you can depend upon being played straight, in the world. But I tell you what it is, I'll put off telling the story of Mr. Fossdyke's death till t,liay come back if you'll allow me. The story is all plain as noonday, but I want to tell it before Mr. Sonnies, Mr. Morfmt. and Miss Hjde. I'm beat about the motive, and I've a strong idea that either Mr. Morant or Miss Hyde might give me the clue to it. As for who killed John Fossdyke, he'll be in custody to-morrow, and to prove tho case is as simple as possible; but why he did it I'm beat about still. Good-night, doctor; nobody keeps such port as you, but fine Chartreuse at the Hop- bine in the afternoon is not the best foundation for it," and with this profoundly philosophical remark, the sergeant vanished. (To he continued.) T'-1
TW^(M¥IONS OF CAPTAIN NARES.
TW^(M¥IONS OF CAPTAIN NARES. By MOUNTAINEER. Author of "When the Century was Young." CHAPTER II. Harry Mildmay came back to the Hall to take a. genera! leave of his friends, but only for a few days. His family were up in London, and grudged every spare minute he passed away' from them. Nature all around was throbbing with the May," sweet scents, sounds, and sights were everywhere; but, in spite of all that, mischance ruled the hour. The fact of Captain Lockyer s refusal by Rosa- mond had become pubhc property in some occult way. No one had told, and yet everyone knew it for a fact. Perhaps that was why the first place Harry went to visit was Dënman Court; but, alas! they were all out. Rosamond floated into sleep that night on seas of tears that had risen to high tide, for who could tell that lie would come again ? Harry did come, but oh the treachery of Eng- lish springs. Itwasacold.wetday,and the four members of the Denman household, very sick of each other's society as they were, seemed to con- giegate together in the drawing-room all the closer I for that fact. Mr. Denman was not very well, and lay on a sofa by a chilly fire, just out of sorts enough to be in a captious mood, and more for- midable than ever to Rosamond. By right of his I indisposition he let the room in general understand lie accepted the seasonable diversion of Harry's visit as unquestionably the invalid's right. If Rosamond's views had before been hazy as t.o the object of the Arctic Expedition, they had an opportunity now of being rectified. Harry's heart, 1\ or at any rate the professional part of it, was in his work. and in his unaffectcd, straightforward way he went fully into the details he thought would interest his hearers; and one, at least, listened with pride, which was robbed of arrogance by the womanly apprehensions with which it was mingled. Mildred, declaring she was cold, seated herself I on the fender-stooi, and divided Harry's attention with her father. Mrs. Denman, with Rosamond, sat a little apart at a work-table. But when glances come to be numbered, one learn 3 how to make them very comprehensive. While Harry was ialkingof the Discovery ,dogs,and interpreters, he managed to take in that Rosamond's face was not as blooming as usual, and liad a wistful look upon it. Harry's heart, like that of many another son of ocean. was tender as a woman's, and although his auger was hot, it seldom lasted long at fever heat. Besides, since Rosamond had refused Captain Lockyer,it was time to forgive her previous misbehaviour. Ahov" all, he was in a. softened state of mind the armour of insnuciance is not always case-proof, and in the background of his thoughts there Jay a conscious- ness that he might seal his Polar enthusiasm with his life, and nevoi- look again on the young face yonder that he loved so well. Did you he began, turning to Rosamond, but Mr. Denman went on questioning imperatively, and the boldest man may be diverted from his purpose by a straw when he has to address the beloved one under the criticism of three hostile pairs of eyes. He rose to go, more disappointed at the result of his visit than words could tell. He well knew that Rosamond was timid in this kind of company. and that to take her by storm would be unfair but he did pause for a moment, with her hand in his, when she tried to give him her good wishes with the rest with that wistfulness on her face that went to his heart. "You are very industrious, I see," was what he said. "Hnve you been doing much other work of late besides what I see there?" No," said Rosamond, fidgetting with a pair of scissors, "I have been quite idle—that is, there was nothing I cared to do, nothing in which I was especially interested." Why did he suddenly drop bar hand and turn from her almost abruptly? The ice of those Polar resins seemed gathering round Rosamond's heart. In another moment her low-spoken adieux were merged, or so she feared, in the easily-uttered regrets and civilities of the Denmans, and then the door closed on him, and all the world had gone to the North Pole! I Oh! the length and heaviness of the davs tb ame after to Rosamond. Tiie 29th of Mayclawn md died, and it was Hearts of Oak, not Royalty i, ambush, of which she thought. And then the papers told how the Alert and the Discovery had sailed from Portsmouth harbour amid the enthu- siastic cheers of the crowd upon Southsea Common. A day or so later Rosamond happened to go alone to see Lady Dundonald. Out of some odd corner of her eye Lady Dundonald sawall that was going on, while yet she set people at their ease by seeming to observe nothing. Miss Archer, having made a round of visits, was again here on her homeward way. This was what had been originally arranged should take place whether Lady Dundonald had grown fonder of Miss Archer 011 better acquaintance was an open question. The talk turned a good deal, as was natural, on the sailing of the Arctic Expedition. And I hope," said Lady Dundonald, with apparent carelessness, to Rosamond, while she went on selecting her worsteds intently, you did not refuse to knit Master Harry the muffatees he wanted, poor fpl low*?" Why, what muffatees?" asked Rosamond. "Oh, Lady Dundonald, did I not tell you? I suppose I forgot. I did b th pairs easily myself, so there was no need to trouble Miss Harclav," said Miss Archer, but through the dead white of her complexion, a suffusion of colour, not hot, and j strong, but very universal, was visible. "I sent them to him the morning he went, away." But, U13' dear," said Lady Dundonald, this time looking steadily up, Harry Mildmay asked you particularly to give the message to Rosamond. He wanted her work as a remembrance of good will, no doubt., from her, as much as yours was from you." Well, I confess," said Miss Archer, it never occurred to me in that iisrht. I hope. Miss Har- clav, if there was any sentimentality in the affair of which I was unaware, it will not be affected by a pair of muffatees- whoever made them Pray don't apologise; it does not matter," said Rosamond, no doubt it was all right. I could have made them if I had known Mr: Mild- may wanted them, but as you sent two pairs it was the same thing. There was no sentimentality about it." Hut it is not the same thing," said Lady Dun- donald, "aHhnngh certainly it is a matter of little consequence anyhoyv. Still a message given one to deliver should always be delivered intact, and as it came from the sender. Harry's words were. And yviil you kindly tell Miss Harchy from mc, for she was out yvhen I called to-day. that if she, too, will make me a pair, I will take it as a great proof of parting kindness from her.' Now, to knit him two pairs instead of one yourself did not at all fulfil the end he aimed at. You must excuse me, my dear, if I take an old woman's privilege, but you did not do right in not delivering that mes- sage." Lady Dundonald spoke with some warmth, and another wave of brick red passed under Miss Archer's skin. I apologise to you, I am sure," she said to Rosamond, with a covert sneer in her manner, but I suppose it is not a matter of vital conse- quence." As Rosamond drove her aunt's ponies slowly homewards, very conflicting feelings stirred her heart—that poor little heart which somehow 01 other was never now at peace, never content. Joy once more reasserted itself he had, then, wanted a remembrance of her to take with him—he had come to her first of all-if only she had been at home. And that was what they meant, those questions about her work which had puzzled her so, but alas yvith that remembrance came another. She had told him she had not been interested in any work of late, and he had dropped her hand hastily, and she knew now it must have bem in disap- pointment and wounded pride. And so he had departed for that cruel North, under the belief that she was heartless enough to slight his last request. and there was nothing to set, him right, for he could not know she had never had his message. Ah! the sorrow soon counterbalanced the joy; but as time went on a little comfort dawned. Miss Ar hei had gone home, when a few days later Lady Dundonald called and found Rosamond alone. I am very dissatisfied in that matter of the muffatees," she said. Harry Mildmay is an espe cial favourite of mine, he is as good and true hearted H fellow as ever stepped, and I do not ap- prove that you should be made to appear so dis- obliging and cold to him or anyone else. Theiv 37in setting the matter right; that. unfortunately, cannot be helped, but this is my plan. A ship, the Pandora, is to go out after them by-and-bye, you know, and take letters, and by il I am going to write to Harry to give him all th, news, and soon, for I always treat hi in like a kind of godson. Well, you shall make the muffatees, and will send them, and expbin that, owing to a mis- take (of course I shall not implicate Annie Archer although I think she rather deserves it), you nevei got the message, or you can enclose a note and speak for yourself, but take the recommendation of a veteran like myself, and don't refuse to set your- self right in the matter, just because the person misled happens to be a young man." Rosamond did not refuse, but left the explana- tion in the hands of Lady Dundonald. It did not occur to either of them that as Harry could not ge' the muffatees until the return voyage, the need fo. them would be considerably diminished. They yvere made at once, regardless also of the fact tlu. the ship whose cargo they were to help to swell would not sail yet for many a long month. Lady Dundonald, who only followed the ae counts in the papers with a rapid panoramic glance, could scarcely be got to wait until Im- proper time arrived, and both she and Rosa.mond took great comfort in the transaction. The latter, poor child, needed it sorely. An ever-abiding anxiety lay at her heart that made her wake up from sleep sometimes in wilfi distress at dreams of sinking fehips sent to tin- bottom by collisions with stupendous iceber always icabergs—at dreams of frost-numbed met struggling on in the teeth of starvation, suffering and despair, until, one by one. they succumbed t, the doom awaiting them in those pitiipss latitudes She had never been self-asserting, but she WII" meeker than ever now, and she was gentler and mere thoughtful towards others, but riot a,) iiieri-N nothing like so merry. Wherever they went, at home or abroad, it ueemed as if she could not turn away her mental gaze from an out-look of life that was full of apprehension. Ever, ever, washer face set Northwards, with eyes straining in thei- watch, although only clouds, waves and windo could rise its yet, for her oil the far horizon. And oh! the prayers that folloyved in the wake of tho ships. Did the Alert and the Discovery saii th; smoother for their aid? She still sang her sailoi song when none were by to listen and criticise only one verse was left out now. Sobs would hav> come instead of mlody if she had ventured to ask What would you do, love, if home returning If my bark which bounded o'»r foraign foam should be lost near lioms, Jib, what would you do? But time went on and on, as it. does evpr, and the 23th of May came again, and then, ia dud course, the autumn. (To be continued.)
SMOKELESS SOUTH WALES COAL.
SMOKELESS SOUTH WALES COAL. Sir John Hayvkshaw, in a. letter to a London con- I temporary, says:—My letter suggesting the use ot semi-anthracite South Wales steam coal in London has brought me many correspondents, some of them ladies, who desire to know how to lay ami light the fires, so as to be able to explain it to theii servants others of both sexes wish tu be informed where they can get the coal, or what description of stoves I used, &-c. I cannot find time to answer so many inquiries, but if you will favour me by the insertion of this letter, it will reply to most of them and there I must leave the subject. I have used no special form of grate. My previous letter stated that the coal had been burnt in the various forms of grate met with in an old country house. For laving and lighting the fit-es all that is done or is necessary is to place pieces of coal, neither very large nor very small, upon a liberal supply of wood and to avoid throwing on very small coal or slack, which will prevent the fire lighting. The fires must not be stirred. So long as a supply of air can pass through the fire it must be Jet alone Should the passage of air become obstructed then a poker may be pushed into the bottom of the grate and quietly withdrawn, for this coal when ignited has no tendency to adhere, but behaves almost as if absolutely without friction. Stirrini; the tire in the way so many delight will half empty the grate and do mischief. The South Wales coal field at its western extremity is nearly a pure anthracite at its eastern end it is more bituminous; in its centre, it is a semi- anthracite, or what is generally termed South Wales steam coal. The coal has hitherto been sold for sreai.iers, and chiefly at Cardiff. Swansea, Newport, and other ports on the Severn. One gentleman mentions that his fire gave out no heat; possibly he may have been using a pure anthracite. At all events, my fires with semi- antlnacite give out great heat. Pure anthracite will require special grates or stoves for its combus- tion. I have not tried it, but it is used in the cities of the finited States, and is there preferred to any other coal. It can be had, I believe, in London. and by those who choose to provide proper stoves could, no doubt, be used as it is used in the United States. It is harder than the Welsh semi-anthra- cite, and requires breaking into suitable sizes, which in the United States is done at the collieries. It has an advantage over semi-anthracite, being less friable, and is not so easily reduced to small particles.
A NEW METHOD OF GENERATING…
A NEW METHOD OF GENERATING ELECTRICITY. A discovery how to generate electricity by the act of combustion has been made by Dr. Brand, of La Kochelle. This discovery, which is yet only in its infancy, will probably lead to many develop- ments. Dr. Brand has an electro-generative torch or candle, which yields a current of electricity in the act of burning. It. is prepared by making a paste of coal uust and molasses and moulding it into a stick, which serves as the inflammable wick of a candle. This rod is then covered with asbestos in a thin sheet, and dipped into fused nitrate of potash until a good thick coating of the nitrate adheres. The wick baing ignited it burns away, and a current of electricity is drawn from the candle by wires inserted into the nitrate and the coaly yvick. Though this current is compara- tively feeble and not as yet of much practical value, the discovery is important as showing the possibility of electro-generative fuels. It is pointed out that if we had a fireplace so constructed that on burning any ordinary fuel in it so as to give heat, it would, at the same time, develop an electric current sufficient to ring electric bells, or charge an accumulator, and thu3 give light also. Dr. Brand is understood to have this aim in view, and his researches are based on the discovery of Becquerel, the great French physicist, who found that red-hot carbon plunged into nitrate of potash forms an electric battery.
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IFEMININE FOIBLES, FANCIES,…
I FEMININE FOIBLES, FANCIES, AND FASHIONS. By A LADY. (All Rights Reserved.) It is pleasant to meet in print friendly readers, and once more to resume old relations with them. Several letters, both of sympathy and inquiry, were forwarded to me from the newspaper offices to which they were addressed, and, though myself quite too ill to respond to questions asked, or words of inquiry instituted, the dear friend who nursed me was sufficiently intimate to take upon herself the responsibility of opening envelopes and answering my letters with as much accuracy an if the reply had come from myself. When fully restored" to health JI hope still more diligently to give my renders a share in those benefits which all experience, whether it be painful or pleasing- sorrowful or gay-, never fails to teach and seldom to benefit those who have passed through a personal trial of any kind. That I have the honour still to belong to the staffs of certain popular and influential journals I owe to the patience and courtesy of the several gentlemen who conduct them, and no one more than myself can regret the inconvenience which the non- supply of expected copy must have occasioned to my subscribers. Only one, I believe, thinks my conduct, past excuse. Writers are but mortal and, like all humanity, sometimes have to work with tha iiead sick and the whole heart faint. In- dulgence must be strongly resisted in order that (itity iiikv be fulfilled and confidence sustained. For five years with only one exception beside this interludo, no matter under what circumstances, have I failed to supply the usual contribution at the appointed time, and I have, when penning something for my readers with far other thoughts tiusy at my heart, found how difficult it is to dis- entangle unsympathetic subjects from each other, and write with clearness and precision on that which is less absorbing. As Thackeray wrote, and many a time I have said to my plume:— I've helped to pen her many a liwJ for bread, To joke with sorrow achitig'in my head, And make your laughter while my own heart bled. Con50h:, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff, Day after day still dipping in the trough, And scribbling pages after pages off. Day after day the labour's to be donp, And sure ItS comes the postman and t,he sun The indefatigable ink must run. One may make superhuman efforts to meet one's literary obligations, aud persist in denying to one- literary obligations, aud persist in denying to one- self with steady resistance the varying signs by which one must see health shows signs of breaking ng iowu. Not, how ever, in the human frame yvill the secret of perpetual motion—if ever—be four. Not in the body of man. and certainly not in that of woman. We specially smile away mysterious ,igns from within, very significant if understood, when suddenly that power which in the human corresponds to the regulator in machinery, makes the move that indicates "Stop," and the force, however irresistible, quivers and is paralysed, and lies motionless for ever. 1 am not the first woman who has stopped, until too late, her ears to the voice of the yvarner, warn he never v wisely. I\a have had miserable weather in town <ince I began to note it at all, and visitois now permitted to see me say the country is rather worse off than we are, and they are hurrying up to the shops and the theatres, which are a never- failing source of amusement to victims of ennui here. Cha poor bored country people, who cannot afford <0 costly a medicine, or have no friends in the Metropolis, must put up with the regions they inhabit, however tending to the disorder called •nelancholia. Even in London things have bef n generally depressing. "I)h I I wish it was ovpr," has usually been the piteous response toanv remark anent Christmas, and what we used to call the (ilad New Year." Some think the old-fashioned A-ay of celebrating the epoch worthily was to toll he dead monarch into eternity and the coming king in. It is more fashionable now with minute be)!s to toll the dead sovereign into eternity. Now it appears more the custom to treat the Vdveijt, season with a degree of solemnity that, approve as fittest, wliilst. others consider it •liacordant and unsuited with the spirit of the imos. Feeling may net always decide custom in his t,ci-, for fashion has a powerful hand there- in, London churches at the midnight services i-a crowded to ovei flow, and as it is a question of iicace and order no less than one probably in- volving desecration, these celebrations, however worthy their object and congenial to devotional ieeiing, do often unfortunately alarm and pain hose whose visits are purely those of worship. I oope my readers will bear with this sober talk, oon I will describe to them the glories of White's, of Marsh ill and Snelgrove's Lewis's, and Allenby's, and other sovereigns of Oxford and Regent-streets. The walks of fashion arc almost as unknown to nf. now as were to Wordsworth's Lucy those untrodden ways beside the springs of Dove, one whom there was but few to praise, and very few o love." This is but a travesty of the pretty fines, but my •lead is not good at quotations nowadays, there- fore I beg pardon,and proceed. I think the springs of Dove must have proved very unhealthy to poor Lucy, whom I associate sympathetically with, as a iirl of rather consumptive tendencies, pretty and -weet, pining for affection, of which we hear she was scant, or love, probably that of t.he rhymer oimsnif. But to bring it to the needful measure of omance possibly the poet found it necessary that his flume must first die I say it with no thought u irreverence, but associate Lucy with my pre- sent conclit.ion, and find several reasons why she I -succumbed and I have recovered so far as to war- rant complete restoration. I certainly do not iwell among untrodden ways, nor by the springs >f Dove; have many friends, and these maybe "ome reasons for my convalescence. My readers will know I write with no intended irreverence, .scribing honour to whom honour and praise to whom praise, and I just whisper w my lady riends one more reason for my being in exis;ence. 'hat there is no lover of poesy who has it in his "cart to make an elegy out of me. Cowper made he sofa a famous piece of furniture in theup- holsterer's list. 1 shall never lay an additional wreath of fame on it as arising from its inspira- iiou. For what can an invalid do but think of her malady, any more than a gouty man can think )1' his toe. Next week I purpose, being able, ro write of matters that will be more familiar with me. Dress and current topics have not been gene- rally discussed, and I like to write of what I have ,pen. A young friend of mine, wondering what aunty can possibly have to say to her unknown friends, gpnerollsJy forwards me the rules of a society she has just entered upon. She considers it admirable for educated girls with ever so small a knowledge of drawing, and desirous of improving such capacity as they happen to have. My niece, who studied both music and painting "nder the first masters in Taris, does not. disdain 10 use the club, as gn-ing fresh interest to her studies in painting. I have copied the rules, which seem simple, generous, biassed by no party spirit. friendly, and fair to all. Hut of this inv readers I oust judge for themselves, as 1 lay tiuin before •hem, and with this short effusion, which is the utmost my strength allows, bid them a pleasant farewell untij next week, when I hope to have seen as well as hea rd of the baled treasures of the shops, and so report thereon. SKETCH CLUB RULES. 1. Each member to pay a subscription of Is. for •he year, to be sent with name and address to the secretary. Kaoh member is requested to send a drawing 'any style), not exceeding Sin. by 6in., before the end of every month to the secretary, as the sket- 'hes for each month nre sent out on the 1st. A subject is chosen tor each month, and members are requested to illustrate it. not necessarily by an original; but, whether copy or original, the fact must be stated on the back of the sketch. Oil painting on canvas not allowed. 3. The artist is requested to choose a mm-dc- plamr, and write it in ink on the drawing, with name of month and subject. 4. The sketches are sent round in a be ik-post packet to every member except those who have failed to send a drawing for two consecutive months. Members are to put their initials and .-it: X on the back of the original, and another X and initials on the copy they prefer in each packet, as a separate prize is given to the gainer of the greatest number of votes in each class at the end of the year; but no member can win prizes for originals or copies two years in succession. Mem- bers may mark two originals and two copies in every packet, but not give more than one vote to one sketch.; 5. A list of members is enclosed in ench packet, and members may keep the packet one day, then forward to next on the 1ist. crossing through their names showing that they have seen them. 6. Each member is requested to write criticisms, small and neatly- (not rude or personal remarks) on the backs of the sketches, which are returned to the ovvners at the end of the year. 7. Any member wishing to join for copies and originals can do so by paying double subscrip- t,ions, and choositg two noms-de-piume, and have the privilege of marking four originals and four copies every time. Subject for January to be sent in any day before December 31, 1882.-Hon. Sec., Miss Udal, Park Mount, Edgbaston. Birmingham.
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Y BARDD CYMBEIG,
Y BARDD CYMBEIG, YR AWDL AR DDYN, GAN CARNKLIAN YN NGHYDAG ADOLYGIAD AR YR UNRHYW, GAN IIYI KBFAB. Y mae y person dysgedig a elwir Dyfedfab wech bod yn bwrw ei Imyn mesur ar yr awdl hon, a gallasai ei chanmol neu ei chondfmnid, ni waeth pa 'r un obleTj-d yr un faint fuaisai pwysigrwydd y ddedfryd yn y naill ffordd neu y llall. Pe buasai y bachgenyn hwn wedi cael deng neu uga.in mlynedd rhagor o brofiad, ac wedi cael manteis- ion, hyd yn oed, addysg elfenol dda, ac yn bcrclien chwarter gwybodaeth Dewi Wyn o Eifion. neu Hwfa Mon, neu Elis VVyn 0 Wyrfa, buasai ynddo I bet ii cymliwysder i adolygu a beirniadu, a pheth teilyngdod i gael ei wrando; ond yn ei aefyllfa ef yn bresenol, yn feidyliol t chymdeithasol. nid ydym yn ei gyfrif in wng o sylw yr un lienor ag sydd yn wir deiiwng o gael ei alw wrth y cyfrvw enw; gall coiiichod edrych i fynu ato. a'i addoii, os mymwt: a gall yntau gymdeithnsu t- hwynt a gwneyd yu fawr o Vmynt; ni fydd i ni draingwyddo dim nac eiddigeddu wrth y naill blaid na'r llall; ond dywedwn rhwydd hynt iddvnt; nid oes dim yn anghyson, anghydnaws, nac anghydweddol rhwng y fath gvfeiliion a'u giiydd. Ond y mae ein beirniad dvsgedig wedi bod yn adolyg-u awdl fyth-fostiedig Carnelian, a hyny drwy ddyfynu ycbydig o lineilau prydferth oddiyma ac oddiaew o'r awdl, fel pe mai yn y modd hwnw y mite adolygu cyfansuddiad bardd- onol; y mac pawb yn gwybod mai gorchwyl havvdd yw cael ychydig o linellnu tlws nicwn unrhyw gyfansoddiad; nid yw y cyfansoduiad gwaelaf allan heb feddu ar beth llinellau canuiol- adwy; ond dylid cofio fod anhebcorion neu e!fcnau eraill yn eisieu i wneyd i fynu gyfanwaith teg. Y mae yn l'haid i holl aelodau y corph fod yn Hawn, inch, a dianaf i wneuthur i fynu y Dyn cyflawn a pherftaitli; gall y goes fod yn gryf ac ystwyth, tra mae y fraich yn wiiiinglwvitiq r, gwywedig; gall y glust fod yn sySyrn, tra gaii y n.Had fod yn owl a niwliog; a gall y corph fod oil yn Uuniaidd a theg, ac eto rhyw un achd yn eisieu. "Vr un fath mewn cj-fansoddiad barduonol, gall hwnw gynwys riiai llinellau gwasgareaig gyvychion aros ben, tra y bydd perthyrasedd mewn syniad, unoiiaeth mewn cynllun, a llwyredd mewn pwnc ae ymdriniaeth fod yn gyvbl dditfyg- iol; am yr hyn bothau ni wyr cora,chod gwledig ac ystwrllyd, ac adolygwyr arwynebol ddim yn y byd yn eu cN-leii-Ilawei- Jlai y gyvyddanr am hanfodion y testyn; nid yw ei plwmed hwy yn ddigon liir i gyrhaedd dyfnderoedd y meddyliol, y nioesol, a' ysprydoi. Cyfaddefwn fod Carnelian yn un 0" meddyhvyr goreu, ac yn llawer trymach meddyl iwr na'i a.'o]N,gy(id; nid y-A- efe bylh yn ymfodd- loni ar d;lisy;iioyrJel> id chwar euwr ar y triangle cynglianeddol yw efe na, mae ei ergydion ef fel tobtcrdd, yn gwneyd i'r llawr i grynu o danom nid soap balloon? na water-bubbles yw ei farddoni.ieth gynghaneddol ef, eillir llif- eiriant y ¡Yile neu rliutbr^nvymp y jVicianro nid v Aorthfrn Lights ohwareus, eitbr y daranfollt eiria.s-boeth a nertliol,—peth ag a d.1cil yr ym- chwiliad Ihvyraf, heb amharu dim o dan t-ieh dwylaw. J Ond nid oedd yn ddigon 1 r bachgenyn byr- svnwyrog hwn i geisio gwneyd rhyw fath o adolygiad ar yr awdl hon, boo lhoi c'/w i feivniaid Dinbych wrth fyned heibio. Wel. meyvn gwirion- e<jd, os oes dynion i'w cael a dififyg common sense arnynt yn rhywle, y mae efe yn sicr o fod yn un o honynt. Meddylied pob dyn call am unwaith, ps faint all fod hunandybiaeth, hunan-hyder, ac liaer- Hugrvvydd bachgenyn ieuanc fel hwn J n myncd i dyiiu linili-i mesu-z dros dri o ddynioa ag sydd ar y maes llenyddol ddeng-mlynedd-ar-ugain cvn ei eni! Ai ni fuasai yn briodolach fod gwr o'i addysg ef yn myned i ryw ysgol nos er niwyn derbyn o hono ryw ychydig o addysg elfenol, fel y gellai ddangos ei fod yn meddu ar gymhwysder digonol i lenwi swydd undcr-vriter mewn siop neu swi/ddfa gyffrediv, cyn rhyfygu o hono fyned i bwyso 9, mesur beirniaid Eisteddfod ddiyveddar Dinbych? Medd ein beirniad uchelddysg, Pe bni (buasai?) safon Dinbych ar y fainc am yr ugaih mlynedd diweddaf, buasai y tri beirniad heb yr un giulair htdxhnr." A wyr y gwr hwn fod beirniaid Dinbych wedi enill eu cadeiriau o dan y safonau barddol uwchaf a feddai pin gwlad am yr haner can mlynedd diweddaf, nid arngen Eben Fardd, Emrys. Hiraethog, CVnddehv, IsJwyn, loan Arfon, Llawdden, &c. Os oedd barddoniaeih y rhai hyn o safon uchel, yr oedd eu teirniadaethau yn rhwym o fod 0 sofonav uchel yr Ui1 fath, yn ol poh rhesvmcg ac athroniaeth. Beth pe buasai safon Dinbych ar y fainc yn Merthyr, tybed ? C&dwir llawer 0 fal- dordd iymenydd gan gyfeillion Carnelian am na buasem yn dyfarnu y wobr i'r awdl oreu pe gyvnaethem hyny, ni ddel'sai byth i ran Carnelian, oblegyd yr oedd dwy o'i flaen ond yr ydym erbyn hyn wedi deall beth yw ystyr me achos eu cwynion a'u condemmadau direswm; wel, hyn I ydyw :-Ba,rnai Elis Wyn mai eiddo Carnelian opdd yr awdl oreu ord barnai Hwfa Mon mai eiddo Adronicus oedd yr awdl oreu ac am na buasai yr y sgrifenydd hwn yn rhoddi ei bleideb gydag Eli" Wyn o du Carnelian, y mae wedi cyflawnu pechod iinfaddeuol. Troi gyda Carnelian oedd ein dyled- swydd, mae yn debyg, a diystjru llais cydwybod einhun; nid yw pai-chu ac ufuddhau i eirchion cydwybod 0 fawr pwys yn marn a gohvg y rhai hvn; rhaid i gyfcillgarwch gael yr ystyriaetli tlaer.af gan rhai o'u bath hwy, ac y mae yn ddigon aiiilw beth a wnelsent hwy pe buasai y siawns yn eu dwylaw. Jieir ni hefyd ua buasem yvedi mynegi yn flaenorol ac mewn pryd, fod y "safon feirniadcl i gael ei chodi," ond os gwnaeth yr ymgeiswyreu goreu wrth gyfansoddi. beth gwell fuasent. o gyhoeddi yn mlaen llaw fod v safon i gaol ci chodi ? Ond y gwir ag ef yw hj'n, na chodwyd y safon o gwbl yr hen safon, neu yrun chodwyd y s'tfon o gwbl yr hen safon, neu yrun safon ago arferol oedd ar fainc feirniadol Dinbych a'r diffyg oedd fod yr yingeiswyr wedi methu cyrhaedd hono. Gadawed corachod diddeall y beirniaid yn llonydd, gwnaethant hwy eu dyled- Ij swydd tuag y pwvllgor, yn gystal ag at yr ymgeis- wyr yn pnest a didderbyn-wyneb.
IDEATH OF GUSTAVE DORE.
I DEATH OF GUSTAVE DORE. PARTS, JAN. 23 (4 P.M.).—Gustave Dore, the well known artist, died during last night. PARIS. JAN. 23 (EVJJKIN«).—M. Gustave Dore, the well-known painter, whose death is announced tn-day, took cold recently on leaving a soiree Jate at night. His indisposition rapidly assumed an acute phase, inducing inflam- mation of the chest, from which he died early this morning. It was. however, hoped almost to the last, that he might recover Paul Gustave Dore, draughtsman and painter, an artist whose productivity has excited general wonder during the present age, was born at Stras- burg, January 6. 1332. In boyhood he accom- panied his father to Paris, where he completed his education, and when scarc^y fourteen years of age was engaged in the illustration of books and journals. He contributed com'c sketches to the \Jr>urn<il pour hire, and exhibited "Les Pins I Snuvages." "Le Lendemaid de i'Orago." "Les Deux Mercs," ann" La Bataille d' Alma in 1855; and La Bataille d' Inkerman in 1857. He was the most German in style of French artists and is well known as the illustrator of Rabelais, for his still more delightful pictorial commentaries up"n Balzac's yvild Conies ltrolatuaott., and his iijustratioi.s of the leg-end of the Wandering,Teyv," in a series of grotesque yet epical pictures, which bear the stamp of Holbein and A. Durer, combined with the racy humour of Hogarth. This book. in English, translated by Mr. Walter Thornbury, ap- peared in 1857. M. Dore, who iiiustratod a. book of travels in every part of the world, in 1861 pub- lished 76 large drawings illustrative of the •• tiivina Commedia of Dante, accompanied by a. blank verse translation of tiie text by Mr. W. M. Rosseiti, and a series of wonderful folio illustra- tions to "Don Quixote"; the latter, doubtless, doing much to introduce the artist to the English public. These are all careful studies of Spanish life. A catalogue of all his works of this class, produced during the yenrs 1854-65, includes some scores of thousands of illustrations, and from English publishers alone he received, it is said, sums which would, in former times, have been considered enormous. His illustrations of the Holy Bible, published in this country in 1866, are of the highest excellence. His principal paint- ings. which, since the beginning of 1870. have been on view at the l)ore Gallery in New Bond-street, London are: "Christ leaving the Pnetoi ium," The Triumph of Christianity over Paganism," "Paolo and Francesca di Rimini," rhe Dream of Pilate's Wife," Christian Martyrs in the Reign of Diocletian," "The Entry into Jerusalem," The Brazen Serpent," The Victor Angels," "The Flightinto Egypt, The Neophyte." Evening in the Alps." "The Prairie. "Spanish Peasants," and Mont Blanc." Recently M. Dore devoted his energies to the production of a colossal vase ornamented with 150 figures. This was exhibited at the Paris Exposition of 1878. He also finished another sculptural group, I" The Prize of Glory." He was latterly engaged in illustrating Ariosto. M. Dore's chief merits were originality and boldness of design. He was a de- cided mannerist, but no copyist. He saw every- thing from his own point of view, and gave to all his landscapes and groups of figures an individual character and expression, often weird and un- earthly, and not unfrequently verging on carica- ture. Rarely has high poetic power been asso- ciated with the marvellous facility of execution possessed by the deceased artist. M. Dorx was decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honour, August 15,1861.
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