The Cardiff Times

THE NEWPORT GUARDIANS AND THE OVERSEERS. At theNewportcounty police-court, on Saturday, half a dozen overseers of parishes comprised in the Newport Union were summoned at the instance of the Newport Guardians for not paying calls due from their respective parishes, levied for poor-law purposes. This action had been taken as the resuit of numerous complaints made at meetings of the board of overseers being in default, and also because the guardians' account with the bankers has been overdrawn. Four of the cases were struck out because the money had been paid, but the overseers of Wilcrick and Machen Lower were not included in this arrange- ment. Mr Thompson appeared for Messrs Geo. Young and David Lewis, of Machen, and Mr David James for Messrs 1. Lawrence and William Roberts, of Wilcrick. Both produced bankers' receipts, showing that the money for which they were summoned had been paid in the month of November.—Mr Wooiiett: This is very irregular. (To Mr Thompson) It is a great pity you should be brought here. It is bad enough to be sum- moned here at all, but to be summoned when the money has been paid long ago is another matter. —The bench dismissed both cases, with costs against the guardians, in Mr Thompson's case awarding 10s. Subsequently Mr Downing Evans, clerk to the board of guardians, appeared before the bench, and was informed of what had taken place, Mr Woollett repeating his remark that there had bean great irregularity. Mr Evans said it was extraordinary that when he took the treasurer a list of unpaid calls, those which had beeti,paid were not pointed out. The overseers of Henilis were also summoned, but Mr James Baker did not appear on their behalf until the close of the court. It was explained by Mr Baker that two calls of J611 and £106 had not been collected owing to his being unwell.—The bench pointed out that the business, of the board of guardians would come to a dead- lock without funds, and ordered the money, to be paid in a fortnight

A 11Y FO C HITI OA L fHIEF. At the Surrey Sessions on Friday, Charles John son, 23, labourer, was indicted for breaking into the shop of Abraham Kauffman, jeweller, 107, W jite loo-road, and and stealing therefrom a case of dia- monds, value dS150, the property .of the prosecutor. Prisoner, who pleaded guilty, smashed prosecutor's shop window and snatched a case of jewellery, with which lie ran away. He was followed and stopped with the jewel case in his possession. A detective sergeant proved three previous convictions, and gave the prisoner a very bad character. Prisoner handed up a long written statement to the chairman, in which he pleaded in most sanctimonious language for mercy, and expressed a pious hope that the Bench, for the love of the Almighty, would grant him another chance, when he would endeavour with the help of God to le3.d a good life in future. Mr Sum its i. said that having regard to the nature of his offence, and the character he had borne, the court could pay no heed to the prisoner's supplication. He then sentenced him to five years' penal servitude. On the sentence being pronounced, prisoner burst forth into a volley of oaths and imprecations of. the vilest description, aud was hurriedly removed from the dock.

COLLAPSE OF A BLAST furnace IN THE forest OF DEAN. On Saturday, just as a draw of molten pig iron was about to have taken place, an accident ot an alarming nature occurred at Messrs Henry X- v y a fc,on s hot air blast furnaces at jjinderford. It appoirs that the inside lining of tire tumace had been worn considerably, but without the slightest indication the brickwork 1, -1. suddenly collapsed, and an immediate blow out was^an imperative necessity. This is a serious nxisiorturie to the. manufacturing district of the forest, tae greater portion of raw material having been taken from-the looal furnace. It is foared that some months will elapse before the damage c lu-fed can be made good. The whole of tiie em- ployees at the. furnaces will consequently suffer from enforc ed idleness. Messrs Crawshay's iron miners at Buck's Shaft Mine Works are con- sequently ordered to cease operations. This was the only blast furnace in the forest in work, aiicl was built upon the most modern and improved method.

THE WRECK OFF HOLYHEAD. The Board of Trade inquiry into the foundering of the Liverpool and Cork steamer Pochard, wit,, all hands, -numbering 24, off Holyhead, on December 7th, was concluded on Saturday at Liverpool. The COUTU ottnd that the vessel was in a thoroughly good crttiditiori in every respect, and properly stowed 'but conjectured that there must have been some BncMen influx of water which filled thro after hold, and caused the disaster. IS very effort was made from the shore to render assistance.

A WELSH CENTRNARIAN. A well-known Wolslrspinster, Mavgavefc Morris, residing in the parish of Liancynfelin, near Aber- y«twith, lifts just attained the remarkable age of 107 yeairs. The fast is authenticated by the list of paupevs, in wiriah her name,'with frge apprmded, was been 'enrolled for many years. She is com- paratively hale, .and is 4ble to move nbottt, bHt her memory and sight have almost wholly failed her.

g A mm in Augusta, Ga., on receiving a doctor's bill for medicine and visits, wrote that he winild pay. for tho medicine and return the visits.

WYLLARD'S WEIRD. A NOVEL, BY M. BRADDON. Author of "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," "PHANTOM Fortune," &c. CHAPTER XXII.—Wedding GARMENTS. Hilda's presence at Penmorval was full of com- fort and solace for Dora Wyllard. She had known Dora all her life, had seen her grow from child- hood to womanhood, had loved her with a sisterly love, trusting her as she trusted no one else. Hilda had been only a child at the time of Dora's engagement to Edward Heathcote, yet even at eleven years of age, Hilda's tender heart had been full of sympathy for her brother when that en- gagement was broken off, and when Dora became the wife of another man. She had been angry, with vehement childish anger. That Dora should like any man better than him who, in the fond eyes of the younger sister, seemed the prince and pattern of fine gentlemen That Dora could like Hamlet's widow, turned from Hyperion to a Satyr! Hilda at eleven was precocious in her knowledge of books, and very self-opinionated in her judg- ment of them. She told her brother she would never speak to Dora again, that she would run a mile to avoid even seeing her and then, a few months after Dora's marriage, finding that her brother had forgiven that great wrong with all his heart. Hilda melted one day suddenly, at meet- ing Mrs Wyllard on the moors, and fell into her old friend's arms. I have tried to hate you for being so wicked to my brother," she sobbed, as Dora bent over her and kissed her. Your brother forgave me a year ago, Hilda," said Dora. Why should you be less generous than he?" "Because I love him better than he loves himself," cried Hilda, in her vehement way; because I know his value better than he does. Oh, Dora, how could you like any one else better than Edward?" You must not ask me that my darling. Those things cannot be explained. Fate willed it so." And I suppose you are very happy in your grand house f' said Hilda, sullenly. I am very happy with the husband I love, Hilda. The grand house makes no difference. And now we are going to be good friends, aren't we dear, and we are never going to talk of the past. How you have grown, Hilda 1" Out of all my frocks," answered Hilda, glanc- ing contemptiously at her ankles. It is perfectly degrading never to have a frock long enough for one-and never to have one's waist in the right place. The dressmaker says I have no waist yet. Dressmakers are so insulting to girls of my ago, I think I shall positively trample upon my dress- maker when I am grown up, to revenge myself for all I have suffered from the tribe." b My Hilda, what an old-fashioned puss you have grown." How can Inelp being old-fashioned? I never see any young people. Edward never comes to the Spaniards now. You have driven him away." Hilda, if we are to be friends Well, I won't say it again but you have, you know. It is awfully dull at home. I sup- pose I may say that ?" I hear you have a new governess. I hope you like her V You needn't hope that, for you know girls never do. She is a poor sheep of a thing, and I suppose I don't hate her quite so much as some girls hate their governesses. But she is dreadfully dreary. She makes her own gowns, and on an evening her needle goes stitch, stitch, stitch, in time to the ticking of the clock, while I practice my scales. I don't know which I hate most, the clock, or the piano, or the needle." Poor Hilda, you must spend half your time with me in future. I shall call to-morrow and ask your father's permission to have you at Pen- morval as often as I like." He won't refuse, if there's any consistency in him," replied Hilda, for he is always grumbling about the noise I make, and about my sliding down the banisters. How did he go down stairs I wonder, at my age ? Those broad banisters at the Spaniards must have been made for sliding. But fathers arc so inconsistent," concluded Hilda. I shouldn't wonder but that he would rather have me and my noise at home than allow me to be happy at Penmorval." "Let us hope that he will be reasonable," said Dora, smiling, even though he is a father." f^Mrs Wyllard called at the Spaniards next'day, and was not too graciously received by Mr Heath- cote-old Squire Heathcote, as he was called in that part of the world. He was a testy invalid, a sufferer from some chronic complaint so obscure in its complications as to seem only an excuse for ill-temper—and he had not forgiven Dora for jilt- ing his son. He softened gradually, however, melted by the sweetness of her manner, and by memories of days that was gone, when he had ad- mired her mother, and he had been ruthlessly cut out by her father. The eyes that looked at him seemed to be the eyes that he had loved in his youth. If you eare to be troubled with the girl I ought to be grateful for any kindness you may show her," said the Squire. She makes more noise than a regiment, and she is always disobeying her governess, or neglecting her lessons, and then I am called upon to interfere. I wouldn't mind if they would tight it out between them and leave me in peace." You shall be left in peace very often, if you will allow me to have Hilda for my little com- panion, at Penmorval," said Dora. And I pro- mise you that her education shall not be altogether neglected while she is with me. n If you can teach her manners, I shall be eter- nally your debtor," said the Squire I would much rather a young woman should know how to behave herself in society than that she should read Æschylus or square the circle." Thus it came about that Hilda spent a great deal of her life at Penmorval, where the sheep- like governess escorted her, or whence she fetched her with unfailing patience, grateful exceedingly when she was rewarded with a cup of tea in Mrs Wyllard's pretty drawing room, or in the yew- tree arbour, And thus in the seven happy years of Dora Wyllard's married life, her apprenticeship, as she had called it playfully last June, when the anniversary of her marriage came round—Hilda had been her chief companion. The girl had grown up at her side as a younger sister, and had been a link between Dora and Edward, albeit these two saw each other but forl Edward's home had bean in the neighbourhood of Plymouth, until within the last two years. The old Squire did not long survive that inter- view in which he complained of his young daugh- ter's hoydenish manners. He did not live to see the hoyden soften into a graceful modest girl, reserved and silent among strangers, full of viva- city among- those she loved. His elder son suc- ceeded him in the possession of the Spaniards, a bachelor and an enthusiastic sportsman. He was one oi those ideal brothers with whom a sister can do just as she likes, and under his regime Hilda learnt to ride to hounds, and contrived to enjoy herself as much as any girl in, Cornwall. She mourned him passionately when he was snatched away in the flower of his manhood, victim to a severe C-old caught during a fishing tour in Con- Hfcriiara. Edward's rule was almost as kind, but not quite so easy. He had narrower ideas about the rights of young ladies, especially iu relation to the hunt- ing field. When I hunt you can go with me," he said, but I will not have you flourishfng about the country with no one but a groom to look after you," and this narrower rule deprived Hilda of many a day's sport. Courtenay, the elder brother, had never missed a day with fox-honuds or bar- riers, and he bad allowed his sister the run of his stables and much latitude in all things. While Hilda was growing up under Mrs. Wyllard's wing, while Edward Heathcote changed from baatchelor to married man, and then'to widower, Bothwell Grahams was serving his Queen and his country in the far East. He could just remember having seen Hilda once as a child. He came back t3 Cornwall to find her a woman, or a girl on the verge of womanhood, and it was not long before he grew to believe in her as the very perfection of girlhood and womanhood in oue-girl wood when she was gay, and in her more serious moods altogether womanly. In these darker days, under that heavy cloud which had fallen upon Dora W yllard's life, Hilda's presence was an inestimable blessing. Dora was able to put aside the thought of her own great sorrow every now and then, while she entered with all heart into the life of her young fciend- this fresh young life, so full of hope in the future, of earnest purpose and sweet humility. If a king had stooped frcm his throne to woo her, Hilda could not have been prouder of her royal lover than she was of Bothwell, She spoke of him as one who honoured her by his affection, and she seemed full of fearfulness lest she should not be good enough for her hero. It never occurred to her that it was Bothwell who ought to be thank- ful, that it was.he who had won the prize. There was a sweet self-abnegation in this girlish love which touched Dora deeply, she being all unconscious of her unselfish worship of her hus- biwid, her own surrender to the lover who stole liar betrothed. Hilda was very fearful of intruding her new joys and hopes upon her friend's sorrow, 6 1i ought not to chatter about our girl's pros- pects, Dora, when you are so weighed down with care," she said, apologetically. But Dora insisted upon hearing all about the new borne which was to bo made out, of the old cottage. She insisted upon discussing the trous- seau and the linen closet, glass and china, and even hardware albeit her own lines had fallen in a mansion where ail these things are provided on a lavish scale, and left to the care of a house- keeper, to be destroyed and renewed periodically, for the benefit of old established tradesmen. You never had a linen closet to look after, Dora," said Hilda, pitying her friend. That is the worst of being so rich. There is no individu- ality in your home life. I mean to be a regular Dutch housewife, and to keep count of every table- cloth in my stock. I shall make and mark and mend all the house linen, and I shall be much prouder of my linen-closet than of my gowns and bonnets. And the china-closet, Dora, ought not that to be lovely ? One can get such delicious glass and china now-a-days for so little money. I have looked at the Plymouth china shops, and longed to buy the thiugs, before I was engaged but now I can buy all the glass and cbinti for our house—I have saved enough money out of my al- lowance to pay for all we want in that wAy." What an independent young person you are, Hilda said her friend, laughing at her but you must not spend all your money on cups and saucers And teapots iritorjected Hilda, such sweet little china teapots. I will have one for eve-y day of the week." Teapots are all very well, but you will have your ir>v.sscau to :qy. You must keep some of your money for frocks." 1 have no end of frocks more thf.n enough," •protested Ifjlda." I shall buy j two new gowiis-my wedditi, gown and a tailor gown for riding outside coaches in the honeymoon. Botli well proposes that we should go round the south coast as far as the Start, and then across country to HarUnud and home by Bude. That is to be our ■fco-leymoon tour.' Very nice,and very inexpensive, dearest. And then you are to come here to live till your new home is ready 2" I am afraid we shall be very much in your way." You will be a comfort to me Hilda both you and Bothwell will be a help and comfort to me." Hilda spent her evenings for the most part in the invalid's room. Her sympathetic nature made it easy for her to adapt herself to the necessities of a sick room. She could be very quiet, and yet she y-' could be bright and gay. She could be cheerful without being noisy. She sang with exquisite taste, and sang the songs which are delightful to all hearers—songs that appeal to the heart and soothes the senses. Julian Wyllard was particularly fond of her German ballads-Schubert, Mendelssohn, Jensen, old Volks-Lieder but once when she began a little French song, Situ savais, he stopped her with a painful motion of his distorted hand, Not that, Hilda. I detest that song," and for the first time Hilda doubted the excellence of his judgment. I wonder you dislike it." she began. Oh, the thing is pretty enough; but it has been so vulgarised. All the organs were grinding it when I lived in Paris." And those organs disturbed you at your work sometimes, perhaps," said Dora, seated in her ac- customed place beside his pillow, ready to adjust his reading lamp, to give him a new book, or to discuss any passage he showed her. He read immensely in those long hours of enforced capti- vity, but his reading had been chiefly on one particular line. He was reading the metaphysi- cians, from Plato and Aristotle to Scbopenhaur and Hartmann, trying to find comfort from the anguish of his own individual position in the uni- versal despondency of the modern school of philosophy. A man chained to a sick bed ought to be able to console himself with the idea that the great world around him is only an idea of his own brain, and yet even when convinced of the unreality of all things there remains this one central point in the universe, the sense of individual pain. Such a belief might reconcile the sufferer to the idea of suicide, but hardly to the idea of life. Ah, my Dora, if you are only a phantom, you are the sweetest ghost that ever a man's brain invented to haunt and bless his life," Don't you think you might read more interest- ing books, while you are ill, Julian?" suggested his wife. No, dear. These books are best, for they set me thinking upon abstract questions, and hinder me from brooding upon my own misery." What could Dora say to him by way of comfort, knowing too well that this misery of his was without hope on earth knawrngthat this burden of pain which had fallen to him must be carried to the very end that day by day, and hour by hour the gradual progress of decay must go on no pause, no respite, decay is so slow as to be almost imperceptible, save on looking back at what had been ? 'Thank God the brain is untouched, said Julian Wyllard, when his wife pitied him in his hour of pain, "I should not have cared to sink into imbeci- lity, to have only a dull, vague sense of my own indi- viduality, like a vegetable in pain. I am very thankful that Spancer assures me the brain is souno, aud is likely to outlast the crippled frame." Bothwell rode over on Sunday morning as lie bad threatened, and appeared at the Parish Church with his cousin and Hilda, much to the as- tonishment of some of the parishioners who had suspected and almost condemned him. They were now veering round, and had begnn to inform each other that Mr Grabame had been a much-wronged man, and that there was evidently a great deal more in the mystery of the strange girl's death than any one in Bodmin had yet been able to fathom. No doubt Mr Distin, the famous cri- minal lawyer, knew about it, and his cross-ex- amination of Bothwell Grahame had been only a blind to throw the Press and the public off the right sceut. The very fact of his coming all the way from London to attend a Cornish inquest, ar- gued an occult knowledge, a shadow behind the throne. Some among Bothwell's late detractors hinted that the business involved a personage of very high rank, and were disposed to transfer their suspicions to a local peer, who was not so popular as he might have been, having but recent refused to remit more than one-third of his famers' rents, or to renew leases at less than half the previous rental. And now Bodmin beheld Bothwell Grahame seated in the Penmorval pew between his cousin and Hilda Heathcote, and Bodmin opined that his engagement to Miss Heathcote must now be a settled thing, since it was known that he had taken a house at Trevenna, and was building and improving there on a large scale. There were some who approved, and some who condemned some who wondered' that Squire Heathcote could allow his only sister to marry with a roprobate, others who declared that Bothwell was a high- spirited felfow, who had been a fine soldier, and would make a capital araiy-coacli but these dif- ferences of opinion helped to sustain conversation, which which sometimes sank to a very low ebb in Bodmin for lack of matter. It was a lovely autumn day, and Bothwell had strolled in the rose-garden with his sweetheart, be- tween luncheon and five o'clock tea, talking over their house and their future. And now dearest, there is only one point to settle," said Bothwell, when they had discussed furniture and china and glass to their heart's con- tent, and when Bothwell had given a graphic de- scription of sundry Chippendale chairs and early Kpgligh bureaux which he had discovered and Toargaitied for in cottr.ges and farmhouses within twenty miles of Trevena. I had a little talk with Wyllard before luncheon. He is most cordially disposed towards us. and he wants to hurry on our marriage in order that he may be present at e, the ceremony. He feels just able to go down to the church in a Bath chair. His chair could be wheeled up the aisle and placed within sight and sound of the altar, without being in anybody's way. He says, if we delay our marrii.ge he may no longer have the power to do even this much, and for this reason he is urgent that we should marry almost immediately. What do you say, deat-eiit ? Will take up your burden as a poor man's wife ? Will yuu be mine soon at once almost. The week after next for instance," Oh, Bothwell!" Think, dear love, there is nothing to delay our marriage except want of faith in each other, or in ourselves, If you have any doubt of me, 1 Hilda, or any donbt as to your own love for me -11 I have none, Bothwell, not a shadow of doubt." Then let us be married on Tuesday week. That is the day Dora suggested. She tells me that you arc the most sensible girl she ever met with, and that you are not going to buy a waggon-load of clothes in order to overdress your part. in that, old, old play called 'Love in a Cot,.a,-e' so you see there is nothing to wait for." But 1 lnu^t have a wedding-gown, Bothwell, and a gown for travelling." Then you have just a week in which to get them made, dear. Not an hour more." There was some further discussion, but in the end Hilda yielde 1 to her lover's pleading. It should be auy day he liked-it should be Tuesday. The two gowns should be ordered next morning. Edward Heathcote had given Dora full powers, and he would doubtless hurry home at her bidding in time to arrange the terms of Hilda's marriage settlement, and to be present at the wedding. Bothwell was almost beside himself with glad- ness for the rest of the day, but good feeling im- pelled him to restrain his exuberance, and to be grave and quiet in the presence of the patient sufferer, whose pale, calm face told but little of mental struggle, or bodily pain. The evening was -spent in Julian Wyllard's room. There was a good deal of conversation, and Hilda sang some oE her lavourite songs, a sacred song of Gounod's, There is a green hill far away," which Dora especially loved, and again, Ave Maria," by the same eomposer. Bothwell sat in a corner by the pretty little cottage piano, listening to the rich, full voice of his beloved, watching her thin white fingers as they strayed over the keys, ineff- ably happy. He had no thonght of evenings in the years that were gone, when he had lis- tened to another singer, and watched other hands, delicate nervous fingers, glittering with diamonds. i The voice was a thinner voice, a somewhat reedy soprano, and those tapering fingers had something of a bird's claws in their extreme attenuation but he had thought the thin voice passing sweet in the days that were gone, and the hand of the syren had seemed to him perfection. He left Penmorval soon after daybreak next morning, to ride back to Trcvena. He was to re- turn on the following Saturday, to take up his abode there until the wedding day, while Hilda was to return to the Spaniards almost immedi- ately, to collect her belongings, and make herself ready for her new life. All the business of fur- nishing could be done after the wedding, in that interval which Mr and Mrs Grabame were to spend at Penmorval. Hilda was up in timeto watch from her bedroom window while her lover rode away in the misty morning, but she was much too shy to go down stairs i, nd wish him gcod-bye. She would have quailed before the awful eye of Stodde-n, the butler, bad she ventured to show herself at such an unseemly hour, unchaperoned, unsanctioned by the presence of the matron. So she hid behind her window viiri.,iiii nnd watched her tror> knight's departure, and did not even fling hiiii a flower by way of love-tokeu. When horse and rider were out of sight, she went to her desk and wrote to her brother, urg- iug him to come back without delay, explaining and apologising for the early date named for her wedding—reminding him as to marriage set- tlement that she wished Bothwell to profit as much as possible by her small independence—an altogether womanly letter, brimming over with love for her betrothed. She went home that morning, and she and Fraulein Meyerstein began immediately to busy themselves with preparations for the wedding. It would naturally be the quietest of we since Mr Wyllard's condition forbade all feitivity. Hilda said she would have the twins for her bridesmaids, and no others. They were to be dressed exactly alike, and all in pure white, like biscuit-china figures they were to have little Pompadour frocks and petticoats, and mob caps. There was atremendous consultation that Monday afternoon with the chief dressmaker of Bodmin, a person of high reputation among those steady old-fashioned people who liked to spend their money in their own town, and who were naturally looked down upon by that other section of county society which had all its clothes from London. The dressmaker had made Hilda's frocks ever since siie was a baby, aud was inclined to be dole- ful at the idea of this trousseaux-less entrance into matrimony—but upon her being put upou her metal she declared that the neat little white satin wedding-gown, and olive cloth travelling-gown should be perfection after their kind and then came a lengthy discussion about eloeves.and vel- vet WR .coat, and the all-important question of buttons was treated exhaustively. Miss Pitman, the dressmaker, had been told of Dore and Red- fern, and had lain awake of a night thinking of their productions; she had been shown dresses from Swan and Edgar; but she believed that for the hang of a skirt or the fit of a sleeve she could told her own with any bouse in London. And then she favoured Hilda and the Fraulein with a little lecture upon the righteous and the unrighteous manner of making and putting in a sleeve, wbich S was eminenty interesting from a professional point of view. The first three days of that week seemed to Hilda, to pass like a dream. She managed to main- tain an outward aspect of supreme calmness but her brain seemed to her in a whirl all the time. She went in and out of the house, and wandered about the gardens without knowing why she went hither and thither, half her time, hardly knowing where she was. She began one thing after another, and never finished anything. She was always waiting for Bothwell's letters, which came by every post, albeit a third person might have upposed that he would find very little to writeS about. For Hilda the letters were full of interest, and she made as much haste to an- swer them as if she and Bothwell had been heads of parties carrying on the business of the nation at a crisis. She was anxious to receive her brother's answer to her letter, but when it came the reply, though satisfactory upon some points, was not altogether agreeable. Mrs Wyllard is quite justified in saying that I left the arrangements of your wedding in her hands," wrote Edward Heathcote. You could have no kinder friend or wiser counsellor, and to her decision as to the date of your marriage, I bow. But I regret to say that I shall not be pre- sent at the ceremony. I have business which still detains me in Paris, and I have other reasons which hinder my being a witness of your wed- ding. You must not suppose that this decision on my part arises from any unfriendly feeling to Bothwell Grahame. I have reconciled myself to his marriage with you, and I shall do my utter- most in the future to prove myself his friend as well as yours. He will find that the instructions I have sent as to your settlement are framed with a due regard to his interests. There is one thing, however, in which I desire to alter Mrs Wyllard's scheme, kind and hospita- ble as her idea is-namely, with regard to your residence after your marriage. I cannot allow you to spend the first few months of your married life under Mr Wyllard's roof, while your brother's house is more than large enough to hold you and your husband. It is my wish, therefore, that Bothwell should bring you back to the Spaniards after your honeymoon, and that you and he should live there till your new home is ready for you. You will, in all probability be very little troubled with my company, as I am likely to remain in Paris for some time to come and you and Bothwell can ride my hunters and consider yourselves master and mistress of everything., j I must beg that upon this question my wishes shall be regarded, and that you will canoy out my plan even at the hazard of offending Mrs Wyllard, whom you knew I esteem and respect above all other women. And now, my dear girl, I have nothing to do but to wish you all the blessings which a good and true-hearted woman deserves when she marries the man of her choice, and to request your acceptance of the enclosed cheque for your house aud your trousseau. Your very affectionate brother, EDWARD HEATHCOTE." The cheque was for two hundred and fifty pounds; but liberal as the gift was, it did not re- concile Hilda to the idea of her brother's absence on her wedding-day. It is extremely unkind of him not to come," she said, throwing the letter and enclosure into her desk. "And it is not kind of him to alter Dora's plans. I know she looked forward to having us at Penmorval. But I shall go and see her every day, poor darling." This idea of her brother's absence on her wed- ding-day—that most fearful day in a woman's life —cast a shadow across the sunlight of Hilda's bliss. She could think of nothing else after the re- ceipt of Heathcote's letter, and she was full of wonder as to his reasons for thus absenting him- self upon an occasion when duty and good feeling both demanded his presence. What could be his motive ? she asked herself. He was not the kind of man to spare himself the trouble of crossing the Channel, even had it been necessary for him to return to Paris directly after the wedding. He had never spared trouble or shirked a duty. It was clear to her, therefore, that he had some very strong motive for absent- ing himself from the marriage ceremony. She could only imagine one reason for his con- duct. She told herself that her brother, in his heart of hearts, still doubted Bothwell, and still disapproved of her marriage. He had allowed himself to be talked over by Mrs Wyllard. The influence of that old unforgotten love had pre- vailed over his own inclination. He had allowed his consent to be wrung from him, and now that it was too late to withdraw that consent he was not the less Bothwell's enemy. He could not bring himself to look on as an approving witness at a marriage which he regretted. He had told his sister that his discoveries in P.ris had gone far to convince him of Bothwell's guiltlessness in rela- tion to the French girl's death, but there was still something in the background, some prejudice yet undispelled, some doubt which darkened friendship. It was the Thursday before her wedding-day and her preparations and arrangements had been for the most part made. There had been indeed, but little to do, since her return to the Spaniards as a bride, would simplify matters, and give her ample time for packing her belongings; those books and knick-knacks.which ?had bcaucified her own rooms, her jewels, chiefly an inheritance from her mother; and those few wedding presents which had arrived from the three or four intimate friends who had heard of her engagement—among them an immense satin-lined work basket, from Fraulein Meyerstein—a basket previded with an orderly arrangement of tapes, buttons, cottons, and needles, such as a careful housewife must needs require in the repair of the family linen. The Fraulein had made a special journey to Ply- mouth in order to purchase and furnish this trea- sury of usefulnes, and had brought it back in triumph. "I cannot give you beautiful things," said the Fraulein, apologetically. You have too valu- able jewels of your own to care for any trinket which I could offer but in this basket you will find all things which a good wife needs to preserve order and neatness in her household goods. There is flourishing thread of every quality to darn your table linen. There are pearl buttons of every size for your husband's shirts angolas of every shade for his socks; needles of every number; bobbins, scissors of every kind and lastly, for remembrance of an old friend, there is this little golden thimble, which I hope you will wear every day." And with this little speech the Fraulein plumped her basket down in front of Hilda and burst into tears, remembering how she, too, had once been engaged, aud how adverse fate had hindered her marriage. You are a dear, kind soul," said Hilda, kissing her affectionately and I am sure you couldn't have given me anything I should have liked better. I shall think of you every day when I use it. There is nothing like a useful gift for re- calling an old friend." Dura's present arcived the same day. A George the Second tea service, with two little caddies for black tea and green tea, holding about a qu.utwr of a pound eauh. Hilda thought her silver tea- pot the sweetest thing that had ever been made, and she had sat gazing at the service for an hour at a stretch, and thinillg- how delightful it would be to make tea for Bothwell in the cosy winter dusk, when they two should be settled in their own house above the great Atlantic sea, the cur- tains drawn across their old-fashioned lattices, the wind raving over the hills, the waves roaring, and they two beside the domestic hearth, wrapped in a blessed cairn—two hearts united and at rest. She had been so happy yesterday in the thought of her future, and now to-day her brother's letter seemed to have changed the aspect of things. She was full of a vague disquietude—could not settle to any task, did not even care to take her usual walk across the bills to the Manor to enquire about Mr Wyllard's health, and to spend an hour in con- fidential talk with Dora. To-day she sent a mes- senger instead, and sat all day in her own room brooding over Heathcote's letter. She felt unequal to facing the twins or the Fraulein, and pleaded a headache as a reason for not going down to lun- cheon and indeed her troubled thoughts about that letter from Paris had given her a very real headache. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when she beard a carriage drive up to the hall door, and thought with horror that she would be summoned to receive callers. Her window commanded only an angle of the prroh. She could just see a shabby looking vehicle, which she knpw could only be a fly from the station and her heart began to beat violently as she thought that perhaps after all her brother had changed his mind and had come ever to do honour to the wedding. No it was no such pleasaat surprise, only a strange lady who asked to see her. She had sent up her card. Lady Valeria Harborough.' The lady will be greatly obliged if you will see her," said the servant. She has come from Plymouth on purpose to see you." Of course, I will see her," answered Hilda. cheerfully. You have shown hei into the draw- ing-room, I suppose ?'' Take in tea as soon as you can." Hilda glanced at her glass before she left the room. Her plain cashmere gown was neat enough, and her hair was tolerably tidy, but her eyes had a heavy look, and she was very pale. • 1 am airaid I don't look a joyful bride, or do Bothwell credit in any way." she said to herself. She heard her lover speak once or twice of General Harborough as his kindest and most powerful friend in India. She had heard from Dora of the General's death, and that Bothwell had attended the funeral. And now she felt flat- tered exceedingly at the idea that the General's widow had taken the trouble to come to see her, no doubt from pure friendliness for her dead hus- band's protege—deeming that there was no better compHmeut she cnnld pay Mr Grahame than to assume an interest in his betrothed. She, like Dora, took for granted that old General Har- borough's wife would be an elderly woman, and she went down to the drawing-room expecting to see a stately and portly matron, gray-haired, bland, perhaps a little patronising in her double rank of Eari's daughter and General's widow. She was surprised beyond all measure when a tall and slender figure rose to meet her, and she found herself face to face with a young woman whose brilliant eyes and interesting countenance was more striking than absolute beauty. (To be contmued.)

MORE nEAR THAN LAW. When Grat ot, Michigan, began tc be disturbed by pioneers, and had its first justice of the peace, a farmer named Davison walked three miles to secure a warrant against a neighbour named Meacbam for assault and battery. To save the constable a six-mile trip, the defendant walked in with the plaintiff. They encountered his honour just leaving his house with a gun on his shoulder, j and Davison halted him with—'vSquar', I want a warrant for this man for strikin' me. I'm in an awful hurry— coma to-morrow." So'm I in a hurry; and I'm goiu' to have a raisin' to-morrer." Meac-ham, j did you hit him?" "Yes." "Davison, did you strike back?" "No." Meacham, would you I rather work for him three days than go to gaol 2" j I guess so.7' And that will satisfy you, Davison ?" "Yes," Then make tracks for home, j I guess so." Aud that will satisfy you, Davison ?" Yes." I. Then make tracks for home, j and don't bother me further My son has just come in with the news that an old bear and three I cubs are up the old beech down at the edge of the slashing, and I'm going to hava some bear-meat if it upsets the State of Michigan, Court's] ad- 1 journe&'< j

Y GOLOFN GYMREIG. Dymunir i'n goliebwyr Cvmreig gyfeirlo eu goheb iaethau, llyfrau i'w hadolygu, &c., fel y canlyn Dafyd4 Morganwg, Morganwg House, Llantwit street, Cardiff.

DIWEDD PAWB. I'r gweryd du a'r goreu-o honom, I liuno rhyw foreu I lys llawen y nen, neu I ingoedd yr ail angeu. Glandwr. J Williams.

TEIMLAD YR AFRADLAWN. Duw! milwr beiddiaf y diafol—ydwyf, Adyn anystyriol; 0, fy Nuw, dwg fi yn ol, Hyd farw'n edifeiriol. Sciwen. James Clement (Alarch Ogw)y.

Y GAUAF. Ow, wele daeth y gauaf du, A gwelwa anian fel un marw; Anurddwyd holl blanigion cu. A'r storm ddynoetha freichian'r derw. Maent fel pe'n ymgyngreirio 'nawr, I ymladd brwydr a'r elfenau, A herio maent y corwynt mawr, I wneuthur niwed idd ei seiliau. Ac weithian gwisgir dol a bryn A mantell newydd wen o eira, Ni cheir aderyn y pryd hyn 0 fewn y goedwig a Ion gana Rhyw brudd-der dwfn sydd yn y byd, Tra fyddo'r gauaf yn teyrnasu; E deimla aniaa ar ei hyd, Pan fyddo'r corwynt eryf yn cbwythu. Fe gleddir holl brydferthion haf, 0 fewn i feddrod oer y gauaf; Y rhew a'r eira o law Naf, Ni ad blanigyn yn ddianaf; Ni cheir blodeuyn yn un man, I siriol wenu arnoin weithtan; Ond, ha daw gwanwyn eto, pan Y bydd briallu'n yn bwrw allaa. Mi welaf adeg o fy mlaen, Y gallaf gyctafphriodoldeb, Ei galw'r auaf, awel daen O'm hamgylch ddeifia wrid fy Wyusb); Awr angeu; owl i-nten auaf du I bawb sy'n gwrthod caru'r lesu, Er hyny gall y Cristion cu, Tra yn y gauaf hwnw ganu. Gower-road. J Williams.

A WYLI DI AM DANAF FI2 O dywed air, fy Olwen dlos, Wrth un yn hwyrnos bywyd, Gair fydd fel seren yn y nos I un ar drothwy eilfyd, Gair rydd i'm mynwes esmwythad i Wrth roddi'r cusan olaf Cyr myned tua'r hyfryd wlad, O'r bon bytli ni ddychwelaf, 0 dywed, Olwen hardd dy wedd. A wyli di Am danaf fi, Pan byddws f yn y bedd ? Pan oeddwn iach, 'roedd genyf lut .<! Mewn proffes, o gyfeillion, Ond heddyw nid oes ond tydi Yn aros imi'n ffyddlon; j Afiechyd fel gwahanglwyf dda.etb- Fel cysgod diflanasant; Eu cyeillgarwch gwywo wnaeth, Fel alltud hwv'm gadawsant. O! dywed im', fy hardd ei gwedd, A wyli, di, &c. Fel deilen werdd, yn ugwanwyn oes, o goedwig byd 'rwy'n disgyn, Heb dad i deimlo chwerw loes, Na brawd i dywallt deigryn; Heb fam i bur eneinio'm llwch A dagrau, gwaed teimladau, Na chwaer i blanu arnaf dtwch 0 ryw fythwyrddion flodau Ond, O ty Olwen deg ei gwedd, A wyli di, &c. Ni cheir drud feddfaen uwch fy mbes, Tlws englyn na phur adnod, Dim ond dwy gareg fechan wen I syml nodi'm beddrod 0 am gael rhywua wylia'r fan, Rydd arno wlith deimladau, A ddaw mewn adgof tua'r Llan, I'w weled Sul y Blodau. A wnai di addaw hyn i'm hedd— A fydd i ti Fy nghofio i, Pan fyddaf yn y bedd Scwien. James Clement (Alarch Ogwy).

Y BACHGEN GWRTHODEDIG. Gwael yw fy ngwisg, prudd yw fy ngwedd, Dolurus yw fy nghalon, Yn byw yr wyf ar lanau'r bedd, Yn blentyn trist trallodion Y dagrau wnant fy ngTuddiau'n wlob, Disgynant ar y barug, Ond ni siaredir air gan neb A'r bachgen gwrthodedig. Cardota bum o drws i drws, Gan adrodd fy anghenion, A gwelais lawer bachgen tlws Yn iach uwebben ei ddigon Ond cydymdeimlad, na, ni ches, Efe oedd alltudiedig; Calonau pawb o'ent ddorau pres l'r bachgen gwrtbodedig. Mi welais inau dd ddialloji, Dsn ofal rhiaint tyner, vl,n 0 1 A chanwn a diofid fron, Ar aelwyd lan o lawnder Ond claddwyd nhad, fy maw nid yw, Maent yn eu beddrod unig, Ac heno'r wyf ar ddaear Duw, Yn fachgen gwrthodedig O Dduw, paham y rhwygaist fi, O'u mynwes glyd mor gynar, A'm rhoi yn nod i ofid du, Ac oerfelgarwch daear ? A ydyw drws y nef yn nghau? Trugaredd Ior-forwynig, Eheda gyda balm yn glau, I'r bacbgen gwrthodedig. Mor oeraidd wyf, fe rewa'm gwaed, Ni welaf wawr y boreu, Fe olchir fy mriwedig draed, Gan donau oerion angeu Fy enaid sydd am fyn'd o'i bla, 1'1' Wynfa fendigechg, 'R wy'u marw Iesu trugarha I Wrtii fachgen gwrthodedig. Bu farw, do, ond marw i fyw, Ya fythol wynfydedig, Gan riaiut, cngyl fyrdd a Duw, Ca'dd foil yu ducrbyniedig. Glandwr. JOHN Williams. I

„ ÝR annuw YN uffern. Oi ftyflwr ofnadwy yr annuw yn uffern Mae ineddwl am dano bron rhynu fy ngwaed; Yn ngbanol afrifed gj'threuliaid y gethern, I Dan ddwyful ddialedd Jehofa fe'u caed. Y pryf ni fydd marw, ni ddiffydd y fflamiau, Yr enaid ddihoena mewn diluw o boen Yn daer yr ymbilia, mewn dwfn-ddwys weddi'au, Am ogof i'w guddio o wyddfod yr Oen. Trugaredd ni cbeisiai pan oedd ar y ddaear, Dirmygai alwadau tyneraf y nef Ni fynai ddygymod a'r drefn ga'dd ei darpar I achub dynolith,-tl'efu ffol iddo ef. Prudd-fioeddia'n wylofus, Mor ffol na buaswn Yn gwrando gwahoddiad fatbrawon cyn hyn; Aeth heibio dyad cymod, maddeuant, a phardwn, Fy mhoeni gaf mwyach yafflamiau'r poeth lyn. O bryfyn truenus, mae caawyn cyfiawnder Yn rhwym am ei enaid, heb obaith. gwir yw, 'Mhen oesoedd afrifed, fod iddo adferiad, Na hollol ddifodiad, medd Beibl fy Nuw. Difodiad, adferiad, 'ynt eiriau anaddas I ddeiliaid gwlad annwn nid ydynt ond gwawd, Mae geiriau cerfiedig poeth-furiau y ddinas" Yn dweyd fod y gosb yn dragwyddol i bawb. Un gobaith 'does mwyach, ond dysgwyl ofnadwy Am ddial y Duwdod ac angerdd y tan Cawodydd o geullysg a brwmstan llos^adwy A ddaw ar yr allnuw, o lys y Duw Glan Cnoadau cydwybod a'n deirchion g-an fflamiau, Pechodau yr emig a'n goelcerth gan dan; Ei ddaneid a rinciai yn rhengoedd afagddu, Bydd cysur ac yntau byth mwy ar wahan. wylo, mae'n wylo, 0 adyn truenus Yn ngolwg ardaloedd y Wynfa wen lan Mae gweled aur rodfa y Cristion darbodus •'Nchwaneg'u dwfn boenan angherddol y tan Ymwylltia yo ffyrnig yn lilirobwll y llynclyn, Dan storm ddig Jehofa dychryna gan fraw; Taranau cyfiawnder sy'n trydau er aychryn Yr annuw yn Utfel'D,-mae'n gwelwi gan fraw. OSSIAN LLAMBED,

Y GWIli ARWR. Fendigaid srwr pwy eiioed a fa Mor ddewr a'r Cristion rhwng gelynion lu? Ai'r ymerawdwr, ynte un o'i ry w Fyn goichi'i gle-dd yn ngwaed ei elyn yw Ar faes celanedd ? Na, rhagorach un. Boddlona farm fel ei Brynwr cu;, Dros y gwirionecid, fel yr loan hwnw Ar alior ei onestrwydd luodd farw Dwyfoldeb sa-ntaidd wehr yn ei wedd, Fel angel gwyn mae yn anadlu hedd, Er cael ei wawdio gan anwaraidd iii, Na neb yn meiddio sisisl gair o'i du, I g]yw'l' Judasiaid creulon; deil fel dur Dros egwyddorion Ciistionogaeth bur Yn nerth ei Arglwydd, m -gys Stephan fiyddlon, Heb dderbyn gwyneb na chrynedig galon Abertha ffafra.i cyfeillgarwch dynol, Ar allor fawr gogoniant yr Anfeidroi Ah dyma arwr, arwr arwyr yw, Teyrn ymerhodroi creadigaeth Duw Am enill brwydrau ar fyddinoedd Satan, A threcha ar ei ddeulin Dduw ei hunan Mae'r byd cyn yiiia wedi gorfod teimlo Dylanwad ei fueheddiad duwiol arno; A'i Alpau-rhagfain i ymdoddi'n raddol, Fel clogwyn eria'u ugwres yr haul tanheidiol Antaria dros y lDIJroedd-i'r ynysoedd Sydd oeso] ymg-bdrjd mewn dyfnd; roedd Llygrcdigauthau ei lef i'w herbyu .9 Nes enill gornchafiaetii ar y gelyn Eieiriau tyner dreiddia drvvy galonau. Nes berwi'u gwaed i fyny i'\v gwynebau, A throi'r eilunod megys ffiaidd bethau Yn swn gweithredoedd rhyfedd Duw y duwiau Tarawa'r doethion a mudandod rhyfedd A'u cestyll-cedym dyna lawr yn garnedd Ar eu oreildau cry tia'r beilch frenhinoedd, Gan ofn ac arswyd lirenin Nef y neioedd 0 fywyd gwerthfawr! Bywyd y gwir Arwr, {ae'D bengoncwerwr trwy ein hael Waredwr. Dewi GLAN Twech.

Will you pull the bell ?" she asked of a man across the aisle as the car reached the oorner. "No, ruadam" lie answered with a bow but I will be most happy to pw.il the strap which rings the bell." "Ah! but never mind! The strap is connected with two b-lis, and you might stop the wrong end of the car!" And the look she turned upon him was full of triumph veneered with eayenne pepper.

YANKEE YARNS. HOPES NIPPED BY AN EARLY FROST. My dear, it is too bad, but you will have to go without that sealskin sacque I promised you." "Oh, I hope not!" "It is too true; and the pony and cutter I was to get for Johnny as a Christmas present must be given up, too." Dear me!" "And our longhoped for removal to a fashionable brown-stone front is indefinitely post- poned." Horrors, husband, what has happened?" The water pipes burst last night."—Philadelpha Call. KNEW WHAT HE wanted. "Oh, I hope your honour will give me Silence tliundered Justice Welds. Please do give me-" Silence There's a clear case of vagrancy against you." I know it, and I im- implore you to give-" If you don't stop I'll send you on the island for a month." That's just what I want." "Oh!" "Yes, sir." "Ah, ha It's very cold weather." "Make it two months, eh ?'' coaxingly. "No, your honour, I beg-" All right." You're a daisy." "I'll make it six months if you are too familiar." Then you aint a daisy. Thank you for the month, sir." The romance of a young Bostonian who married a New York lady last winter is told by a corre- spondent. They went abroad for a wedding trip of six months, and after their return one of his acquaintances said to the bridgroom, Well, my dear boy, I suppose you are delighted with your pretty wife ? You think her a radiant goddess no doubt? Men always do have extravagant notions of their wives the first year of marriage." The Bostonian smiled rather drearily as he replied, WelL the fact is, my wife has too many clothes for every possible occasion, and they are of such resplendent patterns that my time has been mainly taken up in admiring them. I have not got really acquainted with my wife yet; but I dare say that in the course of a year or so I shall get down to the actual woman." RIP ,11-" WINKLE. While Mr "Joseph, Jefferson was once playing c'1:i.ip van Winkle" at Chicago, he went to the theatre very much exhausted by a long day's fishing on the lake. When the curtain rose on the third act, it disclosed the white-haired Rip still deep in his twenty years' nap. Five, ten, twenty minutes passed, and he did not waken. The audience began to get impatient and the prompter uneasy. The great actor doubtless knew what he was about, but this was carrying the realistic business too far. The fact was that all the time Jefferson was really sleeping the sleep of the just, or rather of the fisherman who had sat eight hours in the sun without getting a single bite. Finally the gallery became uproar- ious, and one of the g-ods" wanted to knew if there was going to be "nineteen years amore of this snooze business." At this point Jefferson began to snore. This decided the prompter, who opened a small trap beneath the stage and began to prod Rip from below. The much-travelled comediau began to fumble in his pocket for an imaginary ticket, and muttered drowsily, Going right through, 'ductor." The audience was trans- fixed with amazement at this entirely new read- ing, when J eSeraon sat up with a loud shriek, and evidently in agony. The exasperated prompter had jabbed him with a piu. The play went on then—with a rush. A califoenian BARGAIN. The other day one of Frisco's most esteemed I young burglars was by some oversight arrested and fined for creating a disturbance. In default of the fine he was to stay in gaol thirty days. The prisoner was deeply humiliated by this sen- tence, as "burgling" has been so dull recently thit he was not in funds. He sent, however, for a well-known Pine-street broker. "Mr R. said the burglar- they were old college chums—" I want to make you a business proposition, Last month your house was entered and robbed of a fine breach-loader gun, a stem-winder watch, and a pair of diamond studs." "Yes. 'V dl?" "Well, I took 'em; but you can't prove it. Now, if you will pay my present fine, I'll return you the gun or the watch—take your choice," "I'll tell you what I'll do," s: id the broker, after a second's reflection—" I'll do it for the gun and the studs. Couldn't possibly," said the crowbar artist. I want the studs to wear at a dinner the boys are getting up. But I tell you what I will do. My dress vest buttons up pretty high I can get along with one stud so I'll let you have the other. Now, what d'ye say?" "It's a go," said the broker, and he passed out and settled up. A BIG investment. A New Yorker was seated in an office in Gunnson city one day not long ago, when a grisly-looking old man entered and asked if that was the place where they sold shares of the White Horse Silver Mine. Being assured that he was in the office of the company, lie observed, I have heard the \Yhitc Horse spoken of as being a likely mine." It certainly is. We took ten thousand dollars'worth of ore out in one day." "Pbew J She must be just old richness How many men have ye got to work ?'' Db, about three hundred Have ye, though ? Are the sheers going off p-arty lively?" "Shares are selling like hot cakes, and we have only a few left. Every- body says the White Horse is a big investment." What are sheers worth to-day?" I will sell you at ninety-five, though I know they will be worth face-value to-morrow. No You dont really mean ninety £ ve I do," "Well, that's better. There's a hundred sheers which you sold my pard yesterday for twenty dollars. I went over to the mine, found nothing but a hole and a dead mule, and I told him I'd come up and get his money back or do some-shooting. I'm 'tarnal glad to find them sheers has riz from twenty to ninety-five. That will give my pard his money back, and buy me a winter outfit besides. Here's the sheers, and now let me see the colour of the money." "But, sir, we-" "Pass out th cash J" said the old man, as he rested the end of his shooter on the edge of the counter. The company" had left his revolver in his overcoat outside. After a look around, with a bland smile he began counting out the money and as he made the exchange, he said, "certainly, sir-greatest of I pleasure, sir. Sorry you didn't hold them one day more, and get the full fa-e-value.' CIRCUMVENTING A WIDOW. There was a Detroiter among the trio of officials who passed over the route of the Butler Road tJ secure the right of way. In some cases farmers cheerfully signed off; in others money bad to be used but in one case the committee found a most determined opposition. The road would divide a widow'sfarm, and she was independent, obstinate, and defiant. She knew that her haystacks and barns would l>e destroyed by sp. rks, her live stock run ov«r by trains, and her slumbeis disturbed by the rattle of trains, and she would not listen to argument. In this emergency one of the committee said, Madam, do you know of any widow iu this neigbourhood who would be willing to board a gentleman connected with the construction of our road ? He is a widower, and prefers to board with a widow." No, I don't know as I d1. Is he a nice man?" "Splendid man, and has money in the bank. We want him to locate permanently at this point, and are in hopes he will take a wife. It is unfortunate th, I never did take boarders," she mused; but-" "If you only could now, I'm sure you would not regret it. He is extremely fond of children, and would be like a father to your little ones." Perhaps I might accommo- dote you." "Ah, thanks! He would be here next week if this right-of-way matter was decided but, as it is, he may not-" ''Do you agree to pay damages if you burn my barn?" "Of course we do." And I'll probably get used to the noise" Oil, of course. In a week you won't mind it. Fact is, you'll sit up every night till midnight, anyhow, after the gentleman arrives." "I Oh, no, I shan't! I shall never love agkin but, if he is a nice man and loves children, why, I don't know as I oug-ht to stop your road. I guess I'll sign !'—Detroit Paper. TOO CLOSE FIG GBEING. Get you tickets at the waggon screamed the doorkeeper of the circus yesterday to a young man with a girl on his arm who had a handful of small cnge. This is the third time you have come here without tickets when you know I can't take money The young man and his girl fell back, and, as they did not go near the ticket waggon, and yet seemed very anxious to see the circus, a curious minded citizen edged round and enquired of the young man, Why don't you buy your tickets if yon want to go in?" "'Cause I'm short," was the whispered reply. I dijn't 'low enough for incidentals when I was figgering on the cost of this thing but I don't want the gal to know it." "How much are you short?" Only five cents. I figgered that ten shillings would pay all expenses, but I got left. We spent ten cents for pea-nuts, ten cents on the street-cars, and five in candy. I had just one dollar left to pay our way in, when the gal got a pea-nut stuck in her throat, and I had to buy a glass of lemonade to wash it down. Didn't do it though till I had nounded her on the back ore' ) lif y tiuiei, and tried to pull one of them fire-hydrants up by the roots." "I'll lend yon five cents to make up your dollar," said the citizen. You wil], by gosh ? But that lets me out I'd made up my mind to tell the pal that the tigers had got loose, and the hyenas had ran mad but she's long headed, and might not have believed it. Thankee, sir and the fust time I'm in town I'll pay it back. liang L, I orter figgered on eleven shillings 'stead of ten, but you've made me happy for life Come, Bets."—Detroit Paper, SNIP snipping. A cheap tnilor in San Francssco, whose trade- mark on his advertising-boards is a venerable- looking man at work cross-legged, is thus attacked by a rival "snip "of the Fa-rc town—" Doa't be humougged by hoary-headed patriarchs who pic 1 ture themselves sitting cross-legged and advertise pants made to) order$3.$4-. and $5 a pair. A few pieces oi cassimere and a terrible amount of cheek is their stock-in-trade. Don't be humbugged Do you know how it's done ? When you go into one of these stores that cover up their shop- windows with sample lengths of cassimere marked 'pants to order,$3.50 and §4 '—after you have made a selection of the piece of cloth you want your pa.nts made from, the pompous individual wh,) 15 chief engineer of the big taiior shears lays them softly on the smoothest part of his cutting-table, unrolls Lis tape-line, and proceeds to measure his victim ail over the body. The several measuremeuts i-re all carefully entered in a book by the other humbug. The cu-t 'iner is then told th it his pants will be finished in about twenty-foui or thirty-six hours; all depends upon how long it takes to shrink the s cloth. That's the end of the first act. Part second—The customer no sooner ieaves the store than the would-be merchant taiior calls his shoo boy Jim, and sonds him around to some waoiesale jobber, and says, 'Get me" a pair of pants, p^t^ern 30 '-which is the shoddy imitation of the p em of cassimere that your pants arc to be made 34 around the waist and 33 in the leg.' They are pulled out of a pile of a, hundred pairs or more just like them, made by Chinese cheap labour All the I made measurements and other cla^ trap is the bait on the hook—'Pants made to order,$3.50,$4, and$5.' That's the way ii's done. Com- and select for yourselves from the »rg«st stock,"

FACTS AND FANCIES. Smith's youngest, the first time he tasted as oyster, after seeing two shells end but one fish, boldly asked for the other halt" There is a great future before this boy. SEASIDE WHISPEP.. -Ladv in black satin to lady in cream tulle "Of course her watch-chain is very heavy. Her husband keeps a sausage-shop; and so she wears heavy like to keep her in mind of the trade." A little fellow, in turning over the leaves of a scrap-book, came across the well-known picture of some chickens just coming out of their shells. He examined the picture carefully, and theDè with a grave sagacious look, slowly remarked, They came out 'cos they was fraid of being boiled." A mounted orderly, an Irishman, was reining up to deliver as official document at the officers.* quarters at Aldershot, when his charger backed, and he found himself sitting on the pavement. Bedad," cried the Hussar, "isn:t that an intel- ligent baste? Sure he knew I wanted to get down, and he saves me the throuble YE KEx.-First returned Scottish tourist Man, whit I noticed parteeclar in London wiz eo see the numerous names o' Scotchmen on shop- signs." Seoond returned tourist: "The same thing struck me tae; an' when in Pains I noticed that a' the bathing-places were marked with the name o'' Bain. A CHOICE Way OF Putting IT. I have left all my fortune to my wife," said the philosophic spouse of a Xantippe, on condition that she shall marry again." What is that for ?' asked his legal adviser. "Iwi,btibestire that there will be some one to regret my death when I am gone," said the husband. THE LARGEST VEssEL.-An inquirer asks, "Is the Great Eastern the largest vessel ever built?" An impression has got abroad that she is, but such is not the case. The Mayflower, in which the Pilgrim Fathers went to America, was the largest shIp that ever ploughed the waters. The old furniture scattered over the United States which was conveyed across by the Mayflower would fill the Great Eastern a dozen times or more. Scene-Margin of a Highland river. Affable English tourist: And you say, Donald, that an English gentleman was drowned in this river last summer whilst attempting to swim across it!" Donald Ay, sir." Tourist The feat might have been easily accomplished the distance is not so very great." Donald: "Vera true, sir, vera true; but ye maun ken that it wisna the breedth, bit the deepth o' the water that feenished him." A year or two ago a case was being tried in which a certain veterinary surgeon was witness. He was in the box, and answered the questions put to him in a very low and indistinct voice. He was repeatedly asked to speak louder, but con- tinued his mumbling tone, to the great annoyance of counsel. The Judge interrupted, and, address- ing counsel, said, "Mr B., you must really ex- cuse Mr Williams; his long experence in the sick- room has made it second nature with him to speak low." A Bit or Colour.—Professor Ban-alts, in his recent lecture on Light," of Leamington, said that colour-blindness was first investigated by the famous John Dalton, of Manchester. An amusing story of his colour-blindness was told by the lecturer. Dalton had to lecture at the Royal Institution, and, anxious to appear in a new suit of clothes, he went to a London tailor, and, being a member of the Society of Friends, ordered what he thought was a drab suit. He put them on for the first time when be gave his lecture, and appeared to the audience in a flaming suit of scarlet. A.minister with a rather florid complexion went into the shop of a barber, one of his parishioners, to be shaved. The barber was addicted to heavy bouts of drinking, after which his band was, in consequence, unsteady at his work. In shaving the m-nister he inflicted a cut sufficiently deep to cover the lower part of his face with blood. The minister turned to the barber and said, in a tone of solemn severity, "You see, Thomas, what comes of taking too much drink." "Ay," renlied Th omas. with the utmost composure," it malt'. the skin verra tenner." When PAPA Cokes Home.—A well-known London alderman tells a story at his own expense. •bout a small donkey which lie seat to hie country- house for the use of the children. One of the little daughters, going out with the nurse to dmire the animal in its paddock, was sorely distressed when the donkey lifted up his voice and brayed dolefully. Poor thing, poor thing exclaimed the sympathetic child. But, suddenly brightening up, she turned to her nurse, and said, Oh, I am so glad Pap9 will be here on Satur- day, and then it won't feel so lonesome." About A Serpent in Human Shape.—Mr, afterwards Baron, Piatt liad a decidedly comic physiognomy, and took much delight in assuming i melancholy airs. On one occasion, when he was before Lord Lyndhurst, the judge said to him, "Pray spare us that wifc-and-twelve-ch'ldreu face But the woe-begone looks which had so little effect upon the judge served at times to impress the jury and in a breach of promise case Mr Platt gained for his client more damages than might otherwise have been awarded to her by winding up with the pathetic outburst—" And, gentleman, this serpent in human shape stole the virgin heart of my unfortunate client whilst she was returning from confirmation A Sweet Reminder.— Some years ago, as the great Barnum was selling off his menagerie, he noticed that when lot 20, a ferocious female Ben- gal tiger, was put up several bids came from a quiet ordinary-looking citizen d'-essed in deep mourning, anything but a showman in appear- ance, and finally the animal was knocked down to this stranger. After all was over, Barnum ap- proached him, and inquired what on earth he could want with such a quadruped. Waal," re- plied the purchaser, with a profound and suggefc^ tive sigh, you see, professor, I was a maVriedf" man, and my wife died last Week, and I misa her so I've bought this tiger." Barnum silently pressed the widower's hand. A chord had been touched. The two men understood each ether. I and no more was said. Unanswerable Question.—A gentleman was passing the Institute of Fiance, on the Quai Conti, the other day, accompanied by a little English boy of the tender age of seven. Be- fore that building, consecrated to the sages of France, is a fine statue of the Re- public, which is represented as a woman. The child asked what it was, and, being told, said Then it is she who now reigns in Franoe. That is curious for I thought that no woman could reign here." The reply was, Yes, that is the law." Then, if so, why is there a Republic here ? The French seem to like changing their minds," added the child. Oh," he was told, it is only a form of Government!" Then why," iterated he, is the Republic represented to be a woman ?" A FORTY Year-Old Spring Chicken. Two women got into one of the southern tram-cars the other day, every seat of which was filled. One of the women had prematurely grey hair, and wore spectacles, because she was near-sighted. The other was homely, and carried a big bag. A beautiful girl jumped up, and said to the grey- haired woman, Take my seat, madam I am younger than you." Then every man in the tram rose and offered his place to the beautiful girl who only smiled sweetly, and said, No, thank you I prefer to stand." Meanwhile the woman with grey hair laid hold of a strap and glared at the crowd. I may not be a chit of 17," she said, in vinegar tones but I'm not infirm, I'll give you to understand, and can stand up as long as anybody And the homely woman with the bag sat down in a space 14 inches wide, and wondered what it was all about. IIort in French PETTICOATS. It would appear that all Irish peers who take flight on receipt of threatening letters have not received these missives from "fory of the Hills." The Irish journals recount with glee that a noble lord in the neighbourhood of Belfast had announced his intention to pass the winter in Ireland. This prospect was not pleasing to "milady's French maid so she forwarded a threatening letter to his lordship, who at once "ordered his carriage, drove to the station, and flew off to London," journeying from his residence to the station with a revolver primed, capped, and loaded by his side, two other friends accompanying him with a loaded rifles inside the carriage, whilst a gallant Colonel, armed to the teeth, sat on the box by the coachman." HIS hat Sainte-Beuve, the eminent critic, was once ens-aged in a due). While the prelimin- aries were being arranged, it began to rain slightly; and the author of Volupte, who had prudently brought his umbrella with him, had it over his head with one hand, while he firmly grasped his sword with the other. This proceed- ing being objected to by the seconds as irregular, he coolly replied that it was quite sufficient for him to risk his life, without running the chance of catching cold into the bargain. He however did not lack courage, which is more than can be said of one of bis colleagues, who, finding himself under the necessity of accepting a challenge, only consented to do so on being confidently informed by his second that in the present case the duel was merely a matter of form, and that his adver- sary would take care not to hit him. Somewhat comforted by this assurance, he repaired to the scene of action, and, the distance -twenty five pc-,ces—having been duly measured, boldly faced his opponent, who, on the signal being given, blazed away, and neatly perforated the cri ic's hat just half an inch above iiis head. Confound it 1" he exclaimed to his second, who was con- gratulating him oil his gallant bearing. "Why didn't you tell me that he was going to spoil my new hat? I would have put on an old one." THE GERMAN MILITARY ÆSCLLAPIUS. Some of the German military doctors have be- come distinguished in the army for their emphatic idiosyncrasies. One surgeon, Dr von Triebel tells us, brought an electrical machine into the camp, and, as electrical science was hie darling study, be came to regard the application of it, in season and out of season, and sold ers heal-ail. If a Dra- goon were galled by over-lone seat in the saddle, or a Fusilier had lamed his foot, the patient was at once electrified. A hospital where this gentrlnan directed the treat- ment got the name of "Purgatory," and was resolutely avoidec, when possible, by the sick members of the garrison. A young physican thoug.it that he had failed in his duty unless he bad amputated something. He held that the most sc.entific, as well as the surest way, of curing a corn is to cut off the toe. As no amputation is allows in the German Army without the consent of the patient, his talent was naturally limited in it exercise, and he had to content himself with such mean work as operating on carbuncles. Another was convinced that bad blood is the one supreme danger of the sick soldier, and was constantly pumping out the harmful human fluid and pumping in his favourite substitute, lamb's blood. It was a joke against hun in the garrison that he had filled a whole regiment with sheep- headed soldiers. The ni,-Pt,lt army doctor was Due who prescribed 01 1 Burgundy and white Borleaux on a wholesale scale, and the most unpopular an enthusiast for the water-cure.