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I SIR TOM. |
I SIR TOM. | By rtIRS. OLIPHANT. AUthor of" The Chronicles of Carlingford," The latest Heiross in England," "He that Will liot when He May," &c., &c. CHAPTER XVIL FOREWAKNKD. .t\1CY u; j nuL seu her visitors till the hour of ,ner, She had expected them to appear in the j, rn°°n at the mystic tmie of tea which calls an "glish household together, but, when it. was re- lented to her that afternoon tea was not the institution in Italy, her surprise d; and, though her expectations were still Warmly excitod by this delay, she bore it becoming patience. There was no doubt, owever, that the arrival had mado a great com- otion in the'house; and Lucy perceived, without the least understanding it, a. peculiarity in the ks which various of the people round her cast ^°n herself during the course of the day. Her maid was one of those people, and Mrs.Fresh- ater. the housekeeper, who explained in a. semi- ^Pologetic tone all the preparations she had made the comfort of the guests, was another. And, Ilhrn8, though he was always so dignified, kept, LUcy could not help feeling, an eye upon her. He Was almost compassionately attentive to his young ^stress. There was a certain pathos in the way In whid, he handed her the potatoes at luúch. He Reused a little more claret upon her with fatherly 4nxiety, and an air that seemed to say, "It will do Lucy was conscious of all this addi- ||0'>al attention without realising the causs of it. ut it found it s culmination iu Lady Randolph, in j*hona a slightly injured and aggrieved air towards 1 Tom was made u.ore apparent by the extreme erness of her aspect to Lucy, for whom she could not do too much. "Williams is quite right In giving you B little moro wine. You take nothing," she said," and I am sure you want sup- ?01'" your long drive, too, my dear; and w cold it has been this morning!" "y ° ratb e\ It Was cold; but wo did not mind, we for 'ed Jock and I. Poor Madame di ti-Popul°; she must have felt it travelling all y ^ravo, Lucy, tliat is right! You have tackled j'r,aweat last, and got tiirough wilh it boauti- J'»" said Sir Tom with a laugh. was p'!>as?d to bo praised. X hopo I an't forget. she said, "it is so long; and oh, [ h0,>1' I do hopo she can talk English, tor you know y French —* f "I should think she could talk English! said v*ay Randolph, with a little scorn. And what was a?ry extraordinary w;>.s that Williams showed a but suppressed consciousness, putting his P*-tight a,« if to keep in what, he knew about the f0*Her- And I don't think you noed be so sorry R, l^dy, Lucy," said tiie dowager. I know s e didn't mean to travel by night. It arose from •He mistake or other in Tom's letter, liut she v, n°t mind that, you may be sure, now that she iU; rrlade out het, point." Ð; Whnt. point i"' said Sir Tom, with some heat. t Lady Randolph mads no reply, and he did not is 68S ^'ie <?uest'on- They were both owaro that if ^•time. better to hold one's tongue. And the Nous thing to all those well-in formed persons *S t'»t Lucy took no notice of all their hintsand She was in the greatest spirits, not IlI1 J: Interøted about her unknown visitors and l¡i XIOUS to secure their comfort, but in reality j I6 gay than she had been for some time past. ta< this arrival was a god-send to Lucy. The bP *'a(^ disappeared entirely from her husband's v-° *'• Instead of making any inquiries. about her s^t to Farafield, or resuming the agitating dis- rf'f8'011 vv'l'c'1 t'^d ended in what was really a ,1 on her part to do what he wished, he was 1 °f a desire to conciliate and please her. The f. '^r which had brorght so stern a look to his and occasioned her an anxiety and pain far t ,reo severe than anythmg that had occurred be- in her married life, seemed to have dropped of his mind altogether. Instead of that oppo- [O disapproval, mingled with an angry r 18PlClon which had buen in his mannerand looks, sh Was now on t'le vatch to propitiate Lucy; to o\v a gratitude for which she knew no reason, n<l a pride in her which was still less compre- ensible. What did it all mean—the compassion "'J one side, the satisfaction on the other? But Lucy scarcely asked herself the question. Ia her tehf at having no new discussion with her hus- band, and at his apparent forgetfulness of all dis- pleasure and of any question between them. her heart rose with all the glee of a child's. It seemed to her she had surmounted the difficulties of her Position by an intervention which was provi- dential. It even occurred to her innocent mind to make reflections as to the advantage of doing what ■Was right in the face of all difficulties. God, she Raid to herwH*, evidently protecting her. It' was known in Heaven whntan effort i t had cost her to do her duty, to fulfil htr father's will; and now venly succour was coming, and the dIfficulties j^ere di-Mppenring out of her way. Lucj- would ftove been ready in any case, with the most unbesi- j h hng readiness, to receive and do any kindness to 101' husband's friend. No idea of joalousy had l'I1e across her unsuspicious soul. She had taken as a matter of course that this unknown lady lr,uld have the best that the Hall could offer her, *:nd that, her old allinnce with Sir Tom should hrow open his doors and his wife's heart. Perhaps wag because Lucy's warm and simple-minded ^•"chment to her husband had little in it of the naracler of passion that.it was thus entirely with- ut IIny impulse of jealousy. And what was so atui>ii in common cireutnsfances bocapie still so in tiie exhilaration and rebound of her ROUBLED heart. Sir Tom was PO kind to her in ^parting from hie opposition, in letting her have et" WHY without a word. It #as certain that Lucy ^ould not have relinquished her duty for any oppo- P°8>tinn he would have made; but with what a bleed- heart, she would have done it,, and how hateful have been the nrcossity which separated her r°m his good-will and assistance! Now die felt that terrible danger was over. Probably he would ■^teven ask her what sli8 had been about. He ould not give it his approval, which would have Pen most sweet of all; but if he did not inter- p,-e( if |)0 permitted it to be done without opposi- 'on, without even demanding of his wife Rn -cc.ount of her action, how much that, would be; j^d how cordially, with what a genuine impulse tltQ heart, would she set herself to carry out his IRhe8-he who had been so generous, so kind to cr I This was how it was that her gaiety, the eUse and happiness of her look, startled them all rnuch. That she should have been amiable to lno new comers was comprehensible. She was so j^iable by nature, and so ignorant and unsus- Pjcioug; but that their coming should give her Pleasure, this was the thing that confounded the In such circumstances they could not jjnderstond how every other subject should not pavo given way to the master emotion—nay, that Jnstinct should not have informed Lucy that here elements coming together that would be QIturbing to her peace. Even Sir Tom felt this. JW-h a deepened tenderness for his pure-minded h'tle wife, and pride in her unconsciousness. Was ere another woman in England who would have uoon. so entirely gonerous, so unaware even of the Possibility of evil? He admired her for it, and ^[onderud; if it. was a liHlo silly (which he had a of undisclosed suspicion that it was), yet what a heavenly silliness! There was nobody else who J*[ould have been so magnanimous, so confident in 18 perfect honour and truth. The only other element that could have added to Lucy's satisfaction was alo present. Little Tom Jvas better than usual. Notwithstanding the cold, he had been able to go out, and was all the brighter for it, not chilled and-coughing as he sometimes ":1\8. His mother had found him careering about Ins nursery in wild glce,and flinging his toy!; aonut In perfectly boyish, almost mannish, altogether Wtckefi. indifference to the danger of destroying them. It was this that, brought her downstairs t'ndilmt to the luncheon table, where Lady Ran- rOlph and Williams were so anxious to be good to Lucy was quite astonished by that solicitude hich she felt tube so unnecessary. She was dia- POed to laugh at the care they took of her, feeling So her own mind more triumphant, more happy, and fortunate than she had ever been before. As for Joek, he took no notico at all of tho inci- dent of the dav. He perceived wilhsatisfaetion- a Point on w hich.for < he mr-menl, he was unusually °hservant—that Sir Tom showed no intention uf Questioning them as to their morning's expedition ?r opposing Lucy. This being the case, what jt to the boy who went or came ? A couple of •adies were quite indifferent, to him. Ho did not expect anything or fear anything. A couple of would have interested him much more. The c9nvers.ition about this floated over his head. He did not take the trouble to pay any at.tention to it. ■As for Williams's significant looks or Lady Ran- dolph's anxieties, Jock was totally unconscious of their existence. He did n^.t pay any attention, "ben the party was not interesting he had plenty other thoughts to retire into, and the coining of &ew people, except in so far as it might be a bore did not affect him at all. Lucy went out dutifully for a drive with Lady "andolph after luncheon. It was still very bright though it was cold, and, after a little demur as to Jhe propriety ot' going out when it was possible *"ii' guests might come downstairs, Lucy took her Place beside the fur-enveloped dowager with her ^9* water footstool and mountain of wrappings. Ti'ey talked about ordinary matters for a little, ahout the landscape and the improvements, and ahout little Tom, whose improvement was the most important of all. Hut it was not possible to f^ntinue long upon indifferent matters in face of ^•'e remarkable event which had disturbed the la'uily calm. hope," said Lucy, "that Madame di Formo- f opulo (she was very careful about all the sylla- bles) may not be more active than you think and corne down while we are away." 0h, there is not the least fear," said Lady Ran- olph, somewhat scornfully. She was always a handle-light beauty. She is not very fond of the eye of day." She is a beauty, then ?" said Lucy. I am very fflad. There are so few. You know I have always .>Pn—-rather disappointed. There are so «iany prettv people, but to bo beautiful is quite different." That is because you are so unsophisticated, J'r1:V dear. You don't understand that beauties in s >fiety mean a fashion, and not much more. I have lIeelt a quantity of beauties in my d ;y. How they caine to be so. nobodv knew. but there they were, £ ud we all bowed down to them. This woman, however, was very pretty, there was no doubt about it," said Lady Randolph, with ungracious candour. I don't know what she may be now. She was beautiful enough to turn any man's head when she was 5roung—or even a woman's—who ought, to have known better." Do you think, then, Aunt Randolph, that women don't admire pretty people ?" It is be feared that. Lucy asked for the sake of making conversation, which it is sometimes necessary to do. I think that men and women see differently— as they always do," said Lady Randolph. She was rather fond of discriminating between the ideas of the sexes, as many ladies of reasonable Ago are. There is a gentleman's beauty, you know, and there is a kind of beauty that women love. I could point out the difference to you if the specimens were before us, but it is a little diffi- cult to describe. I rather think we admire expres- sion, you know. What men caro for is the flesh and blood. We like people that are good—that is to say, who have the air of b iing good, for the reality doesn't by any moans follow. Perhaps, I am taking too much credit to ourselves," said tho old lady, "but that is the best distinction I can hit upon. We like the interesting kind—the pen- sive kind—what was the fashion when I was young. Your great, fat, golden-haired, red and white women are gentlemen's beauties. They don't commend themselves to us." And is Madame di Formo-Populo," said Lucy, in her usual elaborate way. "of that kind?" "01\. my dear, she is just a witch," Lady Ran- dolph said. hIt does not matter who it is. she can bring them to her feet if she pleases!" Then she seemed to think she had gone too far, and stopped herself. I mean when she was young. She is young no longer, and L dare say all that has coino to an end." It must be and to grow old when one is like that," said Lucy, with a look of sympathetic regret. Oh, you are a great doal too charitable. Lucv," said the old lady, and then she stopped short, put- ting a sudden restraint upon herself, as if it were possible that she might h ive said too much. Then after a while she resumed, "As you are in such a heavenly frame of mind, mv dear, and disposed to think so of her, there is just one word of advice I will give you Don't allow yourself to get intimate with this lady. She is quite out. of your way. If she liked, she could turn you round her little finger. Hut it is to bo hoped she will not Jilee; and, in any case, you must remember that I have warned you. let her, my dear, make a calspaw of you." to A cats paw of me!" Lucv was amused by these words—not offended, as so many might have heen-r-bocau- e she felt herself little likely to be so dominated; a fact that the much older and more experienced woman by her side was quite unaware of. *• Buto" she said, "Tom would not have invited her. Aunt Randolph, if he had thought her likely to do that—-indeed, how could he have been such great friends with her if she I had not bntn nice as well as pretty? You forget there must always be that in her t'av.mr to nits." Oh, Tom cried Lady Randolph, with indig- nation. My dear Lucv," she added, after a pause, with subdued exasperation, men are just tho most unaccountable creatures! Knowing him as do, I should havu thought she was the very last person— Hut how can we tell I dare say the idea amueed him-Tom will do anything that amuses him—or tickled his vanity, or something- of that sort. I confess it is as you say, very, very difficult to account for it. But he has done it. He wants to show off a little to he", I suppose; n~ •. elso he There is realiy no telling, Lycy. It is the last thing in tho world I could have supposed him likely to do; and you may be quite sure, my dear." she added with emphasis, "she never would have been invited at all if he had thought I would have been here whon she came." Lucy did not make any answer for some time. Her face, which had kept its gaiety and radiance, grewgrive. and, when they had driven back to- wards the Hall for about ten minutes in silence, she said quietly, You do not mean it, I am sure; but do you know, Aunt Randolph, you aro trying to make me think very badly of my husband; and no one has ever done that before." Oh, your husband is just like other people's husbands, Lucy," cried the elder hdy, impatiently. Then, however, she subdued herself, with an anxious look at her companion. "My dear, you know how fond I am of Tom, and I know he is fond of you; he would not do anything to harm you for the world. I suppose it is because ho has such a prodigious confidence in you that, he thinks it does not matter. And I don't suppose it does matter. The only thing is, don't be over-intimate with her, Lucy; don't let her fix upon you when you go to town, and talk about young Ladv Randolph as her dearest friend. She is quite capable of doing it. And as for Tom— well, he is just a man when all is said." Lucy did not ask any more questions. That she wnsgreatly perplexed there is no doubt, and her first fervour of affectionate interest in Tom's friend was slightly damped, or &t least changed. But she wa.s more curious than ever; and there was in her mind the natural opposition of youth to 1110 warnings addressed to her. Lucy knew very well that she herself was not one to be twisted round anybody's little finger. She was not afraid of being subjugnted; and she had a prejudice in favour of her husband which neither Lady Ran- dolph nor any other witness could impair. The drive homo was more silent than the outset. Natu- rally, the cold increased as the afternoon went en, and the dowager shrunk into her furs, and declared that, she was too much chilled to talk. Oh, how pleasant a cup of tea will be," she said. Lucy longed for her part to get down from the carriage anu walk home quickly through tho vil- Lucy longed for her part to get down from the carriage and walk home quickly through tho vil- lage, to see all the cottage tires burning, anu quicken the blood in her veins, which is a better way than fur for keeping one's-selt warm. When they got fn, it was exciting to think that pnrhaps tho stranger would come down to her, though that, as has b*en already said, was a hope in which Lucy they got fn, it was exciting to think that pnrhaps the stranger would come down to her, though that. as has b*en alre:1.dy said, was a hope in which Lucy was disappointed. Everything was prepared for her appearance, however; a special chair near the fire, shaded by a little screen, and with a little table placed closo to it to hold the cup of tea. The room was all in a ruddy blaze of firelight, the atmosphere delightful after the cold air outside, and all the party a little quiet, thinking that every sound that was heard must be the stranger. "She must have been very tired," Lucy said sym- pathetically. "I daresay,"said Lady Randolph, "she thinks a. dinner dress will make a better effect." Lucy looked towards her husband almost with indignation, with eyes that asked why he did not defend his friend. Hut to be sure Sir Tom could not judge of their expression in the firelight, and instead of defending her he only laughed. One ganeral understands another's tacticu," he said. I
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE VISITORS. Sir Tom paid his wife a visit when she was in I tho midst of her toilette for dinner. He came in, and looked at her dress with an air of dissatisfac- tion. It was a white dress, of a kind which suited Lucy very well, and which sho was in the habit I of wearing for small home parties, at which full dress was unnecessary. He looked at her from head to foot, and gave a little pull to her I skirt, with a doubtful air, It doosn't sit, does it,' he said, "can't you pin it, or something, to make it come better." This, it need not be said, was a I foolish piece of ignorance on Sir Tom's part, and as Miss Fletcher, Lucy's maid, thought "just like a man." Fletcher was not for the moment well- disposed towards Sir Tom. She said Oh, no, Sir Thomas; my lady don't hold with pins. Some ladies may that are all for effect-but my lady, that is not her way." Sir Tom felt that these words inclosed a dart as sharp as any pin, and directed at himself, but he took no notice. He walked round his wife, eyeing heron every side, and then he gave a little pull to her hair as he had done to her dress. After all," he said, it is some time since you left school, Lucy. Why this sim- plicity ? I want, you to look your best to-night." But, dear Tom," said Lucy, "you always say that [ am not to be over-dressed." "I don't want you to be under-dressed; there is plenty of time. Don't you think you might do a little more in the way of toilette? Put on some lives or something. Fletcher will know. Look here, Pletcher, I want Lady Randolph to look very well to-night* Don't you think this get-up would stand improvement? I daresay you could doit with ribbons or something. We must not have her look like my grandchild you know." So that Fletcher, somewhat mollified, and mur- muring that. Sir Thomas was a gentleman that would always have his joke, answered boldly that thai was not how she would have dressed her lady had she had the doing of it. Sut I know my place," Fietchor said, though to see my lady like this always goes against lUG, Sir Thomas; and especially witii foreigners in the house that are always dressed up to the nines and don't think of nothing else. But if Lady Randolph would wear her blue it could ail bo done in five minutes and look far nicer and more like the lady of the house." This tranter was finally made, for Lucy had no small obstinacies and was proud to please her husband. The "blue" was of the lightest tint of shimmering silk, and gave a little background of colour, upon which Lucy's fairness and whiteness stood out. Sir Thomas always took au interest in I his wife's dress but it was seldom he occupied himself so much about it. It was he who went to the conservatory to get a flower for her hair. He took her downstairs upon his arm "as if they were out visiting," Lucy said, instead of at homo in their own house. She was amused at all this form and ceremony, and came down to the little drILw- ing-room with a little flush of pleasure and merri- ment about her, quite different from the demure little Lady Randolph, half frightened and very seiious, with the weight on her mind of a strange language to be spoken, who, but for Sir Tom's intervention, would have been standing by the tire waiting for her visitor. The dowager was downstairs before her. looking grave enough, and Jock, slim and dark, supporting a corner of the mantelpiece, like a young Caryatides in black. Lucy's brightness, her pretty shiminor of blue, the flower in her hair, relieved these depressing influences. She stood in the firelight with the ruddy irregular glare playing on her, a pretty youthful figure, an'd her husband's assiduities, and the entire cessation of any apparent consciousness on his part thnt any question had ever arisen between them, made Lucy's heart light in her breast. She forgot even the possibility of having to talk French in the ease ot her mind. And before she had time to remember her former alarm there came gliding through the subdued light of the greater drawing-room two figures. Sir Tom stepped forward to meet the stranger, who gave him her hand as if she a whim for the first time, and Lucy advanced with a little tremor. Here was the Contes&a—the Formo- Populo—the foreign great lady and great beauty nt last. She was tall—almost, as tall as Sir Tom—and had the majestic grace which height sometimes gives. She was dressed in dark velvet, which fell in long I olds-to her feet, and hor hair, which seemed very abundant, was much dressed with puffa and curlings and fmzings, which filled Lucy with wonder, but supplied a delicate* frame-work for the beautiful, clear, high features, and wonderful tint of her complexion—a sort of warm ivory, which made all brighter colours look excessive. Her eyes were large and blue, with long but not very dark eyelashes. Her throat was like a slender column issuing out of a close circle of feathery lace. Lucy, who had a great deal of natural taste, felt on the moment a thrill of shame on account of her blue gown, and an almost disgust of Lady Randolph's old-faslnoned opennes.1 about the shoulders. The stranger was one of those women I whose dross always impresses other women with such a sense of fitness tliat every other fashion looks vulgar or insipid beside her. She gave Sir Tom her left hand in passing, and then she turned with both extended to Lucy. "So this is the little wife," she said. She did not pause for the modest little word of welcome which Lucy had prepared. She drew her into tho light, a.nd gazed at her with benignant but dauntless inspection, taking in, Lucy felt sure, every particular of her appearance —the something too much of the blue gown, the deficiency of dignity, the insignificance of the smooth fair locks, and open if somewhat anxious countenance. "Bel enfant," said the Contessa, your husband and I are such old friends that 1 cannot meet you as a stranger. You must let me kiss you, and accept me as one of yours too." The salutation that followed made Lucy's heart jump with mingled pleasure and distaste. She was swallowed up altogether in that embrace. When it was over, the lady turned froin her to Sir Tom without another word. "I congratulate you, men ami, Candour itself, and sweetness, and every English quality"—upou which she proceeded to seat herself in the chair which Lucy had set for her in the afternoon with the screen and the foot- stool. How thoughtful some one has been for my comfort," she said, sinking into it, and dis tributing a gracious smile all round. There was something in the way in which she took the central place in the scene, and made all the others look like surroundings, which bewildered Lucy, who did nothing but gaze, forgetting everything she moant to say, and even that it was she who was the mistress "of the house. You do not see my aunt, Contessa," said Sir Tom, "and yet I think you ought to know each other." Your aunt," said the Contessa, looking round, "that dear Lady Randolph who is now dowager. Chere dame she added, half rising, holding out again both hands. Lady Randolph the elder knew the world better than Lucy. She remained in the background into which the Contessa was locking with eyes which slve called shortsighted. How do you do. Madame Formo-Populo!" she said. "It is a long lime since we met. We have both grown older since that period. I hopo you have recovered from your fatigue." The Contessa sank back again into her chair. Ah, both, yes!" she said, with an eloquent move- ment of her hands. At this Sir Tom gave vent to a faint chuckle, as if he could not contain himself any longer. The passage of time is a myth," he said; it is a fable; it gutis the other way. To look at you—" said the Contessa, with a soft, little laugh, spreading out her beautiful hands. Lucy hoped that Lady Randolph, who had kept behind, did not hear this last monosyllable, but she was angry with her husband for laughing, for abandoning his aunt's side, upon which she, ast,mished, ranged hersolf without delay. Hut what was still more surprising to Lucy, with her old-fashioned politeness, to see the second stranger who had followed the Contessa into the ruom, but who had not been introduced or noticed. She had the air of being very young—a dependent probably, and looking for no attention—and with a little curtesy to the com- pany withdrew to the other bide of the table on which the lamp was standing. Lucy had only time to see that she was very young and very plainly dressed; but, save by the momentary reve- lation of her cNtnlenllnce IWlùe by the hmp aa she passed it, the young lady gave not the smallest sign of existence, nor did any one notice her. And it was only whell the summons came to dinner, and when Lucy called forth the bashful Jock to offer his awkward arm to Lady Randolph, that tho unannounced and unconsidered guest came fully into sight. There are no more gentlemen, and I think we must go in together," Lucy said. It is a great honour for me," said the girl. She had a very slight foreign accent, but she was not in the least shy. She came forward at once with the utmost composure. Though she was a stranger and a dependent without a name, she was a great deal more at her ease than Lucy was, who was the mistress of everything. Lucy for her part was considerably embarrassed. She looked at the girl, who smiled at her, not without a little air of encouragement and almost patronage in return. 1 have not heard your name," Lucy at List pre- vailed upon herself to say, as they went through the long drawing-room together. It is very stupid, but I was occupied with Madame di Formo- Populo You could not hear it. for it was never men- tioned," said the girL The Contessa does not think it worth while. I am at present, in the cocoon. If I am pretty enough when I am quite grown up, then she will tell my name— Pretty enough ? Hut what does that matter? One does not talk of such things," said the decorous little matron, startled and alarmed. Oh, it means everything to me," said the anonymous. "It is doubtful what I shall be. If I am only a little pretty I shall bo sent home; but if it should happen to me—ah! no such luck!—to be beautiful, then the Contessa will introduce me, and everybody says I may go far—farther, indeed, than she lias ever herself done. Where am I to sit ? Beside you ?" Here, please," said Lucy, almost trembling, confounded by this new actor on the sceno who spoke so frankly. She was dressed in a little black frock up to her throat, her hair in great shining bands coiled round her head, but not an ornament of any kind about her. A little charity girl could not have been dressed more plainly. But she showed no consciousness of this, nor indeed of any- thing that was embarrassing. She looked round the table with a free and fearless look. There was I not about her any appearance of timidity, even in respect to the Contessa. She included that lady in her inspcctiou as well as tho others, (Ind even made a mo.military pause before she sat down to make her survey. Lucy, who had on ordinary occasions a great, deal of gentle composure, and had sat with a Cabinet Minister by her side without feeling afraid, was more disconcerted than it would be easy to say by this young creature, of whom she did not know the nauio. It was so small a party that a separate little conversation with he: neigh- bour was scarcely practicable, but the Contessa was talking to Sir Torn with the confidential air of one who has a great deal to sav, and Lady HIt"- dolph on his other side was keeping a stern silence so that Lucy was glad to make a little attempt at her end. "You must have had a very fatiguing journey ?" sho said. Travelling by night, whon you are not used to it But we are quite used to it," said the girl. It is our usual way. By land that is so much easier, and even a sea one goes to bed, and one ia at the other sidy before one knows." Then you are a good Railor, I suppose-" Tas wal," Mid the young lady. She bpgan to look at Jock, and to turn round from time to time to the elder Lady Randolph, who sat on the other side of her. "They are not dumb, are they?" she asked. Not oiice have I heard them speak. That is very English, so like what one rOILds about." You speak English very well, mademoiselle," said the dowager, suddenly. The girl turnad round and examined her with a candid surprise. I am so glad you do," she said calmly; a little nwt which brougiit tho colour to Lady"Randoiph's cheeks. I A pupil of the Contessa naturally know3 a good many languages," she said, nnd would be little at. a loss wherever she went. You have coine last from Florence, or Rome, or perhaps some other capital. The Contessa has friends everywhere- still This last little syllable caught the Contessa's fine ear, though it, was not directed to her. She gave the dowager a very gracious smile across the table. "Still," she repeated, "everywhere! People are so kind. My invitations are so many it was with difficulty I managed to accept that of our excel- lent Tom. Hut I had made up my mind not to disappoint him, nor his dear young wife. I was not prepared for the pleasure of finding your lady- ship here." How fortunate that you were able to manage it! I have been complimenting mademoiselle on her English. She does credit to her instructor. Tell me, is this your first visit," Lady Randolph said, turning to the young lady "to England?" Even in this innocent question there was more than met the eye. The girl, however, had begun to make a remark to Lucy, and thus evaded an answer in the most easy way. I saw you come home soon after we arrived," she said. I was at my window. You came with —Monsieur She cast a glance at Jock as she spoke, with a smile in her eyes that was not without its effect. There was a little provocation in It which an older man would have known how to answer. But Jock, in the awkwardness of his youth, blushed fiery red, and turned away his which, indeed, had been dwelling upon her with an absorbed but shy attention. The boy had never seen anything at all like her before. My brother," said Lucy; and the young lady gave him a beaming and bow which made Jock's head turn round. He did not know how to reply to it, whether he ought not to get up to answer her salutation; being so uncertain and abashed and excited he did nothing at all, but gassed again with an absorption which was not un- comDlimentary. She gave him from time to time a little encouraging glance. That was wliat I thought. You drive out always at. that early hour in England, and always with—Monsieur?"' The girl laughed now, looking at him, so that, Jock longed to say something witty and clever. Oh, why was not M'Tutor here. He would have known the sort of thing to say. Oh, not, not al ways with Jock," Lucy answered, with honest matter-of-fact. He is still at school, and we have him only for the holidays. Perhaps you don't know what that means ?" The holidays; yes, I know. Monsieur, no doubt, is at one of the great schools that are no- where but in England, where they stay till they arc men." We stay," said Jock, making an almost con- vulsive effort, till we are nineteen. We like to stay itS long as we cun." "How innocent," said the girl, with a pretty, elderly look of superiority and patronage; and then she burst into a. laugh, which neither Lucy nor Jock knew how to take, and turned back again in the twinkling of an eye to Lady Randolph, who had relapsed into silence. And you drive in the afternoon," she said. I have already made my observations. And the baby in the middle, between. And Sir Tom always. He goes out and he goes in, and one sees him continually. I already know all the habits of the house." You wore not so very tired, then" after all. Why did you not come downstairs and join us in whnt. we were doing?" The young lady did not make any articulate reply, but her answer was clear enough. She cast a glance across the table to the Contessa, and laid a finger upon her own cheek. Lucy was a little mystified by this pantonine, but to Lady Randolph there was no difficulty about it. "That is easily understood," she said, when one is tur k retour. But the same precautions are not necessary with all." A smile came upon the girl's lip. I am sympa- thetic," she said. Oh, troppo! 1 feel just like those that I am with. It is sometimes a trouble, and sometimes it is an advantage." 'Hue was to Lucy liktt the utterance of an oracle, and she understood it not. Another time," ehe said kindly, "you must not only observe us from the window, but come down and share what we are doing. Jock will show you the park and the grounds, and I will take you to the village. It is quite a pretty village now, and the cottages are very nice now." The youug stranger's eyes blazed with intelli- gence. She seemed to perceive everything at a glance. I know the village," she said, it is at the park gates, and Milady takes a great deal of trouble that all is nice in tlie cottages. And there is un old woman who knows the family, and telis legends of it, and a school and a church, and many other ohjets de-piete. I know it like that." she cried, holding out the pretty pink palm of her hand. "This information is preternatural," said Lady Randolph. You are astonished, Lucy. Made- moiselle is a sorceress. I am sure that Jock thinks so. Nothing save an aHiance with something diabolical could have made her so well instructed, she who has never been in England before." "Do you ask how I know all that?" the girl said laughing. "Then I answer, novels. It is ail Herr Tauchnitz and his pretty books." "And so you really never were in England before—not even as a baby?" Lady Randolph said. The girl's gaiety had attraoted even the pair at the other end of the table, who had so much to say to each other. The Contessa and Sir Tom ox- changed a look, which Lucy remarked with a little surprise, and the great lady interfered to help her young dependent out. "How glad I am to give her that advantage, dear lady. It is the crown of the petite'$education. In England she finds the most fine manners, as well as villages full of objets-de-piefi. It is what is needful to form her," the Contessa. said. (To be continued.)
COPPEROPOLIS.
COPPEROPOLIS. THE LAST ROMANCE OF A DESERTED MlJSINu CAMP. BY KATE FOOTE, CHAPTER L Copperopolis is not usually considered a summer watering place of San Francisco, but the state of our purses made it convenient for myself and a friend to look upon it in that light about four years ago, and we went there as a change from tho city. At Stockton we took tho narrow-gauge line, and in the little car we entered were two ladies, sole passengers besides ourselves. They were evidently mother and daughter, but the ownership and cart- were shown by the daughter, who was forty-five, to speak with pitiless accuracy, but in the shadow and with the light behind her looked ten years younger. She was at the waist merely plump, but above and below that line she was fat, and not disguise it, though the perfect fit of her dress was intended to make her look as trim and slender as possible. Her clothes were rigorously made in the latest fashion, but of material which had been out of style for ten years. Her face, brunette in colouring, completed in its expression the air of thrifty ease which seemed to prevail in mind and body, and made her, all in all, a pleasant object of contemplation. The usual clatter and noise of a railway train was lessened by the fact that we were only hall the siae of an ordinary train, aud also by the three incites of brown powdered earth that lay all over the country and on the track. I could hear the mother trickle thin little questions, and the daughter babble full, foamy answers in a joyous tone that never seemed to elevate the mother's spirits at all. "Wasn't it the first of May when wo left liome ?" "Oh, yes, mother. Don't you remember how the fir-hangbird was building a nest in the una brageousness of the elm by the front doorr" The elder lady sighed, and cast a troubled glance out of the window at tho brownness and dUSl spread on either side. That wasn't more than two weeks ago; what is it now ?" "Oh, well! it's May still; it can't help being that,, you know, if we were in Siberia; but, you know, we're almost on the other side of tho earth; we've changed cars and skies since we left Fratnink'um. It doesn't look likely to rain hern very soon; but, then, nothing lives here but rab- bite and prairie dogs, and they don't drink, you know. 1 s'pose Providence put them here for thai purpose. Frogs couldn't have lived here at all." "No people and no water I" then, you see, mother, there isn't any- body here to call it lonesome. Aud there is that about frogs—I've heard you say up at Aunt Lucy's place that their croaking made it seem all the lonelier. Tu be sure, it ain't dusty where frogs live. But Schuyler Colfax says it is so very diffe- reot here in his book 4 Across tho Continent,' or did Mr. Bolles write that ? One of 'etu did, and the other was in the party. I've got the book here. I might read to you while we're travelling, and improve us." She opened her travelling bag and drew out various articles—a volume of Joaquin Miller's poems, a very large hand glass and a small comb and brush. "I don't seem to find it, but I guess it's some- where in the bedsis at tho bottom 01 the bag," and she put her hand in and rattled about :L quantity of loose things that, judging from the sound, were metallic, but, still no book appeared. "Have you left it, Phuebef" said the mother, in an alarmed tone. No; I guass it is in the little grey trunk. Any- how, I haven't left it anywhere so but that I can find tt. You know I ain't very good at losing things. I found our door-key in the pleats of mv dress, you know, that, time when you felt sure'1 had lost it. I can read the poems of Mr. Miller just as well. Byron's book on 'Childe Harold,' they say, is as good as a guide-book in Europe, and there ought to be some just like it ovor iu this country." She opened the book and began reading in an anraptured tone one of the auihor's most heavily gill; and tinselled descriptions of lovely Indian maidens on Sierras' slopes of pine, with bronzed limbs, half bare, and beaded moccasins, and war- riors dashing on fiery steeds, until the soul of her mother recoiled, and a spark of indignant common- sense shot through the somewliat doughy forma- tion of her mind. "WhiLt are we stopping for? Oh, I guess it's the place where they said we should. Well, I wasn't expecting to see the Necropolis of the Wes., *0 I ain't disappointed." We had come to the board and shanty terminus of the road, with a dozen moan-looking houses to announce the fact. We gathered up our belongings and stepped out upon the platform with tho lady and her mother, and five or six people from the other cars. The best-looking house of the dnzou was pointed out as a waiting-room for us until the carriage wo were to take was ready. One-half of the h use was a 1 nead-and-needle shop, and in t.he other half was tho parlour." A Brussels carpet covered the noor, and there were some stuffed chairs with 'acks and wriggly legs—a very exaspera- exaofng gpeoies of furniture; we had to 1 ^Ur,leU'es t0 iu "»gies and elegau- ll'8 findinS soft places for the exi- g-ncies of ? 11 11 a torn.)' Wtt were wrestling with the chairs when the youn-er of our fellow- pa.seuge.-8 came in, hurried °and anxious ovi-1 dently, but genteel. t.lently, but genteel. Ladies, can you-will you be kind enough to et my mother ride up wiLh you to Copperopolis. nereis only a dreadful swmging, rolling Lge winch will make hor scasick, and I find you have engaged the only horses and carriage in the pliice." engaged the only horses and carriage in the pliice." "Certainly, said my friend and I, both spoak- ing at once, we shall be most, happy." "Oh, thanks! so very much. I can go in the stage and meet her, and she will have no baggage— it can go up with me." Here she turned round to her mother, who had followed slowly, and took tho hand bag off her arm land put it with her own. Tho mamma fluttered I "moment at being thus deprived of her cap and spectacles, but smoothed her feathers as the daughter said in a half whisper, 1 just lold them you wouldn't have any baggage, so of course you mustn't." My friend and I, exchanging first a mutual glance uf understanding, told the lady we could take her as well as her mother, which caused her to give more thanks, and then they sat down to wait with us, finding less trouble with the chairs than we. Both of them glanced over the room and its furnishings. "I wish we had somobody to introduce us, Plioebe it's so kind of queer not to know I'll do that, mother; just you gat in and sit down comfortable." We ail packed ourselves into the carriage, with renewal of thanks from Phoebe, and, the moment we were settled, she said: Ladies, let me introduce one another. Mrs. Black, from Frauiink'um, Massachusetts;" slie pause I, and we bowed, and then she added, and 1 am Miss Black, from the same place, where I dress- make." We bowed again, and in the same spirit intro- duced ourselves; and then we all settled back with a satisfied feoiing that the journey was beginning under the most glowingly polite aus- pices. The road tended upward always, and we reached at last, through much patient endurance of heat and dutt, the belt of thin forest that runs all along the slope of the Sierras at a certain height. A sparse, coarse grass appeared on the ground, and clumps of evergreens and liveoaks dotted the hills. Magpies called and screamed to each other from the trees like coarse-voiced women gossiping from windows in the low city quarters; and behind us we could sea the brown clustered roofs of Dilton shining and glaring in the hot sun. It was not at I all a New England scene, though trees, grass, and birds had been added to the surroundings. The feeblf brown eyes of Mrs. Black searched tho landscape for something that was familiar in a way I that was a little pathetic, and her face lighted up suddenly. Be them apple trees f" She Xioked at some half-grown live oaks whioh at that stage of I growth often resemble apple trees. I mentioned, as gently as I could, what they were, and the bright expression went out of her face as if one had suddenly blown out tlio lamp behind a magic- lantern. Both Miss Black's grammar and rhetoric, I afterwards found, rose or fell in style according to the company she was in. Her mother's did not, and occasionally this failure was a little trying to the daughter. She endeavoured to divert attention from it now by putting shawls and travelling bags behind her mother, ostensibly to make her back easy," until I expected to see the old lady fall forward into my lap. Finally we did reach some woods that were quite like those I had seen in Massachusetts; Thero was shrubbeiy and evi- dences of water in the ground if not on the sur- face. Mrs. Black brightened up again, and the driver said "There's Copperopolis." I We looked from the crest of the hill we had slowly climbed into a broad valley, with a hill on the cast and lower broken ones opposite. Through the middle still faintly gurgled the bright remains of a brook, which the dry season was doing its best to wipe out.. in which it succeeded a few days later. A wood straggted along by the brook, and houses on each side of that—houses half tumbling and deserted on the outer edge of the hamlet, but better preserved in the centre. I looked witii a kind of terror at a large smudgy building which had an air of being half rubbed out, like a bad drawing on a boy's slate; I feared it might be the house of the superintendent of mines where we had engaged rooms. Our driver with a kindness lie was unconscious of, stopped at that moment before another liouso, not so far gone as to t very depressing, although it showed signs of deterioration, and said: Here is where you are going, ladies. The superintendent lives nere." An' there's Matildy waiting for us—she's my I daughter, Mrs. Ro:;sbrook, Matildy Black, that was." It appeared t'iat wu should see more uf the family than we had anticipated. Mrs. Black gave I a shrill little cackle as she climbed down the carriage steps and met Matilda. While they em- braced Miss Black looked past them at a young, pretty girl standing iu the background mo iesUy. That must be Helena grown to that, and, there, I never realised she was pa.st the period of infaut- hood. Come nere, Helena," and she looked her over with a light ning glance its the girl stepped forward, kissed lipr with an air of approval, and siiid: You favour 1.h!:J Blacks the Ross- brooko—but Matilda and mothet- have got through hugging"—Miss Black met her sister laughing, and saying,Ten years since I have seen you, and you haven't grown old a bit t" "Perhaps not," said Mrs. Rossbrook, "but my clothes have, and I know you saw that while mother was kissin' me. You "ain't a bit less sharp at noticin' than you always was. Aiiss Black assumed a pleased air of remonstra- tive oashfulness, and turned to too. They just say that because I can go into Boston to the openings and carry home every new overskirt 1 see—and, what's more in my profession, cut one out like it afterwards. That is what sister means, and so they think I'm smart." think I'm smart." The first uiorning, we settled ourselves in easy chairs on the front piazza, at a spot where the plastering overhead seemed leasi, lively to fall, and Sitt with newspaper iwd fancy work, when far down on the drive which swept up in a circle to the house Miss Biack appeared. The circle thus enclosed had been a grassy lawn in the good days of tlie mine, but now it was thriftily planted with a ripening crop of wheat. Over the nodding tops we indistinctly saw that some specimen of tiie male sex, whether man or gentleman Wf could not tell, was accompanying her, and was now standing with his hat off, bowing in a way to rival the wheat-heads. Then the lady came up ulone, smiling and fresh as the morning was—not, for it was deviess and dry. ■' 1 have been to the graveyard on the hill-side there. It was very interesting. Just as I was I going 111, t met a gentleman wno said ne linagmeu I mnst, be a tender-foot'—don't they have a queer name for strangers here, not exactly elegant—and he'd go round with uie if I'd like to view the place. do 1 told him 1 should be pleased to have him ac- Ciimpany mu." Miss Black had evidently used her very best grammar to convey the idea. LuL there were so many nameless graves it was dreadful. Just mere swoliiri^.s of the earth and no head-stones. I said I should think they'd be sorry not to have their friends know where they were laid in their last peaceful slumber. He kind of laughed and said most of them had died in their boois, and he thought it likely the less said ibout them the bettor. Well, of course, if they were gamblers, and such kind of people Lli-tt it was improper for a lady to speak oi, 1 could lIot Raj anything more. But I told him about Andrew IVmber, that went away from 1'ramink'utn ten years ago to go to California left hit wife and children, and nevel- had been heard from since. 1 said I supposed he hadn't made any money, and been ashamed to write; that's the "way incii (t.), uid that he had died and been ashamed to notify them of that, aud for all tl);tt I knew lie might, lie ouried right there within the sound of my voice, and that was why I was interested in nameless graves. Mr.—Ivlr. Reeder, lie give lie tlid cqrd, and she held up a rather aged looking bit of card board with a nitinu written on it in pencil. "So I know he was a gentleman then, he did not say anything t) that, only kind of smiled in a knowing way, and rather changed the conversation Oy s*ying, Suillo of the people had been buried tnere its if they'd said d (.e e;q.H:)lIse.' They were not exactly nameless; in jfpeople had called them pretty hard names when they were alive. Then hu went up to a splendid great monu- ment, made of white marble, a broken column it mutated, and the name was in gilt letters. This man,' said fit,, was a contractu for he mines, and cheated everybody, right and left, and died wurth a million, and very angry to tlunk he eould not live and cheat until he was worth two or three.' t'lien he read the :i¡une, Andrew Tember, died in 187ti.' 1 was dreadfully struck when he road that name. I said I thought it was all very sad. But Mr. Keeder wouldn't admit that he did and seemed to get kind of choked up and called out, back, old Andy, and have it out with me; I'll tell you what I think of you now, just as f did then. That soared me a little and he calmed down, and said old Andrew had cheated him awfully, and lie hoped it was no friend of mine buried there. I thought there might be other Tembers and told him so, and he got agreeable again. But I don't know as it was any other—I never lieard of the Tembers anywhere else. Don't you ladies think it is very interesting and itieltticilt,ly ?,, We assured her that we did, and begged her to go on. NVell, there isn't much more to ten. We cattle away soon after that moment of excitement. 11 ■ pointed out the church aud said it was falling tnil sliding down hill, and said it as sad as if he were a clergyman himself. When we gor back I said I was visiting here and invited him to call. He said he WILS some acquainted with the family, and would do himself the honour. S" I shall hope to see him again, and I must. go and tell my mother about Andrew Tember --she will be quite excited." Afterward we learned that both the ladies went up to the monument t hatafternoon, but they could extract, nothing from the "cenotaph." as Miss Mack called it. The epitaph praised his good and great qualities, said he was buried there, but prudently forebore any hints as to the history of his Ii re. Alter that, Miss Black sit a great doal upon the I)i;izz-t with Its and talked, or improved her mind," ,Ilij had her mind always on hand, as if it. were -it somewhat backward child, and she was always doing things for it." good. She was now engaged for its benefit in reading the travels of Dr. Schlie matin in the Troad. The b »ok made continual re- ferences to Bryant's translation of Homer. Miss Black took somebody else's translation, and patiently looked out ail the references, wondering constant iy that thoy did not lit better," and never understanding our "mild amusement at seeing her thus carefully working day <*fter day with tin wrong book. Her cultivation N,tA spot-tr. She was lilte a Now Englnnd farm. She had soino very cultivated garden-like spots, but there were broad stretches between where sub-soil ploughing at least was necessary. She had read, and evidently with ap- preciation, tho b;st poets and had been to tin Centennial, and knew more about tho Revolu- tionary War than I did. She read to us one dr. from her CentenniiU note-book, prefacing it—" 1 thought I must go to the Philadelphia Exhibition because I should learn so uiueli. I used to take different country every day, and go through it Carefully, aud write down all my thoughts and effects and aspirat ions every eveni lIg. Russia was to me the most of a lesson," and she read On tho map Russia is coloured green, 1 suppose from its beautiful malachites and emeralds. It had lovely green t¡¡,ble-to¡),;¡ and lire-places, with bunches of grapes in natural colours, and the be-t bronzes that there were anywhere. The French, bronzes partook of the frivolity and lightness of the French cliit-iterei- I and did not satisfy my art longings; but the Russian's were fuli of life and strength and naturo. The Cossaek riders tore along on their tough little ponies and looked as if they were st,mining every nerve, and one of them. who is chasing the woman he to inake his bride, had a face full of ardour, and her face was tender and sweet, and f could see she wasn't making her horse go its fast as she could on pur- pose. Their enamel work is very gor"eous but barbarous, and there witi classic like the Greeks. They haven't any bOilutiful myths like that of Cupid and Tyskev, and none of that simple moonlight taste which wouid lead one to hke the rising sun on the front of the Acropolis.' You see I put down my impressions as well as my facts Her gentleman called several times, buT. we did not see aim. He appealed to be spirited away whenever we caine, or else we had gone off some- where before he arrived, so that a month passed without our having an him. (To lie continued.)
._------,--__-,.".11! FEMI^INE…
.11! FEMI^INE FANX5IES, F01ULE3, AND FASRfO v- By A LADY. (All Right) Reterved.> In one of my recent letters, when describing th. teii aprons now in fashion, I referred back to soine others which I saw and greatly admired last summer. Bringing them once more before my rtulders, attention, as being prettier than those of which I made subsequent mention, I have been requested to describe the first-named afresh. The articles in question were of Madras muslin, cream coloured and of large siie, one point coming to the edge of the dress, exactly in the centre the corre- sponding corner of the square being cut off so as to provide gathers for a straight waistband. Ti)"rg is a square bib above the band, the two remaining points meeting at the baok of the figure under a ribbon sash. By means of a few deftly arranged pleats the apron falls like a draped tunic over the skirt. Pockets of different shapes are a useful addition. They, like the aprons, are edged with lace, and a few scattered bows of narrow looped ribbon admirably finish these charming adjuncts to the toilet. Their price was 6s. 6d., and I saw them in a shop in Westbourne tfrove, Bayawater, where, doubtless, they may tit-ill be obtained. It was the shape of these aprons which first caught my eye, many of those I see now being cut so as to fall straight from the waistband. A few folds, especially when the wastrel, is slight, are a greit improvement, and, problematic as it seems, even figures inclining to embonpoint will find that draped aprons suit them better than those cut square and straight. It goes without saying that the exigencies of each figure should be consulted in the above respect- Talking of draperies, not long since when paying a visit, to my dressmaker I happened to admire an ] elegant and very uncommon looking dress th«: j was hanging over a chair in the workroom I 1, French?" said I, interrogatively, and an affirma- tive confirmed my supposition; the gowu lid belong to a Frenchwoman. Examining it closely found various three-cornercd rents, strongly sug- gestive of pint dragged from thair hold. Olwerving my notice of them my dressmaker told me the customer who owned the garment never wore it di-itped quite in the same way. adding a pleat here, a festoon there, a fold otherwhere, as occasion demanded, altering, improving, adapting i,t to her own particular style, and thus giving an apparently easy, careless grace to her toilet that is after all the perfection of art-an art her English sisters are nearly all devoid of, bat one tint comes ItS an inheritance to most French women. As a rule we rely implicitly on our dress- maker's taste, and wear our gowns w'tli unques- tioning reliance on what she considers becoming, putting them on as we might coatj of mail welded together by an armourer and incapable of reform, rather than thinking of them as stuff habits to be adjusted and readjusted to meet the exigencies of each particular shape, instead of reform, rather than thinking of them as stuff habits to be adjusted and readjusted to meet the exigencies of each particular shape, instead of which women are often dressed as if contracted for by the thousand, and all to be made in the same mould Evati at the cost. cf a few rents, and the by no means improbable chance of not a few scratches, I would suggest that my readers should sometimes copy the French lady's example. If the s«rvices of a maid are not available then a cheval ^tss will prove an excellent ally. ^rhe spring faslpons it is suspected, will produce some astonishing colour combinations. Many of the old crude, vivid tints will be popular. Salmon II and blue will be mixed, and this contrast,, though bold, does not canon against, colour laws, as the combination of claret and green, which is another 11 fashionable mixture, most certainly will. All shades of terro. cottA, salmon and Pompeiian pink. shrimp pink, he., will retain the favour acorded I to them List season. It is many years ago since dresses were worn with printed borders woven in t,he material, now, however, among the new I c imbrics there are some with borders on which are printed very singular designs, including Watteau, Arcadian, Pastoral, and similar groups, these having a very curious effect. Cotton dresses with dark grounds will, it is supposed, be very >nuch worn, I wiil not say well worn. Their patterns are gigantic and ill-chosen—enormous dowers, fruits, and vegetables, not to mention other designs copied from animal nature; one dress shown to me reproducing in vivid colours the old willow pattern, on which may be traced, by iltoie who know, the story of the romantic, elope- 't)ent of a pair of Chinese lovers, hotly pursued by in irate, indignant old mandarin just been bereaved of a daughter. It makes one shiver to think of putting on tighter materials when tho March winds still pierce us through and through, bringing in their train coughs, bronchitis, catarrhs, liver disorders, and other serious evils, until we grow a little doubtful concerning the poet's estimate of this same bhlSl- Blow, blow, thou bitter wl.d. Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. l'hy tooth is 11.1t so keen, liet; use thou art not, seen, Although thy breath be rade. I Laid up with a severe influenza, cold possibly ¡ this judgment may have been reversed, and man's ingratitude regarded as the lessei evil of he two. For early .spring wear thin serges, twilled flan- nels, and light woollen stuffs are most suitable and sensible. Scotch tai tnnslLnd shepherd plaids ul ways »p|Mjar about this time. The latter is imminently useful and lady-like for those, however, who con- sider it too sombre-looking I would suggest a pretty check material of brick rod, blue, and brown, which, I know, makes up into very effec- tive costumes. A plain velvet skirt of one or other of the colours named, and battlemented at the edge, may b used as a foundat ion for bodice. and tunic of tiie check. I may add that coloured velvet skirts, with bodices and tunics of cashmere, trimmed with marabout feather trimmings, ni-o also much worn. A costume made of electric blue velvet and cashmere com hi nod looked exceedingly well. The hat worn in connection was blitek velvet, edged with large dark-blue beads, bunches of daffodils being added, as also worn at tho throat. Semi-fitting coats made of the same material as the dress, and bordered with feather trimmings, are suitable for present out-door wear. For brides- maids' toilets, pale pink cashmere over brown velvet petticoats looks remarkably well. Another pretty dress I saw in Hy.le Park the other day had a skirt and tunic of cream colour and blue plaid, worn under a battlemented jacket bodice of finit I blue cloth, toque of the pi aided material, with blue aigrette, tan-coloured su<§de gloves and blue silk umbrella the handle being conspicuous as resem- bling the hilt of a sabre, and highly gilt. The iadv who carried it wore no outer covering, though the wind was piercingly cold, and slight falls of snow every now and again darkened the air. Bodices and mantles are all made high upon the shoulders. Bead-trimming will be the most popu- lar of all Cleans of embellishing articles for women's outer wear. It is a pity that la mode should be so irrational as to declare for it. We all know how unbearably weighty a dress is when profusely trimmed with beads, and how very un- satisfactorily bead trimmings are in point, of wear, but the edict has gone forth, und protest is useless. Birds, butterflies, and other specimens of Ilni- mated nature are worked in beads and canvas, cut according to the various shapes of the creatures represented these will be appliqued on modern robes. Flights of swallows embroidered in white "ilk are traced across some plain velvet skirts,nnd, being graduated in i7.e, tiie semblance of natural perspective is obtained. I have been nsked to describe a suitable dress for a girl about to be confirmed. I regret that for this solemn ceremonial anything more" rhan a plain white cap should be aided to the usual attire, flow often one is pained to see a look of satisfied self-complacency on a girl's face, en- gendered by her fine apparel, wln-n she is about to take the most solemn of all responsibilities upon herself, and I think few who are in the of attending the religious service referred to but have noticed the strikingly incongruous garments that even adults will put on for tho occasion. How- ever. the following description of a dress for con- firmation may be acceptable. It is simple and (jmint, and I trust, if copied, will not pander to the vanity of its wearers, nor occasion di!1trat,ir>n of iiiiti.,] -kirt of white nun's veiling, extremely full, gathered thickly itit") a stomacher bodice, with long point; the gathers go right to the waist that is, over the hips, and there is a short point at 1 he back, where the dress fastens. Ttie sleevesare out to lit-the arm, a frill of broad-hemmed muslin falling over the wrist, and a thickly-pleated Klizabethan ruffl ? of the same material goes round I he throat. A Marie Stuart, or Olivia, cap of plain white muslin would ba suitable. I should be understood to say that the skirt hits no extra illl- ntiss at tliD back, but is gathered equally all round, falling ItS filII ill fmnt, '1>\ eisewhere. One of the details of the cosiumv I am describing was a specially prepared handkerchief in a whitA silk bag that hung low on the skirt, suspended by a two-inch embroidered silk girdle carelessly looped mi one side. But, I think such a decoration unne- cessary and inadvisable, and mention i! only to give all exact description of what I saw. of all kinds must be abandoned, and even the sacred emblem which many think qtlitt: suitable and even correct comes under the category as inadmissible. A prayer book bound in white vollum. I ttitit told, lav in the pouch beneath the handkerchief, but I did not see it.. Such triitititit tends, I believe, to give the dress an importance in its wearer's eyes that should in no way attach to it. believe some while back, when milliners I were beginning to prepare their summer stock, they were extremely anxious to know if the l'rincuss of Wales could be induced to accord her patronage to some more modern shape than that called by her name and long j fivolit-ite. Report says her Royal High- ness doe-, not contomplatt; any change in the style of her head gear—a maroon velvet l'rincess bonnet, with cream-coloured aigrette at the side, being riiat in which the Royal Lady is now very fre- quently seen. A friend who had a good place to view her Majesty's visitors going to and from the drawing-room tells me the Princes of Wales I'Xiked very young find pretty in her dress of pale blue satin and train of Pompadour brocade, it was bitterly cold, almost, as much so as on the occasion of the first drawing-room. Cuning out of the It<>ynl presence, I am told some of the ladies, regardless of anything but, their shivering condi- tion, enveloped themselves in their trains as some protection ttie danger lurking in the stair- cases and in the draughty corridors tiirough which they had to pass to their carriages. It was observed that, as some slight protection against, throat affec- tion, broad bands of velvet, lippets of lace, and nven ribbon, were tied around many necks—a very inefficient precaution, litit bolter than none. No wonder that, some of the visitors disobeyed, as liberally interpreetd, the Lord Chamberlain's regu- lations as to Court etiquette in matters of attire, a square cut dress not being admissible without a doctor's certificate as surety for this infriiiijeioirit of rules. My friend, happening to stand near a Carriage containing some of the children of 1 Royal Duke was informed that, mere babes as they are, the footman in attendance always stands un- covered when he lifts them into and cut of it. Is it well set early to imbue these morsels of humanity with a sense if that dignity and importance which accident alone confers? Some of the bouquets carried were ridiculously large, a few being so cumbersome that they were suspended from the roof of the earri^ges. Tulips were, as usual, conspicuous. I wonder how any i ,dy can choose these gaudy, scentless blossoms, which the lightest touch decapitates, and a meie breath scatters, svhen so many gweeter and prfittier dowers are always procurable. Anyone wh') finds it difficult to get particular sorts here can ruiviye them from Nice, quite r''(-I1, fit tile following prices:—Ruses, 3s. per dozen; carnations. 2s mixed flowers, 2s. 6.1-; orange flowers, 2s.; violets, 2s.; mignonette. Is."6a., in .1 posr-box. Payment in Etigl"sl,. stattips or P.O.O. I will forward the address of the remitter to anyone desiring it Awhile ago, whilst making a tour of the shops in search of novelty in any form, I wandered into a well-known fancy repository in K ('W Bond-street, where I found so many new an(-] t, tr;tel.;vti a I-IL'ieleS that I felt further search, for tint day at lea51., was needless. Curious enough were the long purses made of ermine fur, with the little animal's head at-one extremity and it3 tail at the other, small ivory rings separating the coins. Too realistic for elegance is an onion-shaped scent-bottle. It is made in glass, silver, and enamel, in exact re- semblance of the excellent culinary, but highly odorous, bulb represented. It would not need a very strong imagination, 1 think, to fancy the per- fume impregnated by the un pleasing odour of the vegetable. Very handsome in appearance are some toilet bottles, not less than hltlf a yard in height. They look very imposing, but prudence would suggest that such altitude renders the-e tasteful ornaments increasingly liable to topple over to destruction. Another oddity to be catalogued is "The Grandfather's Clock," a small copy ut those tall sentinels of Time which are to be found In most old-fashioned farm houses, as also in many humble cottage homes. How their great pendu- lums swing to and fro, marking the flight of seconds by that monotonous "tic, tac," Find em- I phasising the passing hours by resonant hammer! TItr. is something so awful and so mysterious about these inanimate watchers of Time that I always feel a degree of awe in their preface The treat dial-plate looks down upon mankind with a tony, impenetrable stare, while that warning iingor is for ever pointing out its unloarned lessons. Tempui fay it, umplu jugit," we hear the monitor say, sometimes with dread, sometimes with indif- ference, occasionally with joy, but rarely or never with a thorough re disation of the full meaning of those strangeiv pregnant wwds. Is the anniversary of Lord Beaconsfield's death, like St. Patrick's, St. George's and St. David's days, about to Iw permanently set down in the calendar for yearly celebration and are primroses to be typical decorations, like the roses, the leeks, and the shamrocks severally emblemat.es those departed worthies who died in the odour of sanc- lit,y centiit-ic!j ago? Tlie following advertisement, cut from an influential daily, gave rise to this query:—"Primrose Day, April Hi, S-- S-. Covent Gordon, gives notice that, owing to the ,J,titiii,id the anniversary of the Earl of Beaconstieid's death, orders, particularly for general decorations, should be given as early as possible." Do my lady readers, desirous of being in aU re- spects ;():ed.. know that when thav have placed signature to a letter, and fin 1 it necessary to repair an omission or add a fresh item, they must do so avoiding the P.S., which initial preface is now considered a decided vulgarism ? Since writing the paragraph concerning the celebration of anniversaries of death, I find in a very rare work published two centuries ago that before the Reformation the yearly return of the day on whioh a person died was called his 41 year day." on which previous to decease our ancestors ordered a solemn to be said for their sou is. They likewise generally ordered masses on the week day and month day after deceaso. calling such periods their week's mind, their month's mind, and their year's n'tn!.I-tiiat is to Say, the remembrance or commemoration of them at the end.
THE QUEEN'S FIRST PARLIAMENT.*
THE QUEEN'S FIRST PARLIA- MENT.* 20TH OF NOV KM B FIR, 1837. Among the pleasantest and happiest of my recol- lections is that of the Queen opening her first Parliament, on Uie 20ih of November. 1837. It was a scene never to be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The usual" Speed) from the Throne concluded in these words, her Majesty addressing 44 My Lords and Gentlemen The early age at which I am called to the sovereignty of this kingdom renders it a more imperative duty tliat, under Divine Providence, 1 should place my reli ince upon your cordial co- operation and upon the loyal affection of all my people." A passage preceding, in which her Majesty had expressed herself anxious to declare her confi- dence in their loyalty and wisdom." was dtili. vered with marked emphasis; she piusad. raised her eyes from the paper, and looked around her on the array of peers and peeresses and commoners below the bar, who had assembled to tender homage. ritura was no heart that did not throb with response. A muriiiur passed through the assembly that would have been a cheer but for the solemnity of the place and tho occasion; it was not suppressed without; the cheers of a multitude were heard with echoing delight by ali who stood or sat within. And assuredly that nay—now 45 yeit I-S ago—was recorded in the memories of all who heard the youug Queen's word* at the begin- ning of u reign auspicious beyond any other in the records of British history. There were many present who had personally known Her Mijesty's three predecessors: George ill., George IV., and the fourth vVihiain. The feeling was universal and irresistible, that from that day loyalty became an easy duty. It had not been so during the reigns preceding t Happily the anticipations as well xe the hopes of all orders and classes of the subjects of the Crown have been realised, and tiirough the vista of more than 45 years the meanest no less than the loftiest of her suhjocts looks twick with thankfulness to the advent of (hat royal lady, who in ii,r otirly youth was called to reigil over the kingdom 14ad 1111 its dependencies, and subsequently thl;) Empire of India. It was a glorious scone, thAt scene in the old House of Lords on the 20th ot November. 1837. The mother ol' the Qu^en—the mother to whose judicious training and Ueep affection she owed so much— s>foou by her side, a little in the rear; her ladles bore up her train, grouped tnshtnd her; on her loft stood her Prime Minister, Viscount Mel- oourne, and near him most of her other Ministers and advisors. K inged around were the peel's and peeresses all in rolx-s and court, dresses "blazing witii while thronged below the bar was the House of Commons," IL mingled mass of all politics, the most intense Radical among them converted, for that day at least, into a loyal and devoted upholder of the Throne. The Que.er. in her early girlhood, seen and heard devoted upholder of the Throne. The Que.er. in her early girlhood, seen and heard for the first time" in public," was iilo "cynosure She looked, Its she was, very beautiful. The Hush of agitation tinted her cll"ekl3; yet she was per- fectly self-possessed; tiiere was no evidence that he 8\ uti ¡uti her part; and when she courtesied and withdrew, und all present rose to bow or to cuurte:'y, the fooling was one of scarcely con- ceivable delight, Her speech she had read in a cloar and distinct voice, Singularly melodious, in impreo- 3ivu intonations; not a syllable was lost. There was intense silence from the time she entered II", House to the moment of departure; and it was easy to comprehend the suppressed hum" of applause as the party broktr up, Thero was no need of citivilii. Y. no "call" for evidence of it. Yes, the veriest Radical would h ive been a iOYIll olllhllsiast there that day but what a response thore would have been to that glorious sentence, whispered only, in I echo of the music that came through the walls and seemed to hover o'er the august ussomblv, tx<xt save the QueenAnd after 4-5 years of trial it is 1 to-day as it was in the long ago. Blessed be God Of those who were her .Majesty's Ministers thell -in number t went/nine—not one sur, ami urobably there an* not half a score now in Parlia- ment who heard tiiat speech, and saw the young Q'leen in her early gr.1CO and loveliness zin,i fertile promise of a prosperous future—a future the bless- ings of which were assured and enhanced by Her auspicious marriage to a Prince eo essentially excellent as to lmva received and merited and retained Until his early and most lamented depar- ture from earth the title of the (i,od Prince !"— a title he will kee,, in the history of these kingdoms so long us its records last. Ou Uk 20th of June, 1837 (the day on which King William died—It roi at mori: long live the Iving!), the Queen hehl her lirst Court at Kensington Palace—the home of her infancy and girlhood. It was remarkable for those impressive words: Rduc».tod in iingiand under tho tender and enlightened care of a most affectionate mother, i nave learned from lilY infancy to respect and love the constitution of my native country." i saw her Majesty the next, day, as she stood to receive the plaudits of her sutijects at the window "f a little room at t. James's. She stood between the Lords Melbourne and Lansdown; but many of her peorii witnessed from other windows the gat hered crowd, and heard what is eillied ",Ieafofl- i 'g cheers from the multitude—their fietrts ii- their voice?. Lauy readers may wish to know that she was "dressed in deep mourning, witii a white tippet, white ouft's, and it border of white lace under a small black bonnet, which was placed far bick on hor head, exhibiting her light hair in front, simply parted over the forehead." I heard the proclamation of "Garter" under- neath the window, and responded, as did every1 hearer, with heart and sou! to the concluding wo; ds, .,gioa QAve tie Queen!" Never was prayer more earnest, more true, or more fervid, it would be echoed as warmly to-day as it was on that memorable June 21, 18371 What was tlton promised has since become fullilineut. S. G. HALL, P S.A.
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This article forms a porton of one of the oliapters ul a remarkable volume, Retrospect of u Long Life, 1315 I W lSJ3;' by Air. Hall, aooat to be issued 1,y Messrs. Uentijy, which prllniaes to be the book of the spring t.h.nfl. t Sir Denis Le Merchant, states in 1830" Peel told hig.tuuir, Uisi.op Lloyd, that he believed this monarchy e ailU last, (inly live or »ix vears longer." It is well re- I munlxiivd that William IV. \as nol permit ted I*V his Ministry to go into t.ht city, apprehensive of ptsrtonal danger from the rii<>b." It is hardly to;) much to lay ih.it, whiisii few iiow-a-days will be disposed to believe, wiien Queen Victoria aseenUed tiie ilirone the oouutry was oil the eve oi revolution.
WELSH COLLEGES IN THE OLD…
WELSH COLLEGES IN THE OLD IN TIME. "Morien" writes:—Hundreds of thousands of Welsh people rejoice to-day at the glorious fact that a University College for South Waler. IIHS txjen placed beyond the category of possible acci- dents. but comparatively few of the vast multi- tude who rejoice in their Welsh hearts lack linglish tongues lI.n<1 English pens to make their I deep gratification known beyond their own imme- diate circles. Tttf melody of the old mountain land I is, however, awakened, and one's historical con- science to hear the notes of- High-!iorn Hywel's liarp 110ft. Llewelyn's lay I celebiatirg the event which has taken place, for after many centuries of such ncgiect as befell bur. few nations before in the history of the world, justice ha* biftii done attest to tit3 sons and daughters of Catn'ori; When one looks forward to tiie pivbablo resuh of what has just been done one sees throngs of ardent. Gamble ihitish youths robed ill academical gowns climbing the hills of f-tivie and stunning the battlements of philosophy, and a whole, nation cheering them. That the Cambrian youths ar» endowed by nature with exceptionally great, iibilities is proved by the fact t iwt. notwithstanding the bilingual difficulty, the is Milt of the board school training in Wale* is exceptional!; high; and we are, therefore, justified I in !.>e:ieving that, with greater opportunities, still grander results will follow. Therefore, Liaweii- The VVelsh people in all age? have manifested a love of literature. The literature of England can- not be said to have existed anterior to the t-inin of Chaucer. Is ite not called the Father of English poetry?" But* look to Wales At the time of Chaucer the Cymric muse was venerable witii age, but still retaining the vitality of youth. It seems, like the bird of tho sun, to be endowed with power to renew its prime. Can the I reader p >int out any other nation thiui the Welsh still retaining a living language dating from a period, unknown to Itistory, prior to the Cfesars, and a literature, ceitainlv a living literature, dating from the sixth century ? The great poem, the Godod'm, w-liich has just, been republished by the Cymmrodorion Society, is the production of a Welsh bard, Aneurin Gwaindrydd. who knew King Arthur, and who. describing one of the battles, wrote:— jfi-il.twi* the field* nor the woods save safety to tb4 foe. When the shout of Britons came, like a wave raging auninst tiie shore. And at the iJattlo of Cattraodi. we are told worfl- Three heroes, and rhree score, and three hundred With the goitiell Ttiose are the earliest aristocracy of the Ørifiro Isles of whom we have any record. Why, in that comparatively obscure enoch in the history of the Cymry, we beliold Arthur surrounded by mighty gvueruls and iÜhly-cuitivateil wen. Their legends^ I in fragmentary forms even, haTe exerdd a power- ful influaiice upon the modern literature of Europe, l and, as if all literature were to bear a Cymricj stamp, the Welsh title of a poet, viz., bard, has been borrowed by most nations to de-ignate a votary of the Muses. Even prior to the time re- ferred to, we find striking hint* as to the cniturM condition of the peopie of Wales. Various authors have done their best to rob Wales of the credit of having given birth and educated Pelagius. But the fact that tlie two Continental bishops, Germanus and Lupus, came to Wales to "refute" the hereby," seems to prove two things, namely, that 'Vales was I the head-quarters of tha peculiar doctrines of Morgan or Pelagius, and, therefore, that it was from here—he was tho son ot a Welsh bard r.am"d ArgaJ—lie went forth to shake the theological world, and aiso that the Welsh of those days were a highly intellectual and cultured people. A synod of learned men would not have thought it neces- sary to sond two learned bishops to argue against, certain obnoxious doctrines with an unlettered and ignorant multitude. When we read Welsh history between the time oi Arthur and the Norman invasion we find Wales dotted with througed colleges, which were called bv the C vmIt seems that, as early as the time of the Emperor H. mori us—the Tewdws of Weish history—Man twit Major, Glamorganshire, had its ¡ magnificient University, which is the Cor Tewdws of Welsh history. So renowned was this seminary I that it is Oil record that,, at one time, if 1 remember rightly, there were being educated there seven princes from various parts of Christen- j dom. It appears, if the records of the early Cambro-British Church are to be relied on, tlmt Llanilltyd Vawr Lhlnt- wir tne GreILt-ws the Areopagus of the British Isles, for it was to lhat seat of learning the earlif.st e nissunes of the Gospel to Britain came with the gina tidings or what had come to pass in distant Palestine. Tint most renowned seat, of learning, which. in ali probability, had produced Pelagius. continuod to Sourish down to the time of the Norman .oncpiest of Glamorgan, when that "N.innan Thief," Fitzamon, applied its ancient revonua fo the maintenance of a number of monks aL Towk»stau-y AbbeN-, leilving only the 11 fco" for the support of thr ancient Welsh University From that time the I'niver.ity bega 1 fo decay, and the school was, after a time, transferred to Cowbridge. In the time of Henry VFfl., Thomas Cromwell transferred from Tewkesbury the stoler. revenue of Llantwit- M ijor, to endow the See of Gloucester, and applied Illso the Abb.ft's fee for tho itame purpose. The whole of that revenue goes regularly still from Glamorgan to maintain the See of Gloucester. With all respect for Swansea—and the manner its ;iiost itble representatives acILitted themselves before the commissioners, proved that the town of Swan (which, by the way, has become a raven ou the boiou^ii arms) is entitled to every respect—it mu-d be admitted that it would have been dying in the face of all to have established the South Wales Cniversity there. From the earliest ages we find Curdili acknowledged to be the Mot ropolis of South Wnles. When the people of South Wales bore the glorious name of Si lures Cardiff became the head-quarters of the Romans under Didins Juiianus, and we find the Cambro-llritish generals and armies sweep- ing around it like lions bereft. King Arthur and his gallant, knights vmd Indies fair held iiis court at Cardiff The Normans, again, by fixiii- upon Cardiff "s their seat of government, implied that they considered Cardiff as the natural Metro- polis of South Wdos. And the rapid development of the town under the fostering care of the late and present Mavquess of Bute proves that nature itself has acknowledged the correctness of the judg- iiiont of tth.se who so regarded Cnerdydd. By the way. Caeidydd, as it is at present spelt, uieans the fortress of liglit 11 Let us hope that this is II good augurv for tiie University, and that mighty men of light and leading will depart from its portals, age after age, to benefit, not Walps only, but the whole world, with their teaching.
THE MOTTO OF THE NATIONAL…
THE MOTTO OF THE NATIONAL EISTKDDFOD. Morien" writes:—In repty to aH. C." in refe- rence to rr.y interpretation of the above motto I beg to state lhat tny explanation is der;ved .'10111 the traditional ancient lore of the Druids pre- served in the Chair of Glamorgan. I myself, vears ago, approached that lore with a large amount of prejudice, for I could not bring myself to believe that a few obscure individuals in Glamorgin, cen- tury after century, had succeeded in preserving the mystic lore of the once mighty priesthood of Britain, an order whose great wisdon' was proverbial throughout the civilized world. But by degrees that scepticism was entirely re- moved, for there lay before my astonished eyes the most dazzling gelyis of thought It is possible to imagine, all having direct reference to religion and the aspirations of poo. struggling humanity for a knowledge of the things of the great here- after. H. C." ventures to impugn the integrity of the Chair of Morganwg and of those who sur- round it. The learned liev. J. Williams, M.A. (Ab Ithel), who examined closeh- the ancient lore of the amateurs of Pontypridd," and who was intimately acquainted with the great scholar who now occupies that chair, gave the following verdict on that lore and the amateur to whom chiefly H.C.'s" epilliet. is intended to apply:— I Myvyr Morganwg. a profound, well-read man. and a genuine representative of the eminent bards, is in possession of a vast store of these (Druidic) 1 mysteries; and, though he is reluctant to give publicity to the whole, he has undertaken to make revelations of an astonishing character, and, indeed, he Illlslllready allowed enough to escape in reference to the mystical /1\ to furni~h us with a key to the proper understanding of the religious sysfemof the whole Gentile world." (Cam. Journal, vol. ii., p. 264.) He could have added that. it unlocks a door leading to a full understanding of 1 lie Cosmogony of Moses. In short, the Druidic lore rovea'a a profoundnr ineaning to Scripturnl I truths than i* generally understood. One under- stands, by the light t.lI'V throw upon the things of the Bible, why the firuids of Britain so quickly embraced Christianity. We are thus ena bled to ,li-4tilluih between parables and literal facts, and t.o see that Philo and Josephu.s were correct as to rhe proper interiiretation of many things which even r.. Peter found hard to understand. 11 H. C." reveals a wonderful want of knowledge when lie stares that the mystical sign has never yet been discovered by observers on tho-e aged P stones." There is nothing, exccpt the Logan S'one itself, more pl iinly to be seen on those aged store s than the sign. Does not this as-*n tion by H. C." and the fact also that the sign is there wlieraver a crothlech is seen prove how profoundly ignorant people are in reference to Druidic lore? Th'eeroi hlech is always supported by 1' This and the slab on the apex of are symbols. The slab is theGorsedd' Stone, and symbolises the fecundity of Anian, under the title of Mdrwen or Morwyn (virgin) at Lady Day, which since the Julian Calendar was adopted is on March 25, instead of on the actual Vernal Equinox. Morwen is the centre figure in the Oomeric female trinity, who are identical with the Three Graces of classic mythology. LeI. the i-eader turn to our Welsh almanac and he wili find that Lady Day is still called in Cymraeg The Festival of Mary of the Equinoctial time." The expression has puzzled generations of t/'ymrv, who were ignorant of the fact that it is a nelic of Druidic ancient lore brought down on the tide of time. As I am the first in modern times to write crftthlech instead of cromlech, it is but right I Should explain why I have done so. In the first place, I was actuated by a desire to correct an error which has been carried by the four winds to every quarter of the world, and adopted as an inexplicstble enigma into all histories. We have a key to the meaning conveyed by the crAthlech in tlie following passage in the writings of R. P. Knight:—"ThechHrj»c- (eristic attribute of the passive generative power was expressed in symbolical writing by different enigmatical representations of the most distinc- tive clwractwt istics of the sex: such as the shell called Concha Veneris, the fig-leaf, barley com, or the letter Delta. The satne attribute, personified as the Goddess of Love. is called Venus, Cypris, or Aphrodite." Fythia, the priestess of Apollo at Dlphi, sat on the tripod to be inspired, enabling her to give Divine answers. Pyttiia, the priestess, represented Venus. Those ocular personifiratinns of attributes were the beginnings of idolatry, and these particular ideas to which I have referred humanised, so to speak, gave rise to the system of religion called Phallic worship, some of whose symbols arc stilt seen among us. such as the May pole, obelisk, May Queen. &c. The slab of the crofh- lech is called, in the language of the Druids. l.ldtf (Stone of Covenant), and Udij-aiodd is Welsh for the chancel of a church. There are some among: us wh,) he'ieve that the Greek word "Logos is derived from this most anoient Celtic word Ltdif. It is significant that the Rooking Stone is always called Logan bv all writers of antiquity. I was for a. long time perplexed as to why a stone signifying the characteristic attribute of the passive principle cttitio to be called cromlech. One day, when reading the Rev. Thomas Maurice's Indian Oiigin of the Druids," I came, at page 136, to the statement that at Cloyna, in Ireland, a cromlech was called cariy cooi,.It (carreg-croMi), which ail Welsh scholars know me.,ti.- -rbtlilee-A. Like Archimedes, when he made his discovery, 1 cried Eureka 1" but t did not behave quite as he did. I conclude that., perhaps, at the time printing was introduced the t/i in the word was mistaken for m, hence the widespread error in the spelling of the word cromlech.
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|Y BAKT)I> CYMREIA
|Y BAKT)I> CYMREIA I BARDDONIAETR. GWAWR T NET VN YR HWYR 11-eyiyrcli bfleh genyn 14 oed yw y dernyn hwn a plun ystyrio'.r hyny y niae yn rliaid cyfaddef ei i jd yn aduttwo1 dros ben. PFNiLt,YO%i o Gr.oD I NI, "iViluam HABRH."— Nid ydyin yn cylioeddi y dernyn hwn oblegid a fod yn rhesu yn nchfd fol hiirddonmeth, cr oi fod er hvny. yn mi pur iiritrig a nwyfus; eithr o lier wydd parcti yr uwdwi i wrthadrvch y tostyn.vi hwn yn ddiau syud yn meddu haoudi.ximu cyfar till i'r desgrifiadau o honvnt. BYDI)'-N Y RHCBAX GLAs.Ciina yr awdwi hwn i mewo .s'/v/t bur "C uchelsyniol; ac vr ydym ni yn lidi^on boddlor iddo Itefyd a cliredwr. fod y gymdeithus wedi, CC yn gwneyd daioni dirfawr yn inhliih yr yfwyr anghytnedrul; end civdwn. ar yr un p.yd, fod y tfsmaticiaid mwyhf gorineaol a liuiun-^vfinwa yn pert oyri iddynt. Y uine yaiwrthod a'r Riban Ivis yn troi y dyn ffici/n mor ddued a'r fagddu yn union ac y wtic ymgymmyd a hi yr un mor union yn Uoi y dya dtt ei gtil,-n mor wyned a'r eira yn Salmon. Oa gwel rhai o ragritiiwyr y Ruban 0-s yn myned irns drothwy tafavrdy, yr ydyc.h yn feddw yn union; (lnd y mtent yn ddvnion clever sercli eu bod y blackguards rjwyaf brwnt-dafodoa ag HuwPiOdJ a thafarn erioed; ao ar bod rhai o honynt yo, cynllunio pa fodJ rn-io dwyn poods I d» nion era-11 jydu'r :;mcan o beidio talu fyth am danynt; eioeP.nt eu goddef mewn eglwvs achnpel I lieb ddweyd g>\ir yn eu hfirbyn, fel pe na hyddaó unonestrwydd yn twiiii4 o gwht; ond J: uan 0" gwr hwnw ntid yw yn chwenych gwisgoy Hlmbj-in GhA, y tote efe yn bob pechadar, sercli ei fod yn uiiu yn acrhydeddus i bawl), a byw fel dyui'n- si-Hill yn respectable a didramgwydd i neb. le ndrychir ar ei ol gyda Ilygad sjwaeth ritl poiisinan aidd, a gosodir y chwyddwydr wrtho yn union a'r rhai hyny, sef fwyaf tyllog eu cynwriadl4u, yv y rhai mwyaf clecog, crlidgar, rhagfarnllvd, <jiddi;j eddus, a gormosol. Fahaui na ali yr crlidwyr hyr feindio busnes eu hunain, a chadw yr lieol yn lai o flaen drys<iU eu hunain, a gadael eu gwell yr llonydd. Y mae ff.inaticiaoth, gan nad o ba natui by 1 lag y iiyddo, vn gwneuthur niwaid anrhactiiol ac yn tori archoliion mewn deng mynvd n. iacheir mewn deng mlyuedd. PAU N'OLYN I U. VVILLIASTS, YSW., MTSKIN. Englynion gwycii itwn. V mae Ap Myfyr yn ddvi 0 wybodaeth wyddonol eang iawn, ac yn englyn- wr o'r fath na cheir end ambeh un yn y byd bardd- onol Ovinreig g a ddaw i fyny ag ef; cid un o* in any let cynghaneddol yw efe, tie ynihonvr diaddt/y a di wybodaeth, megys l'hai erealut-istii* ediy a hymiygaidd ag y gwyddom arr danynt; y twyliwyr dlej<wyddor a diddiolcii, gwaeth na hyny—hoilol ddiras. GWAWR Y NEF YN TO HWYR. (Cynvrcii bochget" 14 oed). Ymgilia yr Hintn draw, Jraw, l'r gorllewin. Vial gweiihiyvr o'i weftlifa, yn ÙUI" a dilychwln, H, gwtlwi.ii Vn mvned jj Vi 'n .ed.i Y Ac y na (fel lie bai iV byd yn rhoi Ffarv, Vn eilio. Ha! dacw y lloerwen dlos ewrrxitld In dyfaxl o'r dwyraln, trial niorwn iieDblaiild, I »visgo yr wybren ar tin u j; yr hnyr-nos. Er rhoi tddi harddwlsg i bo dirti, y/inddangos. t tl'Hfrwen dlos a ddringa arl y nen., Pel pe am gythstedd rny* nod ajiwyntit-dig, Yo uwcli, yn uwch 0 hnl y '••■ yd ei phe:i, Gan 6drvch 'nuwi fel lien fend wyes u" i g j Olld iiy I fry f-y ar frou Y" wvlm1I olur. r Can'vddnf i'leiiad*u'n dyiod aKan p" bei '1 y'nt hwy ? Cvin.uif fawr o ser, Yli edrych fc-I rhyw Leirdd totymau arian. Ar ruddiau i,uyneh nen a'l teni <ln Dnw rodil Imrdd faniell eriji iwyr orchuddio, A gwawr v taii-eit h.1I1 edryeiia rfy Fi-I parlwt anuin wedi ei'addui no dlos olvgfrt Ills gall avren bardd 1 dynu tli lull lilt iiuiiio'th fit gtiruchel; Yn deilwii*: ydwyt ti, olygJU ha rod o hwui 1 bur, gynher-id, nefoi angel. Y IJoerwen sydd mal t.YWY8oes liyl. Yn liawno rwysg. lie lu-iyd ltawn sroiroiiiant, A r ser, mor deiaid uiiil genet ho 1, frv 0 i cliylch, niitr h 'irdd a hoew, hwy ymddawnslant U wysages Ion mor gain y t.dtuth ion Ar wyneb Ityfn y tudr, mat motlivvy euraidd. A'r ser sydd eiiivaith, fel mAu berUn cun 'N add urno bron y 111. a ï lliw iu-isliisidd. O firuin brydferthweh 0 nefol olvgfa Yn "1) irior iiaiild-diwa I ni ,1 eain b.,orama, Er tod Haw celtyddyd yn awr ftr td gun" Yn chwilio dyfeisiau vri llawn rhyfeddodau ofili eto, fe 93 rtiii., i le-un.Ur ur unw.iirli Wrtli weled ilaw iiatur yn dangos ei champwaith. 0 ddisg.a-r olygfa Pa hel h ""yt yn dangos I wael dtUearolion yn oriiiu yr hwyr-itos > IIa danjjos yrvduyi rhyv/gys^oj prvdf<-rthwch 1 wlta olt*u bono, ly 'll ilawii o Udcdwyoltiwch, !.lAudytJW. JOIIS THOMAS Jait PENILLION 0 GLOD I Mr. William Hi trries, Manager Glofeydd Cofngo wydd, Gower-road, a Mynydd Ca.dl wchwr. ve genir el vchau clod linwugun '• GfwUa v Brvnluu," A rind o ist'l nod, Heb hawl i'r cyfryw riniftu; 11a rhai na wyr y i.yd, Vo.i ynddo'r rllh ddvnsodion a Hwy yfant glnd o ltyd, Qltd byth ni chAnt toll digoaj ).f". umwrion (Jwulia Wen YII 1IIt!t.tltl dod i'r "Iwg. Hwy Kll,ldiall( dan y ilen hhy swi II ddod i'r amlwg, RI1»i,¡ givthio rhai j'r Ian, Ifeu tod niewii llwyr diiinodedd ) Uwy deiinlaut yn ri-37 wan, I liftwlio en hanr iiydedd 1 Un swil yw Harries wiw I '1r.8'hV II elodei f:"hl Ei WI1 nn yw, ;\1M' Knlf's i w i.Atnrf Ond !-ry ewhl oil, Mile clod yn oetlwng ldo, Ot nail a'r 1 yd iir goll. Fe'i e» oliwl eil«c!i ftntrol Un doetli a ds vv ef dvtn a H>r,,f "I dynion. Pan rydd Y 1.1.01 el lef, ^Mae ii deall t'i !\llh inn; Iii laidd gormesiaetb idu I wueydfl ItS mddflll ,osl8d. A dweyd y 11 hyf mae hi By'n llywodnMethu'r hoilwlad! Cynnwn.der ar ei sedd, Jite ay,1,1 i (ieyrnasii; Mxo gormes yn el bedd, A bytli i ixlgytndi y míst,r mawr ,¡,lawn. A'r gweitfilwr 1 Saw i s.v'il unol, Ae ef 1, J 1 ddawn i asio'r hobo!: 1t.c\, gweittiiwr isel LI\tJ, t'w reistr mewn ufudd -od 1'1 rmdl ,ù Ihtll mae ffuwj 1'rwy' aroiygwr hy«i'"d t Oallolb"rnt, mawr y ddau Yw ef ltd llywodtnei hwr; &\vi'ionedd yn ddiau, Mai fe yw r ymer.uvdwrl Dewisiodd coeth, 1 wneyd ei orcUytm nion, CnrllUliiautoll yn ddoetii I II Cadw riiag i;ery¡olon llle proliud xanddynt hwy, 0\1 mebyd mewn inw.igioddlM i ■Ef* sy'n y;wybod pwy Xw*r goraf eu cynlluniau. Bced fy w'r boneddwr hwn, Dd\vy oes 1' II niyn'd i iv feddrod. Dymuniad p. wb, ml wu, Yw hyn htb d-r.vedyd gorsood t A phan y d' lo'r awr. I w oli'w og hid ei "ly. Caiff godi fel v wawr, A'i fythol anrh vdi-ddu! CctUwehwr. Jonx RKES (loan ap RtfS) BYDPTN Y RHUBAN G!,AS. Betii yw'r twrw mawr a giyw&f? Byddin r y KhuUin GNs, Sydd vn rhuth-o n tniapei or wr.rthaf Y. hen fwystSil tuedd'dod ells. Llwyddiant i-itii; Iwyr yinlitl O;n liriOi.a< tli vr lien bia' Fel bo nieJd won drwyyt li illfyd 'A' dod yn Bobr, doetli, a dL MRe v fyddin y n ynil^du, Ac yn gytiyiii fyn'd it'r inaes. Myrdd o laneiau a lodesi fSydd Y" jjwiugoV f{,I.h"n Gas r I', -A o WREIIKM TXMEDDIKIOP, lletyd sy'n ilori; A'r un modd y j¡;wI'.1.¡¡;e.I<l wwyul.øn. Ydynt falcli r fyddin turn. ll.ie'r tnfarnwr bron vn wailgu'—•• Colli true gwsiiicriaid III, T lhal sydd yn cefnu arho (,;1\11 yiureaU u'ri y iyddin. C«u y Id ;1' i,ocai U/Hiqh, Flinant ef yn urw gas Oud V hyn bair i'w d 1I'\< "il\an. y", hardd lu y Hi ut.Nt. iiiiLi. Tr oe,til Nedi Jones, gwr Snii, n lien feddwyr; biti ei itil; l'r i(rd I.1 „fir* 11 >u, 1 dditw tiaechiui Jîï '11 ddiffaet; Tin, gwaruti ti holt -irlan, TVa'r ot-dd 8al a'r plant yn Hwjxt, A'u jiwynebau'ii esdur dctat^an I I nl iiriiyrit eisieu bwyd. Ond, yn fnUlI, al'i wiaj: yn prwo Fe,th Ned, ry w nos, i 0', Ill, R;.u¡'UlI, er creu twrw A {twiK'yit ¡Idsmu n»enys hwr<1ci" Olid duti effaiih WI" sou ar».( tu, l'w otw .1. saAtttood grna, A Chan wyk> dagrau'n n,j¡>tIh.. ft- gyinerodd Kiilmn (via*. "Sawr inse Ned a Kal y" Ac yn byw yn fw, eyh-nn, AIL, plant iineh yn wir ,y8"IU', Ac yn 1,-inweud 61-b yr un Ar nos Sadwru, Y it lie" niyiittd 1'1' Rf'1i. 1_-ffi'Ij,M I", Y mae ISedyn swr yn eerdde/S Allan idre. Ond bob tro mae Ned ;i'r iealu. y" p7\,J"wll lyii'd i uia ii, Ni i\i:;ighoifant"liyLh i ddqictt Ar eu bron-*u Ruban eW, Clod a tyddo 1'1 ddewr fyùdfn- yw o'n titawl a'n semb. Am gyfodi ambell feddwyu Q drvbini biysian erch. 0: iu wawriai'r hyfrw! srnser Pan fydd pawb 0 ddytiolrvw Tu d.iewr ttiwyr o den faner Rardd a elin y Pyddin wfw- j Pryd 11\'11 fe fvdd gA dll w Yn fwy trbyg t'r net' wen O lXluw, Hwydda a lx.ndilhia'» Fyddin i ddwyu hyn i beu. Z. P. DAU Eimi-YN I'R CAnETRTCm. (Buddugol yn Eisteddfod ddiweddaf Pontypridd Boneddwr sydd yn betn uoddydd. UyW Bin lien gyfarfodvdd Yw WiUi.uns hael, vma evd4. YIl SALON ben-bwy-gllydd, Hardd lawn G vmroaidd tthi&t AM Achos da wrth idvtad Deil n a dvla»iW«d, Hwy I a dkwlo fciaw el dad. Pontypridd, KUMVATCS, leI Ap Kftft.