[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] SIR TOM. BY MRS. OLIPHANT. — Author of The Chronicles of Cariingford," The Greatest Heiress in England," He that Will Not when He May," kc., &c. CHAPTER V. CONSULTATIOXS, Lucy was much startled by her brother's ques- tion. It struck, however, not her conscience so much as her recollection, bringing back that past M'hich was still so near, yet which seemed a world away. in which she had made so mani anxious efforts to carry out her father's will, and con- sidered it the main object of her life. A young wIfe who is happy, and upon whom life smiles, (n scarcely help looking back upon the time 'When she was a girl without a sense of superiority, an amused and affectionate contempt for herself. Bow could I be so silly ?" she will say, and laugh, not without » passing blush. This was not, exactly Lucy's feeling; but in three years she had, even in her sheltered and happy position, attained a certain acquaintance with life, and she saw diffi- culties which in those former days had not been apparect to her. When Jock began to recall his reminiscences it seemed to her as if she saw once ttiore the white common-place walls of her father's sitting-room rising about her, and heard him laying down the law which she had accepted with such calm. She had seen no difficulty then. She had not even been surprised hj the burden laid Upon her. It had appeared as natural to obey him in matters which concerned large external interests and the well-being of strangers, as it was to till him out a cup of tea. But the interval of time, and the change of position, had made a great difference; and when Jock asked, Are you doing all lie told you ?" the question brought a sudden surging of the blood to her head, which made a singing in her ears and a giddiness in her brain. It seemed to place her in front of something which must interrupt all her life, and put a stop to the even now of her existence. She caught ner breath. Doing all he told me Jock, though he did not mean it, though he really was so changed, became to Lucy a sudden monitor, recalling her as to another world. But the effect though startling was not perma- nent. They began to talk it all over, and by dint of familiarity the impression wore away. The im- piession, but not the talk. It gave the brother and sister just what they wanted to bring back all the habits of their old affectionate, confidential intercourse, a subject upon which they could carry on endless discussions and consuittitiotii, which was all their own like one of those innocent secrets which children delight in, and which, with arms entwined and heads close together, they can carrv on endlessly for days together. They ceased the discussion when Sir Tom appeared, not with any feitr of him as a disturbing influence, but with a tacit understanding that this subject was for them- selves alone. It involved everything; the past ^ith all those scenes of their strange childhood, the homely living, the fantastic possibilities always in the air, the old, de;ir, tender relationship between the two young creatures, who alone belonged to each other. Lucy almost forgot her present self as she talked, and they moved about gethef, the tall boy clinging to her arm as the uttle urchin had done, altogether dependent, yet always with a curious leadership suggesting a thousand things that would not have occurred to her. Lucy had no occasion now for the advic which Jock at eight years old had so freely given her. ?he Jiad her husband to lead and advise her. But In this one matter Sir Tom was put tacitly out of court, and Jock had his old place. It does not matter at all that you have not done anything lately," Jock said; there is plenty ot time—and now that I am to spend all my »^>lidaya here it will be far easier. It was better hot to do things so hastily as you began." But, Jock," said Lucy, we must not deceive ourselves; it will be very hard. People who are ery nice do not like to take the money and those Who are willing to take it-" Does the will say the people are to be nice ?" asked Jock. Then what does that matter? The ^vii] is all against reason, Lucy. It is wrong, yon know. Fellows who know political economy would think we are all mad, for it just gows against it, straight." That is strange, Jock; for papa was very economical. He never could bear waste-he used to say Yes, yes; but political economy means some. thing different. It is a science. It means that you should sell everything as dear as you can, and buy it as cheap as you cau-and never give anything away- "That is dreadful, Jock," said Lucy. It is all very well to be a science, but nobody like our- selves could be expected to act upon It-private people, you know." "There is something in that," Jock allowed; eve are always exceptions. I only want to ^iow y°u that the will being all against rule, it must be hard to carry it out. Don't you do any- iiiing by yourself, Lucy. When you come across &ny case that is promising just you wait till I come, and we'll talk it all over. I don't quite Understand abbut nice people not taking it. ellows 1 know are always pleased with presents— r d tip, nobody refuses a tip. And that 113 just the 8ame sort of thing you know." -Not just the same," said Lucy, for a tip—that °*ean8 a sovereign, doesn't it?" It sometimes means-paper," said Jock with orr.8. solemnity. Last time you came to see me school Sir Tom gave me a liver A—what ?" "Oh, a live pound note," said Jock, with Momentary impatience, the other's shorter to say j Jess fuss. M'Tutor thought he had better not; didn't inind. I don't sye why anybody j °uld mind. There's a fellow 1 know—his father a curate, and there are no end of them, and 'ey've no money. Fellow himself is on the oundation, so he doesn't cost much. Whj they h"ul(Iri't, ttke a big tip from you, who have too I'm sure j can't t«ll—and I don't believe would mind," Jock added, after a pause. Ihis, which would have inspired Lucy in tli'3 a-'s ol her dauntless maidenhood to calculate at j °Ce how much it would take to make this family a £ Py. gave her a little shudder now. 'I don't feel as if I could do it," she said. "I lit found an easier way. People don't Ti • ou a'terwards when you do that for them. earetn i- --they think, why should I have all V3 giVlJ a little thing jike me j i'he easiest way would bs an exam. said j, "Everybody now goes in for exams.; and they passed they would think they had won the a ri ^oney all right." tl)t Pei-hapt, there is something in that, Jock; but is not for young men. It is for ladies 5, P8> or o'd peop"l«., or te. ^ou might let them choose their o-.vn subjects," the boy. A lady might, do a good paper 0r0l|*—servants, or sewing, or that sort of thing; Vivp ouse-keeping—that would bt all right. Tutor would see the papers ii rJoes he know about housekeeping ?" ,i knows about most things," cued Jock. 1 like to see the thing he didn't know. He 1 the best tcholar we have got; and he's what U call an all-rounj man besides," the boy said, *th pride. adv. 18 nn aN*roun<3 man?" Lucy asked, anpng «' he is tall and slight, so it cannot m appearance." o wilat a lIiuft 3'0U are, Lucy you're awfully ljn al'e a lriUtt. it means a man who thuw5) a* i M'Tutor is more ia.1« A « T* knows "great deal of everything; "1 Jf^l?! i.,Tf [fa>Ino'" Jock added, defiantly. Ww.» t0 tlie l'ano didn't And yet he is so nico," said Lucy, with a gentlc aIr of was endless with sifcht' t'ie.onf?,n»l topic here glided out of vhtuifS i exu'ting gilts of this model of all the hoy, became the theme. This conversation, rOet)Uner' wns ^ut one o*1 many. It >vas tlieir loujj.; • ground, the matter upon which they f,.0 fcach other as of old, two beings separated Uod Wor't'» which wondered at and did not ei'stand them. What a curious office it was for du'1J' favourites of fortune as they seemed, to "Perse aud give away tho foundation of their £ 'o importance! for Jock owed everything to a"d Lucy when she had accomplished this Oect of her existence, and carried out her father's but' w°1.1^ no doubt still be a wealthy woman, jj0 ''ot j11 any respect the great personage she was wJls a view of the matter which never the minds of these two. Their strange 'laC* ma(^e Lucy less conscious of tiie \y fnt6 Persona' advantage which her ironey r' t-lia.ii any other would have done. Slis he^w' lndeed, that there was a great difference >n 7een 'ler ear'y home in Farafield, and the liouse liat %v'lere s'ie had lived with Lady lt0D P'1* and still more, the hall which was her hut siie had been not less but more courted h; worshipped in her lowly estate than in her °ne' Hnt' '.ler Cher's curious philosophy had ctet* her mind and coloured her perceptions. <jju.ll,kd. learned, indeed, to know that there are °u„lties in attempting to e*act the part of Provi- (j, aQJ taking upon herself the task of provi- or 'ier fellow-creatures—but these difficulties ^othing to do with the past that she would iuia seller by this endowment. Perhaps his 1446iladtiun was not lively enough to realise this "Jto °* s'tuati°M- Jock and she ignored it S^ther. As for Jock, the delight of giving was strong in him, and the position was so that it fascinated his boyish imagination. l°f 8UC'1 a Part as that, of Haroun-al- Raschid in PQJJ "e> and change the whole life of whatsoever Vl8j0 c°bbler or fruit-seller attracted him, was a Brovvn of fairyland such as Jock had not yet out- l)ia Hut the chief thing that he impressed on ^er was the necessity of doing nothing by •aid «• "Just wait till we can talk it over," he f0>i two are always better than one, and a it warns a lot at school. You wouldn't think PerliaPs, but there's all sorts there, and you \V'e 1 a when you have your eyes well open. ^oue-h11 over an(* settle if it's good ° "ut don't go and be rash, Lucy, and do « yourself," 8 i!Jn r'rdear- i should be too frightened," tKB., Sa „is was on one of his last days when V were walking together through the shrubbery. by this time, and he might ^Oot shooting partridges with Sir Tom, but to i n°t so much an out-door boy as he ought he preferred walking with his ^1* his arm thrust through hers, his head stoop- ing over her. It was perhaps the last opportunity they would have of discussing their family sec-rels a matter, they thought, which really c< nc?rnecl nobody else, which no one else would CM re to be "roubied with. Perhaps in Lucy's mind there was a sense of unreality in the whole matter but Jock was entirely in earnest, and quite convinced that in such an important business he was his sister's natural adviser and might be of a great deal of use. It was towards evening when they went out, and a red autumnal sunset was accomplishing itself in the west, throwing a gloam as of the brilliant tints which were yet to come on the foliage still green and luxuriant. The light was low and came into Lucy's eyes, who shaded them with her hand. And the paths had a touch of autumnal damp, and a certain mistiness, mellow and golden by reason of the sunshine, was rising among the trees. We will not be hast}* said Jock; we will take everything into consideration, and I don't think you will find so much difficulty, Lucy, when you have mo- I hope not, dear," Lucy said and she began to talk to him about his flannels and other pre- cautions he was to take, for Jock was supposed not to be very strong. He had grown fast, and he was rather weedy and long without strength to support it. "Wehivebuen so happy together," she said. We alway were happy together, Jock. Remember, dear, no wet feet, and as little football as you can help, for my sake." Oh, yes," he said, with a wave of his hand, "all right, Lucy. There is no fear about that. The first thinrj to think of is poor old father's will, and what you are going to do about it. I mean to think out all that about the examination, and I suppose I may speak to M'Tutor "It is too private, don't you think, Jock? Nobody knows about it. It is better to keep it between you and me." 1* I can put it as a supposed case," said Jock, and ask what he would advise—for you see, Lucy, you, and even I, are not very experienced, and M'Tutor he knows such a lot. It would always be a good thing to have hid advice, you know—he There was no telling how long Jock might have one on on this subject. But just at thismoment a quick step came round the corner of a clump of wood, and a hand was laid on the shoulder of ealh: "What are you plotting about P" asked the voice of Sir Tom in their ears. It was a curious sign of her mental condition, which Lucy remembered with shame afterwards without being very well able to account for it, that she suddenly dropped Jock's arm and turned round upon her husband with a quick blush and access of breathing as if somehow, she could not tell how, she had been found out. It had nev<'r occurred to her before, through all those long drawn out consultations, that she was concealing anything from Sir Tom. She dropped Jock's arm as if it hurt her, and turned to her ind in the twinkling of un eye. Jock," she said, quickly, "and I were talking about M'Tutor, Tom." "Ah once landed on that subject and there is no telling when we may come to an end," Sir Tom said, with a laugh; "but never mind, I like you all the better for it, my boy." Jock gave an astonished look at Lucy, a half defiant one at her husband. That was only by the way," he said, lifting up his shoulders with a little air of offence. He did not condescend to any further explanation, but lie walked along by their side with a lofty abstraction, looking at them now ar.d then from the corner of his eye. Lucy had taken Sir Tom's arm, and was hanging upon her tall husband, looking up into his face. The little blush of surprise—or was it of guilt?—with which she had received him was still upon her cheek. She W;S far more animated than usual, almost a little agitated. She asked about the shooting, about the bag and how many brace was to Sir Tom's osvn gun, with that conciliating interest which is one of the signs of a conscious fault; while Sir Tom on his side bending down to his little wife, received all her flatteries with so complacent a smile, and such a beatific belief in her perfect sincerity and devotion, that Jock, look-1 ing on from his superiority of passionless youth, regarded them both with a wondering dis- dain. Why did she make up in that way to her husband, dropping her brother as if she had bi."Mi plotting harm. Jock was amazed, lie could not understand it. Perhaps it was only because lie thus fell in a moment from being the chief object of interest to the position of nobody at all. CHAPTER vr, A SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS. Lucy's mind sustaiued a certain shock when her husband appeared. During her short married life there had not been a cloud, or a shadow of a cloud between them. But then there had been no ques- tion between them, nothing to cause any question, no difference of opinion. Sir Tom had taken all her business naturally into his hands. Whatever sliewisliedshehad--ot-nqy,befoi she expressed this wish it had been satisfied. He had talked to her about everything and she had listened with docile attention, but without concealing the fact that she neither understood nor wished to understand; and he had not only never chided her, but had accepted her indifference with a smilo of pleasure as the most natural thing in the world. He had encouraged her in all her liberal charities, shaking his head and declaring with a radiant face that she would ruin herself, and that not even her fortune would stand it. But the one matter which had given Lucy so much trouble before her marriage, and which Jock had now brought back to her mind, was one that had never been mentioned between them. He had known all about it, and her eccentric proceedings and conflict with her guardians, backing her up, indeed, with mucli laughter, and showing every symptom of amiable amusement; but he had never given any opinion on the subject, nor made the slightest allusion since to this grand condition of her father's will. In the sunny years that were past Lucy had taken no notice of this omission. She had not thought much on the subject herself. She had withdrawn from it tacitly, as one is apt to do from a matter which has been productive of pain and disappoint- ment, and had been content to ignore that portion of her responsibilities. Even when Jock forcibly revived tho subject, it continued without any practical importance, and its existence was a question between themselves to afford material for endless conversation which had been pleasant and harmless. But when Sir Tom's hand was laid on her shoulder, and his cheerful voice sounded in her ear, a sudden shock was given to Lucy's being. It flashed upon her in a moment that this question which she had been discussing with Jock had never been mentioned between her and her husband, and with a sudden instinctive perception she became aware that Sir Tom would look upon it with very different eyes fiom theirs. Site fell. that she had been disloyal to him in having a secret subject of consultation even with her brother. If ho heard he would be displeased, he would be taken by surprise, perhaps wounded, perhaps made angry. In any wise it would intro- duce a new element into their life. Lucy saw with a sudden sensation of fright and pain, an unknown crowd of possibilities which might pour down upon her, were it to be communicated to Sir Tom that his wife and her brother were debating as to a course of action on her part unknown to him. All this occurred in a moment, and it was not anv lucid and real perception of difficulties, but only a sudden alarmed compunctious con- sciousness that filled her mind. She fled as it were from the circumstances which made these horror3 possible, hurrying back into her former attitude with a penitential urgency. Jock, indeed, was very dear to her, but he was no more than second, nay he was but third, in Lady Randolph's heart. Her husband's supremacy he could not touch, and though he had been almost her child in the old days, yet he was not, nor ever would be, her child in the same ineffable sense as little Tom was, who was her very own, the centre of her life. So ?he ran away, so to speak, from Jock with a real panic and clung to her husband, conciliating, nay almost wheedling him, if we may use the word, with a curious feminine instinct, to make up to him for the momentary wrong she had done and which he was not aware of. Sir Tom himself was a little surprised by the warmth of the reception she gave him. Her interest in his shooting was usually very mild, for she had never been able to get over a iitue nuiiui SUB lIaU, aue, pernaps, to her bour- geois training, of tho slaughter of birds. He glanced at the pair with an unusual perception that there was something here more than met the eye. You have been egging her up to some rebel- lion," he said Jock, you villain, you have been hatching treason behind my back!" He said this with one of those cordial laughs which nobody could refrain from joining-full of good humour and fun, and a pleased consciousness that to teach Lucy to rebel would be beyond anyone's power. At any other moment she would have taken the accusation with the tranquil smile which was Lucy's usual reply to her husband's pleasantries; but this time her laugh was a little strained, and the warmth of her denial, "No, no, there has been no treason," gave the slightest jar of surprise to Sir Tom. It sounded like a false note in the air; he could not understand what it could mean. Jock went away tho next day. He went with a basket of game for M'Tutor and many nice things for himself, and all the attention and care which might have been his had lie been the heir instead of only the young brother and dependent. Lucy herself drove in with him to Farafield to see him off, and Sir Tom, who had business in the little town and meant to drive back with his wife, ap- peared on the railway platform just in time to say good-bye. Now, Lucy, you will not forget," were Jock's hst words as he looked out of the window, when the train was already in motion. Lucy nodded and smiled, and waved her hand, but she did not make any other reply. Sir Tom said too- thing until they were driving along tho stubble fieldsin the afternoon sunshine. Lucy lay back in her corner with that mingled sense of regret and relief with w liich, when wo are very happy at home, we see a guest go away—a gentle sorrow to part, a soft pleasure in being once more restored to the more intimate circle. She had not shaken off those impressions of guiltiness, but now it was over, and nothing further could be said on the subject for a long time to come— What is it, Lucy, that you are not to forgot ?" She roused herself up, and a warm flush of colour came to her face. Oh, nothing, Tom, a little thing we were consulting about. It was Jock that brought it to my mind." "1 think it must bo a httle mors than just a little thing. Mayn't I hear what this secret is?" OJ), it is nothing, Tom," Lady Randolph re- peated and then she sat UD erect and said, I must not deceive you. It is not merely a small matter. Still it is just between Jock and me. It was about papa's will, Tom." Ah! that is a large matter. I don't quite see how that can be between you and Jock, Lucy. Jock has very little to do with it. I don't want to find fault, my dear, but I think, as an adviser, you will find me better than Jock." "I know you are far better, Tom. You know more than both of us put together." That would not bo very difficult," he said, with a smile. Perhaps this calm acceptance of the fact nettled Lucy. At least she said, with a little touch of spirit, And yet I know something about our kind of people better than you will ever do, Tom." Lucy, this is a wonderful new tone. Perhaps you may know better, but. I am doubtful if you understand the relation of things as well. What is it, my dear ?-that is to say, if you like to tell me, for I am not going to force your confidence." f "Tom-oh, dear Tom ? It is not that. It is ather that it was something to talk to Jock about. He remembers everything. When papa was making that will "here Lucy stopped and sighed. It had not been doing her a good service to make her recollect that will which had enough in it to make her life wretched, though that as yet nobody knew. He recollects it all," she said. He used to hear it read out. He remembers everything." i suppose, then," said Sir Tom, with a pecu- liar smile, there is something in particular which he thought you were likely to forget?" Here Lucy sighed again. I am afraid I had forgotten it. No, not forgotten, but-I never knew verv well what to do. Perhaps you don't, remember, either. It is about giving the money away." Sir Tom was a far more considerable person in every way than the little girl who was his wife, and who was not clever nor of any great account apart from her wealth. She was devoted to him, so that he could have very little fear how any conflict should end when he was on one side, if all the world were on the other. But, perhaps, he had been spoiled by Lucy's entire agreement and consent to whatever he pleased to wish, so that his tone was a little sharp, not so good- humoured as usual, but with almost a sneer in it when he replied quickly, not leaving her a mo- ment to get her breath, I see, Jock, having inspi- ration from the fountain head, was to be your guide in that." She looked at him alarmed and penitent, but re- proachful. I would have done nothing, I could have done nothing, oh, Tom without you." It is very obliging of you, Lucy, to say so nevertheless, Jock thought himself entitled to re- mind you of what you had forgotten, and to offer himself as your adviser. Perhaps M'Tutor was to come in, too," he said. with a laugh. Sir Tom was not immaculate in point of temper any more than other men, but Lucy had never suffered from it before. She was frightened, but she did not give way. The colour went out of her chreks, but there was more in her than mere insipid submission. She looked at her husband with a certain courage, though she was so pale, and felt so profoundly the disuieasure which she had never encountered before. I don't think you should speak like that, Tom. I have done nothing wrong. I have only been talking to my brother (If-of-a thing that nobody cares about but him and me in all the world." And that is Doing what papa wished," Lucy said in a low voice. A little moisture stole into her eyes. Whether it came because of her father, or because husbnnd.<pok<! sharply to her, it perhaps would have been difficult to say. This made Sir Tom ashamed of his ill-humour. It was cruel to be unkind to a creature su gentle, who was not used to be foupd fault with; and vet ho felt that for Lucy to set up an independence of any kind was a thing to be crushed in 1 he bud. A man may have the most liberal principles about women, and yet feel a natural indi;rn -,rion when his own wife shows signs of desiring to act for herself; and, besides, it was not to be endured that a boy and girl conspiracy should be hatched under his very nose to take the disposal of an important sum of money out of his hands. Such an idea was not only ridiculous in itself, but apt to make him ridiculous, a man who ought to be strong enough to keep the young ones in order. My dear," he said, "I have no wish to speak in any way that vexes you; but I see no reason you can have- at least I hope there has been nothing in my conduct to give you any reason—to with- draw your confidence from me and give it to Jock." Lucy did not make him any reply. She looked at him pathetically through the water in her eyes. If she had spoken she would have cried, and this in an open carriage, with a village close at hand, and people coming and going upon the road. was not to be thought of. By the time she had mastered herself Sir Tom had cooled down, and he was ashamed of having made Lucy's lips to quiver and taken away her voice. That was a very nasty thing to say," he said, wasn't it, Lucy ? I ought to be ashamed of myself. Still, my little woman must remember th;lt I am too fond of her to let her have secrets with anybody but me." And with this he took the hand that was nearest to him into both of his and held it close, and throwing a temptation in her way which she could not resist, led her to talk of the baby and forget everything else except that precious little morsel of humanity. He was far cleverer than Lucy he could make her do whatever he pleased. No fear of any opposition, any setting up of her own will against his. When they got home he gave her a kiss, and then the momentary trouble was all over. So he thought, at least. Lucy was so little and gentle and fair that she appeared to her husband even younger than she was, and she was a great deal younger than himself. He thought her a sort of child-wife, whom a little scolding or a kiss would altogether sway. The kiss had been quite enough hitherto. Perhaps, since Jock had come upon the scene, a few words of admonition might prove now and thon necessarv, but it would be cruel to be hard upon her, or do more than let her see what his pleasure was. But Lucy was not what Sir Tom thought. She could not endure that there should be any shadow between her husband and herself, but her mind was not satisfied with this way of settling an im- portant question. She took his kiss and his apology quietly, but if anything had been wanted to im press more deeply upon her mind the sense of a duty before her, of which her husband did not approve, and in doing which she could not have his heh), it would have been this little episode altogether. Even little Tom did not efface this im- pression from her mind. At dinner she met hot- husband with her usual smile, and even assented wh, he remarked upon the pleasantness of find- ing themselves again alone together. There had been other guests besides Jock, so that the remark did not offend her; but yet Lucy was not quite like herself. She felt it vaguely, and he felt it vaguely, and neither was entirely aware what it was. In the morning, at breakfast, Sir Tom received a foreign letter, which made him start a little. He started and cried, "Hullo!" then, opening it, and finding two or three closely-scribbled sheets, gave way to a laugh. Here's literature!" he said. Lucy, who had no jealousy of his correspondents, read her own calm little letters, and poured out the tea, with no particular notion of her husband's interject ions. It did not even move her curiosity that the letter was in a feminine hand, and gave forth a faint perfume. She reminded him that his tea was getting cold, but otherwise took no notice. One of her own letters was from the Dowager Lady Randolph, full of advice about the babv. Mrs. Russell tells me that Katie's i Mldren are the most lovely babies that ever were seen; will not let them wear shoes to spoil their feet, and other vagaries of that kind. I hope, my dear Lucy, that you are not fanciful about little Tom," Ladv Randolph wrote. Lucy read this very coinposedlv. and smiled at the suggestion. Fanciful ? Oh, no, she was not fanciful about him—she was even silly, Lucy thought. She was capable of allowing that other babies might be lovely, though why the feet of Katie's children should be ot so much im- portance she allowed to herself she could not see. She was roused from these tranquil thoughts by a little commotion on the other side of the table where Sir Tom had just thrown down his letter. He was laughing and talking to himself. Wily' shouldn't she come if she likes it ?" he was saying. "Lucy, look here, since you have set up a con- fidant, I shall have one, too," and with that Sir Tom went into an immoderate fit of laughter The letter scattered upon the table all opened out, two large foreign sheets, looked endless. Nobody had ever written so much to Lucy in all her life. She could see it was largely underlined and full of notes of admiiation and interrogation, altogether an out-of-the-way epistle. Was it possible that Sir Tom was a little excited as well as amused ? He put his roll upon a hot plate, and began to cut it with his knife and fork in an absence of mmd which was not usual with him, and at intervals of a minute or two would burst out with his long "Ha. ha," again. "That will serve you out, Liucy," ne said, with a shout, 11 i set up u con- fidant, too." (To he continued.)
AT FAULT. BY IIAWLEY SMART. author of "Breezie Langton," "Broken Bonds," "Social Sinners," "The Great Tontine," &C., &C-, &c. CHAPTER XXXVII. No LONGER" AT FAULT." As soon as Phil Soarnes and Morant arrived in Baumborough they hurried off to the homo of the former, and had just time to tumble into their evening clothes previous to joiningthe dinner-table, ilt,w,ilich their unexpected advent occasioned no little surprise on the part of Phil's parents. How- ever, as this worthy pair were completely igno- rant of what had taken the young men to town, some vague excuse about having changed their nli-i-sailiply sufficed to allay their curiosity. The meal over, Phil and Morant adjourned to the former's sanctum, as they often did for an after- dinner cigar. No sooner had they gained it upon this occasion than Morant said, Of course, Phil, we didn't come here to smoke to-night. We'll just light our cigarettes, and than we must go across to Dr. Iiigleby's and see if he has any news of Mr. Usher. He should have." All right," rejoined Soames; ''you're in com- mand, you know." So off to Dr. Ingleby's, only some quarter-of-a mile away, the two started. The doctor was as much astonished to see them as had been old Mr. and Mrs. Soames. Why, I thought you were not coming down till to-morrow," he exclaimed, the customary greetings over. Quite right," replied Morant, "but something we heard in London made us think it desirable to see Mr. Usher as soon as possible. He promised me to be here to-night." And he has been. He came, he said, to tell us the complete story of the Bunbury mystery but when lIP found you two were not here lie asked permission to postpone his story, as he seemed to think it probable you might clear up one or two points about which he is still doubtful, if you only heard the story. He hasn't been gone a quarter- of-an-hour." How deuced unluckv," exclaimed Morant. "Nonsense. Herbert," cried Phil Soames. He cant have left the town. Where does he put up, doctor ?" At the Woolpack, pad we shall probably find him there if I send for him." Nonsense, doctor, 111 go myself," exclainn J Morant. You two just wait quietly here and 1 | be back with Mr. Usher in a quarter-of-an-houi at furthest," and with these words Herbert vanished. Little was said between the doctor and Phil Soames during the interval of Morant's absence they were both too anxious to listen to the coming revelation to spoak much. The quarter-of-an-hour had hardly elapsed when Herbert entered triumphantly, closely followed by Sergeant Usher. Good evening, Mr. Soames, and once more good evening, Doctor Ingleby. I'm very glad, gentle- men, you came back, and that Mr. Morant came and fetched me, for I should like to tell you tho whole story of the Bunbury murder before I leave Baumborough, as you have been, so to speak. all a bit mixed up in it, and are certainly all interested in the riddle. I must leave for town by the 11.30, but I've got a good hour-and-a-half to spare, which will more than suffice to tell my story." You can easily imagine, sergeant, we are all extremely anxious to hear it," replied Dr. Inglebv "indeed, these two gentlemen came back from London for nothing else." So Mr. Morant tells me, sir," rejoined the Ser- geant, as he quietly seated himself and commenced his narrative. James Foxborough, and, as far as I know. that is his real name, started in life astrt-cled clerk to an attorney in London. Like many of that class, he had a great fondness for the theatre. Somehow or other, at on~ of the minor suburban theatres he scraped acquaintance with Miss Nvdia Wil- Iloughby, then a struggling young actress, and concerning whose earlier history I know no more than I learnt from Mr. Soames in this room a few weeks back. Nor is it in the least necessary I should. The two full in love, and after a little time m u-i ied. James Foxborough broke his articles, and managed, through his wife's influence, to obtain a small engagement on the stage. But unluckily he was not possessed of what the literary people call histrionic powers. Hb wife kept steadily fighting her way upwards, but he just as steadily dropped into a mere super. He was entrusted with letters to carry on, and about two lines to say, and his salary, gentlemen, was about as short as his part. Well, to do Foxborough justice, he was clear grit, he'd no idea of living on his wife's earnings, and, as soon as he iiad satisfactorily ascertained thai ho couldn't earn bread and cheese on the stage, he announced his intention of seeking it elsewhere, and they parted quite amicably. Mind now, you may ask how I know all this ? I only reply, I know the main facts of the case so far. and have filled in the remainder by inference, as anyone of you might, and probibly would do. I- Now," continued the Sergeant, the idea that had occurred to James Foxborough, by way of earning his living, was to fall back upon his old profession. His experience as an actor had made him pretty sick of the it age as a profession, the gilt was all off the ginger-bread as far as he war, concerned; but, remember, he had broken his articles, and though I don't suppose, though I honestly confess I don't know, that there is any very severe penalty for that, still it was quite suffi- cient to make him change his name and leavo London. To begin upon, he was not an attorney, and how he managed to get his name on the rolls I can't say. I lose sight of him here for two years or more when I next pick him up lie's practising in Baumborough under the name of John Foss- dyke." What!" cried Dr. Ingleby, You mean to tell us that John Fossdyke and James Foxborough are the same man?" Not a doubt about it," rejoined Mr. Usher. Impossible," exclaimed Morant, very much alike if you will, but the same man ridiculous." I told you it was a beautiful case," rejoined the Sergeant," and the reason we could never find the slightest trace of James Foxborough is that he is buried in John Fossdyke's grave." But, good God, Mr. Usher, if your story i true," said Dr. Ingleby, poor Mrs. Fossdyke was never married." Undoubtedly not. Her husband's name wasn't Fossdyke for one thing, and he was already mar- ried for another. Now, Foxborough," continued the Sergeant, when he first, came to Baum- borough was a very poor man. He constantly ran up to town, and received, I fancy, a good bit ot assistance still from his wife. And now, Dr. Ingleby, I should feel much obliged if yeu would continue the story." Certainly," replied the Doctor, and the bit you want nobody can piece in better than myself. Fossdykc, or I suppose I should say Foxborough, gradually began to acquire a fair practice here he was a pushing man, who would have his finger in every pie that was baking. He was a plausible man, with great command of words, a popular man, and to some extent a clever man, and the farmers around especially took to him. You see he had some sporting proclivities, liked a day's hunting, a day's shooting, or a day's steeeple- chasing, when he could find time for it, and in those days he was clever enough to know that it paid in the lon» run to make time for it. His practice rapidly increased, and he became a man of mark in the town then he made his great hit in life-lltii speaking of him as Fossdyke—he married Mary Kimberley. This at once gave him a status it would have taken some years to acquire, and, thanks to the interest his marriage gave him, he shortly afterwards acquired the post of Town Clerk. I have got nothing further to add than this, that though his income was an exceedingly hand- some one, and though he apparently lived well within it, yet there were invariably tales about the difficulty the tradesmen had in getting money from him." Yes, doctor," interposed Mr. Usher, that's where it was, that'll be about the time he went into a good many provincial theat rical specs which terminated all the wrong way, and it was on these speculations he contrived to make away with the best part of Mrs. Fossdyke's money. Then at last speculations he contrived to make away with the best part of Mrs. Fossdyke's money. Then at last came his first theatrical hit—he built and started the Syringa Music Hall, and to do that, doctor, he appropriated between five and six thou- sand pounds of the corporation funds." Impossible, Mr. Usher; if such a thinar had not come out in his life time it must have done at his death." And that is just what has happened," replied the Sergeant, that wearisome Totterdell creature has discovered it, though he is not exactly aware of the real meaning of his discovery. When the corporation, as I'm told at Mr. Totterdell'? instance, voted for the calling in of tika, ¡' mortgage on the houses and building.* belong- ing to the railway company near the station 4i order to pay for their new theatre, the discovery of r'oxborough'r fraudulent appropriation of their montys was imminent. It was then that he went to one Cudemore, to whom he had ofteu applied of j,"ox.boroui?'h'" fraudulent appropriation of their montys was imminent. It was then that he went to one Cudemore, to whom he had often applied before, indeed, had recourse to him about, thj building of the Syriuga, the misappropriated money not. proving sufficient, and raised from him, with the assistance of Mr. Sturton, the great Bond street tailor, the requisite sum to cover his deficiencies, and, but, for Mr. Totterdell, who is always nosing around like a truffle dog about his neighbour's affairs, I don't suppose anyone would have ever known anything about that quiet borrowing of the corporation's money. He somehow found out that no such mortgage was ever effected, although five per cent. interest was regularly credited to the corporation on account of it." "Most extraordinary," said Dr. Inglfby. I an't conceive this never having come to my ears." a J As for Phil Soames and Morant, they sat silent ind absorbed in the extraordinary history that Mr. Usher was slowly unfolding for their edification, i ataH, sir," replied the Sergeant. "Mr. dell so Vary imperfectly understands his dis- .overy that he is actually unable to talk about it. *ou must bear in mind, gentlemen, that, though I -an prove all my leading poiut3,1 am filling in my ,tory here and there from what I suppose to hav* jeen the case. We next come to the opening of the Haumborough Theatre, and here for the first time tho author of the Bunbury mystery appears upon .he scene. Whit brought Mr. Cudemore there I nonestly say i don't know, but "Good gracious! You mean to «ar, then, that ] he money-lender was the murderer of poor Foss- iyke—I should say Foxborough ?" exclaimed Dr Ingleby. I ._T_ __I' n "juso so, repuea ine oergeant, jerlectlT tAn- mov;ed. "These two gentlemen have heard his name before, I fancy, at all events Mr. Morant -ias. As I was saying, what brought him down to that ceremony I can't fathom, but [ do know this, that for the first time lie became aware that John Foss- dyke and James Foxborough were one, were the same individual. That a man of Cudemore's stamp should attempt to make capital out of such know- ledge is a more matter of course that he wrote the note which took Mr. Fossdyke over to Bunbury I cat; prove. Mr. Morant, there, can swear to tiis handwriting for one, and I have another unim- peachable witness to testify to it besides. Now, gentlemen, just consider what that note meant to the dead man. He, of course, recognised the hand- writing, and the signature, "James Foxborough," told him his secret was discovered. He goes over' to Bunbury to see what. terms he can make with the man who has surprised his secret. lis knows Cudemore well, and no doubt is prepared for exorbitant demands on the part of the money- lender. What Cudemore did ask we shall perhaps never know. It may be he demanded a very large slice back of that six thousand which he, in conjunction with Mr. Sturton, had lent. That, as we know, Foxborough could not comply with. He had already usod the whole of the money to conceal his breach of trust in connection with the funds of the Municipal Council. But, whatever Cudemore wanted, we may feel pretty certain it was not Foxborough's life. That he did slay him, I believe, but it was, undoubtedly, an unpre- meditated murder. When men of his stamp get a hold over their fellows, and intend to make them what my brethren in Paris call "«ing," or as we term it blackmail them," of course the victim's life is the last thing aimsd at. They want perpetual hush money from him, nnd his death naturally puts an end to all that Now, gentlemen, if any of you can give me any clue to what Cude- more's motive can have been—that is io say what it was ho wanted to wring from Foxborough—I shall be obliged to you ?" All we know amounts to this," said Soames. "Ever since the murder Cudemore has shown a great desire to get the Syringa Music Hall into his own hands. He has given notice of foreclosing the mortgage, evidently relying upon Mrs. Fox- borough's inability to find the six thousand pounds with which to meet it." The sergeant thought for a few minutes, and then said to Mr. Soames, "I ca.¡'t think that could have been the cause of the murder. Has Cudemore any quarrel with Mrs. Foxborough that. you know of ?" Certainly. Mrs. Foxborough thinks he has treated her very badly about the Syringa," replied Morant, "and declines to have anything to do with him, saying when the time comes if she can- not find the money lie must take the music-hall." Neither Soames nor Morant were in the least aware of the money-lender's mad passion for Nid. "No," said Mr. Usher, "that is a consequence of the murder, but certainly not the cause of it. Even in his first moments of exasperation at finding he couldn't have his slice back of the six thousand he had lent, Cudemore would never have been such a fool as that. With the hold ho had over Fox- borough he could have become a partner in the Syringa on his own terms. Well, gentlemen, it's no use trying to guess a riddle now, which the trial will probably solve. We have brought the thing down now to this: Cudemore, at the opening of he Baumborough Theatre, convinced himself tha' I James Foxborough and Johu Fossdyke were otn I man. Whether he suspected it before don't know, I nor does it matter. Taking advantage of his dis- covery, he summons Fossdyke to dine with him at Bunbury, and what concession he demanded to hold his tongue we don't know, but in the sitting- room the two men quarrelled, and either by acci- dent or design Cudemore stabbed his companion to the heart. He then carried him into the adjoining room, divested him of his dress coat, and placed him its he was found." But don't you think," said Soames, that a man like poor Fossdyke might be stung to such madness by finding his secret at the mcrcy of a man like Cudemore as to lay violent hands on himself ?" Qu;te possible, sir, but first Dr. Ingleby will tell you that, from the peculiar direction of the wound, it could hardly have been self-inflicted. Secondly, if he is an innocent man why did not Mr. Cudemore come forward and ttll his story, and, K->tly, there's that third point, which was pretty well proved at the inquest, if the door was not locked from the outride, where was the key?" It might have been thrown opt of the window," said Herbert. "Now, really, Mr. Morant," rejoined the Sergeant, with a deprecatory smile, "that's a cutting observation to a crack officer of the Yard. You can't suppose but what I had every inch of ground under that window searched that very afternoon as far round as it was possible for a man to throw a key. No, it was an off chance, but I didn't overlook it; and now, gentlemen, I'must say good night, as I have to catch the mail train." One word more. Mr. Usher," said Soames. T suppose Mrs. foxborough need fear no further molestation from Mr. Cudemore ?" "Neither she nor anyone else for a very con- siderable time to com Mr. Cudemoro will be in custody about breakfast time to-morrow morning. Once more, good night, gentlemen." Usher's case is beautifully clear," said tho Doctor, as the detective left the room, but there'll be no conviction of murder, I fancy." No," said Soames, he'll get off with man- slaughter, I'm inclined to think." C9 IFTEJS XXXVIII. Ma. CUDFMOKK'S ARKKST. On his way from the Syringa Music Hall, afti.1 iiL final rebuff from Mrs. Foxborough, Mr. Cudemore first itwoku to the fact that lie was dogged. A rather less expert tracker than Old Nibs had for a littl taken that worthv'a place, and the money-lender's eyes held falleu mechanically upon a shabby genteel young man as he left tii,, hail. Coming down Portland-street he rather I suacieniy uruck into one of tho side streets leading into Portlanu-place, then suddenly recollecting the want of some small article of haberdashery, such as he was accustomed to purchase at a shop in Oxford-street, turned about abruptly to i-etraco his slops. At the corner he ran almost into the arms of the shabby genteel youny man he had noticed outside the Syringa. I.n an instant all the money- 'n lender's suspicions were aroused, he pursued the even tenour of his way into Oxford-street, but like a woman now lie had eyes in the back of his head. He walked homo quite leisurely, and knew perfectly well that that shabby young ma" followed him like his shadow. To take a cab Mr. Cudemore knaw wuuld be useless. If hu was, as he had no doubt been, under the surveillance of tlJe police, they knew perfectly where he lived, and any attempt to evade his unwelcome attendant w.s ridiculous. BoNides, go home he must, if it was only to cat. that thousand pounds which he had just procured for this very emergency. Peeping from behind his curtains, Mr. Cudemon caught occasiona' glances of the shabby voting man lounging pensively up and dow., the street. He was a young officer, new to his business, and undoubtedly rather too pronounced in his manner of conducting it. "If they were only all such duffers as that," muttered the money-lender, "the idea of not being able to slip the police at any moment would be preposterous." And then he prepared to go out and dine and enjoy himself. He dined and drank a bottle of champagne at the Criterion, and then ouce more adjourned to a theatre. He did not see the shabby young man any more, but felt ouite sure that he was accompanied by an attendant Sprite, and troubled his head little about it. To-morrow he would make a bolt of it. He would complete all his preparations that night, and disappear from London next day at such time aa might seem to him most favourable. He had no doubt about compassing this little matter of evasion of the police, but still he regarded it as a delicate opera- tion, and not to be carried out at any fixed period. After the play, Mr. Cudemore felt that his Spirits required sustaining to the extent of a pint of champagne and a dozen of ovsters, and accord- ingly so sustained them. Then he drove quietly home to make preparations for his flight. These consisted for the most part in the burning of several letters and papers. Then he packed a small handbag with great care, and laid out his overcoat and railway rug. Finally he took from his writing table a weli-sl uffed note case and placed it on the dressing-table, and then Mr. Cudeinole, un- dressed and went to bed. As to what direction his flight was to take Mr. Cudemore was not so clear, but he had a leaning towards Scotland. As for baffling the police at the rate of abandoning his li:tticib;tg, I-ilii%Ly rug, Ac., he thought that would not be difficult. He thought that once he had taken his ticket and his seat with such slender bflggage they would feel quite sure of his a scondillg, and fancy they knew ail about it. His idea, then, was to get into a second-class carriage at the last moment, and leave the train at the very first station. For this purpose lis intended to take two tickets—one first right through for Edinburgh, say if he took that line the other second for the first station out of London, and it need scarcely be said he had no in- tention of travelling by express. The idea was ingenious, and it is much to be regretted that Mr. Cudemore was never destined to put his scheme to the test, but his passion for Nid Foxborough was destined to prove fatal to him as the candle to the moth. Mr. Cudemore might have left the country at one time without let, hindrance, or suspicion, but that time was now gone by. The toils were around him, and that mighty Nimrod of criminal humanity, Mr. Usher, had marked him for his own. Having ascertained from one of his myrmidons on his ''eturn to town that Mr. Cudemore was in his own house, the sergeant, with that considera- tion for his victim which always characterised his proceedings, resolved to allow him one more night in his own comfortable rooms, and, having warned another officer to come over to his (Alr. ulliei-s) quarters punctually at eight, the sergeant went home and tranquilly slept within 50 yards of his intended prisoner." The appointed time found Mr. Usher all dressed and >-eady for business. No sooner did he see from his window the approach of the constable than the sergeant descended rapidly to the street and joined his colleague. The habits of Air. Cudemore's establishment were accurately known. The char- woman who cleaned out the offices arrived at eight, the office boy (or third clerk, as Tim Whipple had loved t.o designate himself) at nine, and the other two clerks at ten; consequently when Mr. Usher presented himself he found the eharwoma. sweeping- the steps, banging the mats against tho neighbouring railings, and the door wide ope". Lawk-a-mussy, it's the perlice chimed that lady, as Mr. Usher, followed by the constable in uniform, pushed past her. The sergeant knew all about the house quite as much as if he had lived in it all his life, and ascended at once to the second tloor; there he paused, and, turning round, said to his follower: Wait here, Brooks, and don't come in till 1 call you and then Mr. Usher quietly opened the bedroom door and found himself face- to face with Mr. Cudemore, half-dressed and grasuing a hair- brush in either hand. Who the devil are V°u ? What the deuce do you mean by coming up here in this sort of wav jI" exclaimed the money-lender angrily, but even as lie spoke his lips tightened and he knew that the ivenger was upon him. Now, Mr. Cudemore, it's no use making a fuss loout it. I'm Sergeant Usher and I've come to arrest you for the murder of John Fossdyke at Bunbury, last September. "Ancst me for the murder of John Fossdyko," repeated Mr. Cudemore, and putting down the hiushes, he fell back some three or four paces and stole his hand towards the lid of a small Davenport in a corner of the room. Yes, said tho Sergeant, as he sprang forward, quick, agile as a wild cat. and pinned Mr. Cude- more by tho wrist. None of that nonsense I What's the use of your fumbling for a revolver. Bless your innocence, you'll find another man on the landing, and another at the door, and will never get 50 yards without being arrested. Do you think shooting me is the way to prove yourself not guilty. Don't, be a fool; just finish dressing your- self before I slip on the bracelets, and we'll have a cab and go across to the Yard quietly till it's time to go down to Westminster." All right, Mr. Usher," said the money-lender. Excuse a slight error of judgment owing to the excitement of the moment." Cudemore then proceeded leisurely to complete his toilet, and at last emerged from the dressing- room with that part-icularly well-stuffed note caso in his hand. "Shall I be allowed to keep this?" ]13 asked. There's a good lot of money in it." "Chuck full of bank notes, I can see ?" replied Mr. Usher. Of course, it will be yours till you arc committed, and you will be that before mid- day. Then, you know, we take care of it for you, or hand it over to anyone you please to name." Y os, there's a good deal more than tico hundred pounds hfero," said Cudemore slowly. "I've nothing to say to this Bunbury affair, of course, but the inerb accusation is un awkward stigma for a pro- fessional man like myself- I've often heard men of your craft have made more money by missing a thief than finding him." Stow that, Mr. Cudemore. I understand what you mean, of course, but Silas Usher never worked on the cross yet, and ho isn't going to begin. Now, sir, as soon as you're leady, I'll send Brooks for a cab. All right," continued the Ser- geant, as the money-lender signified a sullen assent; then putting his head outside the door, Mr. Usher briefly observed Growler, Brooks, quick as you can." They had not many minutes to wait before Brooks announced th-) cab was at the door, and then Mr. DsheI. advancing said, "I don't want to be uncivil, but I must slip these on." One moment, please," exclaimed Cudemore, reach me an envelope out, of the Davenport behind you. They will never take this from me ?" he asked, anxiously, as he removed n. photograph from the book. No," said the Sergeant, eyeing him curiously. I fancy you'll be allowed to retain that." Cudemore put the photograph carefully into the envelope, and then placing it with the note o-ise in his breast pocket, simply held out his hands and said I am ready." In an instant the steel handcuffs snapped round his wrists, and he quietly preceded Mr. Usher to the door at which Brooks stood waiting. Mr. Usher followed him down the stairs, and, having seen the money-lender and the constable into the cab, delegated to the latter worthy the task of con- veying the prisoner to Scotland Yard, some two or throe hundred yards distance only, and turned back into the house to make a cursory overhaulof Mr. Cudemore's apartments. It was not that Mr. Usher expected to get much ,ut of the investigation, but it was a piece of i mechanical work that he never neglected. None knew better than the sergeant the curious mono- mania that compels murderers to preserve some damning evidence of their crime. It is always so trivial that in their eyes it cannot macter, and yet that little link is just the thing that knots the noose round their throats. Few men recollect the great Stansfield Hall murder, and yet the want of a wedding certificate brought Rush to the gal- lows. He WfLS hung on the evidence of his mis- tress, whose evidence. had she been his wife, would have been inadmissible. Mr. Usher flitted and peered about the sitting- room and dining-room like a magpie, but without any result; though it is fair to say the money- lender's locks were respected and only his open re- positories subjected to search, and then the sergeant once more ascended to the second floor. His in- vestigations here met with little more result till he came to the dressing-table and threw open the drawers; the,, first contained simply some half- dozen razors and a packet of shaving paper, but in the second, amidst a lot of nicknacks such as odd studs, disabled pins, and broken sleeve links, Mr. Usher observed something which set him pon- dering. "It would be odd if it were," said he, "but nevertheless it's odd its being here by itself. Still, it's so astonishing tIe mistakes they all make that the man who can bring off a great murder is a genius almost. Anyway, I'll ta.ke you," and what Mr. Usher put into his pocket was an ordinary chamber key. (To be continued.)
THE MAN OF SNOW. A STORY FOR THE YOUNG. I do love snow. There isn't anything except a bull-terrier that is as beautiful as snow. Mr. Travers says that seven hundred men once wrote a poem called 41 Beautiful Snow," and that even then, though they were all big, strong men. they couldn't find words enough to tell how beautiful it was. There are some people who like snow, and some who don't. It's very curious, but that's the way it, is about almost everything. There are the Eskimos, who live up North where there isn't.anr- thing but snow, and where there are no schools nor any errands, and they haven't anything to do but to go fishing, and skating, and hunting, and siiding down hill all day. Well, the Eskimos don't like it, for people who have been there and seen them say thoy are dreadfully dissatisfied. A nice set the Eskimos must be I wonder what would satisfy them ? I don't suppose it's any use trying to find out, for father says there's no limit to the unreasonableness of soin3 people. We ought always to be satisfied and contcnl ed with our conditi n and the things we have. I'm always contented when I have what I want, though of course nobody can expect a person to be contented when things don't satisfy him. Sue is real contented, too; for she's got the greatest amount of now clothes, and she's going to be married very soon. I think it's about time she was, and most everybody else thinks so too, for I've heard them say so and they've said so more than ever since we made the snow man. You see it was the day before Christmas, and there had been a beautiful snow-storm. All of us boys were sliding down hill when somebody said, Let's make a snow man." Everybody seemed to think the idea was a good one, and we made up our minds to build the; biggest snow man that ever was, just for Christmas. The snow was about a foot thick, and just hard enough to cut into slabs so we got a shovel and went to work. We built the biggest snow man I ever heard of. We made him hollow, and Tom McGinnis stood inside of him and helped build while the rest of us worked on the outside. Just as fast as we got a slab of snow in the right place we poured water on it so that it, would freeze right away. We made the out side of the man about three feet thick, and he was so tall that Tom McGinnis had to keep climbing up inside of him to help build. Tom came near getting into a dreadful scrape, for we forgot to leave a hole for him to get out. of. and when the man was done and frozen as hard as a rock, Tom found that he was shut up as tight -s if he was in a prison. Didn't he howl, though, and beg u- to let him out. I told him that he would be very foolish not to stay in the man all night, for he would be as warm as the Eskimos are in thyir snow huts, and there would be such fun when people couldn't find him anywhere. But Tom wasn't satisfied; he began to talk some siily nonsense about wanting his supper. The idea of anybody talking about such a little thing as supper when they had such a chance to make a big stir as that. Tom always was an obstinate sort of fellow, and he would insist upon coming out, so we got a hatchet and chopped a hole in the back of the man and let him out. The snow man was quite handsome, and we made him have a long beak like a bird, so that people would be astonished when they saw him. It was that beak made me think about tiie Egyptian gods that had heads like hawks and other birds and animals, and must have frightened people dreadfully when they suddenly met them near grave-yards or in lonesome roads. One of those Egyptian gods was made of stone, and was about as high as the top of a house. He was called Memnon, and every morning at sunrise he used to sing out in a loud voice, just as the steam whistle at Mr. Thompson's mill blows every morning at sunrise to wake people up. The Egyptians thought that Memnon was something wonderful, but it has been found out 9ince the Egyptians died, that a priest used to hide himself somewhere inside Memnon and made ail the noise. Looking at the snow man and thinking about the Egyptian. zods, I thought It wouldn't be a bad idea to hide inside of him and say things whenever people went by. It would be a new way of cele- brating Christmas, too. They would be awfully astonished to hear a snow man talk. I might even make him sing a carol, and then he'd be a sort of Christian Memnon, and nobody would think I had anything to do with it. That evening when the moon got up-it was a beautiful moonlight. night-I slipped out quietly and went up to the hill where the snow man was, and hid inside of him. I knew Mr. Travers and Suo were out sleigh-riding, and they hadn't asked me to go, though there were lots of room, and I meant to say something to them when they drove by the snow man that would make Sue wish she had been a little more considerate. Presently I heard bells and looked out and saw a sleigh coming up the hill. I was sure it was Mr. Travers and Sue, so I made ready for them. The sleigh came up the hill very slow, and when it was nearly opposite to me I said in a solemn voice, "Susan, you ought to have been married long "go." You see, I knew that would please Mr. Travers, and it was true, too. She gave a shriek, and said, Oh, what's that?" We'll soon see," said u man's voice that didn't sound a bit like Mr. Travers'. There's some- body round here that's spoiling for a thrashing." The man came right up to the snow man, and saw my legs through the hole, and got hold of one of them and began to pull. I didn't know it, but the boys had undermined the snow man on one side, and as soon as the man began to pull, over went the snow man and me right into the sleigh, and the woman screamed again, and tho horse ran away and pitched us out, and- But I don't want to tell the rest of it, only father said that I must be taught not to insult respec- table ladies like Miss Susan White, who is fifty years old, by telling them it is time they were married.
FEMININE FOIBLES, FANCIES, AND FASHIONS. By A LADY. (All Rights Reserved.) To-day I happened very opportunely to come across the followitigiugury, according to which, if it be as true as its fulfilment is desirable, there will soon be an end of this miserable weather, at which everybody is grumbling, hardly without cause I think. This morning when I heard the violence with which the rain descended and the winds blow, I felt move melancholy than ever but white bemoaning the dismal day, and expected ones to follow, a merry weatherwise friend inquired what I was croaking about, and immediately quoted for my comfort the following augury :— If Candlemas Day be fair and bright Winter will iiitvettictlier flight But if Candlemas D iy Ueeloudsarid rain, Winter is gone and will not eome again. No stint of clouds, or of rain either, had we, so, if the prophet doth not prophesy falsely, I am hoping soon for some of that fair and pleasant weather which often favours us in early spring. Many farmers skilled in legondarV lore carefully scan the face of the skies on Candlemas Day, and, regardless of the truth or falsehood of this pre- diction in former years, will be elevated or depressed according as the weather is propitious or otherwise. People generally remove Christmas decorations long before Candlemas, for the reason that they accumulate the dust, so abhorrent to all good house- wives, while superstitious folk have a secondary motive for ridding their houses of holly, ivy, &c., before the eve of the Feast of Candles, in conse- quence of their belief that by neglecting to do so they will bring misfortune upon themselves, the haunting by witches, goblins, and other uncanny folk. Originally, I believe, decorations were put up in churches and other edifices to keep out witches, who were supposed to be unusually active 1 at Yuletide. Tiie restraining influence of the ever- greens only lasted until February 1. If not re- moved then, a fresh witch was supposed to enter the house every day the decorations remained after that date. No sooner have the postmen time to congratu- late themselves on their lightened labours, than the public design fresh burdons for them in the shape of valentines and Easter cards. Elia cried to St. Valentine, Hail! to thy festival; great is thy name thou venerable Archflamen of Hymen. Incense will not fail to be offered at thy shrine, nor weary, forspent postmen cease to sink beneath the loads which a foolish custom lays upon them Charles Lamb also says, -1 The knock of the post- man on St. Valentine's day is less mechanical than on other days. On this one," he remarks," it is light, airy, confident, as befitting one who bringeth good tidings. What authority," ponders Lamb, we have in history or mythology for placing the head-quarters and metropolis of god Cupid in its present anotomical seat, rather than in any othr I is not very clear; but it serves as well as any, f< I on some other system, which might have prevaileu I a lover addressing his mistress may have said, Madame, my liver and fortune are entirely at your disposal.' Custom, however, has awarded the seat of sentiment to the aforesaid triangle, while its less fortunate neighbours wait at anotomical and animal distances." Probably most readers know that St. Valentine was a bishop, martyred in A.D. 270. In some very old Calendars there is, I believe, an entry to the effect that the birds pair and likewise be-in to sing on every recurring date of the martyr's death. Valentine's day yearly seems to lose some of its former importance. There are a fe w vary costly valentines to be seon in some of the best jewellers' windows. One on view lately was a cOftlv ring set with brilliants, encircled with a wreath of Pama violets (natural flowers). Of course such a gift would not go through the post, but would be sent by the handsofa messenger. In most shops appropriated to the sale of such wares ordinary valentines abound, flimsy muslin, silver cupids, papery white satin ribbon, trashy sentiment expressed in equally trashy rhyme, and the usual complement of trum- pery, the whole often looking as faded and yellow as if it had been annually exhibited there for the last seven seasons at least. Instead of such silly tokens of affection, it is very much the custom to give instead useful presents to those we love, and this is an occasion which many seize to make some practical offering to those who—but for the prece- dent which this season affords—might possibly regard useful gifts as insults, so preternaturally quick are some indigent but well-born people to detect any allusion to their evident poverty, how- ever carefully disguised. To notice any want, however apparent, is often regarded as a deadly- insult. One generous woman I know intends sending anonymously to a large family of girls- whose pride much exceeds the contents of their cash boxes—an assortment of the large silk brocaded kerchiefs which are so fashionably worn upon the shoulders just now, and so very- expensive. Whilst speaking of the sensitive natures that some poor but proud people possess, one striking instance I remember as occurring in the days of my girlhood. In a parish near by was a curate, the amount of whose income and the size of whose family were altogether out of proportion. In a bitter winter of long ago it was well known to his parishioners that their pastor was almost without coals. Willingly would many have sent in a supply had they not known that it would have been indignantly returned and great offence given, so there was nothing to do but just stand aloof and pity the distress that they found it impossible to relieve, though having every dispo- sition to do so. the unhappy man I write of may, indeed, have served as the prototype for that equally miserable ecclesiastic, Mr. Crawley, a character so vividly drawn by the late Anthonv Trollope in his novel Barchester Towers." I have much sympathy, however, with the man or woman who. so long as themselves alone are concerned, spurn the assistance which lays them under any obligation to others; but this feeling may be carried too far, and I cannot imagine what the anguish of that man must be who sees his wife and children patiently suffering in order to sustain his inordinate and selfish pride. Sealed letters are just now considered far more aristocratic than those by which the flap of the envelope is merely fastened by the ordinary method of adhesion. Private correspondence bv fashionable folk is nearly always secured with wax. I am not a curious person myself, but curiosity is believed to be the prominent weakness of our sex, and on these premisses I think it best to seal my own missives, and fancy my correspon- dents' letters are more likely to reach me unseen by eyes for which they were not intended when I receive them closed with a seal. Servants, I notice, are singularly eager to seize our letters, and so closely do they scrutinise the writing, the post- marks, and other outer and visible signs which the envelope presents that the quick-witted ones who observe the frequency with which certain letters come or go, and watch the countenances of the recipients as they read, noting the sigh or the smile that passes over the face as the reader follows its contents, will very soon make an ingenious mosaic, so cleverly put together that probably it discloses far more of your private affairs than would be agreeable if known to you. Should you be that careless person who leaves his or hor letters in the pocket, or other accessible place, do not be troubled with anxious queries as to whether they have been read or not rest assured they have, however discomforting that conviction 0 may be to you. Speaking of the propensity of servants to pry into letters which do not cencern w them, I know a lady who, wanting a housemaid, took one with a character that would have been unexceptionable, but for this clause that she had an inveterate habit of opening all letters entrusted to her care, as well as of investigating the contents of every one that came across her path. Excellent in all other respects, every effort was made to break the girl of this dishonourable practice. Many ladies took her even when acquainted with her fault, hoping to protect themselves or to cure her, but in vain. I believe at last, unable to retain any situation in consequence of this failing, she fell into absolute poverty. Seals for letters, even those used by ladies, are of large size. Red or black wax, or that colour which looks like solidified golden syrup, are the only kinds employed. Though some of the new seals used are engraved with crests and monograms, old- fashioned as they were until recently considered, mottoes are now chiefly impressed on them. The quainter they are the better. For example, from a letter just received, I have removed a monster black 3eal, on which I find a clue to the sentiment it is intended to con- vey in this following inscription :—Book of Mac- cabeus, xii., 18, "Wherefore now ytr shall do well to give us an answer thereto r" In my last week's letter I mentioned a. society known as the Ladies' Sketch Club," and one of my readers immediately wrote for furthor infor- mation concerning it. The club, I hear, is limited to 80 members, and if my correspondent enters it the complement is made up. I give this informa- tion lest any other reader may wish to join, and be disappointed. But I see no reason, how- ever, why art-loving people who may wish to form a similar club could not do so easily. They might found one on the rules supplied in my weekly letter, or on some other and more ap- proved regulations, as suggested by the promoters themselves. The outlay required is so very small, the working so recreative and amusing, that I hope some of my readers will take up the idea; and, as mottoes are so fashionable, I would suggest for the new club that old school copy, Emulation Stimulates." The desire of making a gi-ctt display on her wedding day is often falsely attributed to woman. This is Droved by the number of brides lately married in their travelling costume, a style that, does not necessitate the attendance of bride- maids, if their presence be not desired. I think the other sex would feel relieved if the fashion became even more general, for, truly or falsely, men invariably profess to feel the ceremony a. terrible ordeal, no matter what status they hold in regard to it. I consider a Wedding Reform Association is as much needed as that other re- form association designed to curtail unnecessary expense on those sombre occasions, which I will not name here, though in our newspaper columns we invariably see obituary notices immediately following those of marriage. On the subject of marriage ceremonies, I may here mention that an aristocratic bride was last week married in a superb robe of ruby velvet and cream-coloured brocade; over this was thrown a magnificent ermine cloak of great size and beauty, which was retained until the ceremony com- menced. The condition of the weather during the last few weeks has not been favourable to the development of any budding fashions. One gets so thoroughly de- pressed by the eternal downpour that even the idea of new clothes and fresh fashions fail to raise one's spirits from the zero to which they have sunk. So I have not much to say about Fashion's productions and future intentions to-day. B ittlemented basque bodjees are varied by cut- ting them a trifle longer, with the tabs shaped like tulip leaves, some kind of narrow braid being used to trim the edges. Those who have a fancy for bright colours, and like something novel, can purchase at a shop I know of some coarse canvas-like material, woven in strips of all colours. This material could be worked in cross stitch to trim plain materials. Applique is not unfashionable either. Some con- trasting shade should be chosen, and a design se- lected; this must be laid on the dress, and button- holed round accordingly. Extremely short out- door jackets, with battlementod edges, are worn over bouffant skirts of tartan and other plaids, and very trim they look on natty figures. The papers tell us of a grand dame who, in Paris the other day, appeared in a fashionable quarter clad in a tight-fitting cuirass bodice, made wholly of the skin of a tiger. The effect was startling, truly, but a wolf in sheep's clothing would certainly have been more dangerous.
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prRIT OF THE VTHLSII pnES, (By MORIEN.) The poets of Tir Iarll are these days in a fer- ment. I say poets advisedly for the legi'i.nate Gorsedd does not recognise those poetasters who rhyme without having been first received into the magic circle of the Court of Ceridwen, and the daJhli/aion y Sarph dorcf^g." All who pretend to be imbued with the celestial afflatus, called A Icen, and are unrecognised by H» yn yyhnawd, are vagrant minstrels, and are classed under the name of aw ay dd ion onlv, At meetings of the legitimate bard", they stand outside t he outer circle of tho Cysteqi'. I recog- nise Ap Tudor among the throng who, these enlightened days, are pressing forward eagerly against the outer circle. He is kepi there as a penance for having in his younger days scoffed at the mysteries. He, however, has promised to atone at the forthcoming great Cardiff Eisteddfod for his sins against the sisters of Hu (xadarn. Let us hope that, on that occasion, the white-robed Gtcyddo/i will condescend to extend towa.rds him the holy wand as a token cf forgiveness. As mentioned above, the poets of a district in Morganwg are in an angry mood just now. Why poets are more prone than other people to quarrel is a question for the wise to answer. But that it is so is evident in the history of English as well as Welsh poets. As for the former, we know that when there was a luil in the hostilities among their own order they amused their sacred selves by quarrelling with their wives. This poetic propen- sity to quarrel was recognised by the Druids, who provided for every. outburst a kind of waste steam pipe. This wits a meeting ot poets, held especially forthe purpose of quarrelling, and it was called Eisteddfod Sennv (a rebuking eisteddfod). The last of the kind was held, as far as I have been able to ascertain, at Cymmer, Rhondda Valley, about the year 1737. At this congress the palm for asperity was awarded to Will Hopkin, the lover of the Maid of Cefnydfa, and the author of the song, 1. Watching the Blooming Wheat." His scathing tongue made the poets exceedingly angry, and it is on record that a poet from Neath Valley hurried away inconsolable. He probably galloped up the Rhondda, in the direction of home, breathing anathemas on the head of the young poet of Llangynwyd. A relative of the writer, and named Lewis Hopkin, was at that congress, and he has left enylynion touching the events of the day, in which occur the words, Wil Hopkin, Jlin aflonydd," &c. I experience some difficulty in reigning in my Pegasus, and bringing him back to the starting point. Well, the quarrel to which reference is made m the opening paragraph is between Dewi Wyn o Essyllt" and Dyt'ed," each of whom has a throng of partisans at his back. It appears to me that the origin of the dispute is traceable to ambition, a thing which Cardinal Wolsey, tlie moment he found it could serve him no longer, counselled Cromwell to fling away. Sad to say, the two poets broke out into hostilities over a sacred siot--the grave of Islwyn. Dewi charged Dyfed with being unlearned and a youngster." In his reply, Dyfed replies in the spirit of William Pitt, when ht was charged with being a young man. It is unnecessary now to hold a rebuking eisteddfod, for the Tarian affords ample room and verge enough for the angry spirits to fight, and at such a distance from each other as to make it impossible for them to indulge in a mutual scratching of faces. In the Seven one signing himself "A Member" asks Dr. Price, Aberdare, a singular question. Here it is: "When a congregation stand in need of additional deacons, who have the right to elect then.? Is it those who occupy a similar office already?" The question comes on1? may rest assured from a Church sulfaring- under autocracy. Dr. Price is apt to call a spade a spade, and the autocrat had better look out. I cannot omit to relate here an anecdote. An itinerant preacher had been promised to be paid for his sermon with the proceeds of a collection. After the sermon, the preacher's hat was sent round the congregation, the preacher the while standing anxiously in the big seat. After the hat was returned to him he, to his dismay, found that it was perfectly empty. He turned it upside down and knocked the top with his knuckles, but even the lining had not concealed a ha'penny. He darted a scornful glance at the congregaticn and cried out, Thank God I have had my hat back from you!" The Goleuad, in a leader on the recent conference at Chester touching the College for North Wales, quotes as its text, What is too tight will break," and then proceeds to state that things were con- ducted by the authorities in so high-handed a manner that nothing but dissatisfaction with the result is to be expected. A large number of the best people attending that conference thought the best thing for them was to be silent. But, adds the article significant,ly, he who suffers conquers" (a oddefo a orfydd). It was understood that every- thing had been settled before the conference met, and it was seen that the meeting was one sided in its character; that the principal initiator had taken care to tell his friends and supporters, Como nearer; ye sit here in a good place." In another portion of the article it is stated that the promoters of the Chester Conference were a number of dustmen, "who raise dust at eistedd- fodau". The writer then proceeds to say that, "t.he initiators of the conference, being eisteddfod pot ts, nothing above the eisteddfod standard can be expected from them." Then it is asked, Is there either force or dignity associated with eisteddfodic productions ? We are proud of the eisteddfod," when we compare it with the Derby day and similar tnings in England." I The Rev. Edward Davies, Rhymney, states in the Bauer that if the Government, will adopt the plan of the people of Cardiff with regard to the uni- versity it will be simply a college for Churchmen and the Roman Catholics. The same journal warns people against kissing and the Roman Catholics. The same journal warns people against kissing ¡ those outside their own families, and states that the Medical and Sll1:qtca! Reporter announces that more diseases are spread by kissing than is gene- rally understood. "It is certain that the wife of Mr. John ThoTLas does not weigh more than two cwt. When her husband asks her, My dear, shall I help you over the stile r' Mrs. Thomas's invariable reply is, No give your help to the st.ile.1 11 "The reason given by a Denbigh girl for marry- ing a stranger was that she would have plenty of time for becoming acquainted with him after the ceremony." Mary," said a youth to a girl with red hair, keep away, or you will set me on fire." No danger," was Mary's answer, for nothing so 11 green is likely to burn." An old lady who had heard of a boiler explosion on board a steamer out at sea said the mistake they make is boiling their water at sea instead of on land. The Genedl states that the characteristics of the Chester Conference were dignity and enthusiasm. This journal points out what should be considered by all classes, that in matters relating to the Welsh Universities they should approach the subject as Welshmen, and not as members of this or that sect. The Tarian. in a leader states that one of the most patriotic acts of the Chester Conference was throwing the Aberystwith College overboard. The Seren fears that internal divisions in the Principality respecting the sites for the proposed colleges will result in disaster to Wales as did divisions in other matters in ages gone by. This is the rock upon which the ship of Welsh nationality always wrecked itself in the past.
PROPOSED MKM0RIAL TO PRINCE LLEWELYN. A correspondent writes:—There is, perhaps, no instance recorded in ancient or modern history of a people showing greater enthusiasm, more chival- rous devotion, or more determined bravery in defence of their country than was displayed during several centuries by the Welsh in their efforts to stem the tide of usurpation and oppression ever threatening to overwhelm them amidst their native mountains. Driven by the power of the oppressor from their cherished homesteads, where nature spread Iter beauties in smiling profusion around them. they scorned to make terms with the foe. Their sterile hills frowning amidst the winter's storms possessed no terrors for them. Every rock became a 11 coign of 'vantage, whence, catching enthusiasm from the heroic fervour of their baids, they issued forth beneath the folds of the Red Dragon to hurl destruction on their enemies, making each, defile a Thermopylae, and leaving beneath the green sod heroes as worthy of renown as those who sleep beneath the plain of Marathon, Deeply imbued with that passionate love of liberty and independence which is said to be the birth- right of all mountaineers, and with a spirit of determination in keeping with the sombregrandf ur of their rugged homes they submitted, without repining, to the greatest privations, and though half fed and without defensive armour. thny hesi- tated not to oppose their semi-nude bodies against tho highly trained steel-clad chivalry of the Norman whenever the situation gave their scanty Lunibei-s the faintest hope of success. Of a princely line of gallant leaders whose hcroic efforts and example fostered and maintained the vitality of this fervid spirit of patriotism, this thirst for liberty and independence, the last, the most loved, and, perhaps, the bravest and best, was the ill-fated Prince Llewelyn ab Grufydd, of whom it is said by an old writer that he was the captayne, the prayse, the law, and the light of nations." Deprived by the En- glish monarch of his promised Vn ide, deserted by his brother, and placed in an almost hopeless situa- tion, he drew the falchion in defence of his country, and, though assailed by his enemy in overwhelm- ing numbers by land and sea, he more than once achieved a signal success After the repulse of the English at the Menai Straits, the prince, believing the approaching winter would tem- porarily prevent further aggression, betook nimseif to his Castle at Aberedwy, near Built,h, in which neighbourhood he had friends and con- federates in whom he hoped to kindle that spirit of devotion to their country by which he himself was animated. The English, however, wore ad- vised of his movements, and an army was des- patched by the Lords Marchers from Herefordshire to intercept him. On his arrival at the Castle he found himself and his few followers almost sur- rounded by the enemy. He. however, effected his escape, and, by the demolition of a bridge, so far checked pursuit as to enable him with his men to reach Builth without molestation but here again his hopes were to be disappointed, and, finding the English had crossed the river at a place called Cahan Twm Bach, and were approaching, he left Builth and sot forth on his return towards North Wales. Crossing the River Ithan at a spot where it forms the boundary of the parish of Llanganten, by a bridge called Pont-y-Coed. the position of which presented features favourable to its defence, he halted his little band (probably in the hope of still oommuaicating with his adherents), and posted them on the higher ground on the north bank of the river. After the arrival of the English and some fruitless attempts on their part to force the passage of the bridge, the Prince, it would appear, believing the river in its swollen state unfordable, with- drew from his followers to a small dell, whence lie could observe the operations of his enemy on the opposite bank. But this precaution was taken too late, for while thus occupied his few followers were attacked in their roar. and defeated by a party detached from the uiain body of the English, who lid succeeded in fording the •Vits struck down by an Kn^liMi s>dier of Uncertain 1'"id succeeded in fording the river; and Llewelyn narif-d Adam de Francton, who then hurried I away to join the pursuit of the flying Welshmen, out shortly leturned in search of plunder. In his elation at the discovery of his victim's rank he struck off his head and sent it to the English monarch, whose treatment of this relic of a fallen foe is not the smallest of the blots on the escutcheon of a brave man and a wise I king. The remains of the brave Prince wero intetred a short ctistance from the spot where ha fell, and though efforts were made even by his enemies to obtain for them more honourable ,;en sepulture the dust of the hapless patriot still is- poses in the same spot called to this day Cefn-y» Bedd or Cefn Bedd Llewelyn. Iu the approaching restoration of the church of the parish in which he fell it is thought that soma suitable monument should be erected to perpetuate the memory of this gallant Welshman, and it is hoped and believed that, should nn appeal be made to the Principality for aid in this work, vVelshroen will not permit so fair an opportunity to pass unimproved to do honour to the memory of a patriot who fought, and died in defence of his country's freedom, and the i-einei-ibrqnce of whose virtues bequeathed from father to son is, after the lapse of six centuries, still enshrined in the hearts of his countrymen.
V BARDD CYMREIG. YR AWDL AB 11 WYN, GAN CARKKLIAK YN NGHYDAG ADOLYGIAD AR YR UNRHYW, GAN DYFEDFAB. Nid oes nemawr ddosparth o lenyddiapth Cym- reig a mwy o eisieu ei wilio, ei olrliain, a'i brofi, nag eiddo y rhai hyny a elwir, nou a gymerant arnynt y swyddi pwysig o feirniadu ac adolygu cynyrchion meddyliol. Y mae yr anghenrheid- rwydd o hyn yn dyfod i'r golwg yn y man cyntaf, yn y pervgl sydd i lenvddiaeth i syrthio i ddiryw- iad; yn herwydd y dyfernir yn fynych yr hyn sydd wael fel yn wych, a'r hyn sydd wych fel yn wael; ac y mae hyn yn codi fynychaf oddiar y ffaith fod y beirniad neu yr adolygydd yn amddi- fad o'r cymhwysderau gofynol i'r perwyl. Y mae wedi myned yn lath o reol neu arferiad disynwyr yn mhlith pwyllgorau Kisteddfodol y blvnyddoedd diweddaf hyn, i osrod bardd a enillo gadair yn yr Eisteddfod hon i fod yn feirniaid yn yr Eisteddfod nesaf; fel pe byddai enill cadair yn ddigon o brawf fod y dyn yn meddu ar gymhwysderau di- I gonol at waith mor bwysig. Gall bardd o'r ail, ac hyd yn oed, o'r trydydd dosparth enill cadair weithiau o dan ryw aingylehiadau ffafriol, neu Syd-gyfarfyddiad amgylchiadau ffafriol, megyn ar deetyn na ofyno ond vchydig o egni meddwl: testyn ag a fyddo yn fanteisiol iddo ef i cidadblvgu ei arddull ivillduol ei hun—y chwareus, vr ysgafn, y ddifyrus, neu y ffraethbert, yn nghyda chydweithrediad galluoedd a thueddiadau beirn. iad cydnaws. Gosoder y plu ysgafn hyn i gyfan- soddi yn farddonol neu ryddieithol ar destynau athrawiaethol, gwyddonol, athronyddol, neu gre- bwyilig, neu unrhyw destyn a ofyno wir egni a gwreiddioldeb meddwl; a choir cyn hir brofion o noetlini a diffrwythder eu hathrylith. Ai tybed fod y gadair a enillwyd, neu yr eisteddwyd ynddi gan y bardd, yn medru cvflawna gwvrth ? Os gwrengyn diaddysg, crebach ei wybodaeth- efel- I ychol ei athrylitb, a garw ei foes, fydd y bardd cyn enill y gadair, yrunpeth yn gymhw) a fydd ar ol ei henill; Did yw y gadair yn estyn iddo y cymhwysderau beirniadol lleiaf. Dylai pob beirniad, cyn ymgymeryd a'i swpl,\ fod wedi profi i'r byd yn flaenorol drwy nerth ei ysgrifbin neu ei dafod, ei fod yn ddyn o wybod- aeth eang a chyffredinol o addysg, yr hon, os nid clasurol ac uwchraddol; a ddylai fod, o'r hyn lleiaf, yn un elfenol neu ganolraddol, a dylai fod yn un ag a fyddai wedi enill ymddiried a cliymerad- wyaeth IIenorion drwy ei hir-ymarferiad a'r gwaith dylai fod wedi rhoddi prawf o'i graffder a'i dreiddgarweh dirnadol, ac o'i ailuoedd analy- tical ac o'i gynefindra a'i feistroiaeth a'r gwa- lianol ai-dduilion o gyfansoddi-dylai fod yn feisti ar yr athrawiaethol, y wyddonol, yr athronyddol; yn gystal ag alr delynegol, &c., a liyny yn gyplys- edig ac addysgr gymesai, ac a gwybodaeth gyffred- inol; cyn, rhag cywilydd, ymgymeryd a'r swydd o feirniadu, yr hon y mae cynifer o deithi neu elfenau yn ofynol i wneuthur i fynu y cymhwy.> der i'w ciiy flawnu. Y maegenym y fath feirniaid ac adolygwyr a hyn, os cant ambell fcddylddrych t.arawiadol yma ac acw drwy y cyfansoddiad, 7n nghyda chynghanedd weddol o gywrain a newydd, dyma bobpeth ag sydd yn eisieu arnynt hwy i wneyd cyfansoddiad o'r fath teilvngaf a rhagor- olaf! Dyma y fath stwff yw ein beirdd a'n beir- niaid a ddynodir wrth yr enw gwaed newydd" —dir helpo'r gwaed hwn, y mae mwy na'i. haner yn gynwysedig o ddwfr o'r fath mwyaf teceu I Er mwyn Ilenyddiaetli ein gwlad, gadewch i ni gael meddplim/r yn feirdd ac yn feirniaid,-yr Hen Waed "—y gwaed hwnw a redai drwy wyth., ienau awenyddol ein GWLUter echain, Ieuar. Glan Geirionydd, Nicander, Eten Fardd, Caled- fryn, Cynddelw, Islwyn, a thrwy wythienau rtimi ag sydd yn fyw heddyw, megys Hiraethog, Gwalchmai, Hwfa Mon, Llawdden, Glanffrwd, Clwydfardd, Pedr Mostyn, Gwrgant, &c. Cyd- mliarer rhai o feirniaid Eisteddfod ddyfodol Cter- dydd a'r rhan fwyaf o feirniaid y Nadolig diweddaf yn y deheudir, a dyna lie bydd contrast! Pan ddelo y gwaed newydd bendigedig hwn y sonir gormod am dano gan rhai ynfydion, i gy- meryd y deyrnwialen feirniadol yn ei law, bydd pen ar farddoniaeth Gymreig; a. yn gyfryw ag na wna un dyn call ac ystyriol ei darllen. Carein weled ein hiaith wedi marw a'i chladdu cyn y delo y rhai hyn fyth i'w arfer fel trosglwyddydd eu sylwadau beirniadol; y gwir ag ef yw hyn, nid oes cyniaint ag un beirniad nac adolygydd teil- wng yn eu plith. Awn bellach at yr adolygiad ar awdl Carnelian gan Dyfedfab. Nid ydym am wneuthur y niwaid Ileiaf i werthiant Awdl Carn; md dyna yw ein liamcan, eithr yn unig ddangos fod Carn yn methu yn yr hyn y cyhuddem ef o'i blegyd yn ein beirniadaeth yn Ninbych ae er mwyn dangos nad yw efe na'i adoluj<ydd yn ddim duwinyddion, y mae yr adolygydd yn un ag sydd yn cymeryd ai-no fod yn un o athrawon y genedl, yn arwein- ydd y meddwl crefyddol; gwyddis fod ei droed ddilychwin wedi dechrou sangu grisiau y pwlpud, ac oddiyno yn beiddio ein hyfforddi yn athraw- laethau y grefydd Gristionogol. Wei, dysgwyl- iasid fod person o'r fath yn weddol o hyddysg yn ei wyddor ei hun, gan nad beth am wyddorion eraill; ond, mewn gwirionedd, nid felly y mae pethau yn bod. Y mae wedi dyfynu llinellau o awdl Carn fel enghreifftiau o'i rhagoroldeb, heb ddeall yn y byd fod y linellau hyny yn cynwys duwinyddiaoth, neu syniadau mwyaf gwallus o'r fath am y Perffeithderau Dwyfol. Yr vdym yn synu fod Dyfedfab mor anhyddysg yn ngwyddor briodol ei hun, set mewn duwinyddiaeth blaen a syinl; beth rhaid fod ei anwybodaeth mewn gwyddorion eraill ? Er mwyn pob gweddeidd-dra a chydwybodolrwydd, ceisied ymberffeithio ych- ydig erbyn y delo cyfansoddiadnu Eisteddfod Genedlaethol Caerdydd i'w ddwylaw. Rhed y llinellau gwallus yn y dyfyniad o awdl Cam fel hyn:— Mor rfii/fetla i fy i)ihrofiad-fod un kydcl Yii haeddu'm ecrydU yn ohwyddo'm caried." Mae y gynghacedd yn un gref, a'r syniad yn un prydferth a tharawiadol, ondy mae y dduwinydd- iaeth yn wallus. Cotier mai y person cyntaf yn y Duwdod, neu yn yr Hanfod Ddwvfol, sef Duw y Tad, sydd yn llefaru; ond y mae yn llefaru yn debycacli i ddyn nag i Dduw o lawer. Beth ynte y mae Duw yn duweyd am dano ei hun ? Y mae yn dweyd ei fod yn rhyfeddu at ei Irofiad. "i n awr, y mae hyn yn beth aninhosibl yn nglyn a natur nou hanfod berffaith; nid oes yr un profiail yu perthyn i Dduw, yr hwn sydd Fod hollalluog, Koll- wybodol, a holi-bresenol: profuid sydd icybodutth a gyrhaeddir drwy sylto a.cymuirjeriad ac i ddyn yn unig y perthyn hyny. Y mae Duw yn gwybod pob peth—yn gwybod y diwedd o'r dechreu, gan hyny, nis gall fod anghen am syliv nac ymarfer arno er rnwyo gwybod dim oil, a chan na raid iddo wrth yr elfenau neu yr achosion hyny sydd yn cynyrchu yr effaith a olwír profud," y mae yn rhaid hefyd nad oes y fath wybodftfth a "phroliad" yn perthyn i'w natur. Dywrd yr awdwr hefyd fod Duw yn l'hyfeddtt at pi btvjfiti- "Mor rhyfedd i fy mhrofiad," ond dylami yr awdwr Wj bod nad oes dim yn rhyfedd" i Dkw; i ddyn y mae pethau yn rhyfedd, am had yw yn gallu rnagweled na rhagwybod. Nid oes dim yn rhyfedd" i Dduw, am ei fod yn gwyhod pob peth ac yn deall y dirgehon oil; Duw a wnaeth yt oil, sydd yn deall yr oil. ac yn gwybod yr oil, gnn hyny, nid oes lie nac achos yn ei natur of i'r effnilii a elwir rhyfeddod. Rhyfeddu svdd weitkred, a rhv feddod sydd effaith, yn codi oddiar ainlierffeitii- rwydd gwybodaeth dyn: ej anghynefindra n'r gwrthddrych, a'i annealllwriaeth o ddirgelion y petll, yw yr achos o bob rhyfeddod a chan nad yw y diffygion hyn yn perthyn i natur Duw, am ei bod yn un berffaith, nas glill efe fodyn rhyfeddu o blegid dim, canys lie ni byddo achosion yn bodoli nis gall effeithiau fodoli ychwaith. Pan y byddom yn siarad am DdllW, dylem wneuthur hyny gydag ystyriaeth ddyladwy o fawredd ei hanfod a pherffoithrwydd ei natur; ac nid siarad am dano fel pe byddai ddyn ffaeledig. Dylem gyfaddasu ein syniadau a'n hymadroddion fel ag gyfateb i neillduolrwydd y cymeriadau y byddom yn ymwneyd a hwy. G wel Milton yn ei Gull Gwynfa."