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- THE SON "OF" HISi I FATHER.1…
THE SON "OF" HIS i FATHER. BY MRS OLIPHANT, Author of THE CHRONICLES OF CAKLINGFOBD," OLIVER'S BKIDE," "MADAM," &C. [THE RIGHT OF TBANSLATION IS RESERVED. J CHAPTER XXIIL—BKOTHEE AND SISTER. knew her way about, aucl where to go and Hat to see. She wad not disturbed by the noise y clangour of what she called "The Under- ?CoUnd," a mode of conveyance which a» first f^ildered the country boy, to whom the clash of lra»i after train, the noise, the complication, the Ctowds pouring this way and that, took away a. i JWerstandine, and who felt himself a child In the of his sister, who knew exactly when the *t train which she wanted was coming, and all fjtout it and steered him in her deft London way hr<>ueh the tumult. 14 How can you toil which i? Which?'' John cried, feeling the dust in his J'oat, the din in his ears, and his eyes growing 2* and hot with the flutter of the crowd, and all the sights that flashed past huxi, and the 5>ke and suffocating atmosphere. 01), I can t li. I only know," said Susie. She was at her in the midst of the commotion, looking as and as modest and composed as if she were piking in country lanes, not afraid of the pronged stations of th8 Metropolitan, the dingy Platforms the confusions of porters shouting and ??°rg clanging. John had meant to take care of sister, but it was he who clung to her in the r^dst of the bewilderment and the noise. She which train to take, she knew when to L ,aHge into another, when to stop; though to they bore no distention, neither the stations ,?e names of which he never could discover, nor directions—for as yet John was not even a\\tare which was north or south, east or west. Under Susie's guidance, however, he saw and J?amt a great deal in that first wonderful day. took him from the Tower to St. Paul's, and to the Abbey, to the Houses of Parliament to the Abbey, to the Houses of Parliament -to the Parks—as she was used to do with gangers, with convalescent patients sometimes, 114 that more gently—and with their relations friends who would come up from the country see somebody in the hospital, and then «0P^em" Nate longing the unknown world around them, tIll Susie, always kind, took pity on their igno- l}y this means she had been trained in t e r^ties of cicerone, and was extremely emcien ■Rowing just enough and not too much—whicn i-> for, a guide too erudite is a confusion o lQe simple mind. She took her brother, in tne fiddle of the day, to a modest place on the o s<irts of the city, which she knew by this kind ot •Scursion, to give him something to eat, and there pointed out to him what he found as interesting as anything—the young men and middle-aged 1n.en of all classes in pursuit of luncheon, crowding kind of hotel and eating-house. It gave J°bn altogether a new view of that busy life, ^here there is no time to go home for meals, but !*here everyone has comfortable means of being M with no makeshifts or picnic arrangements, a whole population toiling to supply the briet necessary repast. This with all its immense sup- Wy and demand, and the sight of the men about i"6 streets, plunging into and being s^.a" !°»ed up in the high buildings which 5ave replaced, in so many cases magni- ?^ently the old shabby offices an(* chain- bers in which London laboured and grew rich, as exciting to John, or, perhaps, more so, if truth must be told, than the historical places to which Susie guided him. He was overawed by Paul's, where heiAstood under the great dome, heard the waves so to speak, of the great sea of London dashing oustide with a rhythmic force: the venerable Abbey, with all its records, *eQt to his heart. But, for a youth of his day, fading eagerly upon the verge of life and long- Ity? to take part himself in all that was going on, flood and pressure of men steadily pushing lQeir |way along the streets, all with some object hr pursuit, pressing in crowds to snatch their a$ty meal, pouring back again into every kind of 'ice, in every possible capacity, this was to him f^e most interesting of all. Should he himself 7* like that in a week or two?—full ot business, ull of work, bis mind all engaged with something 0utside of himself, no time to inquire into his history, or discuss his relationships, or make pftiself wretched, perhaps, about things that might out of so little importance? This was the fought that took entire possession of his mind as e W'ent on. ''Do you think you'll like it, John ? I don't know if I'll like it. That's not what P&9 wants to know—one wants to know how one to get on." «{ I should think," said Susie, hesitating a little, should think—that you are sure to get on if y°U try." t V It shant be for the want of trying," said «ohn. Oh," said Susie, "that is the thing we'll think most—that you should try, John. If you try your very best and don't succeed, it's not your auit. That is what mother will think of, and I, too." 1 But I mean to succeed," said John. Many y v« said it before him, and yet failed miserably, et each new aspirant means to win, and is as ?erCaiu of his power to do so as those that went Wore. John's purposeshone in his eyes, and his Canity communicated itself to his sister. She her hand through his arm, giving him an pressure. oh, how I wish and pray you may and j? too. Oh, John, with all my heart! hat will do more for mother, to heal her wounds, anything else in the world." D0 more for mother] That was not what he as thinking of. He drew his arm away, perhaps "Hiewhat coldly. The mother, who was Emily, ad but few claims upon him. If Susie had said i" *°r herself, if Elly had said it, that would have een a motive. He did not feel inspired by the presented to him now. And there was a Pause between them, and Susie saw that she had a mistake, and that this was not the spell. ^?ey went .011 after for some time very soberly, Without any question on John's part, or offer of Information on the part of Susie—in a sort of e'lvy, dispirited way. At last she pressed bis again, and said, 44 Ob, John I wish you had /re feeling about mother. If you only knew "at a life she has had, what a hard life I ^n't do much, one way or another. I can only 5 £ Rnd by her, and do what I can to please her. you, y,>o are different. You can do so much. lJ, John t" It is of 110 use. She does not believe that I ever be good for anything, t- jmetimesl think —dislikes me, Susie." < Oh, John how can you say so, her own son, \er only son. She has always thought of you, ^ays that I know." How has she thought of me? That I am sure j go wrong? I know," said John, with a sudden JJspirafcion, that is what .she expects—that I go wrong. She is always waiting to see me it. I don't know why, but I am sure it has *^ays been in her mind." She didn't know you, John," said Susie, ^agedy, not seeing that she assented to his sug- gestion, "how could she know you? We had Jever seen vou since you were a chikl; and if she th,,VJght ''Why has she never seen me since I was a ?"ild," the buy asked sternly, why is it I didn't «How you, Susie, my only sister, till now?" ,t Oh, as for that," she said, pressing his arm, that didn't matter, did it? You and I would j^Ways understand eaeh other. It is only to say '"&t you are John and I am Susie. We didn't i.ii,y more." *'If sister and brother do that, shouldn't mother r^d son do it?" said John, "and we don't, you *'iow; She expects everything that is bad of me, ^od I thing-everything that is-" "No," she cried, "don't say that; oh, John, 9°n't say that. It is all that you don't know her. ••ait ;i little, only wait a little. She has had a fcreat deal to bear. She has had to put on what is "'most a mask to hide her heart, which has been Wounded oh, so wounded! John, you don't know." Not by me," he said, "I have never done to her. But she has made up her mind *hat I will tarn out badly. Don't contradict ir,o, for I know." Susie made no attempt to contradict him. Ie patted his arm softly, and said, Poor Mother, poor mother," under her breath. John \\>as not ill-pleased that she should take his Mother's part it seemed suitable that she should do so—the thing that was becoming and Natural. He did not want her to come to his ji^e. And then she was so wrung so ridiculously, fantastically wrong, th.it someone to support i^id stand np for her was doubly necessary. ■Poor mother who would not even have it in her power to be glad, as tfie commonest mother would when her Son turned out the reverse of all she feared. "If you would only forget," said Susie, this potion you have taken into your head, :1 n(' SC° on 'as I know you will go on) well, and make ymr :-Vay, mother will be beside herself with joy. Oh, jt Will make up for everything that is past, 911 she *jas had to bear and there is nobody can do that you. This appeal left John cold. He was thoroughly determined to go on well—by nature in the first Wace, for he felt no inclination for anything else. I) nd if Susie had implored him tor her own sake, t. for Elly's sake, hu would have responded mag- nanimously, and pri i) s^pd everything uhe-pleased "-but for his mother, for the woman whose real fcame (if ^he only knew it) was Emily, how could "at affect him ? He needed no reply, and pi e- ^Hly their attention WAS diverted by some new Jhtng which was Strang-' to the country lad, and r'ey discoursed on this subject no morn. They ^ad readied the Strand, the scene of John's ad- future of the previous night, when Susie sud- eftlv dropped his arm very hastily, and with a word of explanation, bidding him wait her, took refuge suddenly in a shop. He had ■°t, recovered from his surprise wiien he was ae<*iSted by some one who came up with great >°^ia-lity, holding out his hand, and in wh<>ti> with no small surprise, recognised his cquaintance, the tather of the child he had -Scued, the man who had been so grateful enthusiastic in his thanks, Montressor, who ailed him with a heartiness that was almost d3?yfi soaking hands violently and protesting his c Is it really you in the flesh, my dear young And I've found you, then, in daylight, vi Quite natural. You're not the good fairy in Pantomime, nor yet the Red Cross Knight, as »,e -Nelly says you are. And none the worse? see y°u' y°unS J'' said John, "it's nothing; indeed, it's llnK- I hope she's all right, and that she has ^ken^.oharm." creat e s taken harum, sir; but she's a young her Ure of a highly nervous organisation, and You'll10 and me, we are always anxious. W conie in and see me chyld, Mr May, and noth; F thank her deliverer. We talk of of a lifM6 Se, If you'll believe me. Ye are a sort r id her t?°d' me young hero, to the little one, ^nble Parent?» anc^ ye'H not pa«8 me *i' "I crtn't come in to.d:ty," said Júhn blushing a little, yet not without a sense that all this ap- plause was pleasant, "for I'm waiting for my sister, who has gone into one of these shops. I am glad I did not go after her, 'or I should not have seen you L'ut I will come another time to see you and the little girl." Do," said Montressor. He was a person who could not bo called unobtrusive: his hat had a. cock upon his head, and his elbow against his side, which called the attention of passers-by. His shaven face with its deep lines, and mobile features, and even his way of standing about, occupying much more than his proper share of the pavement, aroused the attention of the passers-by. John felt unpleasantly that the people who passed stared, and that one or two lingered a littJe, con- templating the old actor, with that frank curio- sity which the British public permits itself to dis- play. John, being young and shy, did not like these demonstrations; but they pleased the object of them, who stood outside a little, and said to his young companion—"They remember Montressor, Though the managers consider me pas^e, sir, me old admirers, them tbat have once flocked to see me in my iavourite parts, have not forgotten me. The public makes up for the injustice of the official-me kind fnends-me good friends This would be sweet to the heart of me faithful partner, Mr May." "Yes, perhaps she would like it," said John, hesitating. But for himself he could not disguise that he shrank from the appreciation of the pas- sengers in the Strand. Montressor was too much occupied by the pleasure it gave himself, how- ever, to observe this. "The public, Mr May," he said' "is the best of masters to the artist. As soon as ye-can get face to face with it, sir, the battle's done. It's the officials, the managers, the middle men, those that live upon the artist's blood :—but a generous public never forgets an old servant." He looked round upon the people who stared and lingered, as if with the intention of addressing his thanks to them, while poor John sbrank into himself, 1 think I must bid you good-bye, sir, said the boy. "My sister is waiting, for me. Ill come and see you soon, and ask for—for the little girl." xr Must ye go ?—then I'll not detain ye. You re right not to keep a lady waiting. Yes, come, my youn^ hero—with us you'll ever find a grateful welcome. And I'll tell Nelly ye have promised. Good-bye, and a father's blessing, Mr May." To John's surprise, Susie came out to him from the shop, whence she had seen everything, and heard something, looking very agitated and pale. "You don't mean to say, John," she said suddenly carrying him away in the opposite ction, "that that man knows you by the name i May." I never said anything about it," said John, in his surprise, "but it is true, whoever told you. That is the name be knows me by—and why not, since it is my name?" "Oh, John!" cried Susie, with tears in her eyes, when I told you it was for family reasons, for property, and that sort of thing. Why will you be so perverse Do you think it is a nice thing, do you think it looks honest and true, to have two names ?" Perhaps not," said the lad, but then let me have my own that was mine when I was a little child. Your family reasons, Susie, they were never told to me." Then for mere pride you will make an end of all mother has done and tried to do all her life, because she couldn't explain to you, a little boy that couldn't understand? you 11 expose her to all sorts of trouble, and yourself, yourself to-) The tears weie in Susie's eyes, Her countenance, so gentlp and mild, was suffused with angry colour, with indignation and impatience. Even that man," she said, "even that man, a stranger, could Oh, John, will you go against grand- father, as well as the rest of us 1 He left you the most of what he had, and his own good name, John Sandford, because he had no son. Will you go against grandfather and grandmother too ?". (f T t-j No," said John, after a pause, I never did, and I never will. I suppose they wished it, though they never said anything. But, Susie, I m no longer a child. All those circumstances you speak of,"hat you have known for years and years, surely may be told to me, too ?" She shuddered a little, and turned her face away. I'll speak to mother," she said in a sub- dued voice. Then more boldly, "But if you're to be John Sandford, as grandfather said, you can't be—the other. Is it right to have two names? It is just the one thing that cannot be done. It looks as if one were dishonest, untrue, to hide one's only I have no reason to do that," said John, if you are sure grandfather intended it to be so." He never said anything to me. I always took it for granted, without inquiring. I'had forgotten the other. As for Mr Montressor." said John, "I did it without thought. I had been think- ing it over a great deal, and it just came into my head." "And how do you know Montressor?" Susie asked. Why, Susie, that is the man of last night." The man of last night! the man whose child- And you gave him that other name ? Oh She gave a little fluttering cry, then paused, with a. look of consternation growing upon her face. She stopped short for a moment in the streets, in the extremity of her perplexed and troubled sensations. Then she caught John's arm again, with a close pressure. "Don't see that man any more. Ob, promise me not to see that man any more." "Why?" said John. "He is not, perhaps, so well known as he thinks, but he is a good fellow enough, and knows a lot. He is very kind. You should see him with his little girl and then he was so kind to me." Oh, John, oh John Susie cried. It bad all been so pleasant when they had set out, when nothing but the ordinary incidents of living had to be taken into account. But now they had struck upon more difficult ground. CHAPTER XXIV.—BEGINNING LIFE. That day John's future career was determined summarily, without any further consultation of his wishes. It was the career he had himself chosen, the very same career about which there had been so many consultations at home in the old times. This was how be described to himself a period so very little withdrawn from the present moment. At home—he had no home now, not even the shadow of one. It was the profession lie had chosen—Elly's trade the one they had fixed upon in their youthful fervour as the best for the ad- vantage of the race, as well as for the worthy work and fit advancement of the young workman, who, in his way, was still to bo a Christian knight. To make lighthouses and harbours for the safety of travellers at sea, and roads and bridges for the advantage of those at home—that was how the boy and girl bad regarded it, or rather the girl and boy, for John had taken the matter from the beginning more soberly thau Elly, taking satisfaction in the idea of learning surveying and all the other necessary prelimi- naries, even mathematics, at which he ha.d always been so much the best. But when he was called to another interview in his mother's room at the hospital, and with her pen in her hand, suspended in the midst of the reports she was writing, or the accounts she was miking up, Mrs Sandford had given him the letter which he was to take to a certain addieSs, and so begin work at once, John's heart rose within him in resistance and indigna- tion. "I have settled everything his mother said. "You have nothing to do but to send up your name and this note. Well, it is what I understood you had set your heart upon, isn't it so? You want to be an engineer. So my father said." "Yes, I want to be an engineer," John re- plied. And they were sending you to a foundry in Liverpool—which is quite a different thing—when I interfered. You were not giatetul tome, though your grandmother also, I believe, had been very very much against it. You wanted to go there be- cau.se I did not want you to go. Wasn't that the reason? You must put away these childish ideas, Juhu. Understand, once for all, tliac it is your real good I am seeking, and that it cau do no good in any way to retain this position of anta- goutSintoino." "I wish no antagonism," said the boy. "I think everything is settled very quickly, very-- summarily. I think I might known a little. I am nearly eighteen. I might be allowed some- thing to say." Be sile.it, Susie," said Mra Sandford, 'there is no reason wiiyyou shouid interfere. You have been allowed a great deal to say. I have followed | your own lead altogether. Imighthaveputyou III a merchant's office, which would have been more in my way but I have adopted yours with- out a word. You could scarcely point out to me the right peopie to apply to, 1 suppose ? It is only so far as this goes that I have acted for myself. But I don't see that this conversation can do us any good. John. Nit- Barrett is a great supporter of the hospital, he is a very good man, and he is one of the first in his pro- Session. He wiil take you rather for my sake, it is true, thiiij your own, but that can't be helped at your age; and as he takes you without any preouun., that is so much to your advantage, lie will settle how you are to begin, and ail about it when you go ti> him, which i. hooe will be at or.ee -to.day." "V John went a\va,y with his letter without saying any more, and he carried ou his mother's orders, but \yithout any pleasure iu the beginning, though as a ma-tier ot lact it was his own choice. That she meant his good, that she was doing the best she could f°r luui> he oelieved, though grudgingly but way shouhi ^he do it so hardly, without grace or kindness, without anything that would make it pleasant? How may such a question be asked how impossible to answer ;t. To mean everything that is best in the world, to take trouble to do it, to solid benefits on the head of a dependant, a child, or retainer, and yet to do it all so as to make the kindness an office, almost an insult. What a curious perversion is this of everything that is best and .tenderest John's mother was substantially right as well a.s sub- stantially kind. She had chosen the best guidance for her Sson. She had in no way thwarted his I inclinations. She had indeed loilowed their natural bent, taken trouble to find the means of satisfying them and yet I John went away without a word. He obeyed her and his fate, But he thus attained his own wish as if it had been a hardship, and submitted as to a fiat pro- nouoced in entire difference to his wishes. What he would have liked to do as he crossed the bridge, and felt the playful gust of the April wind in his face, would have been to drop the letter in the river, and go away in one of those outward bound ships, ou one of those clanging railways which made a black network all about, to the end of the world. That would have pleased him indeed I To throw the letter into the dark quick flowing tide, to dis- appear and be no more heard of and finally, years after, to re-appear prosperous and great, John May, bringing wealth and reputation with him. His mind dallied with this dream as he went along, a.nd especially as he crossed the I bridge, which suggested freedom and movement. There is no thougnt that is so apt to come to a very young mind. To go away mysteriously, suddenly, leavixg no trace, and in the future— that future that is scarcely further off to seven- teen than to-morrow to a chifd—to come back triumphant to the confusion of all prophets of evil. Sometimes the young dreamer will carry out his vision, bringing misery and self-reproach to those he leans be- hind, but coming back in most cases far from triumphant, forced by destitution or misery, perhaps, or at best disenchanted and dreary, dazzling no one with the success which has ceased to be sweet. Perhaps, John, who had a great deal of sense, perceived this—at all events he was held by those bonds of duty which had lain on him lightly in the past, yet had created a tradition and necessity of obedience, which nothing be had yet encountered was strong enough to abrogate. He felt the temptation, but it never occurred to him as one to which he could yield—and though his heart was in revolt and pride all in arms, yet he trudged along soberly across the river to Great George-street where he was bound, without any active resistance, feeling himself under the guidance and control of an un<> kindly fate. He was received not unkindly, however, though with great gravity, by Mr Barrett, the gentleman to whom bis mother's letter was addressed, and who questioned him as to ais studies, how far he bad gone in his mathematics, ana whether he had made any acquaintance with the special work of the profession he desired to take up. Mr Barrett was a very serious person, indeed, in t dress which was almost clerical, and with manners more solemn than ever clergyman had, which is a curious effect not unusual among lay persons who assume the attitude of advice and exhortation, which is supposed to be the special privilege of the clergy. Mr Barrett's necktie was not white, but the grey and black with which it was striped were faint, producing a sort of illusion in point of colour, and his manners were more distinctive even than his tie. I know your mother," he said. She is an excellent woman, a most worthy person. Her son ought to be satisfactory, and I hope you will prove so but she has had many trials, much more than fall to the ordinary lot." John did not make any reply: at all events nothing was audible of what he said, though in reality he kept up a fierce fire of response. If she has bad many trials she ought to have kept them to herself," was what he said hotly within himself. I hope that you begin work with the hope and intention of making up to her a little for all she had to bear," Mr Barrett resumed. She has been for many years under my personal observa- tion, and anyone more devoted to duty I never saw*" i-, "Oh, yes," said John to himself, that is like Emily not because she likes to do it, but because it's duty," which was at once a hostile and a foolish remark." But you must remember," said his adviser, U that London is a place full of temptation and danger. Everywhere it is easy to go wrong so much easier unfortunately than to do right; but in London the devil is roaring at every street corner, seeking whom be may devour. You must make up your mind to struggle stoutly against his wiles. I can't even shut out of my office, though I try to be as careful as possible, those who prefer the broad path to the narrow: but I hope you will not let yourself be led away." I hope I shall do my duty, sir," said John, this time audibly enough, in a not very sweet or genial voice. I hope you will—that is the right way to look at it: especially to a young man in your position a great deal of care is necessary. Among my other pupils you will find some who have less occasion, as people say, to work. 1 don't myself allow that. I think every man ought to work, and work with all his strength,it not for necessity, yet for—duty as you say. But the sons of parents who are well off in this world's goods, often take a great deal of-licence, which you, Saudford, in your position, must net take as an example. You must keep your nose at the grindstone. It is doubly important for you in your circumstances." It was all that John could do not to demand audibly as he did in his own consciousness: What are my circumstances then, what is my special position ?" His position bad been a very good one all his life till now, the best in the village after the Rector's family, their comrade and associate. He never had any occasion to think of himself as received on sufferance as inferior to any one. It wounded his pride bitterly to b6 compelled to look upon himself in this way. Your advancement will depend on yourself," Mr Barrett continued. It is for you to prove what you can do. After you have gone through your course of instruction, if you show yourself diligant, careful, and, above all, trustworthy, you will receive our best recommendation. Hut all this must depend entirely on yourself. We can't, of course, take you upon our shoulder and guarantee your future. This I hope your mother tully understands. I am willing to stretch a point for a woman who has acquitted herself so well under trying circumstances. But she must understand, and you must understand, that we don't make ourselves responsible for you you must in the end stand or hll on your own merits. The firm cannot carry you on their shoulders about the world-" I {hope no one expected anything of the kind," cried John, aching and throbbing with wounded pride. No, no, I hope not. I think it is always better to make these things quite plain at first. The premium I remit with pleasure to such a worthy woman as Mrs Sandford, to show my sense of her admirable conduct under very trying "I beg your pardon," cried John. "I don't wisb for my part to come in on better terms than thejothers. I down want any charity. I, have not my own money at this moment, but I shall have it when I come of age, and I assure you there will be no difficulty about paying the premium then.' Mr Barrett looked at him with astonished eyes. To have charity cast back in his teeth is agree- able to no man. He stammered as he replied with mingled indignation and astonishment, "I —I don't understand you. What—what do you mean ? Are you coming to me to propose an arrangement onyourewn account, or to complete one made by your mother ?" He regained his composure as he went on. If this be temper, my young friend, we had better break off at once. I don't want any touchy people taking offence about my place." His tone bad changed. He had given up exhortation and good advice, and spoke sharply, with a ring of reality in his voice which brought John to himself. I beg your pardon, sir. I am, perhaps, wrong. I am not ill-tempered nor touchy. I do want to do my duty, and learn my work, and make my way. It was only the idea of charity: and I had never been used to it John said. I am afraid you'll have a great deal to struggle with in your disposition, if that's how you take things," said Mr Barrett, shaking his head. He added quickly, I don't know that I've time to go into the question of your feelings. The manager will tell you about hours and all arrangements. I hope he will have a good account to give me of your work and progress. Good day." This was all he made by hia outburst of impa- tience and indignation. He left a disagreeaole impression on the mind of his new employer, and went out himself sore, humiliated and injured, feeling himself in the wrong. It was not his fault, he said to himself. It was the different position in which he found himself, so different from the past. That he should be of no account, received, if not out of charity, at least out of a humiliating kindness, because of his mother's admirable conduct in her trying circumstances— in what trying circumstances? John could not be- lieve that his father's death had been so tremen- dous a grief as all these sayings seemed to imply. And then to be no longer consulted, no longer even told what was going to happen to him, sent off a with a note like an errand boy getting a place The pride or the humiliation of the boy who has always felt himself to be somebody, and suddenly discovers himself to be nobodv, is not of much consequence to the world. It is, not of much importance even to himself. In most cases it does him a great deal of good, and he lives to feel that, and smile at the keen pangs of his boy- hood. And yet there are few pangs more keen., They cut like knives through the sensitive fibres of poor John's heart, nnd the only refuge which his pride could take, was in imagining circum- stances in which he should vindicate himself, tremendous accidents, in which his courage and presence of mind should avert catastrophe,, misfortunes in which he should be the deliverer—the most common of sufferings, uie most usual of all the dreams of self-compensa- tion. It was with his head full of all these new complications that he returned—not home, which was the word that came to his lips in spite of himself. Not home, he had now no home. Nobody could call Mrs Sandford's rooms at the hospital, borne, not even Susie. John's heart swelled as he caught himself on the eve of using that antiquated word, that word which had no signification any more and then he thought of Elly under the old pear tree with her algebra, thinking of him. She had told him to think of her 1;0. A little picture rose before him quite sud- denly. Elly under the pear tree with her algebra A smile flickered to his lips at the thought. She would be sure to think of him, for she was not very fond of algebra, and to escape a little from those mystic signs and symbols, Elly would be glad to take refuge in recollections of her friend who was almost like a brother. He thought he could see her under the old pear tree, with the wind in her hair, lifting the long, heavy, beautiful locks. The pear blossoms would not be over yet, the sun would make it shine like an old castle with turrets of white. Mr Cattley would still look over Elly's algebra and shake his head. Ob. yes, he would shake his head more than ever: for John would not be there to suggest a way out of those thorny paths, and Elly would not make much of them without that help. It gave him a sensation of pleasure, as if ne had escaped for a moment from all the gravities of fate, into that cheerful garden, and found a glimpse of something like home in EUy's bright face. "Y dU must find fresh lodgings, nearer to your work," said Mrs Sandford, when she received hi's report", which was given, it is unnecessary to say, with considerable reticence, and disclosed nothing about the little encounter with Mr Bar- rett on the subject of the premium, any more than it didjof that imaginary glimpse of Elly in the reetory garden. I am very glad it is all settled so comfortably but you must find lodgings near your work." I shall not mind the walk. After the day's work I should like it." No. I should not like it for you. I don't want you to get the habit of roaming about London. It is not good either for soul or body. A lodging near the office is best." You surely don't mean to shut me up in the evenings," said the boy. You don't mean me to stay indoors all the night ?" It would be much better foryou if you did— for yourself. You could find plenty to occupy you. You might carry on your studies, or if you wanted amusement you might read. Twenty years hence you will be pleased to think that was how you spent your nights." I caa see no reason*" be laid. "why I could not do al) that, and yet live where I am. That is because you love the streets," said his ninth" "I know: oh, I do not require that you: ,I ¡ tf'¡¡ me. You like the movement and the noise and the amusement." It is quite tmc," said John, "and is there anv harm ?" Oh." she said, did not I tell you, Susie—he is his father's sou," 1 To bl' continued. 1
Y GOLOFN GYMREIG
Y GOLOFN GYMREIG -«)-. Dymunir i'n gohebwyr Gymreig gyfemo eu goheb- iaethau, llyfrau i'w hadolygu, &c., fel y canlyn Dafydd Morganicg, Morganwg Houst, Llantwit- streeiy Cardiff. BARDDONIAETH. YR EHEDYDD. •' Ar ei adain y per ebedydd-gwyd Hyd train ddor y wawrddydd; A'i ber sain y boreu sydd I'n llanw a. Mawenydd. lOAN TEEWTDDFA. DEIGRYN. Perl teimlad mewn llygad Jlon-yw deigryn, Digrif ddwr ,r galon Uchel y saif, mae uwchlaw son Yn ngolwg yr angylion. lOAN TBEWTDDIA. Y OACWN, Gwenyn gwyllt," gwenwynig heilltion—eu A'u briw yu echryslon [brath, Colynog mewn enwog hinon, A'u bryd ar ddolurio ein bron. Y cacwo a'u swn y swyno Tlysineb y gelltydd Awen fel. yr awel rydd Yw doniau ei hadenydd. Rbyfela fu'n orfoledd—i'w llengau, Gollyngent ddialedd; Ar air Ion, gelynion bedd Golynent hyd gelanedd. Chicago, U.S.A. PHIL08 O'R CWH. Y PORTHLADD. Fendigaid burthladd I bardd dy drem wyt ti, Yn gwylio byth ar lan y tonog Ii', £ A gwraudo ar ddwfn-dreiddiol terw'r tonau, Mewn dawns a chan yn gyru am y glanau. Fel mur gwahaniaeth ar derfynau'r mot Wyt ti yn aros, lie mae deddf yr lor, Fel cerub gydag ysgwydedig gledd, Yn sibrwd wrth yr arg, derfysglyd wedd,— Hyd yina deui." Lie mae'r sychdir yntau, Yu trengu ar y traeth dan ruthr y tonau. Gwamalrwydd gyda sefydlawgrwydd sy' Yn gwawdio'u gilydd bythol obob tu i'rporthladfiteg: tragwyddol ymrafaelio Mae'r nior a'r tir am Uanat,—brwydro, brwydro A gly w yr oesoedd yuia wrth ymueitlno Yu ul t DJaw. Y tir yn ami sydd Fel pe yn meddwl cario'ti llwyr y dydd Ar nerth y mor, tra yatau, wedi blino Wrth frwyuro c'yd, yu tawel ymneillduo. Ouli wedi'n ef wna gasglu nerthoedd newydd Daw'n ol i'r frwydr eilwaith yn aflonydd Ymwthia 'mlaen y gweuyg yn fyddinoedd Ymruthrant i adenill y safleoedd A gullwyd gynt. Ymlaell yw lief yr eigion, A cbyfyd Hid yn nhrern y tonau gwylltion, Sy'n llanw clustiau'r lan a'u nerthol ferw, Er eu bod hwy'n aneirif lu 0 fewn y trwyar yn meirw, Mae duwies wen Ceifyddyd yn ei bri, Ar orsedd aur, tu fewn i'th furiau ai Gogonian braich a meddwl nerthol dyu o flaen y byd arddengys yma'1 bun. Ytugyrcble tawe) heirdd balasau'r moroedd, Y rtiai wna ledu obry'n y dyfnderoedd Eu hystafellau dystaw orphwysfanau I ddyn yn nghol yr aig a'1 gynhyrfiadau., Ardderchog adeiliadau uwcb y dyfnder; Fob ton sy'n dod I dramwy gyda gwylder Rhwn<* eu hystiysau, fel i roi gwarogaeth I fawredd ceif wnaeth enill buddugoiiaeth Ar nwydau'r Hi', wnaeth drefnu diogel fan I nofio'r eigion dig pal) na fo glka Na chilfach yn yr amlwg. Llaw celfyddyd Sy'n medru rbwystro'r tonau'i ddifa'n bywyJ. Y porthladd wna groesawu llongau'r IIi' I'w fynwes lydan, fel blinedig lu Ar derfyn dyrys ymdaith ar byd lwybrau Twyllodrus eigion~-llwybrau geirwon afrwydd Fodolant yn eithafaon pob uuigrwydd. Y llongau rhvvng uy furiau caethion 'ynt Mewn cedyrn rwymau. GwiblO ar eu hynt Yn nghWtlHll r wendon, pan fo can y gwynt Yn nhernl y hwyl yn moli, dyna'r pryd Alaent hwy'u eu .he'fen—draw o swn y byd A'i fythol dwrW. Dun ond carcharorion A gludwyd hwnt o lydain feusydd Neifion 'Ynt yn y porthladd. Ond y gwenyg yno, Yn mangre eu caethtwed, wnant eu gwyiio, Gan weini iddynt; ceisiant eu dyddanu Drwy daraw caniad newydd fyth o'u deutu. Dyrchafu dy hwylbrenau Hwnt tua'r net' wyt ti, A chwifio eu bauerau Ar lwvbr yr awel fry Ail goedwig addurnedig Yn ltfra? r gwanwyn :ynfc, Drwy'u brig y gwynt ryad ganig, Ga11 lercan ar ei hynt. Fel Uanw'r ni6r mae lianw y tyrfaoedd I'r porthladd fyth, yn dyfod; dyeithr luoedd DrwyJu gilydd sy a yrnwau gwynebau newydd Sydd yn yniddangos fel y tonau beunydd. Gweitbgarwch yma. ar ei uchelderau Sydd fel pe'n ceisio efylchu'r tonau, I beidio gorpbwys—teyrnwialen bywyd Sy'n ysgwydedig drwy y fan bob enyd. Diwydrwydd a mawredd Gusanant ynghyd, Yn nsfhanol holl rwysgedd Y porthladd o hyd: Drwy'i wychder chvviai nofio jtfewn mwyniant yr wyf, pel eweh yn ymwibio ad en y rhwyf. Cenhedloedd byd i'r porthladd fytb sy'n tyru, Dieithrwch ar e: sedd sydd ynddo'n oesi: Daw cynrychiolwyr dros deyrnasoedd byd Yn yniwelyddion tua r fan o hyd; Pob llvvyth ac iaitb sy n caru taro troed 0 fewn í hyfryd fli11lau hwn erioed. Pa Ie mae'r roedrus ieithwr ? Tyr'd yn mlaen, A thafl dy wyk°daeth oil ar daen, Hyd yr eithation wedi hyn i gyd Fe'th ddvhysp?d°ir yma. Myn'd yn fud A wnei, gau deimlo nad wyt ddim ond gwan, Fel cragen yn byw ar ryfedd lan Holl foroedd ieithoead daear. Dyeithr ieithoedd A lania'n nghol y porthladd drwy yr oesoedd. Fendithiol borthladd ar dy ddyfroedd beunydd Teyrnasoedd byd sy n cwrddyd gydaHi gilydd, I ysgwyd 1 gofleidio'n llocj Aui gludo Utuydd eu gilydd dros y don. Bywyd y byd feithrinir ar dy fynwes, A llwyddiant ydyw coron aur dy hanes. Ysgogiad nerthol bywyd naasnaoh sydd Yn nghalon hwn. I w riniog ef bob dydd Y gwledydd sydd yn dyfod olii erfyn, Fel wrth.eu gilydd ynddo ef gwnant dderbyn Bendithion lu-bendlthton geidw fywyd Ar fordaith oes, rhag taro creigiau adfyd. Gyfoethog borthladd ti i'r byd sy'n estyn Trysorau fyrddiwn o r tu draw 1 derfyn Yr eigion gwyrdd; allweddau'r byd estronol Sydd yn grogedig wrth dy wregys bythol. Rhyfeddol gyfnewidfa diwyd, diwyd; Mae preswviyddion conglau r byd yn newid Eu myrdd trysorau, oil yn gweithio'n ddiball— Pob un yn gweithio 1 Ianw eisieu arall. Gwareiddiad a hyrwyddir Rhwllg ei ystlysau'n mlaen, A chariad, megys gwawl y wawr, Yn myned fwy ar daen Elfenau byw d&dwyddwch, Hyd ffordd y pedwar gwynt, Wasgara'r porthladd cysur fyth Sydd yma'n myn'd ar hynt. Amrvwiaeth sy'n gorphwyso ar dy fron Drwy'r cenhed^aet|lau,Q nghwmni'rfywiogdon. Y llong ymtudol a'r filwrol wna Gydorwedd yma. Y "newyddion da" Sy'n llwytho mynwes un, tra dychrynfeydd, Yn gorphwys yn ofnadwy ystorfeydd, Yn mron y Hall, yn arswyd i dorfeydd Y ddaear. Anferth yw'r gagendor welir Fel rhwng y rbal n,. pan arnynt yr edrycliir Drwy ddrych ystyriaeth ddwys: yn dangoa hedd Mae un i'r byd, a'r llall yn dangos bedd. Swn rnyn'd i'r gad tran un, swn brwydr ddu, A'r Hall yn myn d i ddweyd am frwydr fu, Pa gongcrwyd nerthoedd Satan ar y "bryn," Pan faeddwyd angau yn nyfnderau'r "glyn." Cynlluniad ffordd marwolaeth a ffordd bywyd 0 fewn y porthladd welir yn cydgwrddyd. Llawer calon mam fu'n curo'n Bruddaidd ar dy riniog llaith, Pan £ 'i phlentyn yn ffarwelio Yma am yr olaf waith Gweled arno'r olaf dremiad, Cyn marchogaeth cefn y don,— Adgof am y tro rydd frathiad Hir-boenedig yn ei bron, Cysegredig yw'th derfynau Obry'n nghalon llawer un, Yno, megys ar ei llechau, Dwfn-gerfiodd serch dy lun; Atat adgof ar ei aden Beunydd ddaw, pwy rwystra'i daith Curo wna fuander mellten Wrtb dramwyo'r dyfnder llaith, Synedig drem! pan y gollyngi di'r Ymfudlong allan tna. ffordd y lli', I ledu'i hwyliau fel adenydd gwynkm Fry yn y nefoedd i anwylo'r chwaon, Liu ar y lan a syllant ar ei hoi, Gwrthddrychau cariad llawer sy'n ei chol, Yn gadael gwlad eu tadau ami syllant Nes yn y nifwl acw'n llwyr fe'u collant- Y pellder fel pe yn taflu mantell drosti Ar daith y Ih anwyldeb, drwy y €60111% Wna'i dilyn draw; teimladau drylliog sydd 'Nawr wedi gwneyd gorseddau Ary gwynebau prudd. Mae dagtau yn gafodydd wedi syrthio I fwydo dy gyffiniau. Swn ffarwelio Sydd wedi newid cftn dy awel bur, Ar lawer tro, i seinio nodau cur Nes iddi i ddryllio'i thelyn Wrth draed yr hwylbreu hir. I mewn ac allan, fel y llanw a'r trai, Mae dewrion y dyfnderau yn parhau Ymdeithio'n lion. Drwy ddwfr y porthladd nofiodd Gair lor i'r gwledydd pell, yr hwn oleuodd Lu oedd yo nh w*llwch cysgod angau'n oesi, Heb serea yn eu hwybren drist yn gwenu. Y morwr, tra'u teitho byd feusydd yr aig, Dinystr wna 1. wylio yn nghysgod y gratg; Pan fo yn llnddiedig wrth ymladd a'r gwenyg, Fel angel yn boew ehed ei ddychymyg l I geisio gorphwysdra mewn tonau a'u berw Efe a anwyla y porthladd pryd hwnw. Ac ef a dafla gadarn fraich 3E\i obaith am ei wddw\ Y porthladd ydyw seren udydd ei fywyd Yn nos ei ofn,-ei obaith rhag cael gweryd Mewn dyfnderH.nth—ei gysur yn nhrafferthion Ofnadwy'r aig—a noddfa rhag pervglon Sydd yii marchogaeth heibio ar y don. Pan fyudo'r mor yn rhuo braw i'w fron, A'r gwenyg am ei fywyd yn cynllwyuo, Ac ewyn eu digofaint tuag ato Yn gwynu'u gwedd !—o wae yr adeg hon Ei feddwl deifl angor 0 fewn y portbladd Ilon. Fel rhwyfa yr afouydd tua'r weilgi, Pel hed y colomenod i'w ffenestri, Holl longau y cefnforoedd sy'n cyfeirio I:r porthladd yn dragywydd,—iddynt yno Llonyddwch sy'n eu haros ar y cefnfor \!<! oes tawelwch gorwedd ar yr angor Nid yw orphwysdra,—hwnw sy'n bodoli. Hwnt yn y porthladd, lie mae'r m6r yn tew], Mae gobaith yn ei freichiau yn dy gludo Draw i'r pellderau; ef sy'n medru th rwymo 1 deithio gyda'r llong pan ar eih hynt Drwy ddirmygedig nwydau'r inor a. r gwynt. Pan frwydra plant yr eigion a digilonedd Yr eigion ercb, a'r gwyntoedd a'u digilonedd Yn rhuo, rhuo am gael eu dyfetha, Heb ueb yn agos fedr ddwed "Gostega," Wrtli nwydau'r ctymestl.-yn y tywydd garw Tydi sydd yu dysgleirio y pryd hwnw Ar drugareddfa gobaith. Noddfa ddeèwydd W yt ti rhag creulonderau yr ystormydd. Ardderchog ddarlun o orphwysfa hyfryd— Gorphwysfa wir, ar ol i'r 'stormydd enbyd Dawelu i gyd Y byd sy'n chwilio, chwilio Mewn awydd am y sylwtdd ga'i ddarlunio, Fel yn dy gysgod di-y wir orphwysfa Sydd eto'n ol" yn aros plant Jehofa. Dynoliaeth sydd yn morio rhwng y tonau, 0 awr i awr yn tynu'n mlaen at lanau, Pell lanau'r byd tragwyddul, er yn brwydro A digter yr elfenau, er yn gwibio Ar lawer gyfyng awr heb hwyl na llyw, Ac yn mberyglon y dyfnderau'n byw, Mae glan i'w chael—■glkn yn addewid Duw. porthladd boff! yn dy oleuni gwan Canfyddir hafan arall,-ar Ian Tu hwnt i gilfor amser, hafan well Ac uwch ei mwyriant, yn yr.oror bell Lie nad yw gofid wedi rhoi ei droed I gael halogi'i santaidd dir erioed. Os nad yw'n marwol drem yn medru gweled Yr hafan hono'n glir, mae ffydd yn myned, Fel ar anturiaeth byf, draw i'r terfynau, Gan siengyd ar y fan; gwel y pleserau Sydd yno'n bod daw'n ol a grawnwin bedd, Fei ymwelyddes wedi bod Yr ochr hwnt i'r bedd. A Tor byfryd meddwl, mewn trallodion, yw Fod hafan wedi'i threfnu gan fy Nuw I fwrw angor, a chael cefnu bythol Ar wg y byd a'i gynhyrfiadau nerthoL Mae "cysgod angau" rhyngom ni a'r fan.' Yn taflu dychrynfeydd drwy'r enaid gwan Tra'u.morio'n mlaen. Mae galiu ein syniadaeth, 4kr lawer tro, yn niwloedd prudd marwolaeth, Yn coll i'r Sordd ond llewyrch llusern ffydd Sy'n taflu'r hafan dan dragwyddol ddydd. I'r fatigre hono, cwmpawd hoff fy rnywyd F,iigyfeii,ie(lig, O bob stor'm ac adfyd I'r lan cat" ddod yn ddiogel, villi caei lesu Drwy'r daitbyu Llywydd. Dedwydd fydd cael cefnu Ar holl drallodion y tertysglyd for, Am hafan sydd fyth o dan wenau lor. Cwinllynfell. MICHAEL THOMAS.
DIVORCE SUIT AND DAMAGES.
DIVORCE SUIT AND DAMAGES. Tha ca" of Keyse v Keyse and Maxwell has been heard in the Divorce Court.—Mr Xat-lock aopsared for the petitioner, and Mr Mi idteton for the respondent and co-iespondent.—Mr Daniel Langford Keyse, the petitioner, married the respondent on August 12, 1875, and there were five children subsequently oorn, three of whom were now living. The petitioner, who was then a publican, lived first of all at. the George, Leather. lane, and subsequently took the Three Kingdoms, Lower Thames street, where the co-respondent, Wuham Maxwell, a widower with children, used to frequent. He became upon friendly tarms with Mrs Keyse, and eventually they exchanged visits. After a time it was stated that her conduct changed, she being irregular in her habits, inattentive to her duties, and keeping late hours, causing her husband to remonstrate with her. The Three Kmg. doms was given up, and Mr and Mrs Keyse went to live in Godman-road, Peckham, where the co-respondent used to visit. On the 2tid July, 1883, the respondent left her home, and all trace of her was lost for some time. Eventually she was found to be living with the co-respondent, by whom she had a child, and these divorce proceedings were instituted, the petitioner claim- ing damages against Maxwell. Practically, there was no defence, but in mitigation of damages the co-respondent was called and denied that he had been criminally intimate with the respondent until September, ISSI'.—His Lordship, iu directing the jury as to damages, explained that it was not their function to punish the co- respondent, but only to compensate the husband for the pecuniary loss he had sustained by being deprived of the society of his wife. The position of the co-respondent bad nothing whatever to do in the matter, for the damages would be the same whether he were a rich or a poor man.—The jury, after a brief deliberation, found for the petitioner, and assessed damages at £ 150.—A decree nisi, with costs, was granted, with custody of the children to the petitioner.
THE RELIEF QUESTION AT MERTHYR.
THE RELIEF QUESTION AT MERTHYR. At the Merthyr Board of Guardians, on Satur- day, Mr Rhys presiding, the clerk read letters from the Merthyr Burial Board and the Board of Health respecting facilities for giving work to the partly employed men of Oyfarthfa. The burial board had nothing to offer but, on behalf of the board of health, Mr G. C. James (clerk) wrote to say that if the guardians would see to the purchase of stones and the breaking of them, the board of health would purchase the stones at a price to be agreed on. A deputation from Cyfarthfa was then admitted, and the Chairman informed them that the guardians were prepared, if they choose to accept it, to provide stones for them to break in the lower part of the district, at the same price as the Merthyr Board of Health as at present paying for breaking stones on the Merthyr Road. He must also tell them, in fair- ness, that they would, according to law, become paupers if they accepted this work, and would lose the privileges and rights of citizenship.—The deputation promised to confer with their fellow workmen on the subject, and to attend the board meeting next week and state whether they accepted the offer.-on the motion of Mr Thomas Williams, J.P., the clerk was requested to thank the board of health for their letter, and to suggest that if they offered the men stouebreaking direct, it would save them from becoming paupers.—A committee of the Cyfarthfa representatives was held in the evening, at which a great aversion to accepting relief in such a manner as to disqualify them as voters was expressed. A mass meeting will be held, but not until after the next meeting of the guardians.
SWANSEA WORKING MEN'S CLUB.
SWANSEA WORKING MEN'S CLUB. OPENING OF NEW PREMISES. Sir H. Vivian, on Saturday afternoon, opened the new Working Men's Club at Swansea. The premises have been built from the plans of Mr B. Williams, at an estimated cost of £3,200, on a site nearly opposite the new Free Library in Alexandra-road. The contract was taken by Mr Billings, Swansea, who has carried out his work satisfactorily. The building is in the French Renaissance style, the material being Pencoed bricks, with box ground Bath • stone dressings. There are two main entrances, one in Alexandra-road, the other facing the road leading to the Holy Trinity Mis- sion Church. The accommodation includes a billiard-room 42ft by 27ft. 6in., game rooms, a spacious lodge room, a reading-room, a library, skittle alleys, and a large assembly- room capable of seating between four and five hundred persons. The interior is well lighted add substantially furnished, and the club altogether is most complete. The members assembled near the old premises at three o'clock,, and preceded by the police band, marched in procession to the new building. After the club bad been formally opened, the company sat down to luncheon. Several toasts were proposed, and speeches were made by Sir Hussey Vivian, Mr Burnie, Alderman Daniel, Councillors Chapman and Maliphant, Mr J. C. Fowler, Mr J. Trev. Jenkin, and Mr M. B. Williams. Sir Hussey Vivian gave j350 towards the funds of the institution, and a number of gentlemen became life members and paid;CS each.
NEW LOCAL COMPANIES.
NEW LOCAL COMPANIES. [FROM THB "ffiroxOKS' GUARDIAN. "J INTERNATIONAL STEAK COAL COMPANY, LIMUKO.— This company was registered on the 17th inst., with a capital of SSO.OOO, in S20 shares, to carry on colliery operations in Glamorganshire or elsewhere. The sub- scribersare *E. Franklin Thomas, 125, Bute-street, Cardiff, steamship owner, 50 shares Jackson Powley, 125, Bute-street, Cardiff, colliery proprietor, 50 A. J. Lusty, Cardiff Docks, colliery proprietor, bO i. W. Thomas, Awrdare, mining engineer, 50; *T. Cory# Sketty, Aberdare, colliery proprietor, 50; *G» Griffiths, Park House, Cardiff, colliery proprietor, 50 R. F. Akers, 125, Bute-street, Cardiff, accountant, 5. The number oi directors is not to be less than three, nor more than five the first are the subscribers denoted by an asterisk, and Mr T. Crawshay, of Bonrilstone, near Cardiff; remuneration, B200 per annum to the chairman, and Sloo per annum to each of the directors. CADOXTON BRICK, TILE, T-TMR. AND COTTAGB COMPANY, LIMITED.— Registered on the 17th inst., with a capital of £ ]5,000, in £ 5 shares, to acquire and work beds and seams of clay, lime, or other other minerals in Glamorganshire. The subscribers are :—&. H. Mundy, Mardy, contractor T. W. Parry, Ferndale, surgeon; W. Edwards, Maerdy, accountant; W. J. Thomas, Aberdare, chemist J. Bichards, Ferndale, station j w. Williams, Ferndale, engine driver and A. Jepson, Ferndale, one share each. Kegistered without special articles. TIDENHAM WATERWORKS COMPANY, LIMITED-—On the 18th inst. this company was registered with a capital of £ 2,000 in 25 shares, to erect works for supplying water to the parish of Tidenham and other places in the counties of Gloucester and Monmouth. The subscribers are *B. W. Whalley, Chepstow, contractor, 10 shares *F. Morgan. Chepstow, 25 £ L Clay, Chepstow, J.P., io q. C. Francis, Chepstow, solicitor, 10 H. Lewis, Chepstow, draper, S3; G, Leys, JJP., Chepstow, 4 and A. Miller, Chepstow, 5, The first directors are Messrs Henry Clay. H. F. Morgan, and Louis Gneret.
Advertising
W ABNING.- When you ask for Reckitt's Blue, see that you get it. The manufacturers beg to caution the public against imitation square Blue, of rery inferior quality. The Paris Blues in squares is sold in wrappers, bearing their name and Traae Mark. Refuse J al' othfri. 12572
- THE CHILDREN'S HO UR.; '
THE CHILDREN'S HO UR.; COLUMN FOR GIRLS AND BOYS. BY MAGGIE SYMINGTON. Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupation That is known as the Children's Hour. Longfellow. A NICK PUYaICIAN—LOVE OF SWEETS—DISAGREE- ABLE DOCTORS — SOMEBODY—A WISE Pi'.F.CAU- TIO.N— A SUGARLESS WORLD—WHAT DOLii SUGAR COME FROM?—SUGAR-PRODUCING PLANTS —SUGAR MAKING-A SUGAR HOUSE — PACKING SUGAR — CANDY — MAKING SUGAR-PLDMS — LKT HE LAUGH "—SOLUTIONS TO ACROSTICS. I have just heard of a physician in Germany of whom, I a.m sure, you will all approve. 1 like him myself, because—well, must 1 confess to a love of sweets? Oh, yes, I may just as wetiowa to it, for I am quite certain that I have many sympathising readers. But about this German doctor, I must not get away from him until I have told you what he did to,cause us to think well of him. He has had the honesty to confess, straight out, that he approves of the use os sagrar as an article of general diet. We have all been of this opinion for a long time, though there are doctors in England, and eisewnere, wuu u»vo tciusui-jf w w* mothers of England ihat sugar is the foundation of many diseases. I bave myself heard tbem say this, and advise a sugarless diet for the hapless little ones of this present century. This good Garroan doctor, won't we all bless him ? cunfesses that be had himself eaten a quarter of a pound ot sugar a day for forty years. This is absoiuteiy charming; wouldn't you like to do the same? Somebody asks (you know there always is some- body to say disagreeable things), how about teeth of the rising generation addicted to sugar eaemg? I'll tell you a. secret, and if you want to be healthy, and sound-teethed sugar and candy- eaters, you will pay particular attention -,o wnat i say. It is biting and crunching hard sw^etthings that destroys the teeth, because it is liable to de»troy the enamel of the teeth, and then they decay, and toothache comes, and wiseacres then shake their heads and say, "Ah, that coinesofeat- iug too many sweets or too much sugar,^ as the case may be, Now if you wish to disappoint the"e wise people you will be careful to suck the sweets you eat, and then you will not be so likely to have pain follow pleasures. Do you know that there was a time wh n there was no sugar to be bad, and consequently no sweets? The children of that day dwelt in A SUGARLESS WORLD. Can you, whose halfpence are so quickly. trans formed into packets oi candy, imagine anything so sad itS that I And there was time, somebody tells us, when our Kreat-great-grandmochers, seated about the tea-table, took their delicate nib- bles of the new luxury from a imnp of sugar sus- pended in their midst, by a string." It is quite true that sugar was very little known to the ancients. The sugar-cane was brought to Europe by the Crusaders, but it hau prooably been earlier introduced into Spain and Siciiy coming from Arabia by way of Nuui; Egypt.| and Northern Africa, by the Moors and Saracens. 1 he Venetian merchants early became interested in its produce; they were probably the earliest refiners, and loaf sugar was first made in Venice in the sixteenth century." And now, what does sugar com* from ? If I could wait to receive your answer, I have no doubt you would give it very promptly. "Sugar is the produce of i cane growing in the \Vest Indies, &2., &c., &c.' Quite riphc as far us it goes, only your ansivec does not go far enough, for sugar comes from, or is obtained from odier things too. Somebody says, A lump of ch.ircoal, and a glass of water, contain together all the elements of a lump ol sugar, a plut of syrup, a pound of starch, or a spool of thread." This is a m:»rvelious statement, but we must grow older nnd consi--1 dr- ably wiser before we can understand the chemical constituents of a lump of sugar. We will take it as a fact, and just ask Nature to tell us a little about how she stores and produces it for the use of man. SUGAR-PRODUCING i\L ANTS. Sugar is found in many plants, bus the great, sugar-mines are the sugar-canes, the .iorghum grass, and the beet root. The date-palm in the tar East, and the American maple tree add to the supply, and some sugar or.sympit.ts i.een made in southern California from the water melon. Besides these natural sugar. large quautitias of starch sugar are made by chemical treatment of starch. These are the great commercial sources of sweetness. The sugar-cane, sorghum grass, and Indian corn, or maize, are near cousins iu vegetable society, belonging all to the family of grasses. They are magnificent plants, with their broad green leaves, their tali stems, and the clustered spikes or tasseis atop, reaching, in tae case of some varieties, a height of thirty feet. They are distinguished from the other groups of grasses by hi ving pithy instead of hollow stems, in which pith Nature stores her sweetness. All of them require abun- dant moisture, more or less heat and sunshine, and a soil containing organic matter. Although sorghura is generally considered an upstart, thrusting itselt into sugar-cane society, it has claims to be considered the more ancient and aristocratic of the two. It is said that sorghum, which is the durra of the East, was the plant originally used by the Chinese in making sugar. The sorghum is much more like maize than the sugar-cane it is a cereal, too, and is erowned with a cluster of seeds which are used as food for men ana cattle. The sugar-caue is perennial, and will grow for fifty years from the same roots, propagated from cuttings, and is of slow growth. I think the following account of THE PROCESS OF SUGAR-MAKING will interest you. The process of sugar-making is a simple enough matter of cookery. The first care of the producer is to get all the sugar possible out of the cane or grass or root, either by squeez- ing out the juice or washing out the sugar; the sugar-maple save? the sugar-maker the trouble, delivering the sap ready for the boiler. The juice is then cleared of its impurities, as coffee is cleared by the white of an egg, or water is filtered through charcoal it is then boiled to evaporate as much of the water as possible and crystallise the solid sugar it is then cooled and the molasses drained off, leaving tbe soft dark sugars, in which each crystal has its thin coating of molasses, or dried by a centrifugal machine, whence the water flies out; or it is further clari- fied, and left to crystalize in white loaves, which are sawed, or crushed,or ground,or powdered into the several varieties of tine white sugar. Most of these earlier processes are repeated, and the sugar carried through the final process in the great refineries. Refining is in fact little more than a finer repetition cf the processes of making, and to da these simple things on a great scale, and in the best way, is the sole purpose of those great hives of industry." A PLANTATION SUGAR-HOUSE. "The sugar-house on a great plantation is a large high building, the centre of the farm, to which roads or tramways lead from all directions. As a load of cane comes up, it is fed upon an end- less belt, or railway, which carries it up slowly to the crushing mill, an affair of simple construction but of enormous power. The crushers are great rollers of cast iron. There are all sorts of opinions as to whether it is better to crush rapidly or slowly, and to crush once only, or to repeat the operation with increased pressures. The juice flows from the crushers in one direction, and the rest of the cane, now known as begass, is carried off in another by an endless belt, to be used either for dressing for the cane- fields, or as fuel in the heating processes which the juice is next to undergo. One of the greatest improvements in modern sugar-making has been the development of furnaces which get most of their fuel from the begass." When the sugar is all made, and the packing is arrived at, a very curious thing happens. This is at the PACKING OF GRANULATED SUlrAR. The softer kinds of sugar are packed as flour is packed, with a. screw press. Most of the great refineries have cooper shops of their own, where the barrels for holding the sugar are made, and as the barrels are delivered, it is amusing to see the dexterity with which the man who have been at work on them, handle them. They start them spinning a hundred yards away, and round a post or corner very skilfully, bringing them up exactly where they are wanted. The sugar is delivered slowly from spouts above the barrels, each of which stands on its own bottom in a separate frame, and to this frame there is given by eccentric machinery just that shaking motion which a. man gives to a barrel when "settling" it. It is funny enough to see these rows of barrels bobbing and nodding, and making lunges towards each other, as though they were a set of tipsy topers holding hands in a row to keep them- selves steady, and singing We won't go home till morning!" This is the method of packing granulated sugars. A very important part of sugar manufacture, I am sure you will agree with fiB. is the CANDY.MAKING. The word candy comes to us from the Arabic and Persian word quand, another name for sugar. Candy-making is a great trade in itself, and you have only to consider the vast number of con- sumers to be very sure of this Now here is an account of the making of "stick" candy The sugar is boiled down with water, and a little cream of tartar to prevent crystallisation. The mass is taken in batches of about fifteen pounds to a marble table, where it is kneaded like bread, and the flavouring and colouring worked in. The paste then goes to the pulling- books, where for five or six minutes it is pulled and twisted, and re-pulled and re-twisted at the hands of a workman, who certainly earns his living. Thence it is returned to the marble table, at one end of which is a metal plate kept hot, on which he works the candy into final shape. Stripes are pressed into the batch, two foot long and a foot thick, and it is then drawn and twisted out till it is the proper size of a penny stick, the right length of which is clipped off with huge scissors. Clear candy is not kneaded or pulled. Flat candy is run into pans, and a knife is run across where it is to be broken into sticks or squares. Drops, fishes, and other fancy shapes are made by passing the paste through a machine, which cuts and presses it to the right size and shape. Lozenges are rolled out like pie-crust, and cut out with diea. It must be almost as interesting to see bUGAR PLUMS AND SUGARED ALMONDS made as it is to eat them. The nut, seed, or other nucleus, is thrown into great copper pans with boiling sugar, and the pans are shaken by hand, or by machinery, over a hot fire. Rolled ever and over in the moist sugar, the plums soon begin to grow, and are polished off by each other, while above steamworked fe-ns carry off the dry dust. = 1 ■■ „i, I have obtained most oi thessc interesting facts from an elaborate article in Harper* Magazine, and the writer concludes it by saying- that, the coii.-umpvion of sugar is a chief te?t of a nation's prosperity." Ar.-j it carcainiy must be the duty of and the writer concludes it by saying- that, the coii.-umpvion of sugar is a chief te?t of a nation's prosperity." Ar.-j it carcainiy must be the duty of each of us tu contribute as much as we can to the prosperity of the nation to which they belong, lience it follows that we ought all to be sugar and sugar-candy consumers. Don't you agree with me, my pets ? I am afraid I hear more than one little voice say, On, but you are laughing at us, Aunt M.-ggie We' yon wiillet me laugh at you, as well as with v.>u, .•-•ometinies, will you not ? SOLUTION TO PRIZE ACROSTIC No. 2. A- appl E M ai N E- g H-a¡Jhae-L I-ow- C anaa N A rnol D SOLUTION ^TO PRIZE ACROSTIC No. 3. J) a i:> A car U (s) A car U (s) N es T 1) ell -T E xilj E L- ea R I oni C O rmol U N————a.———— P Your letters with solutions will all be awaiting me at home, but I have been away for a little, and so I hope you will not mind them not being acknowledged until next week. AUNT MAGGIE. Address all communications ll)- AUNT MAGGIE (Symington), Hunstanton, St. Edmunds.
THi: SLlDING-SCALE COMMITTEE.
THi: SLlDING-SCALE COMMITTEE. A meeting of the Monmouthshire and South Wales- Shding-scale Committee was held in the AnJe! Hotel, Card iff,on Saturday, Sir W.T.Lewis presiding. The masters were represent -d by Messrs A. Hood, E. Martin, E. Jones, and W. Gascoigue Dalziel (secretary) and the workmen by Messrs J. Evans,Isaac Jenkins, John Morgan, J Evans, Philip Jones, J. Goldsworthy, J. Simons and J. W Jones, secretary. The chief business before the meeting was the consideration of the leport of Messrs J. 0. Knk, of Leeds and C. E, Parsons, of Newport. The result of their audit of the coalowners' books and the sliding scale agreement for the four months ending April 30 vb, 1836, st owe i that under the terms ot the agreement there should be no change m the wage rate of the associated collieries. The committee having dealt with the dispute existing at the Dynet-or Herbert Colheiy, and also at the Graigola Merthyr Company's Olvdacu Oonienes, the meeting terminated. SOUTH WALES COALOWNERS' ASSOCIATION. A meeting of the South Wales Coalowners' Association was heid at the Angel Hotel, Cardiff, on Saturday. Mr E. Martin, Dowlais, presided, and there were also present Sir W T. Lewis, and Messrs A. Hood, E. Jones, W. W. Hood, Charles Grey, H. Kukhonse, J. Lewis, W. Deere, C. B. Holland, T. li. iiailey, E. O. Jones, J. Bawn, D. Ree-s, iwan Lewis, I. Bediington, H. O. Trump, H. D. Thomas, T. J. Price, W, Thomas. Louis Tylor, Treharne R»es, A. Davis, J. Akers, W. Simons, and \V. G. Dalziel, secretary. The association received the report of the sliding-scaie joint committee on the audited prices, which recommended that no change should be made in the wage rate, and it was unanimously adopted. The Mihes Regulation Bili, 18S6, introduced by Mr Childers in substitution for the Coal Mines Regulation Act, 1872, was reported upon by Mr Simons, and fully considered by the association.
SM ASH ING A CAR DI FF BICYCLIST
SM ASH ING A CAR DI FF BICYCLIST At Newport county police-court, on Saturday, —before^Mes-srs T. Beyimn, R.F.Woollefct, and Jfi. Lev/is—Henry Davis, described as a colt-break-r, ot M:ig««r, was summoned for damaging a bicycle belonging t.o Hy. Hardess, and also with injuring the owner. The complainant, who is a merchant's cierk at Cardiff, was riding near Magor on the evening of the 14ih inst., together with his brother. They saw defendant ahead iu a trap Drawn by a young cob. He was drawn across the road, in the act of lighting his pipe. Complainant, who was un a bicycle, was beumd, and his brother was foremost on a tricycle. Complainant shouted to allow him to pass, but he wouid not, declaring that he paid a licence for the road and ior coll-break>:ig. Cuutplaindnt ap- proached at a walking pace, and defendant turned his horse to go the same way. Taking ad vantage of a torn in the road, complainant- slipped by on tiie right hand side close under the hedge. As soon as he had done '!u, defendant called out, Look out, I'll run over yvu." The horse was whipped, and iu a moment he found himself under the horse and trap. He sustained a nasty cot on the head, aud was much shaken. The bicycle was smashed. His brother leaped out of his machine, and caught the horse's head. Defendant then gave his name and address, and repeated that he paid a licence for the road and would run over every bicycle he met, because the owners paid none. The magistrates fined defen- dant 20s for wilful damage, and ordered him to pay the damage, in all L4 15s, or one month's im- prisonment.
A SWANSEA CAP TAIN DROWNED…
A SWANSEA CAP TAIN DROWNED AT NEWPORT. On Saturday afternoon the body of Mr George Laugbarue, master mariner, of Swansea, was found in the canal leading to the timoer float in the Alexandra Dock. Dock Officer Chamberlain had the body conveyed to the Pill Mortuary, where it will remain pending an inquest. The deceased had beeu lodging for some days at the Victoria Dining-rooms, Commercial-street, but had been missing from the houfe since Sunday last. It has been proved that deceased was seen at Bas.saleg on Monday morning, and on the body was found a letter addressed to Mr Morgan, Tredegar Arras, Cefn, near Bassaletr, from Mr J. G. Gasked, Anchor Brewery, Newport. Tins led to the deceased's ideatificsttion. Besides the letter there were several other articles found in the pockets, but no money. Early in the week the deceased's brother came up from Swansea to have an interview, but deceased had left his lodgings, and the landlord could give no tidin;s as to his whereabouts.
POLITICAL INTIMIDATION.
POLITICAL INTIMIDATION. At West Ham Police-court, on Saturday, amongst the applicants to his worship was a respectably-dressed woman who, armed with a number of rent-books, complained that her land- lord had given her notice to leave the house they were in, and only because her husband held different politics to him, and in order that he might lose his vote at the coming election. — Mr Phillips Oh, he can't take your husband's vote away by such means if the name is on the register. You might remove from where you are to the moon, and it would would not affect the vote. —Ap- plicant said she was glad to hear that, but she should Jike to know if she should be compelled to leave at a week's notice. She had been in her shop for two years, and had regularly paid her rent, and now, when they had just got a con- nection about them, she was ordered to leave, and the landlord, Mr J. Wait, landlord of the Cart and Horses public-house, Maryland Point, had said he would put a new shop front in the house on Monday if they were not gone, and they had not been able to get another shop in the neighbourhood. Mr Phillips said the writtea notice was a good one, but the landlord could not bundle her out as he proposed to do. It would take at least a month to get her ejected legally. Applicant thanked his worship, and intimated that she would remain in the house as long as possible.
SHOCKING OCCURRENCE AT A POLITICAL…
SHOCKING OCCURRENCE AT A POLITICAL MEETING. An event of a most distressing nature took place at a meeting held on Saturday night in the Eastern Division of Birmingham in support of the candidature of Mr Henry Matthews, Q.O. (Conservative). Amongst the speakers was Mr B. H. Grindley, the editor of the Birmingham Gazette. Mr Grindley appeared to be enjoying good health, but on resuming his seat it was noticed that a sudden pallor over- spread his features. He, however, ap- peared to be taking an interest in a speech which followed, but on its conclusion he was ob- served to fall from his chair to the floor. Sir James Sawyer, who presided, and who had recently been in professional attendance on Mr Grindley, immediately went to his aid, and did all he could to restore anirration. The efforts, however, were unavailing, and Sir James Sawyer at last announced that Mr Grindley was dead.
A NEW LAKE AT LLANGAM-MAliCH…
A NEW LAKE AT LLANGAM- MAliCH WELLS. On Friday the picturesque Breconshire watering- place, Llangammarch Wells, was en fete, it being the occasion of the opening of that lake, which covers about three acres of land, and has, like many other improvements at this place, been constructed through the energy of Mr W. Smith, of JSppynt House Hotel. The opening ceremony was performed by the Hon. Mrs Maitlaad, wife of the lyember for the county. A banquet followed, Mr W. F. Maitland, M.P., presiding, and subsequently aquatic sports were held. There is an excellent supply of capital boats and canoes on the lake for hire.
FATAL BATHING ACCIDENTS.
FATAL BATHING ACCIDENTS. A distressing accident is reported from Pang- bourne. Two sons of Mr Deverill, of Basildon Farm, named Harold and Ernest, aged sixteen and fourteen respectively, who had gone from the Newbury Grammar School on Saturday on a visit home, went to bathe in the Thames opposite the Grotto, Basildon, in the evening, when they got out of thsir depth, and both were drowned. The bodies were recovered shortly afterwards.-A young soldier, Private Edwards, of the 1st Battalion Grenadier Guards, while bathing on Saturday in the Thames, near Wind- sor, dived into the river and was drowned.
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YANKEE YARNS.¡
YANKEE YARNS. ¡ GORED. Teacher: What is a gourd Boy: "You would be if a mad bull overtook you." Teacher Would be what?" Boy Would be gored." Teacher (to himself) I would, be gored." QUITE A COMPLIMENT. Young Lady My dear Professor, I want to thank you for your lecture. You made it all so plain that I could understand everv word. Professor; I am truly glad you did understand it. I have studied the subject for about thirteen years, and I flatter myself that I can bring the subject within the comprehension of the weakest intellect. NOT TO HIM. Meek-minded husband to his strong-minded wife: Why, how you talk, my dear, your views are revolutionary, indeed they are. You would turn over the government." Strong-minded wife: Humph! You needn't ever expect me to turn the government over to you sir." Meek-mindei husband (with a sigb of resigna- tion): "No, indeed." HE WASN'T A POOL. Tom Aujerry, student, applied for permission to be absent. I would like to be excused from my geo- graphy lesson this aftercoon as I want to take my sister out riding," said Tom. The old professor, who is no fool, looked at tLe young man over the top of his spectacles, and said slowly: t. Want to take your sister out riding in a buggy, eh? Is she related to you?" A BAD 3 PELL. A few months ago an old gentleman was seen nailing a notice on a fence on the south side of Austin avenue. A friend, passing, said Why don't you have the notice put in the paper, where people can read it?" Wall," said the old gentleman, "if I tuck it to the newspaper orfice them newspaper fellers would get it spelled wrong, and then somebody migbt think it was my eddicasbun what had been neglected." The notice read Howze fur rent inchoir on the preymeysis." FAMILY PRIDE, A Texas boy of about twelve brought home a very poor school certificate. The old man said, as he looked under the sofa for a bootjack :— "I'll have to apply coercive measures." Don't do it, father. I am afraid there will be a scene, and we don't care to have the neigh- bours suspect that our relations are not h monious." The neighbours say the boy's eloquence was intoned by something that sounded like hitting a tough beefsteak with the flat side of an axe. AN ECONOMIST. Arkansaw school-teacher (to boy): Why don't you study your lesson T Boy ""Cause I don't know where it is." Teacher • Look on the seventy-second page." Boy (after turning the leaves of his book): "It's tore out." Who tore it out?" "Dad." "What for?" Ter light mam's cob." "Well, borrow another book. Say, why dont you blow your nose?" 'Causa I ain't got time. I tn goin out pretty soon an' let the wind blow it." HOW TO GET OUT OF A DIFFIODLTT. It must have been with infinite amusement that Mr Henry Ward Beecher, during a late vacation, beard one of his own published sermons delivered iu an obscure village. At the close of the service he accosted the divine, and said: That was a fair discourse. How long did it t.ike you to write it?" "Oh, I tossed it off one evening when I had leisure I" was the reply. "Indeed," said Mr Beecher. "It took met much longer than that to think out the very framework of the sermon." Are you Mr Henry Ward Beecher?" I am," was the reply. "Well then," said the unabashed preacher, all that I have to say is that I ain't ashamed to preach one of your sermons anywhere CREATING HARMONY. A good story was told the other day by a Western paper of a young man painfully con- scious of all exterior not worthy of his character. Accompanied by the young woman be had just married, he stepped into a photographer's and drew the artist aside. He wanted their "pic- tur's" taken, but had a special favour to ask. "Her folks," he explained, "go a good deal on style. They never saw me, and, if I send them my face, they'll be dead agin me. I'm a sight better than I look, and, when people come to know me, they vote me a brick. Now, then, what do you say? Will you stand in? She's willing. Those big whiskers of yours'll take them at once and create harmony. You look like a solid capitalist, and they'd take me for a petty-laroeny t'aief!" Of course the photographer could not re- fuse a favour so flatteringly proposed, and the dis- tant relatives no doubt in due time were gratified with his portrait side by side with that of the young lady. THE BEST IN THE LAND. An old negro advertised a place for sale. A man who had examined the house, and who was pleased with it, called on the negro. How about the well?'' the man asked. "Fines' in de lan' If 1 thought the well was good rd buy the place." "Needr,' let dat trouble yer, sah, fur I tell yer dat it's de bes' well in dis town." He bcugbt the place. About two weeks after- ward he sought the old negro, and after swallow- ing a large lump of wrath, said: Y ou old scoundrel, you told me that the well was good." "Well, sah?" And now there is no water in it. The neigh- bours tell me that you hauled water in barrels and poured it into the well." What come o' de water?" "I have used it up." Didn't leak out, did it?" I suppose not." Den de well's all right. Takes er good well ter hold water. I knowd dat well wuz all right, fur I dug it myse'f an' walled it up wid de bes' rock I could git." "Yes, but confound your ugly picture, there is no water in it." Oh, yer didn' ax me erbout de water; axed me erbout de well. Ef yer wanted to know suthin' erouut de water w'y'nt yer ax me? Good day, sah." INSURANCE MONEY. Shortly after a fire in a town "down South" a coloured man called on an insurance-agent and said: Wants my money, cap'n." "I don't owe you any money." "Ain't yesse'f de 'sho'ence agent?" Yes, I am an insurance agent." "Den yer owes me money, fur my sto' burned up duriu' de late fire, sah." "You were not insured In my company." Golly, you say I wa'n't!" "Come, get out of here." Hold on, boss, an' lemme 'splain. Wuz Mr Jones 'shored in yer comp'ny ?" "Yes." Wuz Mr Jackson ?" "Yes." "Wall an' good. Now my sto' was just ber- twixt Mr Jones an' Mr Jackson. De wall 0' dar sto's made de walls o' my sto'. Ef yer'd a took dar sto's erway, my sto' woulder been gone. De inshoin' o' dar own sto's insho'ed mine, doan' yer see?" "No, I don't see." "Den I ain't goin' ter git nuffiu, is I?" "No." "I'll recolleck dis, sah, an'see whut de cou't- 'ous'il hab ter say;" and turning away, he muttered, Ef I'der knowed de comp'ny wuz so tricky, I wouldn'ter set de blame sto' afire SHE TWIGGED. He called at the bouse, and asked if she bad any carpets to beat, adding that he had been in the business over twenty years. "How much to beat that parlour carpet?" she asked. One dollar." "Why, that's awful! There was a man here yesterday who offered to do it for half a dollar." "Exactly, madam. But how was he pre- pared ?" He had a club in his hand." "I presume so. He intended to take the carpet out on a vacant lot, didn't he?" Yes, sir. Our yard is too small, you know." "Exactly. That is a tapestry Brussels carpet. It is badly worn. It has numerous holes m it. He would make a great show in getting it out and in here. Out on the lot he would give you away to every one who asked who the carpet belonged to. Is that the way to do a job of this sort?" "How do you do it ?" I take the carpet out through the alley. I wheel it home. I beat it in a yard surrounded by I a high board-fence and, while I am returning it, all nicely rolled up and covered with a cloth, if any one asks me what I have, I reply that it is a velvet carpet for No. 224, Blank-street. If no one asks any questions, I call at the houses on either side of you and ask if they have just ordered a new Wilton. They watch me and see me come in here. Madam, in the language of the Greeks, do you twig?" He was given the job. AN HUMBLE CHRISTIAN. Some very good Christians fail to carry out the scriptural injunction of turning the other cheek. When they are reviled they revile back with considerable bitterness. An old negro named Uncle Nace keeps a little fruit stand on Austin Avenue. He is a deacon in the Austin Blue Light Tabernacle, and when camp-meetings are epidemic, his voice can be heard so plainly by the inmates of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum on the opposite bank of the Colorado river, two miles distant, that they suffer from insomnia. Approaching Uncle Nace's fruit stand Gilhooly asked: Do you believe in the bible, Uncle Nace?" Ise been an humble follerer ob de Lawd more den 50 years, sah." If you believe in the bible I suppose you admit that a man is judged by his fruits. Sartinly, sah." It men are judged by their fruits, what kind of a man art thou ? asked Gilhooly, picking up an orange, on the lower side of which was a large decayed spot, to which he LeaRed the old man's attention. The kick this humble praying old Christian discharged atGillhoolymade a hole in the awning, Ave feet over his head, and the language he used would have done credit to a deDntv sheriff
FACTS AND FANCIES.
FACTS AND FANCIES. Give us, oh give us, a man who sings at his work.—Carlyle. Our American cousins a.re coming to England next month for the skating season. A contemporary regrets that it was compelled to go to press one day too early to record the death of John Baker." u I could marry any woman I pleased," said the poor old bachelor, "but the difficulty of it would be to find a woman he could please." "Wagnerism," according to Albert Millaud, who is endeavouring to impress France with his views, is a form of insanity. Be will never learn who is ashamed to be taught; and he will never teach who is angry with those whom he teaches. was fishing, and Sally Squares was sitting on a log beside him. Sally," said he, I wish I was a fish, and you was a bait-how I'd bite," Perfectly good, even when what we kQ°W What il an(1 cannot against evil. P&rt of the dmae P°wer "Ergo," remarked the professor to his class stopped to take braath. Wef'lit sane outgone of the students, ancTS ELSSn w" £ ruin. tvJw people in the world who spend the first half of their existence trying to taste all the sweets of life, and tbe second half in trying to get the taste out of their mouths. "If the workmen succeed in establishing eight hours as the extent of a day's work," was asked a manufacturer, "what will be their next ove. To have a law passed making fifty minutes an hour was the gruff reply. ni^ K^^iSaV?t^° ^tJe girl who was whip- ? g <t -v^P' now> y°u have punished /°' rePIied child "I don't want to be told, as pa often tell you, that I am too weak with my children." Our esteemed friend, Mrs Malaprop, has no patience with the people who want women to have votes. She declares that, for herself her nerves could never bear the shock of having anv- thing to do with the electrical franchise. of,A ,was ^ce lamenting tbe ill-luck which attended her affairs, when a friend, wishing to side8" Oh » KdC' hi!l" upoa the br«fht ? .°h» she sighed. 4< there seems to be nn the quick reply. °P dark °Qe'" was L grocer's. Apprentice has spent K ^naster • ^WhLatbruah" Hi*h' whnU ric, I f*T ape y°u spending th€ sine who f°r the last haalf hour looking for a snog when yon know quite well that you'd never find a sing but where waas it?" 7 j oke^bu^Foo-^ u6 who cannot take a i j ,s not one of them A 44 frinnd M acquainted with Foee'* L mend asked him wh oh hf thtS^K Wf of ■move or pay rent. tefl cileaPer' to b.» spiled Fogg; Brown: "I've got an excellent plan of retting rid of duns." Green: "Ha that's so'" £ «< f zzszns: a death bv em.' B.: Well, I've tried it several times of late, and I find the man never comes back again." G. Ay, ay, what do you do?" B "I pay him. Nobody (said William Lloyd Garrison) ought to despair whose cause is just. Nobody is justified in despairing if he has a righteous cause to up- bold. It may not be given him to see it triumph, but that is only a Question of time; it is an im- material thing; but the right itself, why, there is no power on earth can ever stay it. None can ever defeat it in the end; God himself is pledged to its final victory. I have concluded not to go to the play to- night," said Fixton to Mrs F. 1 want to see f friend and, besides, you know, it's a little damp and you might catch cold, dear." .M.rs F.: "Gatet cold! You humbug, your first t. joughts art always for yourself Fixton:" Yes, dear, and my second are for you and second thoughts, you know, are always the best I" A brewer in Milwaukee says that his employes average about forty glasses of beer (gratis) a day, except in hot weather, when they make it about sixty, and that one man drinks regularly not lev than 100 glasses a day. Altogether, the usuai quantity absorbed in this way at this brewery by tne employes is fifty-one quarter barrels a day— nearly 100 dollars worth. Crow hunting among Georgia planters whe suffer from the pests is sometimes carried on in a way thus described by one of the hunters:— Catch one of the birds, tie it to your body and walk through the field with you gun cooked and finger on the trigger. The cries of the bird wiU cause others of its tribe to flock around you, and they can then be easily shot." NATURE AND GOD.—When Kepler reflected or the laws of planetary motion which he had di& covered or demonstrated, he was overoome witt awe and exclaimed Now, 0 God, think I Th3 thoughts after Thee." But certainly thesam. reflection is pertinent in the case of every uni versa truth discovered by, or, correctly speaking revealed to, man. That such a reflection is not always made is only because we are not possessor of Kepler's reverent spirit.—Mechanics and Faith by Charies Talbot Porter. At a meeting of the Fife justices of the p^^ at Colingsburgh, soon after the Forty-five, a Whig gentleman gave the Duke of Cumberland as a toast. A Jacobite gentleman present, David Beatoun, of Kilconquhar, being next asked te give a toast, proposed one Sibbald, a butcher ID ColiDsburgh. This gave great offence to many cl the company, but especially to the Whig, who absolutely refused the toast, saying he would rather do anything than drink the health of a low tradesman. "Sir," said Kilconquhar sternly, I ve drunk your butcher; you'll either drink mine, or consent to be put over the window. Now, John," said a teacher, if your mother should send you for half a dozen eggs, and the price was sevenpence-halfpenny, what would a whole dozen be ?" 44 They would be smashed, sir, before I got home." 44 You dou't understand," said the teacher. 44 How much would you pay for them?" 44Nothing," replied John. "Can some ether boy answer the question?" 44Ha would pay nothing, sir exclaimed a boy at the other end of the room. You are as great a dunce as John," said the teacher. No, I ain't," retorted the boy, for his mother gets everything on tick! TELZGBAPHIO BICNDIBS.—A gentleman tele- graphed from London to his brother in the country to send a hack to meet him at the station but when the gentleman arrived at the station he found a sack waiting for him. A firm in London telegraphed, Send rails ten foot lengths but the message was delivered, 44 Send rails in foot leogths. A person telegraphed to a friend to take two stalls at the Hay market; but the message conveyed directions to secure two stables at the Haymarket." In another telegram the intimation Mother is no worse" was changed to "Mother is no more." Again, You will be glad to hear that your sister has accepted an engagement with your father's approval," was rendered "that your* sister has accepted an engagement with your father's apostle." In another case, a plain business message, thus, Come to me as early as you cao that we may arrange Wednesday," was given a matrimonial turn by being delivered as "that wg may arrange wedding." Outside a well-known and fashionable hotel in Dublin an Irishman called Mickey used to hang about and earn a few coppers by running messages and helping to remove the luggage from the can as they drove up. Mickey was much more cele- brated for his inebriety than his sobriety. One day the celebrated Mr Peabody arrived. Mickey was just able to stand, but, determined not tc lose his opportunity, addressed the great philan- thropist. 41 Long life to you, Mr Paybody (bic) f God bless you, Mr Paybody (hie)! I hope you'll thi k of a hard-working boy, yer honoui (hie)." Mr Peabody saw the state Mickey wat in, and said, I am staying here for a few days, and, if you keep yourself sober during that time, when I leave I will give you five pounds." This was too much for Mickey's nerves he tiaded on the promised fiver, and spent half his days in tlM gutter. The time arrived for Mr Peabody tc depart; and be had just seated himself on a car,, when Mickey ran up and cried, Mr Paybody, yer honour, you promised me five pounds wbea you left!" "I ^id," answered the good man, "and should have kept my word had you been sober; but you have been drunk the whole time I have been here I shall therefore give you noth- ing." The car was on the move when Mickey yelled ) out, 44 They call ye Mr Paybody, do they ? Mr Paybody be blest! By my sowl, they ought to call ye Mr Pay-nobody II And now, ladies and gentlemen, to conclude, I will show you a very curious experiment. I carefully exhaust the air in the right-hand chamber of this vessel, and then you will see these I two suspended weights exactly counterbalance each other, although the one is tw.ce as heavy as the other, thus reversing the ordinary laws of gravitation." But something went wrong and, while the small weight flew upwards, the big one came down with a crash, and an audible titter went round the hall as th< assemblage dispersed. The young lec- turer turned despairingly to a whitt haired sage who had been seated closj to tht table-" Professor, you know the theory it true, for you taught it me, and you have seen me successfully perform that experiment in ycur own laboratory. Then how do you account for this mishap t" My dear hoy," replied the scientific star,"whan you have had my experience, you will know that experiments are uot to be trusted. The best behaved in the laboratory seem to take a pleasure in going wrong before an audience." But I have seen you do that particular one in public at the Royal Institution and other places a dozen times without the eligbest hitch," sai4 the youth. "Yes," admitted the old gentleman, with a curious twinkle in his eye; but then, you see, I invariably took a little precaution against accidents. I used always to tie up the heavy woisht with a little bit of string,"