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71-1 E MIS 6 1 N Cc .DE LORA.
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71-1 E MIS 6 1 N Cc DE LORA. CHAPTER I. There was no particular reason why, after saving left the Opera House, I should have retraced my steps and taken my place once more amongst the throng of people who stood about in the entresol, exchanging greetings and waiting for their carriages. A backward glance as I had been about to turn into the Place de F Opera had arrested my somewhat hurried departure. The night was young, and where else was such a sight to be seen ? Be- sides. was it not amongst some such throng as this that the end of my search might come ? I took up my place just inside, close to one of the pillars, and, with an unlit cigarette still in my mouth, watched the flying chausseurs, the medley of vehicles outside, and soft flow of women in their white opera cloaks and jewels, who with their escorts came streaming down the stairs and out of the great building, to enter the waiting carriages and motor cars drawn ap in the privileged space within the enclosure, or stretching right down into the Boulevard. I stood there, watching them drive off one by one. I was borne a little nearer to the door by the rush uf people, and I was able. in most cases, to hear the directions of the men as they followed their womenkind into the waiting vehicles. In nearly every case their destimation was one of the famous restaurants. Music be- gets hunger in most capitals, and the cafes of Par is are never so full as after a great night at the opera. To-night there had been a wonderful performance. The flow of people down the stairs seemed interminable. Young women and old, sleepy-looking beauties of the southern type, whose dark eyes seemed half closed with lan- guor, partly passionate, partly of pride women of the truer French type—brilliant, smiling, vivacious, mostly pale, seldom good looking, always attractive, a few Germans, a fair sprinkling of Englishwomen, and a larger pro- portion still of Americans, whose women were the best and whose men the worst dressed of the whole company. I was not sorry I had re- tamed. It was worth watching, this endless stream of varying types. Almost towards the end there came out two people who were becoming quite familiar figures to me. The man was one of those whose nation- ality was not so easily surmised. He was tall aDd thin, with iron-grey hair, complexion so sallow as to be almost yellow, black moustache and imperial, handsome in his way and distin- guished, indescribable. By his side was a girl, who had the air of wearing her first long skirt, whose hair was arranged in somewhat juvenile lashion, and whose dark eyes were still glowing with the joy of the music. Her figure, though very slim. was delighful, and she walked as though her feet touched the clouds. Her laugh which I heard distinctly as she brushed by me only a few feet away, was like music. Of all the people who had passed me, or whom I had come across during my fortnight's stay in Paris, there was no one half so attractive. The girl was absolutely charming; the man remarkable not only in himself, but for a certain air of re- pressed emotion, which,while it robbed its fea- tures of the dignity of repose, was still, in a. way, fascinating. They entered into a waiting motor-car, splendidly appointed, and I heard the man tell the tall, liveried footman to drive to the Ritz. I leaned forward a little eagerly as they went. I watched the car glide off and disappear, watched it until it was out of sight, and afterwards, even, watched the spot where it had vanished. Then, with a little sigh, I turned back once more into the great hall. There seemed to be no one left now of any in- terest. The women had become ordinary, the men impossible. With a little sigh I too aim- lessly descended the steps, and stood for a moment uncertain which way to turn. Monsieur is looking for a light ?" a quiet voice said in my ear. I turned, and found myself confronted by a Frenchman, who had also just issued from the building, and was himself lighting a cigarette. He was clean-shaven and pale, so pale that his complexion was almost olive. He had soft, curious-looking eyes. He was of medium height, dark, correctly dressed according to the fashion of his country, although his tie was black, and his studs of unusual size. Something about his face struck me from the first as familiar, but for the moment I could not recall having seen him before. Thank you very much," I answered, ac- cepting the match which he offered. The night was clear, and breathlessly still. The full yellow moon was shining in an abso- lutely cloudless sky. The match—an English wax one, by-the-bye—burned without a flicker. I lit my cigarette, and turning round found my companion still standing by my side. 44 Monsieur does not do me the honour to recollect me," he remarked, with a faint smile. 1 leaked at him steadfastly. I am sorry," I said. Your face is per- fectly familiar to me, and yet—No, by JOTe, I have it!" I broke off with a little laugh. It's Louis, isn't it, from the Milan ?" 44 Monsieur's memory has soon returned," he answered, smilling. 44 I have been maitre d'hotel in the cafe there for some years. The last time I had the honour of serving Monsieur there was only a few weeks ago." I remembered him perfectly now, 1 remem- bered, even, the occasion of my last visit to the cafe. Louis, with upraised hat, seemed as though he would have passed on, but curiously enough I felt a desire to continue the conver- sation. I had not as yet admitted the fact even to myself, bnt I was bored, weafy of my search, weary to death of my own company and the company of my own acquaintances. I was reluctant to let this little man go. You visit Paris often 1" I asked. But naturally, Monsieur," Louis answered, accepting my unspoken invitation by keeping pace with me as we strolled across the Boule- vard. 44 Once every six weeks I come over here. I go to the Ritz, Paillard's, the Cafe de Paris—to the others also. It is an affair of business of course. One must learn how the Frenchman eats, and what he eats, that one may teach the art." 44 But you are a Frenchman yourself, Louis," I remarked. But, Monsieur," he answered, II I live in London. Voila tout. One cannot write menus there for long and succeed. One needs inspira- tion." And you find it here ?" I asked. Louis shrugged his shoulders. Paris. Monsieur," he answered, is my home. It is always a pleasure to me to see smil- ing faces, to see men and women who walk as though every footstep were taking them nearer to happiness. Have you ever noticed, Mon- sieur," he continued, the difference ? They do not plod here as do your English people. There is a buoyancy in their footsteps, a mirth in their laughter, an expectancy in the way they look around, as though adventures were every- where. I cannot understand it. but one feels it directly one seta foot in Paris." I nodded—a little bitterly, perhaps. It is temperament," I answered. We may envy, bat we cannot acquire it. to It seems strange to see Monsieur alone here," Louis remarked. In London, it is always so different. Monsieur has so many ac- quaintances." I was silent for a moment. U I am here in search of someone," I told Louie. II It isn't a very pleasant mission, and the memory of it is always with me." A search Louis repeated, thoughtfully, "Paris is a large place, Monsieur." 44 On the contrary," I answered .4 it is small enough if a man will bat play the game. A man who knows his Paris must be in one of half-a- dozen places some time during the day. II It is true," Louis admitted. Yet Mon- sieur has not been successful." It has been because someone has warned the man of whom I am in search I declared. 44 There are worse places," Louis remarked, H in which one might be forced to spend one's time." In theory, excellent, Louis," I said. 44 In practice, I am afraid I cannot agree with yon. So far," I declared, gloomily, II my pilgrimage has been an utter failure. I cannot meet, I can- not hear of, the man whom I know was flaunt- ing it before the world three weeks ago." Louis shrugged his shoulders. Monsieur can do no more than seek," he remarked. For the rest, one may leave many burdens behind in the train at the Garc du Nord." I shook my head. One cannot acquire gaiety by only watching other people who are gay," I declared. II Paris is not for those who have anxieties, Louis. If ever I were suffering from melancholia, for in- stance, I should choose some other place for a visit." Louis laughed softly. Ah Monsieur," he answered, you could not choose better. There is no place so gay as this, no place so full of distractions." I shrugged my shoulders. 44 It is your native city," I reminded him. That goes for nothing," Louis answered. Where I live there always I make my native city. I have lived in Vienna and Berlin, Buda- pest, and Palermo, Florence and London. It is not an affair of the place. Yet of all these, if one secks it there is more distraction to be found here. Monsieur does not agree with me," ho added, glancing into my face. There is one thing more which I would tell him. Per- haps it is the explanation. Paris, the very home of happiness and gaiety, is also the lone- liest »nd saddest city in the world for those who go alone." There is truth in what you say, Louis," I admitted. 44 The very fact," be continued slowly, that all the world amuses itself, all the world is gay here, makes thosclitude of theunfortunate who has no companion a thing more triste, more keenly to be felt. Monsieur is alone ?" I am alone," I admitted, 44 except for the companions of chance whom one meets every- where." We had been walking for some time slowly side by side, and we came now to a standstill. Louis held up his hand and called a taximeter. Monsieur gr>rs somewhere to sup, without a doubt," he remarked. I remained upon the pavement. II lleallv. I drm'1; know," I answered unde- cidedly. Thes-e is a great deal of truth in what you have bo«rn saying. A man alone here, es- pecially at night, seems to be looked upon as a 8(ri of Women laugh at him, men pity him. It i* only the Englishman, they think, who would do so foolish a thing." Louis hesitated. There was a peculiar smile at the corners of his lips which I did not quite understand. 44 If Monsieur would honour me," he said, apologetically, 44 I am going to-night to visit one or perhaps two of the smaller restaurants up in the Montmartre. They are by way of being fashionable now, and they tell me that there is a Homard Speciale with a new sauce which must be fasted at the Abbaye." All the apology in Louis's tone was wasted. It troubled me not in the least that my companion should be a maitre d'hotel. I did not hesitate for a second. I'll come with pleasure, Louis," I said, on condition that I am host. It is very good of you to take pity upon me. We will take this taxi- meter, shall we T" Louis bowed. Oncemore I fancied that there was something in his face which I did not alto- gether understand. It is an honour, Monsieur," he said. We will start, then, with l'Abbaye." I CHAPTER II. The Paris taximeters are good, and our pro- gress was rapid. We passed through the crowded streets, where the women spread them- selves out like beautiful butterflies, where the electric lights were deadened by the brilliance of the moon, where men bent double over the handles of their bicycles, shot hither and thither with great paper lanterns alight in front of them. We passed into the quieter streets, though even here the wayfarers whom we met were obviously bent on pleasure, up the hill, till at last we pulled up at one of the best- known restaurants in the locality. Here Louis was welcomed as a prince. The manager, with many exclamations and gesticulations, shook hands with him like a long-lost brother. The maitres d'hotel all came crowding up for a word of greeting. A table in the best part of the room, which was marked reserved, was immedi- ately made ready. Champagne, already in its pail of ice, was by our side almost before we had taken our places. I had been here a few nights before, aloue, and had found the place uninspiring enough. To-night, except that Louis told me the names of many of the people, and that the supper was the best meal which I had eaten in Paris, I was very little more amused. The nigger, the Spanish dancing girl with her rolling eyes, the English music hall singer with her unmistak- I 44 Will monsieur oblige me with a light I" able Lancashire accent, went through the same performance. The gowns of the women were wonderful—more wonderful still their hats, their gold purses, the costly trifles which they carried. A woman by our side sat looking into a tiny pocket mirror of gold studied with emer- aids, powdering her face the while with a pow- der-puff to match, in the centre of which were more emeralds, large and beautifully cut.. Louis noticed my scrutiny. The wealth of France," he whispered in my ear, 44 is spent upon its women. What the Englishman spends at his club or on his sports, the Frenchman spends on his womenkind. Even the bourgeoisie,who hold their money with clenched fists like that," he gesticulated, strik- ing the table, for their women they spend, spend freely. They do all this, and' the great thing which they ask in return is that they are amused. After all, Monsieur," he con- tinued, 44 they are logical. What a man wants most in life, in the intervals between his work, is amusement. It is amusement that keeps him young, keeps him in health. It is his women-kind who provide that amusement." 44 And if one does not happen to be married to a Frenchwoman ?" Louis nodded sympathetically. 44 Monsieur is feeling like that," he said, as he sipped his wine thoughtfully. Yes, it is very plain Yet Monsieur is not always sad. I have seen him often at my restaurant, the guest or the host of many pleasant parties. There is a change since those days, a change indeed. I noticed it when I ventured to ad- dress Monsieur on the steps of the Opera House." I remained gloomily silent. It was one thing to avail himself of the society of a very popular little maitre d'hotel, holiday making in his own capital, and quite another to take him even a few steps into my confidence. So I said no- thing, but my eyes which travelled round the room, were weary. After all," Louis continued, helping him- j self to a cigarette, 44 what is there in a place like this to amuse ? We are not Americans or tourists. The Montmartre is finished. The novelists and the storytellers have killed it. The women come here because they love to show their jewellery, to flirt with the men. The men come because their womenkind desire it, and because it is their habit. But for the rest there is nothing. The true Parisian may come here, perhaps, once or twice a year—no more. For the man of the world—such as you and I, Monsieur-these places do not exist.' I glanced at my companion a little curiously. There was something in his manner distinctly puzzling. With his lips he was smiling ap- proval at the little danseuse who was pirouet- ting near our table, but it seemed to me that his mind was busy with other thoughts. Sud- denly he turned his head towards mine. Monsieur must remember," he said quietly, i 44 that a place like this is as the froth on our champagne. It is all show. It exists and it passes away. This very restaurant may be un- known in a year's time—a beer palace for the German, a den of absinthe and fiery brandy for the cocheres. It is for the tourists, for the happy ladies 01 the world, that such a place exists. For those who need other things—other things exist." 44 Go on, Louis," I said quickly. You have something on your mind. What is it"" j He shrugged his shoulders. i I think," he said, slowly,44 that I could take Monsieur somewhere where he would be more entertained. There is nothing to do there— nothing to see, little music. But it is a place— it an atmosphere. It is different. I can- not explain. Monsieur would understand if he were there." i 44 Then for heaven's sake, let us pay our bill and go," I exclaimed. We have both had enough of this, at any rate." j Louis did not immediately reply. I turned round-we were sitting side by side—wonder- I ing at his lack of response. What I saw startled me. The man's whole expression had changed. His mouth had come together with a neworm- ness. A frown which I had never seen before had darkened his forehead. His eves had be- come little points of light. I realised, then, perhaps, for the first time, their peculiar colour -a sort of green tinged with grey. He pre- f sented the appearance of a man of intelligence and acumen who is thinking deeply over some matter of vital importance. 44 Well, what is it, Louis ?" I asked. 44 Are you repenting of your offer already ? Don't you want to take me to this other place ?" It is not that, Monsieur," Louis answered, softly, only I was wondering if I had been a little rash." i Rash ?" I repeated. | Louis nodded his head slowly, but he paused j for several moments before speaking. 44 I was only wondering," he said,44 whether, after all, it would amuse you. There is nothing to be seen, not so much as here. Afterwards, perhaps, you might regret—you might think I had done wrong in not telling you certain things about the place which must remain secret." We will risk that," I answered, rising. Let me come with you and I will judge for myself." Loui« followed my example, but I fancied that I still detected a slight unwillingness in his movements. My request for the bill had been met with a smile and a polite shake of the head. Louis whispered in my car that we were the guests of the management, that it would not be correct to offer the money for our entertain- ment. So I was forced to -content myself with tipping the head-waiter and the vestiaire, the chasseur who opened the door, and the tall commissionaire who welcomed us upon the pavement and whistled for a petite voiture. Where to, Messieurs ?" the man asked, as the carriage drew up. Even then Louis hesitated. He was sitting on the side of thecarriage nearest to the pavement, and he rose to his feet as the question was asked. It seemed to me that he almost whis- pered the address into the ear of the coachman. At any rate, I heard nothing of it. The man nodded and turned eastward. 44 Bon soir, Messieurs the commission- naire called out with his hat in his hand. Bon soir I answered with my eyes fixed upon the flaring lights of the Boulevard, to- wards which he had turned. CHAPTER III. I found Louis, during that short drive, most unaccountably silent. Several times I made casual remarks. Once or twice I tried to learn from him what sort of a place this was to which we were bound. He answered me only in mono- syllables. I was conscious all the time of a cer- tain subtle but unmistakable change in his manner. Up to the moment of his suggesting this expedition he had remained the sauve, perfectly-mannered superior servant, accepted into equality for a time by one of his clients, and very careful not to presume in any way upon his position. It is not snobbish to say this, because it was the truth. Louis was chief maitre d'hotel at one of the best restaurants in London. I was an ex-officer in a cavalry regi- ment, brother of the Earl of Welmington. with a moderate income, and a more than moderate idea of how to spend it. Louis was a servant, and I was master. It had pleased me to make a companion of him for a short time, and his manner had been a perfect acknowledgment of our relative positions. And now it seemed to me that there was a change. Louis had become more like a man, less like a waiter. There was a strength in his face which I had not previ- ously observed. A darkening anxiety which puzzled me. He treated my few remarks with scant courtesy. He was obviously thinking about something else. It seemed as though, for some inexplicable reason, he had already re. pented of his suggestion. Look here, Louis," I said, 44 you seem a little bothered about taking me to this place. Perhaps they do not care about strangers there. I am not at all keen, really, and I am afraid I am not fit company for anybody. Better drop me here and go on by yourself. I can amuse myself all right at some of these little out-of- the-way places until I feel inclined to go home." Louis turned and looked at me. For a mo- ment I thought that he was going to accept my offer. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. He looked away into the darkness once more, and then back into my face. By this time I knew that he had made up his mind. He was more like himself again. 44 Monsieur Rotherby,' he said, if I have hesitated at all, it was for your sake. You are a gentlemaD of great position. Afterwards you might feel sorry to think that you had been in such a place, or in such company." I patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. 44 My dear Louis," I said, 44 you need have no such fears about me. I am a little of an adven- turer, a little of a Bohemian. There is no one else who has a claim upon my life, and I do as I please. Can't you tell me a Ittle more about this mysterious cafe ?" 44 There is so little to tell," Louis said. Of one thing I can assure you-you will be dis- appointed. There is no music, no dancing. The interest is only in the people who go there, and their lives. It may be," he continued, thought- fully, 44 that you will not find them very differ- ent to all the others." But there is a difference, Louis ?" I asked. 44 Wait," he answered. You shall see." The cab pulled up in front of a very ordinary looking cafe, in a side street leading from one of the Boulevards. Louis dismissed the man, and looked for a moment or two up and down the pavement. His caution appeared to be quite needless, for the thoroaghfare was none too well lit, and it was almost empty. Then he entered the cafe," motioning me to follow him. Don'tlookaroand too much," he whispered. 44 There are many people here who do not care to be spied upon." My first glance into the place was disappoint- ing. I was beginning to lose faith in Louis. After all, it seemed to me that the end of our adventure would be ordinary enough, that I should find myself in one of those places which the tooting guides of theBoulevard speak of with bated breath,which one needs to be very young indeed to find interesting even for a moment. The ground floor of the cafe, through which we passed, was like a thousand others in different parts of Paris. The floor was sanded, the peo- ple were of the lower orders—rough-looking men drinking beer or sipping cordials, women from whom one instinctively looked away, and whose shrill laughter was devoid of a single note of music. It was all very flat, very uninteresting. But Louis led the way through a swing door to a stairccase, and then pushed his way through some curtains, along a short passage to another door. against which he softly knocked with his knuckles. It was opened at once, and a com- missionaire stood gazing'stolidly out at us, a commissionnaire in the usual sort of uniform, but one of the most powerful-looking men whom I had ever seen in my life. 44 There are no tables, Monsieur, in the Res- taurant," he said at onee. There is no place at all." Louis looked at him steadily for a moment. It seemed to me that, although I was unable to discern anything of the sort, some sign must have passed between them. At any rate, without any protest or speech of any sort from Louis, the commissionaire saluted and stood back. Bat your friend, Monsieur ?" he asked. 44 It will be arranged," Louis answered, in a low tone. We shall speak to Monsieur Carvin." (To be Continued.)
|CARDIFF TRAMWAYMEN.
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CARDIFF TRAMWAYMEN. Sir Wm. Crossman's Salary. A largely attended meeting of the Cardiff branch of the Amalgamated Association of Tramway and Vehicle Workers was held on Sunday, Mr R. Isaacs, the president, being in the chair. The meeting decided to invite the Associaton to hold its annual conference for 1911 at Cardiff. It was also decided to instruct the delegates to the Cardiff Trades and Labour Council to call attention to the arrears due to Sir Wm. Crossman, the meeting generally favouring a suggestion to secede from the Council unless the arrears were paid up. The secretary was instructed to thank the tram- ways manager (Mr Ellis) for his courtesy in allowing him to continue to attend the pay office on Fridays, for the purpose of receiving the members' contributions.
MURDER AT MIDNIGHT.
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MURDER AT MIDNIGHT. Husband Arrested. The Belfast police on Saturday arrested a shipyard worker named William Henry Kelly on a charge of murdering his wife. The par- ties, who were both elderly, lived in Shandon- street, and at midnight neighbours heard souads of a struggle, followed by moans. The police were summoned, but all was then quiet. At three on Saturday morning Kelly went to his daughter's residence near by, and told her her mother was dead, and an proceeding to the house the daughter found the mother's body on the sofa. Her face was a mass of wounds, and the floor was covered with blood.
H BLACK MARIA" SCENE.
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H BLACK MARIA" SCENE. Walter Swain (35) was charged before Mr Gill at Greenwich on Saturday with damaging a door in the prison van. Police-sergeant Stephens said he was in charge of the van con- veying prisoners to Wandsworth. The prisoner was in the van, and owing to his violence his boots had been removed. The witness closed the sliding panel, and the prisoner said, If you don't give me my boots, sergeant, I'll break the door down." He then smashed the panel with his fist. Mr Gill committed the pri- soner for 21 days. 1
Ouis
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Oui s Saint Elizabeth. By CHARLES D. LESLIE. (Author of A Wild Wager," 44 Pamela's Kingdom," 44 Ferrier's Gold Mine," &c., ic.) 44 Oh, my dear boy-such terrible news—your uncle Frederick is dead." Dik, LordDennysthorpe.a big growing lad of sixteen, looked up from his breakfast with mild interest. You don't say he ejaculated. He died at sea, coming home, and was buried at sea. 44 There's a daughter, isn't there ?" Yes, Elizabeth she's two years younger than you. This letter is from a brother officer, continued Lady Dennysthorpe, his wife has taken charge of Elizabeth, he asks if he is to send her here." There was a note of hesitation in his mother's voice which puzzled the lad. Why, of course, she must come here," he said. 44 I remember you once told me Uncle Fred married an orphan, so the kid can't have any people of her own to go to." He had never seen his uncle nor cousin. Colonel Dennysthorpe. on leaving the Indian Army, had settled in the East, and as long as Dick could remember communication between the retired Colonel and the family at the Hall had been confined to letters at Christmas time. Two days later Elizabeth arrived. She proved to be a thin slip of a girl, with a grave face re- lieved from uglineps by a pair of large brown eyes, and a sallow complexion. Plain, shy, and unattractive, Dick thought at her first glance, nevertheless he played his role of head of the family with a due regard to the claims of kin- ship, and shook hands heartily. 44 I hope we shall be able to make you comfortable here, Elizabeth," he told her; 14 you must look upon the Hall as your home henceforth, musn't she, mother ?" Of course, dear," said Lady Dennysthorpe, whose welcoming kiss and embrace had been as warm and motherly as the shyest of nieces chould ask for, and Elizabeth answered meekly— 44 Thank you, Cousin Dick." 44 I go back to school—I'm at Harrow, you know—in two days, so I shall just have time to show you round first." Dick was immensely proud of Dennysthorpe Hall. a not particularly handsome pile, part of which dated from the reign of the first George, and he thoroughly enjoyed himself in the role of cicerone next day. He trotted Elizabeth all over the house, the conservatories, the tables, and the home farm, expatiating at length on the family history. 44 It's one of the few Baronies heritable in the female line," he told her, 44 and now your father's dead you are next heir, not only to the estate but the title. If I die without children you'd become Lady Dennysthorpe, but if we both die without leaving legitimate descendants, the title lapses." 44 But you mean to marry and have an heir to leave it to, don't you 44 I expect I shall. I wouldn't like the title to lapse, we've held it since the reign of Queen Anne and there have been Dennysthorpes since the first Henry. But I'm glad you're at hand, with the pads on as it were, to take my place if I die childless. And mind if you become Lady Dennysthorpe, you must marry and have children, so that the title doesn't die out." Elizabeth gravely promised. When, three months later, he came back for the summer holidays he found a new Elizabeth —an intelligent girl who had adapted herself to her new environment—a girl extraordinarily tactful, whom he was graciously pleased to make his confidante and chum, and this stage lasted some years. Elizabeth had quickly won the heart of Lady Dennysthorpe, she became her aunt's compan- ion, sub-almoner, her right hand. I don't know how I've got on hitherto without Eliza- beth," Lady Dennysthorpe would say to visi- tors, glancing with a smile at the brown eyed demure little maiden, who was invariably at hand when wanted, who remembered every- thing told her, was never ill-mannered, cross, nor disobedient. Yet Elizabeth was not parti- cularly clever at her lessons, mild complaints came from the Rectory governess. Miss Dennysthorpe never could repeat the rivers of Europe correctly or conjugate a French irre- gular verb. 44 Never you mind, Elizabeth, you're all right," Dick would teaaingly assure ner. 44 You may not becleVer or beautiful, but you're good. At least twice a year Lady Dennysthorpe would say abruptly,44 Are you happy, child f" and the girl would answer, 44 Yes, dear Aunt Margaret, quite happy.'4 She spoke no more than the truth, and indeed she might be considered a very lucky young lady. Her aunt was very good to her. It is true she had no governess at the Hall, but that was because Lady Dennysthorpe liked to have her always with her. Elizabeth had her pony,agenerous allowance of pocket money, plenty of frocks, and an assured position, both at the Hall and in County Society. Lady Dennysthorpe was not fond of Society, she never left the Hall from one year's end to another, and her niece became a fixture there likewise. Elizabeth was too indispensable to be spared. When Dick, as he did occasionally, filled the house with guests, Elizabeth helped her aunt to play hostess, a task she performed admirably. All this time Dick was a slave to one hobby, the exigent mistress, who ruled his life. Ath- letics claimed him. He played cricket in summer, football in winter he was a boxer, a cross country runner, a tennis player, a boating man—though that was not till he left Harrow, and the rest of his life he filled in with his studies. Needless to say, Lady Dennysthorpe was wrapped up in Dick, and he was, on the whole, a son any mother could be proud of. But though fond of home and mother, he liked to travel and stay with friends in his vacations. Lady Dennysthorpe had him but a bare couple of months in the year to herself. He had reached the age of twenty-one and had left Cambridge ere he made the discovery that Elizabeth had grown pretty. He was just back from a yachting cruise in the Hebrides, and it came upon him as a revelation. The sallow complexion had long vanished in place of a healthy white and pink one, and now the girl's thin figure was developing attractively, while the brown eyes had taken a new expres- sion and the brown hair a new shade. Eliza- beth was a woman grown. Elizabetb was husband high." 44 We must get her married," said Dick. 44 She's had one offer. Poor Roy was crazy about her. Roy was the Vicar's son, now a junior engineer stewing in the far East. 44 Oh, she must do better than that." 44 Why not marry her yourself, Dick ?" Dick stopped in surprise. They were pacing the lawn together after dinner. Elizabeth, in white, was in the rose garden skirting it, and flitting from bush to bush in the twilight like a gigantic white moth. 44 Marry Elizabeth 0 I that's absurd why, she s a sort of a sister. I like Elizabeth, awfully, but not that way." 44 You must marry, my dear boy." Yes, but it's so unenterprising marrying a girl you' know so well, who's been living in the same house with you for years. There's no romance about it." Well, at least, Dick, promise me you won't be in a hurry to marry anybody else. He promised readily enough, went to town a few days later and escaped matrimonial ship- wreck by the narrowest of margins. The epi- sode, comedy to onlookers, so nearly tragedy to .Dick, was over in a month. It made an amus- ing tale for a hundred smoking rooms, and married men gave their wives bowdlerised versions of how a queen of the half-world had very, very nearly got young Lord Dennysthorpe to marry her. It was a chastened Dick who went back to Dennysthorpe Hall, a Dick conscious he had made an awful ass of himself. He reflected on the subject of marriage, even men clever in understanding women made mistakes in the important matter of choosing a wMe how much more likely he. Even if he decided to marry one of the girls in the neighbourhood,, on his mother's visiting list ( he knew he could have his pick—he was the catch of the county) -—she might turn out quite a different sort of voung woman once he had married her. Far better play for safety and marry Elizabeth. 44 You ought to wear a halo you look such a saint nowadays," he said to her in the rose garden, his eyes resting approvingly on the slim and virginal figure, with the soft, gentle eyes, walking beside him, her hand on his arm; 44 No, you don't," as she attempted to withdraw her hand. Elizabeth, are you really as good as you look T" I don't know," she answered soberly. I shall have to marry you to find out. Yes, I'm in deadly earnest. Elizabeth, as head of the house, I'm entitled to the pick of the girls in DennylStborpe,and I won't have you wasted on any other man. So I'm going to marry you myself." Passively she let him kiss her, he held her, i, and she could not help herself, but she escaped from his arms as quickly as possible. I won't marry you," she cried passionately, 44 I'm going to be a nan." Dick was rather surprised. He was so ac- customed to get everything he asked for, but Elizabeth's coyness had its inevitable effect, and presently from beng a little, he grew very much in love. Inevitable was it also that Elizabeth should surrender to his persistent wooing, and finally confess she had always loved him. That was natural, had he not been the god in her hemisphere ever since she had been at Dennysthorpe; had not Aunt Mar- garet been hinting for years she was designed for this high honour ? Her refusal was merely maiden perversity demanding to be wooed before she could be won. It was late Autumn before Elizabeth said 44 Yes," and almost immediately afterwards Lady Dennysthorpe died. Dick never forgot I that day. Elizabeth and he were discussing their future. 44 We bliaJi be poor." said the young man, 44 if mother hadn't been nursing the estate all through my minority, I'd be a pauper. Land won't go up. My father squant dered a lot of money. Why, there's a sum of two thousand a year to be paid out still in liquidation of his debts, though mother says that won't last much longer. It's lucky we've neither of ns expensive tastes, for we couldn't gratify them." "You ought to have married an heiress," Elizabeth remorsefully said. 44 1 am marrying an heiress you're going to give me happiness, my darling, and what richer dowry can you bring me 1" An agitated footman cut sentiment short. 44 Oh, my lord Oh, Miss Elizabeth I her ladyship she's been taken ill. I believe she's dying All his life Dick had known his mother as a gentle, sweet-faced woman, never robust, but never ill, and it gave him a paralysing shock to find her lying on a sofa grey-faced and un- conscious, while two agitated maids fussed about her with smelling salts. Elizabeth took charge quite naturally, and got rid of Dick, quite useless in such an emer- gency. 41 It's her heart she's had similar fainting fits before, though she'd never let you know. Go for Dr. O'Brian yourself, Dick, don't trus^r a servant, and as you come back tele- graph for Sir Joseph." But the great specialist came too late. A swifter traveller was before him. Elizabeth got the dying woman to bed, and the local doctor restored her to consciousness, but the flicker of returning vitality declined to take hold of the frail tenement. Life went out of her body as Sir Joseph sprang into the motor-car awaiting him at Dennysthorpe Station. Poor Lady Dennysthorpe died without speak- ing after her seizure, and this was unfortunate because she wanted to say something very much. Her paralysed tongue strove desper- ately to utter words in Dick's ear as he kneeled by her bedside. Indeed, it was a painful death scene. 44 It's a queer, thing," the doctor confided to his wiife that right. 44 If ever there was a female saint it was Lady Dennysthorpe, and she died with a look of agony on her face. there was something she desperately wanted to say to her son. No, I'm wrong. Just at the last she took th 3 hands of her son and of her niece and smiled at them, but I'll swear she died with something on her mind." Dick took the blow hardly. He retired within himself and mourned. He even avoided Eliza- beth in the days that followed. Too late he saw how selfishly he had acted towards his mother, how little he had been at home when his presence at the hall meant so much to the gentle lady who lived only for him. He took comfort in the avalanche of letters that poured in, the forest of flowers that were sent for the funeral, the long string of carriages that followed Lady Dennysthorpe to the grave, the tone of the obituary notice in the local press it was gratifying to note how highly his mother had been esteemed by all, rich or poor, who knew her. "What a good woman she was, what a loss to the country was the universal verdict. The day after the funeral, a bright, warm sunshiny afternoon, though October was wan- ing a hired carnage drove up to the Hall just as Dick was returning from an aimless stroll. He had arrived to find the butler parleying with a type of visitor such as that functionary had never admitted yet, a heavily-rouged and powdered elderly woman, extravagantly dressed, with an aroma of scent mingled with brandy enveloping her. This person, mv lord, 44 Person indeed cried the visitor in ashnD, high-pitched voice ;44 Fll have you know I'm a lady. Lord Dennysthorpe, I've come to see you. My business, js important and private." « are you ?" asked Dick. I think I may call myself an old connection of the family," she tittered, and a more important one than you'd think." Lord Dennysthorpe dismissed the servant with a wave of the hand, and took the visitor into the nearest sitting-room. It was hung with family potraite the woman pointed to one of Dick's father. "That's rather a good likeness—that's him as I remember him." You knew my father ?" tt "Intimately," she cried, and tittered again. Yes, I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong, young man. Let me tell you who I am. I've come from London to do it. Now she's dead I'm going to speak. I'm Lady Dennysthorpe—I'm your late father's widow. 44 You lying jade How dare you say that to my face ? Because it's the truth—she never had the legal right to it. Here, look at these—read these. You know the handwriting don't you ?" She thrust a bundle of documents before his eyes. Dick recognised both his father's and his mother's writing, and exercising all his self- control, sat down to examine them. In its entireity this was the story—the salient fact of which Dick gathered from the papers offered him. His father, as a young man, before suc- ceeding to the title, crowned the commission of many acts of folly by marrying a worthless young person named Susan Smith. Speedily repenting, and his eyes opened to the past character of the woman he had given his name to, he cast her off and tried in vain to get a divorce. Finally, lawyers arranaged a separa- tion,with a small allowance to the wife. Her marriage not turning out so good an invest- ment a s she hoped, an ingenious idea of com- bining revenge and blackmail occurred to the woman. She succeeded in getting a cleverly- devised story of her death into the papers— a story which stood the investigation of the Dennysthorpe lawyer gave to it. She waited. Within three years her husband succeeded his father and married his wife bore him a son— Dick. Then the woman revealed herself and struck. 44 You can't divorce me," she told him 44 rye run straight since I was married, and even if you do get our marriage annulled and marry your boy's mother, you can't legiti- mise him. These are my terms. Pay me an annuity of two thousand a year, and rn hold my tongue." Lord Dennysthorpe, weak and irresolute of temperament, yielded, dying soon afterwards, and bequeathing on his death- bed to his wife the fact that she had no legal right to his name. For nearly twenty years the poor lady had borne the burden of the secret, and had died with it locked in her breast. Dick, his ruddy face chalk-white, looked up at last. What do you want ,1 he demanded, and the woman cowered before his blazing eyes. 44 I swore to myself I'd tell," she mumbled. 44 Treated me like dirt, she did, and on the two occasions we met. I ain't no saint, but no more was she, or she'd have confessed the truth to your uncle. You're going to marry the real heiress though, so that will make all right. I thought you ought to know the truth, that is all." The passion died out of Dick's face. His eye-lids fell. He bowed his head. Elizabeth was the rightful heiress. Now he knew why his mother had at first hesitated to receive the child, and why she had planned the marriage. Then, at death's door, she had felt he ought to know. She had tried to tell him. He thanked Gcd for that. Hard though he tried to control himself a groan broke from him and compunction touched the wretched adventuress. She shed a few tears, much to the detriment of her com- plexion. I won't do you no harm, Lord Den- nysthorpe," she whimpered." See here, give me the papers." She crumpled them in her hands and flung them into the fire burning in the hearth. 44 That's all the evidence Ive got. There's not a living soul knows. And I'll tell you more. I'm a dying woman. rve only got half a lung left. I'll be in Kingdom Come in six months. And whether you marry the girl or you don't, I'll be mum as the grave." Oh, go." groaned the young man, and the woman went. He was not legally a Dennysthorpe. He, the petted, spoilt little lord, who from the time he could crawl, had reigned King of the little world about him. He had been so proud of Dennysthorpe, and now he had to yield place and power to Elizabeth. For the moment he hated her. He could forsee she would tell him 44 It would make no difference," but his pride shrank from owing everything to her favour. No, rather would he quit Dennysthorpe, and start afresh in a new world. For, not a second did he entertain the idea of holding his tongue. That would be dishonourable. Yet his mother had held hers. She had even taken charge of Elizabeth, had had her continually in her sight. How cotild she 1" groaned Dick how was it every sight of the girl did not remind her that the peerage and estate belonged to her and not to me 1" Time passed unheeded as he Sat nerving himself to face the future. Dick A hand touched his shoulder. He looked up, the room was growing dark. Elizabeth stood beside him. 44 Dick, Mrs Morley and I are having tea in the small drawing room, won't you come and join us ? What is the matter, Dick—are you ill T" Distraught with emotion the man rose, and thrusting the girl away, stood holding her roughly at arm's length, a hand on either shoulder. Most people would have imagined he had suddenly gone mad, so fierce was his i regard. Elizabeth's face showed concern, but no alarm. j 44 Elizabeth, I've news for you. I've just learned my fatner was twice married. The first wife has just left here. The second marriage was not legal, though my father thought he was a widower at the time. I've no right here. The estates, the peerage are yours." Dear," she interrupted, 44 I knew that." You knew—since when 7" All along. My father told me before he died. I knew it when I came here." Amid the chaos of emotion the words con- veyed, one memory in particular sprang into Dick's brain. A swaggering schoolboy taking a shy little girl round Dennysthorpe, bragging of his own importance and of the family glories and pointing out the reflected fame she pos- sessed in being "next man in." And all the time she knew the peerage was rightfully hers. For the second time that day he bowed his head for shams. f About a year before papa died," said Elizabeth," he met a woman in Simla. She was travelling with a man who passed for her husband. She drank. One day in an intoxi- cated condition she came to him and told him the whole story, exhibiting documentary proofs. The next day, sober, she came again and wanted to know what she had said the day before. He pretended nothing, and she never knew she had told her secret." 44 But why-why did Uncle Frederick hold his tongue ?" Papa was a very just man. He didn't think it right to use the knowledge he had gained. He didn't think Uncle Dick wrong in acting as he did. He told me, because he thought it fitting I should know. I was only thirteen then, but I'd always been papa's companion and I was old for my years. He said This is a case when legal right would create an in- justice and a bitter wrcng. My brother, under the belief he was a widower, has married a lady in every respect fit for the position he has given her. They have a son, whom they be- lieved at the time of his birth to be legitimate. To publish the truth will shame an innocent and blameless lady and an innocent and blame- less child. I recognised my brother's second marriage as legal.' He charged me to keep silent unless I nad a good cause to speak." _44 But my mother-she knew the truth ever since my father's death, and she deliberately 11 ■ Aunt Margaret acted as thought best," said Elizabeth steadily 44 I don't blame her. How could she tell you that, through the folly of your father, and the fraud of a worthless woman, you had been robbed of your birth- right 7" 44 But Elizabeth, I can't You must keep silent, Dick, for your mother's sake. And you are going to marry me. I shall be Lady Dcnnysthorpe then." We haven't treated you fairly, mother an4 1. All along you've been the humble little dependent-you, rightfully Lady Dennys- thorpe." 44 I've been quite happv here, Dick. Would I have been as happy if I'd lived here—after turning you and Aunt Margaret out—as Lady Dennysthorpe, with paid governess and guardians to look after me Ah, Dick, say it will make no difference youH stay and marry me." Slowly Dick rose. He was not clever, but even to stupid people come at times flashes of insight into complex human nature, and such a ray now illumined his mental vision. Hi s duty to hold his tongue and marry Elizabeth lay straight before him. And he saw, too, the rare nature of the girl who had given herself to him. Elizabeth was not one of those women who find happinness in independence. She must love and be loved, spend herself in the service of those she loved. They had, in their different ways, been kind to the little father- less girl, his mother and he, and she had repaid them with love unmeasured. And he however, unworthy of her, physically strong, domineer- ing, but honest, just and straightforward, pri- mitive man as expressed in the twentieth century, was just the type Elizabeth, primitive woman, to whom feminine independence meant nothing, would love. Nature designed them for each other. And what a wife she would make, what a mother to his children, to the next generation of the house of Dennys- thorpe. He thanked God his eyes had been [ opened, and that he could value her as she should be valued. He stood before her with downcast head and spoke very humbly Elizabeth, what a saint you are (The End.) Next Week— A DAUGHTER OF THE NORTH," By Percy Ebeling.
BATH AND WEST SHOW.
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BATH AND WEST SHOW. Alderman Lewis Morgan presided at a meet- ing at Cardiff City Hall on Saturday of the committee appointed a few weeks ago to make the necessary local arrangements for the Bath and West and Southern Counties Society's Show, which is to be held at Cardiff in 1911. There was a large attendance, and the follow- ing general committee, representative of various local interests, was appointed Cardiff Corporati on. —The Lord Mayor, Alder- men Lewis Morgan, Illtyd Thomas, W. H. Renwick, C. H. Bird Councillor J. W. Courtis. Estate agents.—Messrs E. W. M. Corbett (bon. treasurer), Col. Forrest, E. U. David, G. David, Mitchell Innes (Newport), Claude Thompson (Wenvoe), E. T. Lyncb-Blosse, Jestvn Williams. Lawrence Williams, C. M. Berkeley, J. M. Randall, Walter Shirley, J. A. Alexander. Farmers.—Messrs Ed. Akers (St. Fagans), Robert Duncarr (Rhoose), T. George (Whit- church), R. Templeton ( Blackweir), W. Thomas (Sully), D. J. Jenkins (Flemington). General (Cardiff and Disttict).-Lord Ninian Stuart Col. Henry Lewis (Greenmeadow). Col. O. H. Fisher, Messrs R. Williams (Roath Court), G. Williams (Llanrumney), A. C. Stewart, Hedger Wallace, J. H. Osmond Smith, J. R. Thomas, Lewis Gottwaltz, Hugh Howell, W. L. Yorath, W. J. Travers, — Prosser, Edward England. Cardiff Docks.—Messrs H. jGteiflJn, Herbert Cory, John Cory, W. Jones (Channel Dry Docks Company), Trevor S. Jones, Charles Radcliffe, Dan Radcliffe, W. J. Tatem. Rhondda and Valleys.—Messrs A. P. Jones (Aberdare), Walter Davies (Cefn, Pontypridd), J. S. Davies. (Pontypridd), Rev. John Jenkins (LLantwit Vardre), Francis Miles (Pontypridd), Isaac George (Mountain Ash), D. Rees (Fern- dale), J. D. Williams, Aid. W. H. Mathias (Porth). Liantrisant.-Arthur Masters (Lanelay), E. R. Martin, (Henstaff), J. Meyler Thomas (Ynysplwm). Cardiff Police.—Chief Constable McKenzie. Railways.—Messrs A. Beasley (T.V.R.), J. J. Leaning (G.W.R.).
RECORD MURDER TRIAL.
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RECORD MURDER TRIAL. Wolter Awakened to Hear His Doom. After a trial which counts as a record for speed in New York State, Albert Wolter, a young German, was late on Friday night found guilty of the murder of Ruth Wheeler, a 15-year-old typist, and sentenced to be electro- cuted, the execution to take place on Wednes- day. The jury deliberated for two hours, during which time Wolter was sound asleep in his cell in the Tombs Prison. He had to be awakened in order that he might be taken back to the court-room, where he heard the verdict with- out any display of emotion. No member of Ruth Wheeler's or Wolter's family was present. Counsel for the prisoner formally moved that the verdict be set aside, but the Judge overruled the motion. Wolter declined to talk to the reporters, saying, I am tired, and desire to get a little good sleep tost." Not since the Thaw trial had there been such public interest in a criminal case in America as in the trial of Wolter, who is only 18. This was due to a great extent to the terrible nature of the crime.
ANNIHILATING SPACE.
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ANNIHILATING SPACE. The Marconi Company's Transatlantic wireless message service was inaugurated on Saturday. Messages will be transmitted instantaneously through the air over the 2,450 miles between the company's high power stations at Clifden, in Ireland, and Glace Bay Canada. Under ordinary conditions it is said that the average time for the transmis- sion of a message from London to Montreal should be about 40 minutes, the whole time practically being taken up with transmission over the land lines. The service was made great use of quite early on Saturday. He first wireless message to be sent was from Lord Strathcona to Sir Wilfred Lauriec, and was as follows:—44 I gladly take this opportunity of congratulating Canada through you upon the inauguration of a Transatlantic service, which promises a new era in tele- graphic communication between I the mother country and the Dominion.—Strathcona."
ENVIRONMENT AND MORALS.
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ENVIRONMENT AND MORALS. Mr Edgar Jones, M.P., delivered an address on Environment and Character at Blooms- bury Chapel, London, yesterday. If they wanted an illustration of the subject, he said, they had only to look at Wales in the seven- teenth and eighteenth centuries and read. In those days the dwellings made morality prac- tically impossible, and the greatest immorality existed that could be found in the history of any nation. The people were ground down by oppression and agrarian serfdom, but Chris- tianity had been their salvation, with the assistance of education. Environment and character must go together, and as they im- proved the conditions and modes of life of the people so did they become brighter and more intelligent.
MOTHER COUNTRY ALL RIGHT.
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MOTHER COUNTRY ALL RIGHT. New York, Sunday.—Speaking at the annual dinner at the Saint George Society yesterday evening, Mr Bryce, the British Ambassador, said he was surprised at some Englishmen here speaking of the Mother Country as on the verge of ruin. Nothing of the kind. The truth is. British trade is fast reviving, and industry, population, and wealth steadily in- creasing. The old country is all right. Her people are not living in fear of invasion. I have confidence in the party system of govern- ment and the ancient undiminished strength and prowess of British character. The old stock still produces men of the old type. Mr Bryce added that peace and friendship with the United States were never on a surer basis.- Reuter.
KING VISITS HEROES' GRAVES.
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KING VISITS HEROES' GRAVES. Biarritz, Saturday.-King Edward to-day lunched with personal friends, and in the evening his Majesty dined with friends who are giving a farewell dinner. In the afternoon the King made a motor car excursion to Bayonne and environs. During his usual walk his Majesty, accompanied by the Hon. John Ward and Colonel Ponsonby, visited the cemeteries where lie buried the British officers who lost their lives at the siege of Bayonne, and also the monument erected to the memory I of Frenob soldiers who fell in the same opera- tions in 1814.—IteuUir. I
----....-_.---:.---.=--INDUSTRY…
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.=-- INDUSTRY PIONEERS. South Wales Leaders. No. X.-ANTHONY BACON. An Eighteenth Century Romance. A hundred years ago there was scarcely greater name in South Wales than that of Anthony Bacon, the forerunner of the era-. shays. He was something more than th* leading ironmaster of Merthn-. He was the colleague of the great John Wilkes in the repre- sentation of Aylesbury in the House of Con*" mons. He was, too, the friend and of the illustrious men of his time, and Industry has had few more gifted or more pioneers. Anthony Bacon won a position °* far more than local eminence he was a pub- licist of national distinction. The Search for Gold And yet little is known of his career bef- he came to South Wales no memorial of bØP remains. The diligent and ingenious student who can read unwritten history in the impl*" ments and weapons of early man and trace till onward march of civilisation does not hesitat* to present from the Sonnets of Shakespeare tb8 dramatist's inner and even public life. Witb the same diligence, if with less ingenuity, tb* biographers of Anthony Bacon have succOOded in extracting his life-story from local and, ota the whole, trustworthy records. It is not uøfl doubted that he was a native of WhitehaveD. and for some time a successful merchant 10 London. About the middle of the eighteent.b century the venture of Guest at Dowla^ created widespread interest, and Bacon stirring stories in London of Wales as a 44 of iron and of gold He determined to out for himself, and by mule carriage set out The year of his entry into Merthyr is fixed 1763. At all events Dowlais Works date fro* 1758, and Cyfarthfa. (which owes its beginnifltf to Bacon) from 1765. He made various trip* round the district, and was attracted 10 Hirwain. where the north crop of the ironstoD* measures was well developed. He saw thxt the prospects were good and in August, 1165- a lease was drawn up between Messrs and Brownrigg. of Whitehaven, and Ea*» Talbot and Mr Richards, of Cardiff. "whereto?" subject to conditions and the rights of leaseholders, they were to have the gre** mineral tract of Cyfarthfa of 4,000 acres for. years, the rental to be £100 per annum." First Furnace at Cyfarthfa. If we accept popular tradition, his first nace was at Plymouth, and the forerunner <* the great Cyfarthfa works only a forge. But. is certain that the first furnace at Cyfartbf* was built in 1765—44 the notable, reinarkabl* Number Five.' After a decade, Bacon coW structed a forge for working pig into bar iroOt and at the beginning of the American war a contract with the British Government fØI cannon. He bought up other teases, and biO most interesting biographer has said that wfau* Lewis and Guest held land from the DowW? heights to Merthyr, Bacon and his friends over Plymouth and Cyfarthfa, a tract of laPO compared with which a German baraflf would have been nowhere." The Ironmaster's Difficulties. Fuel was the supreme difficulty, and prv gress at Cyfarthfa, as at Dowlais, was slow- Coal was not in general use and work at till furnace was carried on for three days in f;h8 week, while the other three had to be given tO wood-cutting. Bacon's employees, it is rr corded, enjoyed greatly the tree-felling, for i. gave an opportunity for 44 poaching "1 DofiP| accompanied them, and to the barking Cyfarthfa woods was at one time traced tbj origin of 44 Cyfarthfa," 44 the barking place dogs The fuel difficulty gradually itself in a region so rich in coal, and Anthow Bacon prospered. Bacon's Crest. He built a house that still stands—converted into engineers' offices-and that he was 8010" thing of a wit is shown in his crest on tbj fireplace. His crest is a pig! He applfc^ every energy and gift to iron-making, and by the mountain road despatched it to Cardiff ^7 mules and ponies. But such transport was VP* to the liking of Bacon nor in the interests the iron trade. And so when in 1767 he b.& built another furnace and the market for his developed, he realised the necessity for a through the valley from Merthyr to Cardiff* He resolved to gain the sympathy and suppo^j of the community, and he gave a great dinn* at the Star Hotel. Merthyr was en fete. The farmers and leading citizens came in The banquet was a brilliant success, and aD. were in the most amiable mood. Bacon rolo to launch his scheme. In the valley there he said, abundance of coal and iron. FatfiB* ties of transport to Cardiff were necessary. *7 the road were made, he declared, he carry on the works with renewed energy. Tbo orator prevailed. A subscription list started and the roacb wu' oemjtleted in 179" the year of Bacon's second furnace. Guest and Bacon. Guest was prospering at Dowlais Bacoa <* Cyfarthfa. There was no rivalry. The great pioneer-ironmasters were the friends. Guest on foot, or on his pony, wodl° journey to Cyfarthfa to meet the man whoCj he admired—both men of English birth but <>• Welsh sympathies, building up the fortunes a great community. No picture exists of meetings, but the imagination can weave own and such records as exist stir the They lived homely, thrifty lives the strenuoOj days had not dawned when custom demand* its price. It is said that it was Bacon' ambition to develop the minerals of the Abdr dare Valley but other things engaged hi* attention. It was Cyfarthfa that gave bitØ lasting fame. Returns to England: In 1783 Bacon determined to quit the sceøll of his triumphs. He disposed of C-yfarthfib I and he and his heirs realised £ 10,000 a veaf» from the initial outlay of £ 100 He died in f°u manhood, and left two sons and a dau £ bts*r One son fought at Waterloo the other died 06 Plymouth in 1861. Cyfarthfa passed into tjjj hands of Mr Tanner, of Monmouth, a Mj* Cockshutt, and Mr Bowser, who had properw in Carmarthenshire. But fortune failed thKJJ" At last there came on the scene the Bichard Craws hay, and a new era opened up- Bacon's Varied Interests. These industry pioneers were all men of wiJj interests many of striking personality sotfjf of genius. Anthony Bacon was in time a man of national important It is true that the fame of V* colleague in Parliament, John Wilkes, shadowed his but he, too, was a eminence. Bacon's minister at Merthyr Thomas Price, who could trace his desctf? from Owen Glyndwr. This Price was celebmfe £ as an Oxford student and was a preacher tJ, power and eloquence. He was a personal friëø4 of John Wesley, and the great apostle came f? see him at Merthyr. What part Bacon in the historic visit is not recorded. There li^*J at this period in the Aberdare Valley an ag*4 bard named Evans, and Bacon was his practfeff friend. He helped him in his need, and the po £ shortly before he died gave him his treasure—a copy of the 44 Godolin/' J £ 2 44 Iliad of Aneurin, the Welsh Homer. Bacon lent the great work and lost it. So far j can be gathered from the meagre records his career his interests were as varied as P} power was widespread and he is numbe* among the men who made Sooth Wales. 0*' came at the dawn of the iron age in WsW and as pioneer, publicist, patron at the arWl and popular personality, has found endnrf^ fame and universal esteem.
Land Thieves.
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Land Thieves. MR W. ÐEORIE AT WHITEFIELC8. Mr William George, brother of the of the Exchequer, was the speaker at field's Tabernacle, London, yesterday aft^* noon. The Rev.C. Sylvester Home, M.P., said was astonishing what a family the Q»oi were, and what they were doing, not the Principality but in as well. < Mr William George, who had a most cortSjJ welcome, gave an address on 44 How the LcjJ. stole the commons." said last week at tty time he was listening to an evangelical aenP^1 on the shores of Cardigan Bay, and he ^5- afraid he should get into trouble for addreari^' them on such a subject. (Laughter.) He not going to talk about the House of but about the land of the people. People WW stole, he went on, were generally sent to but they did not run so much risk insteaWj land. The law of larceny was not Applied the great landowners who made toe inserting provisos enabling them to possession of common lands. There were of acres of land, he proceeded, which doubtedly belonged to the people at one tOTr and which now belonged to private viduals. There were two ways of appropriating There was what he called the straightfar Robin Hood way, and the other was means of passing an Enclosure Act. He begM^ his audience to interest themselves in question, especially in the agriculturalca^ stituencies in the South of England. At the close of the address, on the the Rev. C. Sylvester Home, a resolution passed calling upon the Government to point a Royal Commission to inquire the subject with a view to getting such returned to the people.
DEACON INTERPOSED.
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DEACON INTERPOSED. While a temperance dialogue was procee^^j! at a Swansea chapel one of the deacons posed, declaring, that it was calculated to bad example to children. To make the P1 more realistic a temperance drink, was erroneously believed was of the co'°u-jil beer, had been introduced. Some exci ensutxi, and the p.-trttnts of one of tbo formers objected to their daughter tnJt further part. Another performer mainta^^ that the dialogue should be allowed to in order to point t.h« moral. Eventually J dialogue was discontinue I, and I he aubSoQ1*^ part of the t oruc;Atxi.