The Cardiff Times

THE SCOTCH GENERAL ASSEMBLIES. TAie Free Church Assembly of Scotland agreed on Saturday, by 372 votes to 59, to press the Government for disestablishment and disendow- ment. The assembly discussed the land laws, and resolvad to ask for legislation on the lines of the Crofters Commissioners' report, and that in the meantime the Government should pass an act suspending evictions in the Highlands and islands of Scotland. In the Established Church Assembly the Calcutta Mission case was resumed, and was considered in a crowded and excited court. By a majority of 193 to 90 the assembly sustained the action of the Foreign Mission committee, and thereupon Mr Hastio resigned his connection with the Church. The hearingof the case has occupied three sittings of the court.

LEGISLATION AGAINST SMOKING. "The progress of smoking" in South Aus- tralia his been so great in recent years as to ren- der it advisable to check its growth among the youth of the colony. A measure has, there- fore, been laid before the House of Assembly, which proj>oses that any person under 18 years of age who shall smoke any pipe, cigar, or cigarette shall be deemed guilty of an offence, and, on conviction, shall bo liable to a penalty of not less than 5s nor more than F,5, and in default of payment may be imprisoned for any period not exceeding one month. Furthermore, that on auy person charged with the offence shall rest the onus of proving his age, or, it may be as- sumed, if the offender be a yonng lady with a fancy for indulging the same vicious practice, she must also show that she does not come within the prohibition by reason of her age. To give a fillip to the operation of the law it is proposed that one-half of every penalty impoed shall be paid to the informer, and the remainder to the treasurer for the public uses of the province.

IUISIl NATIONALIST DEMONSTRATION. The Press Association, Newry correspondent telegraphs that considerable excitement existed in Newry on Sunday, when 500 extra constabulary and two troops of Lancers were drafted into the town in anticipation that meetings would be held by the Nationalists, notwithstanding the recent proclamation of the Lord-Lieutenant. Mr Biggar, iii(i several Nationalists left their hotel at an early hour and proceeded to Hilltown, where Mr Big-gar addressed the people when they came from mass. He advised the tenants to come to terms with the landlords, in order to secure their farms. A meeting was also held at Meigh, about four miles from Ncwry, which was addressed by Mr O'Brien, M.P., and at which resolutions were passed. An attempt was made to hold a meeting at Camlough, when the police iaspersed the people, but not before some speeches nad been made. The Orangemen did not appear a/iywnere. As the police left Newry on cars they were, hissed and booed by mobs, but towards mg-ht the town grew quiet, and no disturbances were reported. A lettr was received in Newry oil Satuiday night stating that two dynamitards had left London for Newry, and would blow up public buildings if meetings were stopped. The letter was handed to the resident magistrate.

THE LOUD CHANCELLOR ON CHUI10H WORK. I Lord Selborne was present on Saturday night at a conversazione heid in the Urdl-hall, Derby, to welcome the Bishop of Southwell to that part of his diocese. Referring to the increase of the Episcopate, he said in our own times we had seen the establishment ot five new bishoprics. Notwithstanding ad the uoceitainties that might be before them ns to the future temporal interests of their Ohiuch, and when they saw that work done, not by State aid, but by the voluntary contributions or churchmen and Christians generally, they might be quite sure that there WitS an instinctii 3 feenng in the minds of chnrohiiii-B :1 ot imgbshmen that tins insti- tution and this form of Church government was not a form, but, a substance. Such hod: were the strongest evidence po sibie of the vigorous life which WJ. within the Cit-ircii of England, of its in- trinsic power, of its faith in its own vocation, and calling, and future, whatever might hapi eu to it with respect to any of its temporal accidents. Speaking, not as a politician or as a clergyman, but taking a middle course, it was a great mistake so think t .at the essence of govovnineut resided in Parliament or in any political institution. They might dcicud upon ;'t that the root of all the issues of government lay much deeper. The moral force which formed character and indi- vidual life was the force which Churches and clergy were specially called upon to deal with. Upon these depeiuieii the issut-s of good and evil in the great field of public and political life, and, therefore, there never was a time when cnurches and cf religion generally were more called upon to realise all the work which was specially before them. It-was a time upon which great issues depended. Freedom, he thanked God, had now attained such a com- pleteness that every man might say or publish wh oever he pleased, provided he did it with a decent respect; for the feelings of others. Still there were dangers of social disturbance all ronn i us, and these must be cured by the moral force of society, which depended upon the work of churches and

I lOR, THE LOVE-LETTER ANSWERED. BY WILKIE COLLINS. BOOK THE FIFTH.-THE COTTAGE. CHAPTER LII.—" IF I COULD FIND A FMEND." Shortly after Miss Ladd had taken her depar- ture, a parcel arrived for Emily, bearing the name of a bookseller printed on the label, It was large and it was heavy. "Rending enough, I should think, to last for a life-time," Mrs Ellmother re- marked, after carrying the parcel upstairs. Emily called her back as she was leaving the room. I want to caution you, she said, before Miss Wyvil comes. Don't tell her—don't tell anybody—how my father met his death. If other persons are taken into our confidence, they will talk of it. I don't know how near to me or to my friends the murderer may be. The slightest hin may put him on his guard." "Oh, Miss, you are still thinking of that I think of nothing else." Bad for your mind, Miss Emily—and bad for yonr body, as your looks show. I wish you would take counsel with some discreet person.before you move in this matter by yourself. Emily sighed wearily. In my situation, where is the person whom I can trust ?" You can trust the good doctor." Can I ?" Perhaps I was wrong when I told you I wouldn't see him. He might be of some use to me." Mrs Ellmother made the most of this conces- sion, in the fear that Emily might change her mind. Doctor Allday may call on you to- morrow," she said. Do you mean that you have sent for him ?" .1 Don't be angry 1 I did it for the best—and Mr Mirabel agreed with me." Mr Mirabel What have you told Mr Mirabel ?" Nothing, except that yon are ill. When he heard that, he proposed to go to the doctor. Ho will be hero again to-morrow, to ask for news of your health. Will you see him. I don't know yet—I have other things to think of. Bring Miss Wyvil up here, when she comes." Am I to get the spare room ready for her 1" "No. She is staying with her father at the London house," Emily made that reply almost with an air of relief. When Cec lia arrived, it was only by an effort that she could show grateful appreciation of the sympathy of her dearest friend. When the visit came to an end, she felt an ungrateful sense of freedom the restraint was off her mind she could think again of the one terrible subject that had any interest for her now. Over love, over friendship, over the natural enjoyment of her young life, predominated the blighting resolution which bound her to avenge her father's death. Her dearest remembrances of him—tender remem- brances once—now burnt in her (to use her own word) like fire. It was no ordinary love that had bound parent and child together in the byegone time. Emily had grown from infancy to gul- hood, owing all the brightness of her life—a life without a mother, without brothers, without sisters—to her father alone. To submit to lose this beloved, this only companion, by the cruel stroke of disease was of all trials of resignation the hardest to bear. But to be severed from him by the murderous hand of a man, was more than Emily's fervent nature could passively endure. Before the garden gate had closed on her friend she had returned to her one thought, she was breathing again her one aspiration. The books that she had ordered, with her own purpose in view- books that might supply her want of experience, and fmight reveal the perils which beset the course that lay before her—were unpacked and spread out on the table. Hour after hour, when the old servant believed that her mistress was in bed, she was absorbed over biographies in English and French, which related the stratagems, by means of which famous policemen had captured the worst criminals of their time. From these we turn to works of fiction, which found their chief topic of interest in dwelling on the discovery of hidden crime. The night passed, and dawn glim- mered through the window—and still she opened book after book with sinking courage—and still she gained nothing but the disheartening convic- tion of her inability to carry out her own plans. Almost every page that she turned over revealed the immovable obstacles set in her way by her sex and her age. Could she mix with the people, visit the scenes familiar to the fearful experience of men (in fact and in fiction), who had traced the homicide to his hiding place, and had marked him among his harmless fellow-creatures with the brand of Cain ? No A young girl following, or attempting to follow, that career, must reckon with insult and outrage—paying their abominable tribute to her youth and her beauty, at every turn. What proportion would the men who might respect her bear to the men who might make her the object of advances, which it was hardly possi- ble to imagine without shuddering. She crept ex- hausted to her bed, the most helpless, hopeless creature on the wide surface of the earth—a girl eelf-devoted to the task of a man. Careful to perform his promise toMirabel, with- out delay, tho doctor called on Emily early in the morning—before the hour at which he usually en- tered his consulting room. Well ? what's the matter with the pretty young mistress ?* he asked, in his most abrupt manner, when Mrs Ellmother opened the door, Is it love ? or jealousy ? or a new dress with a wrinkle in it ?" You will hear about it, sir, from Miss Emily herself. I am forbidden to say anything." But you mean to say something—for all that ?" Don't joke, Doctor Allday The state of things here is a great deal too serious for joking. Make up your mind to be surprised—I say no more." Before the doctor could ask what this meant, Emily opened the parlour door. "Come in 1" she said, impatiently. Doctor A! Id ay's first greeting was strictly pro- fessional. Mv dear child, I never expected this," he began. You are looking wretchedly ill." He attempted to feel her pulse. She drew her hand away from him. It's my mind tbaes ill," she answered. Feel- ing my pulse cure me of anxiety and dis- tress. I want advice. I want help. Dear old doctor, you have always been a good friend to me —a better friend than ever now." What can I do ?" fI Promise you will keep secret what I am going to say to you—and listen, pray listen patiently, till I have done." Doctor Allday promised, and listened. He had been, in some degree at least, prepared for a sur- prise—but the disclosure which now burst on him was more than his equanimity could sustain. He looked at Emily in silent dismay. She had sur- prised and shocked him, not only by what she said, but by what site unconsciously suggested. Was it possible that Mirabel had produced on Emily the same impression which was so persist- ently present in his own mind ? His first impulse, he was composed enough to speak, urged him to put the question to her cautiously. If you happened t) meet with the suspected man," he said, have you any means of identify- ing him ?" None whatever, doctor. If you would only think it over He stopped her thera convinced of the danger of encouraging her, and resolved to act on his con \"Ídiun. I have euougli to occupy me in my profes- sion," lie said. Ask your other friend to think it over." What other friend V* Mr Alban Morris," f The moment he pronounced the name, he saw that he h.td touched on some painful association. Has Mr Morris refused to help you ?" he illquiœd. I have not asked him to help me." Why ?' There was no choice (with such a man as Doc- tor Allday) between offending him or answering him. Emily adopted the last alternative. On this occasion she had no reason to complain of his silence. c Your view of Mr Morris's conduct surprises me," he rcpIied-" surprises me more than I can say," he added; remembering that ho too was guilty of having keptherin ignorancn of the truth, out of regard—mistaken regard, as it now seemed to be—for her peace of mind. f Be good to m;, and pass it over if I am wrong," Emily said I can't dispute with yju I I can only teU you what I feel. You have always been kind to me—may I count on your kindness still. Doctor Allday relapsed into silence. May I at least ask," she went on, if you know anything of persons She paused, dis- couraged by the cold expression of inquiry in. the old nun's eyes as he looked at her. What persons ?" he said. IVrsons whom I suspect." t Name them." Emily named the landlady of the inn at Zee- t land she could now place the right interpretation on Mrs Rook's conduct, when the locket had been put into her hand at Netherwoods. Doctor All- day answered shortly and ftifny he had never even seen Mrs Rook. Emily mentioned Miss Jethro next—and saw at once that she had interested him. What do you suspect Miss Jethro of doing ?" he a-ked. I Hispset her of knowing more of my father s death than she is willing to acknowledge," Emily replied. The doctor's manner altered for the better. I with yew," he said frankly. But 1 have some knowledge of that lady. I warn you not to time and trouble in trying to discover the weak side of Miss Jethro." That was not my experience 0: her at school," Emily rejoined. "At the same time, I dOll" know wlut may have happened since those days. I may p;rhaps have lost the place I once held in her regard." How ?" ,I Through my aunt." Through your aunt T' I hope and trust I am wrong," Emily con- tinued but I fear my aunt ha.d something to do with Miss Jethro's dismissal from tho school— and in that case Miss Jethro may have found it out." Her eyes, resting on the doctor, suddenly brigM.eord. Yon know something about it she exclaimed. He c uisideiad a little—whether he should or should not tell her of the letLer addressed by Miss Ladd to Mis* Letitia, which ha had found at the coUs If I could s.iti- fj you that your fears are well fouttded." he asked, would the discovery keep you away from Miss Jethro ?" [ should be ashamed to speak to her-even if we met," Very well, I can tell you positively, that your aunt was tLc penO:1 wIll) turned Miss Jethro out of the school. When I get home, I will send you a letter that proves it.' Emily's head sank on her breast. Why do I j only hear of this now ?" she said. Because I had no reason for letting you know of it-, before to-day. If I have done nothing else, f have at least succeeded in ke "TIlt Miss Jethro apart." Emily looked at him in Ha went on without appearing to no,;e- r.. had startled j her. "I wish to God I e >■ eesdy put a stop to the m: d «>!•k' •• >u (Hl templating." The mad project ?" Emily repeated. Oh, Doctor Allday. Do you cruelly leave me to my- self, at the time of all others, when I am most in need of your sympathy ?" That appeal moved him. He spoke more gently he pitied, while he condemned her. My poor dear child, I should be cruel indeed, if I encouraged you. You are giving yourself up to an enterprise, so shockingly unsuited to a young girl like you, that I declare I contemplate it with horror. Thiuk, I entreat you, think; and let me hear that you have yielded—not to my poor entreaties—but to your own better sense His voice faltered his eyes moistened. I shall make a fool of myself," he burst out furiously, if I stay here any longer. Good-bye." He left her. She walked to the window, and looked out at the fair morning. No one to feel for her—no one to understand her—nothing nearer that could speak to poor mortality of hope and encourage- ment than the bright heaven, so far away She turned from the window. The sun shines on the murderer," she thought, as it shines on me." She sat down at the table, and tried to quiet her mind to think steadily to some good pur- pose. Of the few friends that she possessed, every one had declared that she was in the wrong. Had they lost the one loved being of all beings on earth, and lost him by the hand of a homicide—and that homicide free t All that was faithful, all that was devoted in the girl's nature, held her to her des- perate resolution as with a haad of iron. If she shrank at that miserable moment, it was not from her design—it was from the sense of her own help- lessness. Oh, if I had been a man she said to herself. Oh if I could find a friend CHAPTER LIII.—THE FRTKND IS FOUND. Mrs Ellmother looked into the parlour. I. told you Mr Mirabel would call again," she an- ] nounced. Here he is." i Has he asked to see me ?" He leaves it entirely to you." For a moment, and a moment only, Emily was undecided. Show him in," she said. Mirabel's embarrassment was visible the mo- I ment he entered the room. For the first time iu his life—in the presence of a woman—the popular preacher was shy. He who had taken hundreds of fair hands with sympathetic pressure—he who had offered fluent consolation, abroad and at home, to beauty in distress—was conscious of a rising colour, and was absolutely at a loss for words, when Emily received him. And yet, though he appeared at disadvantage—and worse still, though he was conscious of it himself—there was nothing contemptible in his look and manner. His silence and confusion revealed a change in him which inspired respect. Love had developed this spoilt darling of foolish congregations, this effeminate pet of drawing-rooms and boudoirs, into a Man—and no woman, in Emily's position, could have failed to see that it was love which she herself had inspired. Equally ill at ease, they both took refuge in the commonplace phrases suggested by the occasion. These exhausted, there was a pause. Mirabel alluded to Cecilia, as a means of continuing the conversation. Have you seen Miss Wyvil ?" he inquired. She was here last night; and I expect to see her again to-day, before she returns to Monks- moor with her father. Do you go back with them ?" Yes—if you do." I remain in London." Then I remain in London, too The strong feeling that was in him had forced its way to expression at last. In happier days— when she had persistently refused to let him speak to her seriously—she would have been ready with a light-hearted reply. She was silent now. Mira- bel pleaded with her not to misunderstand him by an honest confession of his motives, which presented him under a new aspect. The easy plau- sible man, who had hardly ever seemed to be in earnest before meant, seriously meant, what he said now. May I try to explain myself ?" he asked. Certainly, if you wish it." Pray, don't suppose me capable," Mirabel said earnestly, of presuming to pay you an idle com- phment. I cannot think of you, alone and in trouble, without feeling anxiety which can only be relieved in one way—I must be near enough to hear of you, day by day. Not by repeating this visit Unless you wish it, I will not again cross the threshold of your door. Mrs Ellmother will tell me if your mind is more at ease Mrs ElJ- mother will tell me if there is any new trial of your fortitude. She needn't even mention that I have been speaking to her at the door and she may be sure, and you may be sure, that I shall ask no inquisitive questions. I can feel for you in your misfortune, without wishing to know what that misfortune is. If I can ever be of the smallest use, think of me as your other servant. Say to Mrs Ellmother, I want him'—and say no more." Where is the woman who could have resisted such devotion as this—inspired, truly inspired by herself ? Emily's eyes moistened as she answered him. You little know how your kindness touches me, she said. Don't speak of my kindness until you have put me to the proof," ha interposed. Can a friend (such a friend as I am, I mean) be of any use ?" Of the greatest use if I could feel justified in trying you." I entreat you to try me But, Mr Mirabel, you don't know what I am thinking of." I don't want to know." I may be wrong. My friends all say I am wrong." I don't care what your friends say I don't care about any earthly thing but your tranquility. Does your dog ask whether you are right or wrong? I am your dog. I think of You, and I think of nothing else." She looked back through the experience of the ia t few days. Miss Ladd Mrs Ellmother— Doctor Allday not one of them had felt for her, not one of them had spoken to her, as this man had felt and had spoken. She remembered the dreadful sense of solitude and helplessness, which had wrung her heart, in the interval before Mira- bel came in. Her father himself could hardly have been kinder to her than this friend of a few weeks only. She looked at him through her tears slie could say nothing that was eloquent, nothing even that was adequate. You are very good to me," was her only acknowledgment of all that he had offered. How poor it seemed to be and bow much it meant He rose, saying considerately that he would leave her to recover herself, and would wait to hear from Mrs Klhnother if be was wanted. She stopped him before he could get to the door. No," she said; I must not let you go. In common gratitnde, I ought to decide before you leave me, aud I do decide to take you into my confidence." She hesitated her colour lose a little" I shall have to ask you very often to speak with me," resumed and for serious reasons, which you will presently know, we must be alone. Is it possible (you are better able to judge than I am) that your character mfty suffer in tiie estimation of some of your friends ? I know how unselfishly you offer me your_ know you speak to me as a brother might speak to a sister No, Miss Emily I can't honestly claim to do that ?-And may I venture to remind you you know why." t She started. Her eyes rested on him with a mo- mentary expression of reproach. Is it quite fair," she asked, in my situation, to say that ?" Would it have been quite fair," he rejoined, to allow you to deceive yourself? Should I de- serve to be taken into your confidence, if I encou- raged you to trust me under false pretences ? Not a word more of those hopes on which the happi- ness of my life dermis shall pass my lip^i unless you permit it. Let the world think what it may of me, and .say what it may of me J I should den- pise myself if I allowed that consideration to have the slightest influence—except when I think of you. The little world about us may take it for granted that I am more favoured than I can per- haps ever hope to be the little world about us doesn't know that another happier man an ob- ject of interest to you Stop, Mr Mirabel The person to whom you refer has no such claim on me as you suppose. Dare I say how happy I am to hear it ? Will you forgive me ?" I will forgive yoa, if you say no more." Their eyes met. Completely overcome by the new hope that she had inspired, Mirabel was un- able to answer her. His sensitive nerves trembled under emotion, like the nerves of a woman his delicate complexion faded away slowly into white- ness. Emily was alarmed—he seemed to be on the point of fainting. She ran to the window to open it more widely. Pray don't trouble yourself," he said, I am easily agitated by any sudden sensation—and I am a little overcome at this moment by my own happiness." Let me give you a glass of wine." Thank you—I don't it indeed." You really feel better ?" I feel quite well gain-and eager to hear h w I cu serve you." It's a long story, Mr lYIirabrl-and a dreadful story," .Dreadful ?" Yes 1 Let me tell you first how you can serve me. I am in search of a man who has done me the cruellest wrong that one humm creature can in- flict on another. But the chances are all against me—I am only a woman and I don't know how to take even the first step towards discovery." Yon will know, when I guide you." He reminded her tenderly of what she might expect from him, and was rewarded by a grateful look. Seeing nothing, suspecting nothing, they I advanced together nearer and nearer to the end. Once or tw ee," Emiiy continued, I spoke to you of my poor father, when we were at Moiiksm'or—and I must speak of him again. You could have no interest in inquiring about a stranger—and you cannot have hoard how he died." "Pardon I heard from Mr Wyvil that he died of heart complaint." II "You heard what I had told Mr Wyvil," Emily said I was wrong." Wrong Mirabel cxclaimed, in a tone of courteons surprise. Mr Mirabel, I have been deceived about my father's death—and I have only discovered it a few days since." At the impending moment of the frightful shock which she was innocently aVmt to inflict on him, she stopped—doubtful whether it would f be best to relate how the discovery had been made, or to pass at once to the result. Mirabel supposed j that she had pause. to control her agitation. He was so immeasurably far away from the faintest suspicion of what was coming that he begged her to spara herself. It will only distress you," he pleaded, to dwell on your father's death." Distress me V she repeated. His death [ maddens me (>h, don't say that Hear me hear me My father died mnr- derrd, at Z^eland—and the man you mu-t help me to imd is the vvrch who killed him." She started to !m* root with a cry of terror. Miralji dropped i-vm h,s chair .-ci;?eiess on the floor, ( To be con (in tied. J j

PARt5 KOCKK'S (Swansea) Welsh Knotting « Yarn. Speciality, Fat Bluet. .)9141

Y GOLOFN GYMREIG Dymtuiir i'n gohebwyr Oymreig gyfeirio eu goheb- iaethau, llyfrau i'w hadolygu, &c., fel y canlyn: Dafydd Monj&nwg, Morganxoj HQUU, Lfantvrit- sirect, Cardiff.

AT EIN GOHEBWYR. "Caethwasiaeth."—Trueni na fuasai y darn bWIl yn cael ei gyhoeddi cyn rhyddhad caethion America. Y mae braidd yn anamserol yn awr. H Glan y M6r. "-Prydlon iawn, gan fod cym- fcint o dyrchu tua'r glanau yn y tymhor hwn, "Y CMorian,"—Y mae hwn yn glorian gryno iawn-ei gorpheniad yw y rhan wanaf o honi. "Mor Swynol ywV Haf,"—Ie, a ewynol yw'r pennillion hefyd, er y buasent yn bertach pe gosodasid deuddeg llineU yn mhob un yn lie wytb, gan fod yr odlau yn caniatau byny. "Cymru Fach i Mi."—Cymeradwy. Talwch fwy o sylw i'r odlau, er mwyn bod yn fwy celfydd. Dylasai y Hinell flaenaf odli &'r drydedd y burned tfr seithfed, yn ogystal a'r ail a'r bed- waredd, &c. "Cynghor i Aderyn—Yr Aderyn ar y Brigyn." —Cymeradwy iawn, fel arfer. ° Adda yn Eden—Yr Hen Gwyn, &c."—Diol?h am ychydig o ffrwythau Gardd Eden, gyda dar- luniau o'r par hawddgar a breswylient yno gynt. A

BARDDONIAETH. Y FRIALLEN. Cynarol, hudol flod'yn—y vv, ar glawdd Mal arglwyddes ddillyn; Ladi ferth ar flodau fyn Flaenu y tirfiol v/anwyn, Mynydd Cynffig. CYNFIGWYSON.

Y GOMED.— (BUDDUGOL.) Ewybr d'rawiadol dlos wiber-drydan geinau dirif yw'r gomed arian awyr, fel eglur huan, Glir, firain, wynias, glaer forwyn onian, Bywiog dorch o wibiog dan,—Drrw'r bydoedd o ddrws y nefoedd roes bon i hofian. ALWBNYDD,

LLIWIAU. OOCHNI. Gall y cwrel, gwull. ac aerou—oil am Eu lliw coch, gael coron Am hyny emblem, union Ydyw o frwd waed y fron. GWYflDDNI. Hudlawn liw adlun o lan—ogoniant Y gwanwyn ei hunan Dyma liw gwych deml y gan, A lliw tyner wallt anian. lWWCH. Y du oil o dywyllwch-y deillia Yr un dull a thristweh Drwy'n daear hen, y duwch Barlysa fron Flora iflvvch. MELTNDER. Yn mlaen os awn y melyn sydd—yn ben Ar bob lliw a drfnydd aur, a derch dad y dydd/' Y mel, ac yd y moelydd. GI. ESN" I. Glas enwog o lys anian-wisgodd oer Ysgwydd aig ei hunan Mwy glwys yw gwedd myg las gwan, Yr oludog wyur lydan. GWYNOEB. Dia.u ar liwiau lawer—rhagora Gwawr y gwyn bob amser Byw lendid a. chwbl wynder, Byw hanfod iach Gwynfa der. NATHAN WiN.

Y MARCH. (Tdn—" Difyrwch Gwyr Harlech.") Wele arwr nerthol bywiog, Llawn o uwyfiant cryf ewynog, Mewn sidanaidd fantell flewog, Glwys fawreddog lyw; Mae'r beiddgarweh maith a'r gallu, Sy'n ei anian wedi 'i blanu, Yn ei lygaid yn fliamychu, Nod o arswyd yw Hoender greddf sydd ynddo, Fel llanw yn chwyddo, Heria'r byd am yni mawr, Wrtli gloddio'r Uawr a phrancio A swn rhwvsgfawr awdurdodol, Glywiryn ei sain weryrol, Megys nodau cloch fyddarol, Sydd yn cly w, Arglwydd ar y weirglawdd ydyw, Ni cheiryno un o'igyfrvw, Trwy ddylanwad greddf uehelryw, Mewn gryrmisder maith; Ac ni chyfyd un i fynu, Yn ei ymyl i gystadiu, Am wrhydri ga'i edinygu, Na chyflymder ehwaith; Sefyll yn y cysgod, Wnant mewn syn yswildod, Nid oes un o hoenus nod, A feiddia ddod i'w wyddlod Ni chawn dynwr ehwaith dan barnais, Yn ein gwlad o fawv uchelgais, Wrth ei ystlys all gydymgais, Am y dorch mewn gwaith. Pan mae dychryn yn teyrnasu, A gad i fynu, Trwst byddinoedd yn ymreatru, I wneud marwol frad Mae sain udgorn croch yn fflamio, Nwydau rhyfel boethwyllt ynddo, Ac heb arswyd anturio'n Llawn o awch i'r gad Chwardd yn wyuuU arfau, Ddarniaot ebyi-th angau, Ac wrth awgrym hyrddiol floedd, Er ingoedd ty r rhengau Yn yr ornest llawn o fariaeth Enill gwaedlyd fuddugoliaeth Ydyw nod y dewrfarch cdiaeth, Teyrn sy'n cael mawrhad. Er fod March fel breiniol wron, Yn anhafal mewn gorehestion, Mae i'w arglwydd yn was ffyddlon, Diwyd iawn o hyd Yn yr ysgol pan ca'i ddofi, Mae'n cael dysgu nfndd wersi, Er gwnettd arch ei lyw'n ddiwjrni, Heb nadid nn pryd Llafor hwn a'i n wytiant, Dry yn 116g a ffyniant, I'w berchcnog yn ildiffael, Ad-daMad hael am borthiant Caria goron trwy'i ragoriaeth, Rhad a diflin mewn gwasanaefch, Er hwylusu masnach helacth, Bywyd lion y byd. TROD YN FAB:

CARIAD DUW. Y mae cariad anfeidrol Uwch nefoedd, is na'r rnor, Cariad Dllw sy'n anghydmarol, Diolch byth am gariad lor Cariad Duw sydd for heb lanau, Nis gait Gabriel ddweyd ei hyd, o mor felus ydywY sreiriau— Felly carodd Daw y byd." Carodd Duw holl blant y codwm, Er y tragwyddoldeb draw Ac Fe'u ceidw yn y cwlwrn, Am y tragwyddoldeb ddaw; Afon cariad Duw fn'n llifo, Dros ymy}on traeth y byd, Cyn i'r heuliau gael eu lluuio, Na rhoi'r gvvagle yn oi gryd. Cyn i'w fydded" roi bodolaeth I'r aneirif fydos.ld sy, Cyn i long yr iachawdwriaeth" Landiu'i borthhuld Calfari; Ie, cyn i don am so rind Olchi traeth y ddaear wiw Yr oedd tonan moroedd cariad j Yn ymchwyddo'n mynwes Duw. 'No] yn eigion tragwyddoldeb, Y n y cynghor borau fu, j Y llaw-nodwyd Iiardd gytundeb, "C:1.riad D wyfol" atunJ ni Mae rhyw ddyfnder o wybodactb, Adoethincb ynddo'n llawn, Cynllun Tri ya un mewn arfaeth, Yn dadbnu Dwyfol Iawu. Cariad Duw sydd .'awn fl"ynonelJ, Rhwng ei fawr fvnyddosdd gwiw, Lifa allan heb ei ciiymo)!, I d vnol now Ynddi bu y rhos a'r Trvvsio en gwynebau ciaer, Yllddi y bedyddiwyd tanllvd Gawr y dydd a'; gvlchau aur. O! 'r fath gariad annherrynol Ydyw cariad Duw at ddyn, Nitl 068 grebivyll iedr blymio Lawr i'w dJyfnder ef ei him Mor diwaclod yw, heb ianau, Tragwyddoldeb ywei hyd, 'R wyf yn tewi gyua'r geiriau— Felly carodd Duw y byd." Penam. MEUDWY GWENT

Y FYN WENT.—(BUDDCGOL.) Er cymaint o ebyrth i'r fynwent hebry;; wVd, Er cwynip y ddvnoliaeth, goan OC" ar oj oes, Ei gorwanc a'i syched hyd heddywni thorwyd, Mewn nowyn am ragor mae'n llefa:n, Aloes, moes Mae tynfaen taith bywyd pob oed a phobgraddau, Ores y cardotwyr hyd deyrn y gorseddau, O bob lle'n cyfeirio yn mlaen i'w phi iddeHau, Trwy hawddfyd a llonder, trwy siomiant a gloes. Mae penau llinellau hoh ffyrdd gogonianati, j Yn nghulborth y fynwent yn cwrddyd i gyd, Ac yma diosgir y mawriou 0'11 teitlau, A'r rhwYg" a'r uwchafiaeth a gins yn y byd; Mae'r tman fu'n gruddfan dan law y gorchryrnydd, I; 0 fewn ei thiriogaeth yn gorpbwy^ yu llouydd, Ac yma mae'n yùr3.r!d a'i Vâs gynreolyj i, Mae hwnw'n ei ymyl mown anghof yn iud. Distawrwydd nos angan sydd yma'n kyrrllStlt A dwyster trwm biraeth sy'n bwys ar ei Wron Gan alar gawodydd CÙ1 fynych ei gwlychu, I' Prit-fangre dyrolhvth vw hon. taranan dychrynol sy'n rim". I ddeffro y deiliaid sydd ynddi'n rrwm huno, Nes byddo'r Archangel y dydd ola'n hlo^ddio, I godi mar-volion yr tioll ddaear groii, Tywyllweh anobaikh ar Iwch y ddyn^'iaeth, Yn oes y cysgodau orcl1", 1rliai eO gwedd I Nid oedd yr Adfeciad o hveh llygre ligaeth, Yn amiwg jiryd hwnw er rboi balm a hedd Ond Haul y CyiViwnder ar hon a lewyrchodd, A'r oesol dywyihvch ocdd arm wa-g'iro 1:1, A ffordd o'r fro dywell i'r Wynfa agi.rodd, Trwy gael buddugobaeth ar dahieth y hedd. Mae pob rhyw genedlaeth o'i mewn yr hfl,IÙ1 helaeth, A hi-fai!:h ddysgwj!i.\d am rede1 sy'n "v-d Ora dydd Sadwrn amser yw adeg yr Arfastb, A'r eogyl fydd \1O;Ù1 fedr l., vr ddod Mae'r Blaenffrwyih & srododd yuiisrth y Goruchaf Yn ernest uaw'r gweddiil o'r rhyfedd gynauaf, J I fyiiv o'r fynwent. drwy wvrth y dydd olaf, j Yspeilir yr angau o'i ddeihrud a'i glod. | Reck Cottage, 'J'J:\QD'7:-1f"11,

WELSH CHARACTERISTICS OF BRITTANY. HOLIDAY RAMBLES BY A WELSHMAN. Letter IX. DOWN OARNAO —R>normcAL tIOSU- MENTS — A ROMAN VILLA DlSrNWMBEI) BURIAL CUSTOMS—WELSH AND JRBBTON OOM- PARED—LEGONIDBO'A MONUMENT. On the way down Carnac by rail we pass the station of Ploemel. Ploe, assimlated to its Welsh cognate plwy, means parish, and mel is the pure Welsh word for honey. If those who hymeneate and pass over to spend their honeymoon on the Continent were to visit this honey parish, I do not think they would regret it. Bees are treated with reverential regard in Brittany. Their hives are dressed in red at the time of weddings, and in black when funeials take place. They share in both the joys and the sorrows of the household to which they belong. The straggling villages of the neighbourhood of Carnac seem to thrive. The holiday attire of the people denotes easy circumstances, if not affluence. The vicinity is shorn of all large trees, if ever it had any, and the hedges arc all bald. Its small, rich enclosures, bounded with stone walls, abound in corn, potatoes, and onions. The whole neighbourhood, although, harmonising with the signification of its name, very stony, is 1 just now quite charming. The inhabitants are clean, civil, and obliging, and during the sunny day (would that I had a week at my disposal) I spend among them, birds animate the happy re- gion with their melody, and contribute their quota to intensify the bliss enjoyed. Soon after my arrival it transpires that most of my fellow-passengers have come down Carnac to feast the inner man with oysters, which are very successfully cultivated in the place. But post- poning that important business and all gastron- omical indulgences for a more convenient time, I hasten to elbow my way towards the celebrated I)ruidica.l monuments erected at about a mile from the village. On the way thither, led by my cicerone, I mount a cele- brated tumulus crowned with a chapel built in honour of St. Michael. The name of the saints in Brittany is legion, but St. Michael is a very distinguished one. The summit of the mound on which, under the protection of St. Michael, I have planted my feet is a high 'vantage ground, which commands a magnificent view of both laud and sea, which here lock hands, kiss, and embrace one another. The tumulus, which reminds me of Crug y Deyrn, Trelech, Carmarthenshire, and its celebrated cist- vaen, was tunnelled about twenty years ago, when a sepulchral chamber, containing a skele- ton and various precious relics, were discovered, some of which are now exhibited in the museum at Vaunes. But what absorbs my attention and excites my curiosity and astonish- ment is the prospect of the grind array of the megalthic monuments which extend athwart the plains yonder. And, unconsciously drawn, :"s I direct my footsteps towards them for closer examination, my wonderment is still en- hanced. There are here now, according to some, 600. and according to others 1,000 (I have spent too much time in examining into the nature of the stone and the order of the arrangements to count them accurately) of these huge monumental pil- lars, many of them being from 10 to 15 feet in height, and of enormous ponderosity. It is said that once upon a time they numbered 11,000, but the number has been reduced by the reckless architect of ruin, who has no regard for anything lawful, and goes in for something promiscuously awful." Such ravages have been perpetrated all over Brittany, where many ancient monuments have been ruthlessly mutilated, and freely used for building purposes. These of Carnac were brought into such requisition when the village church dedicated to St. Cornelius was erected. This saint is the patron of the farm cattle, which are brought in droves to his shrine to worship, and receive the benediction of their protector. The remnant of the ancient monuments of Carnac is ) now safe under the canopy of Government pro- tection. In the use that has been made of these stones, Druidism, provided they are Druidical re- mains, has been enforced to support Christianism. Sometimes, in the solitude of outlandish regions, the tourist is struck when suddenlyaKeltic monu- ment bursts into view, and on it a barbarously painted life-size image of the Saviour nailed to His cross. The blood-streams flowing from the wounds of the nails which held up the falling universe are vividly represented. The sight is calculated to elicit the adoration of Breton wor- shippers, but I should think that the impression made upon the mind of the major part of British visitors is not a very agreeable one. No such images are to be seen towering on the summit of these stones at Carnac. It may be that their being under Government protection accounts for that. The tendency of the policy of the Republic in religious matters is that of a clear stage and no favour. Favours that were wont to be enjoyed by the Catholics to the disadvantage of the Pro- testants have been lately withdrawn, and there is a longing for and aiming at religious equality in the country. Brittany is a grand old museum where anti- quarians and antiquitariaris will find to interest them plenty and to spare. Ensile Souvaslre lamented most pitiably the havoc that had been made of the ancient monuments of his fatherland. He had seen some of them broken up and used to build stables, and some utilized for purposes meaner still on the roads. On one occasion lie found two artistic heads of angels, which had been delicately and exquisitely sculptured, ruthlessly mutilated and trodden under leet. He could see no better reason for thus demolish- ing the olden monuments which spoke so elo- quently of the past than that by which a descendant of Montmorency was actuated when he destroyed some family portraits in order to get the canvas. These majestic monuments of Carnac are arranged in parallel lines, forming regular avenues which run from west to east. All is characterised with design, and there must have been a designer. But how could they have been erected, and what for, are the problems which cannot be satisfactorily solved. Wise ones who' have paid a little attention to the matter are very pronounced in their opinion, but I find that wiser ones, who have bestowed much attention upon it, are sceptical and reticent. Where ignorance is bliss it may be a very foolish thing to be wise. And why should we trouble our heads with the ques- tion when the credulous natives offer us such an easy solution of the difficulty? Most antiquarian saiwits incline now, I suppose, to the opinion that these antique stones are sepulchural monu- ments, and some quote the scriptures which refer to Jacob setting a pillar on the grave of Rachel to buttress the theory. Innocent natives, how- ever, assure us that these bold and imposing pillars of Carnac formed once a gigantic army of pagans, whose march wa- arrested by St. Cor- nelius wbeu he petrified them on the spot. And here they have remained, Lot's wife-like warning pillars. There is an equally easy way of accounting for the position occupied by other huge stones, the conveyance and erection of which arc so mysterious t? us. It was the Virgin, we are told, that carried them in her apron, and so placed them. A short distance beyond these Herculean pillars lies what remains of the Roman villa discovered by Mr James Milne, the indefatigable Scotch antiquarian. His attention was arrested by several mounds in the place, consisting mainly of stones, and mantled with brambles. The super- stitious dreaded the locality, for, according to the popular belief, during night it was the rendezvous of ghosts. If one gets into collision with a ghost in BnUmiy, he is a dead man before the follow- ing night. But the hero who hailed from the land of John Knox, undeterred by any fear of ghosts, goblins, and fairies, whei he. beard of a vague tradition which pomted to the place as the site of an old Roman town, took the necessary steps to (lintomb wlwt j had so long lain theix buried. With perseverance he c uiducted his excavations until in 1875 he had succeeded to bring to bask again in sunlight eight complete building. Traces of the walls of a town were discovered, and,in fact, a street or square was laid open to view having buildings on each side of it." Portions of several buildings are still in a good state of preservation. Anti- quarians have concluded that it is unquestionably ai Gallo-'loman town of the second century. I lingered long in the place endeavouring to talk Latin with the stones of the an tiij ne walls which, had they tongues to articulate and tell me all they had witnessed, would send one away heavy laden with information. Mr Milne's museum, wherein the finds of the excavations are shown, is a mani- fold exponent of the customs and manners of those who had a being on this little planet of ours When good Horatius kept the bridge In the b '«.ve laV3 of old. It is enriched with coins, statuette, medals, jewellery,stone and iron itnpleinents."ottery,glass, and bones, all disinterred from the explored mounds. The register contains the names of visitors, many of whom have come from London, Scotland, and various, parts of France. Having i-canned several pages, in vain I looked fira I single name from Wales until my own was sub- scribed. Now in order to arrive at the end of the world in Finisterre before I finish this letter, I must skip, and, very much ,again«t my will, reach Brest with a single bound—a leap considerably longer than that of St. Michael when he sprang across the sea from Mount Dol (where his foot- step is still seen) to Mount St. Michael. At Brest I am directed to the Hotel de Grand Tvve, whencj the conveyance which corresponds with I Lc Conquet, my destination, starts. I expected the building which assumed such a name to be a very imposing one, but Mncy the disappointment felt on my arri"tl, it diminished into one of the commonest calasets. My French failing mn with tha servant, who waits upon a number of ti; sy Bretons, I invoke the presence of the master, who instantly a; pears, and certainly he i< the Tiire. He i", the bigge>t personage (I am speaking of bigness, not of greatness) I have, seen on the continent. He is a man in fihirt sleeves upturned, with a cap on his head, and a waistcoat, pr?tendo;g to be a whi'e one, ar.-nnd his Tichb >rue. circumference. He is big not only in corporation, but also in every other sen.- e. Can lie speak Engli«h ?" is my "humble inquiry, and his r^spondvo Non isuttered with air; of consequent; dignity, which, as I interpret If-; moans that he disdains the idea of c •« 'ascending to spe Vk English. He, the Grand Turc. go ;ig to soeik English Certainly not. \nd lo-xt grand thing I observe at toe Hotel de Grand Turc is an intoxicated Bi-iou stepping chundly over the threshold, miss- ing his qudibrinm, and rol ling in the stream of water newly come town from the clouds in the showers that, have "all io, and passing along the street. And to perfpjt h scene of the drama, a follow inebriate follows suit, tumbles over his forerunner, and his head sounds aloud on the granite pavement ,if I which it ha" come into col- lesion. They do not twm to heed it much. It is r. market day, and hence all this devotion to Bacchus, in wiiosc cups mire have been drowned than in the ocean. i The majority of my fellow passengers bound for L, Conquet belong to the middle class scction of the community, and some of them are a little inspirited by the cap that cheers and in- ebriates, lo please me they are at first too familiar by far, tugging one's coat, pulling his whiskers, laying bold of his nose, and indulging in other undignified capers. But they turn out to be an innocent, good-hearted sort of fellows. Presently I divulge to them the secret that I am a Breton from England, a kinsman of theirs, and not an Anglais as they supposed. To test my assertion they subject me to an exami- nation which, fortunately, I pass succeas; fully, and with honours. The success which attended me tapped such a flood of brotherly love that I was almost carried away with the tidal waves of the lovingkindness manifested towards me. Pa le ek e disquened ?" was the testing question given me. I instantly understood it to mean Where are you going to descend or alight ? and to the great i "Y of all my immediate response was, Yn Le Conquetv (At Le Conquet). I was coidially advised to pnt un up there at Ty Besson." Never before, how- ever, during all my sojournings in Brittany did I thus catch the meaning of a whole sentence as it was utterred. In rural districts, whore the people have no knowledge of French, I have often been over head and ears in difficulty and unable to proceed for want of information. His racial identity with them having been proved, the Breton from Angletcrre became a favourite on whom great kindness was lavished, and the jour- ney was thoroughly enjoyed by all that pertained to our caravan. We compared the Breton and the Welsh, and observed that about nine-tenths of the names of things are the same in both languages. Our numerals up to a certain point are almost perfectly identical. Like the Welsh, they call wood, coef a bridge, bont; a church eglwys; white, quirt or erIMI water, dior valley, dyffryn uphill, allt (but they have dismissed the Welsh pronunciation of the li) small, bach a well, ffynon and so ad infinitum. I have often used the words and phrases—Dent anian (come here); Pe guemenlf (how much?) Pes^ucta (fish- ing) Dock tan (give me fire). -fit sun down we arrive at Le Conquet. I doubt whether anywhere one can set his eyes upon a more glorious spectacle thai^that which visitors behold on the western coast of Brittany as the brilliant orb of day goes down in the distant horizon, sinking into the sea, and setting it all ablaze. The scene is truly grand, and worth com- ing all the way from Wales to witness. Porhaps angels could paint it, I am sure no mortals can. But my attraction at Lc Conquet is the monu- ment of Legonidec, a distinguished Breton scholar who, employed in 1819 by the London Bible Society, translated the scriptures into his native tongue. The memorial is erected in the burial ground of an old church within about a mile from Le Conquet. It tells its own story in three different languages—French, Welsh, and Breton, The French, which I trans- late, reads, "Erected in 1845, and having been struck down by a thuuderbolt in 184-6, this rnonu- ment was re-erected and completed in 1851 by the t inhabitants of Wales as a token of their regard for Le Gonidec, the restorer of the Breton, into which he translated the Holy Bible." It should be stated that the attention of Wales was drawn to it by the Rev. John Jenkins, Welsh Baptist mis- sionary to tho Bretons, who enlisted the sympathies of the Rev, T. Price (Carn- buanawc) Lady Llanover, and the Rev. T. Phillips, Hereford, through whose instrumentality the second monument was erected. The Welsh inscription on the monument is a prize stanza, which was rewarded by Ladv Hall at the Aber- gavenny eisteddfod in 1848. I append both the Welsh composition and the translation of it, j which I have copied off the monument I ArGonidee dyn da, ei enw svdd yma, Yn arwydd o wir-vawl a'r cariad tynera, Ar bawl-vaen a savwyd gau vrodyr Brytlioniaid Pryda.in Vechan gyda Piiry,ia;n Vawr, CJomeriaid Aru y carai ei vro a'i iaith y ViytUoueg I b'un gvvnaeth Eir-Iyvr, ac hnfyd Itamadog. Ac anidroi, v cyntav, yr holl Vibl santaidd 1 i,itJ¡ y Brytboniaid,—gwaith mawr, danevolaidd. (Translated into Breton), At Gonidec, den mad, e liftno zo ama, ])a arouez a ouir veuleudi has: ar garantez denera, Var ur peulvan savet gant Breudeur Bretoned Breiz Vian lia Breiz Veur, Gomered I)re ma care e vro, hag e iez ar Brezonec, Da b' ini e reas Gcr-lefr, liae ive we Gammer, Hag evit trei, ar chenta, an holl Veibl Mantel, En iez ar Vretoned—labour braz, mad, ce;estiel. I venture to think that it was the late Mr Jenkins, the Baptist missiona.ry, that translated the epitaph into the Breton tongue. My insert- ing the original and the translation wilt enable Welshmen to compare the two languages, and observe the similarity which exists between them. And now, at this delightful end of the world," which, after all, owing to the plan I have adopted, leaves me but a little beyond the beginning of my theme, the hem of whose garment I have only just touched, I must for the present conclude, and thank you, Mr Editor, for allowing me to trespass so largely on your valuable space. The din of the imperious behest, Halt la, Messieurs les Anolais," the greeting I met when a fresh arrival on French soil, has ever since reverberated in my ears, and now at last, having so long refused doing so, I bow and obey.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. COLUMN FOR GIRLS AND BOYS. BY MAGGIE SYMINGTON. Between the dark and the-daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupation, That is known as the Children's Hour. Low] fellow. THE UACAZINK PACKET.—HELPING ONE'S SELF.— A JUNE CRAB.—AMONG THK ROSES.- JUNE AND IMHE NATURIL-TEIR AGES OF ANIMALS.— A VKNERABI.E BLACK AND TAN.—A MARK OF FORTY YEARS.—IN HER SIXT¥-FOUR.-l)OLLy'g HOUSK- KKEPIKG. —SPRING CLEANING.—AUNT JO'S LA- MENT. -INVALTI). -ALL TH& WAY FROM INDIA.— OAK APPLE DAY.—ACROSTIC COMPETITION. I must confess to feeling a certain peculiar thrill dart upwards from my finger ends whenever I break the wrapper from the bundle of new ma- gazines. I wonder if any of you feel the same ? I turn over the leaves and examine the pictures so eagerly to see what all the magazine writers, and artists, and publishers have provided for you, my pets. I can assure you that you always get a large share of all the best things that are imagined and written, or that ever have been imagined and written. Now what do you say to to this from St. Nicholas?"— THE BEES AND THE ROBBER. Everything was made for man, and all he has to do is to help himself," said a man, lifting up the hive and grabbing the honey. That's true !f' buzzed the whole swarm, settl- ing down mpoa him, and covering him from head to foot, we were just made for you, and as you have helped yourself to the honey, we will make you a present of the sting," so saying, the busy little bees improved the shining hour. "Well, well," said the man, when be had at last made his escape, "I've always heard that stolen fruit is sweet but I have found there is more sting in it than honey." "Children, can you tell wo why The cr&b's the sigu for June ?" "Yes, we CAil, 8Ï1 he backward goes, Aud the days will shorteii woa," Did you know that ? Be sure you notice the pun, but I will not insult you by pointing it out. In J uiiii. all the roses ought to be in bloom. "I've come with my roses," rippled June, with » voice like a brook murmuring over pebbles "they're going to be lovely this year, mother. Blush Rose really deserves your praise, and little Wild Rose and Sweetbriar have made a special effort. I've had a good long rest, and am ready to go to vvork again. Are the peas ready for shelling?" No, no, child, said Dame Nature, you must not soil your hands with such work, but go and take a look at them and the strawberries, and see if the cherries are beginning to blush, and then get you to your i'fI"e"" It takes a sharp eye to see the worms at their hearts, but you must not trust too much to appearances and give me all the smiles you can, pretly one, to wai-in my old heart." THE AGES OF ANIMALS. The question about the ag-es of different animals has called forth a number of answers. With re- gard to dogs, there are well verified cases of a bcotch collie 17 years old, a mongrel 16, a terrier 19, and a black-and tan over 18 years, The name of this dog is Sport. He was shot once, and carried the ball in him for two vears, when a gentleman lanced the place and took the ball out. There still remains a lump on Sport's side where the bullet went into his body, though it does not hurt him now. All the spots that were tan- colour are now grey, except the feet, and they ar; growing grey. Notwithstanding his groat age. Sport is still quite active and playful." Concerning horses, correspondents tell of two that reached the age of 33, of a mare 38, ajvl another that has attained the great age of 40 yeais, We have heie at our home a mare which is 40 years old. She was bought when she was three years old, for my uncle to ride when he was a little boy. She has been in the family 37 years. She is too old now to ride, but I drive her. My father owned a dog that lived to be 14- But the oldest of all the animals named was a mule e-Vded Kit'v -:t hardv, willing workcr- f ra is iir u^o if ihe neighb V o 1 for having gone tieyond her titÜeth year, and for being quite able to compete with mules not half that age. Kitty Mule, as we called her, lived to be 63 years old, and she was in working order up to within one week of her death. Her history was well known. I saw her ditily for 27 years." I Are you not glad to know that our dumb friend if well taken care of and kindly treated, may live to such a great age ? Several of my little girl readers have written to ask what has income of Dolly, and why I have told them nothing about her of late. It is not be- cause she has not been cooking, nor that I have not hau the account of her experiences, but simply that 1 have always so much to chat about that I quite forget her. However, this week we will go back and learn something of her doings. Now, quite forget her. However, this week we will go back and learn something of her doings. Now, little readers must understand that Dolly Dimple is a little girl who is spending the time of her father's absence abroad with two maiden aunts who live in the country. They have fitted up a summer house for her plav-housekeeping, and there Dolly takes lessons in cooking from Aunt Flo, DOLLY'S HOUS}KP;EPING. SPRING CLKANING. Ear-wig Cottage was opened in the sunshiny dwv which April brought, and was made to undergo a regular course of spring cleaning. Every day Dolly had a consultation with Aunt Flo, and learnt from her in theory how paint was washed, and floors were scrubbed, and cupboards overhauled, stoves blacked, and tins and •aucns polished, and then she and Nancy would put tiws lessons into prae ice as well as they could. Mistress and maid worked together on this occasion, for cleaning and scrubbing were too novel and too delightful to be left entirely to the maid. Aunt Jo groaned when she saw Dolly with hrr sleeves it)lled up al«.T,> her Ihnpled el ows, her hair pinned en to the top of her a great-, kitchen -pron f :r d around iier; and pail and sci'.dib'ug-brush in her hands. Aunt FIn did her utm \t to reconcile her to the sight. The child is gaining knowledge practically and as a play, that v, ill serve her all her life. She could not get it in a happier manner. reiiieiiiber our difficulties, Jo, when we first had to keep house for ourselves how ignorant we were, and l how we were unpaged upon by unprincipled sep vante. We had no idea (if the quantity of sod% and soap, and scouring flannel, and brushes thaH were necessary in the cleaning of a house." "But look at her hands and her hair I declare there is not a pin to choose between her and Naucy, What wiU her father say when he comes back and finds her transformed into a regu- lar little maid-of-all-work, without mind or man- ners ? nevrer. answer to that description,* said Aunt Ho assuringly, as much to herself as t4 her siater. She took heart when she looked back and thought of Dolly s lack of interest in all lesslm. when she first came to them, and compared it with her bright interest now in following the many pathways to fields of knowledge which radiated rouad that one happy centre-Ear-wig Cottage. The child was an innate little lady, too she could but move forward in ways of delicacy and refinement. Even while she shared Nancy's labours, she never lost her sense of the distinction that existed between mistress and ulii,]. In course of time the spring cleaning wai finished, and Ear-wig Cottage made as complete I inside and out as any little girl could wish. Then Aunt Jo fell ill with a bad cold. Sha prescribed for herself for a time, but grew worse instead of better, and at last Aunt Flo had her way, and seat for the village doctor. He, [ when he came ordered the patient to re- main in her own room, and to take plenty of light and nourishing food. He said th? chill had been taken when she was a little below the mark, and so the cold had laid more severe hold of her than it otherwise mifdit have dnDe; and that if sha were not careful now she might have to endure a severe illness. Now Aunt Jo, although she liked to think, and talk about, and consider her health when she waa quite well, did not at all like to have to succumb to any real ailment. She imagined everything would go wrong downstairs for lack of her super- vision that nor .sister and Dolly, and even Martha in her kitchen-kingdom, would hardly know how to get along without her. Whereas, if the truth must be told, although they were all very sorry that she should have to suffer, hbr ab- sence was really a relief and a pleasant change. Try as one will, one must always have something of that feeling with regard to those who think more of themselves than they do of other peuple. Dolly could only took at Aunt Flo and give a sigh of intense relief that it was not she who was ill. What would she have done with only Auut Jo down-stair*? We must give ourselves to invalid cooking this morning, Dolly," said Aunt Flo, aftir the doctor had come, lwououuced his verdict, and de- parted. 4< Oh, how de at least I mean the cook- ing will be delightful. What will Aunt Jo like to have ? t •' Beef tea the doctor says she must have, but that tokes some tima to prepare, aud cannot be ready until the e\ening. "I'll tell you what you shall make for her lunch, Dolly. Aunt Jo lias a very wholesome liking for oatmeal gruel, and nothing could be better for her ju.st now, i i, food and medicine combined in case of cold. Well, Martha, do you want me?" i" Here be Nancy Lee, ma'am." Oh, Nancy cried Dolly, spiinging up, "she has not been here since the cleaning was finished, and I do so want to see her." I Nancy, however, had brought a doleful face, and a still more doleful tale. I "Grandmother be very bad, and it is fear to me she be goiug to die." That was the burden of it, and would Miss Jo, or Miss Flu come to see her ? Nancy was sent back to her grandmother's cot- tage with the promise of a visit very shortly. "More sick people J" said Aunt Flo to ltei, little companion-cook when Nancy was gone. 1 fore- that there will be some vegetable souji, or a little light pudding to make for Granny Lee I expect, poor old soul, that her malady is simply old age that wants a little cwiiifurt and nourish- ment." The more we have to cook for the better don't you think so, Aunt Flo ?" Aunt Flo's face grew dimply and sweet with the kindness that shone through it, and for answer she stooped and kissed Dolly. We must wait until next week to know what they did in the way of invalid cookery. THE LETTER BOX My dear Aunt Maggie,—I think you ",iIl he a little surprised to a letter from a little girl in India. I often read the Children's H.«r, which 1 think is very interesting-, I have taketi R great likiii, to re «! Holly's recipes. I have bn in India. four years, this yoa.r is going into the tilth. I would very much like to come Eiigland I think it is about time 1 did, for 1 aiti nine years old. We have Rot holiday* at school. I have a denr little brother three years old, named Ernest Louise while I am writing he is Ito'y helping me. Mannua has made some ol Dolly's Sally Luim teacakes: they arc very nice indeed. 1 will write you more next time. -FLORENCE A. LKMION, Yardeo, Bombay. I am delighted to bear that the Hour" is read, and with interest, so far away and I hope that this little girl, who writes so very nicely, will send me another letter soon, and klluHJ something about her lndiaa home and life. My dear Aunt Maggie,—Thank yon so much for the cards. I lika them very much, they are so pretty. I have beyun working one, anrlluy little brother is doing one. I hope you are wearing a bit of (i, k to-day we all have some.—PLORI^CE LIGHTFOOT, Woolly Boar. What will you think when I tell you that I foiRot it was oak day until I met my little friend Venn-, and she challenged me to show it. If you put siuiuly "Auafc Maggie" that will do. ACROSTIC COMPETITION. PRIZV, ACROSTIC, No. 3 ( PATlliOTic.) To all these questions fiud the answers due. f And their initials wili just givo to you A prayer we all should breath with fervour t.1"U" I. Name the first monarch of the Brunswick line. 2. A victory In which Marlborough did shine. 3. A famous navigator 'neath Queen Bess. 4, The house, or line, that did ChllTles J poosese. 5. A battle won by our fifih Henry famed. 6. A place Sir Walter Raleigh found and named. ?. Who tirst was Prince of Wales, 1 pray you teU. 8. Name the great battle ir, which Nelson fell. 9. A bishop burut by Mary's stern decree. 10. An earl Queen Bess once favoured graciously. 11. A town UiatOeneral Wolfe did nobly gain. 12, A treaty m&de with France in Queen Annofe reign. 13. What kins w&s wounded with a poisoneA dartl 13. Name her who sucked the woltud-sotuttelier heart 15 A famous Marshal nnder Bonaparte. ANSWER TO AOROSTIO No. tl C—r—e— a—S H- -ar- -I" A x -E U— nicr N C- litrle -S E—agl K R -ive-H. Answered quiote correctly by -S. Oscar Gray, Kathleen Afavout-iteen, Gertrude Mackrill, Mar- garet E. illianas, Minnie Mountain. Constance A. Huttcrfield, Kdith C. Williams, M. C. P. Ccw- slip, Eveline Grant. Minnie Bird, C. F. Bennett, W. Courtney Milward, Ella, Cavalier, Cecil C. Squire, Grace and Edith Hodgson, Will o' the Whisp, Mamma's Holp, Eustace Stone, Musical Box, Hugh, Cornucopia, Ida G. Bentley, Saxon, Emma Linell, Albert G. Ball, Kathleen, May, Piano, Charles Scott, Florence, A. M. C., A. M. Smith, Harold Harper, H. Perkins. Wrong in oue light _Iia)ldi, Grace Williams, Harry de Vere, Milward, Edith Marsh, Asty- anax, Lucy Frost, Nemo, Judith, Mamma's Pet, Rollo, Tom Brown. AUNT MAGOIS. Address all communications to AUNT MAGGIR (Symington), Norfolk.

OUTRAGE IN IRELAND. About eight o'clock on Monday evening, two men, armed and disguised, entered the house of James Curtin, Coom, neai Castle Island, by the back door. Anothe.r man kno. kod at the. rout doer, and was admitted by the first two. Curtin and his wife wer,1 sitting before the kitchen fire. She gave him the child for protection, and stood between. The men charged Curtin with refusing sites for labourers' cottage". lefusiug out.door relief when a guardian, and with tvicling hia labourers. They then fired at him, the ball grazing his waistcoat, after which they tied.

STATUE TO A (aUAT IRON- MASTER, On Monday Sir J. W. Pease, M.P., unveiled, opposite the Middie«borongii Exchange, a bronr« statue of the late John Vaughan, who, with Mr Bolckow, was the pioneer of the Cleveland irom traoe, and originated the firm bearing the;r na-ue, the largest of the kind in the world. M r John Marlev, who was with Mr Vaughan when they discovered ironstone near Middlesborough, 34 years since, detailed the incident. Tho member for the borough, the mayor and corporation, and the leading men connected with the i. on trade were present. Tho statue cost £ 2.000, which waa publicly stibscribeti.

THE TICIiROKNE CLAIMANT. The tenth annual demonstration in favour of the claimant was held in Hyde Park on Monday aften.oon, and was largely attended, deputation* with b;\ld and banners being piesent from Nottingham, Sheffield, Rotherham, Leeds, Man- chester, LiverjxHi), and other places. A prelimi- nary meeting was heid at Clerkenv ell -Green, after which the procession started for the pa-k, the interest being centred in the carriage in which were Mrs Weldon and the claimant's son, a lad of seventeen. In the park addresses werf delivered by Mrs Weldon, proposing a resolution re. affirming the belief that the Claimant was Sir Koger Tichborne, and condemning his trial and conviction. The proceedings were very orderly throughout.

A BRUTAL HUSBAND. George Osment, a farrier, of 137, Coponhagwi- street, Islington, was charged at Clerkenwell police-court, on Monday, with assaulting his wife Louisa, at their home, on Saturday night, and with being drunk when charged. The evidenoe of the prosecutrix, who apjieared with one of her eyes very much swollen, was that the prisoner came ?iome at about five o'clock in a very drunken state, and dt oanded 2s. of hor. She had not the money, and when she told hiat so he became furious, } struck her on the. oye. She c alled a poliee-consi.ablo, and gave him into custody.—In reply to (h. court she said they had been married 15 years. Mid siie had borne constant ili-treatinent for a Ion;. time past. It was two yeart since he had given her any money. —The prisouet said he could not deny the charge. He was mad drunk at the time,—Mr P,e\' asked the prosocn- trix if she wished to proceed against her husband. —She replied that he had broken his promises o( better tr,ttnient ,o () I .,yi that she could not for give him again,—Mr Paget remanded t'ie pri- soner for a week, in t-rder that they might both have time to think about it.

The electors of Athlone met on Monday evok- ing, and decided to leave to Mr Painell &.1M choice of a candidate to contest tie v&caQQ} caused by the dea h of Sir Johu Ennis.