The Cardiff Times

EXPtRiENGES OF A ¡ DETECTIVE. j 11 By James McGova.n, NO. M.—THE GASFiTTER/S BLACK- MAILER. [ szr the man down as either lunatic or a lover j it toe firs-t «;anc>». Saah nervous excitement and t jerking "nd twisting could come oniy of tusanity »r love, and of the two I was inclined to favour she iuUer. Your I >ver is often more of a madman than a real lunatic. Hi-t caas, he is convinced, is in ire urgent than any that, cc'uld be conceived, 4,rd nothing br.t death «r deliverance can remedy ir-atter. No mild or easy measures will suit h iu, and if once be conceives the idea that the .world mass be split «p in two halves to right his wrODS, you must set about splitting the world on the instant, or ear. his undying hatred. It takea f lowe weeks of asarried life to restore him to reason. I've got into a desperate bad fix, and nothing but. a murder ov a robbery can me out of it," lie said, with that appearance of calmness which means the tooss in sense excitement. I've bQod this tor a long time now, but I can bear it no lor, "So yeu've come here to give yourself zr, and thus prevent the murd.u-I answered, with àifii- • culty repressing a smile. I don't know—I ùCln know what I've come here for and I'm not sure whether I'm likely to bathe murderer or the murdersd," he confusedly j returned, He was a little fellow, very thin-faced, and had a curious habit of jerking his head at the end of every purace he uttered. His hands also were atfactedj for they would not keep still a moment, ai:d 1 had to put some pens and books aud I blotting-pads out of their reach, or they would all nave been destroyed. He gave his name ah William Hughes, and said that he was a onus. touuder and gasfitter by trade but it was diffi- cult. to get him tu settle to give these details. His trouble was uppermost on his mind, and the chief part of thai trouble was that he did not know bow vo put it before me. it's your duty to prevent crime, at any rate," he at last ooserved, ''and there's sure to be atgreat crime committed it something isn's done s47Ga to > prevent it. I've bought a revolver and a, long- biaded knife and a bottle of laudanum, and some tning is .-are to happen one of these niglits.1 "You're surely in lu'.e" I remarked with great apparent gravity, as the dreadful ^phalanx was rolled forth on my ears. •'That's it I am," he said, brightening up as if I had made a wonderful discovery. ''Then I should say the cure for that V5 to get married, I as politeiy suggested. "Ytl, I know that, but that's just my difficulty —I get married. They won't let me, the t hanged rogues nd blood-suckers 1" Wu(-) Are tile.;ia 'tile i-el;iti-ies' "2*o, nn. It's the oiker girl's relatives that are jbjectia^ I wnistled aloud. "The other giri2 Good gracious then there are two V' Yes. The fact is, I did a foolish thing about a year and a-haif ago. I was fitting up some luotres in a. house out of Mmtc-street, when I got acquainted with one of tbe, servants, a smart taoiemaid. He r name is Mai.-y Sparnon, It was j ail in iun, you know, io„- 1 was halt-engaged at the time, but I met her several times, and sparked her about, and took h r to u bail. One night—it was a Sunday night—I was out at the house, and we began larking, and I wrote out a line promis- ing to marry her. It WtS an in iu but the inmate she read it she folded it up and put it in her pocket, saying to the other servants, "You »ra witnesses, lor you Saw him write it." I got frightened then, and never went back, and I never jjgard any more about it till about six weeks ago. V>w in that time l got on to be foreman, and saved some money, and was to have been married soon, but that infernal blood-sucker has spoiled ad tili "You mean this Mary Sparnon ? Her and hac brorlier-ioul the brother's the w rst. lie oame to the shop one day and asked forme. The smell o: him would have knocked you uown, and he could scarcely stand, he was so dnuh:. lje said lie bad come to ask me a very important question—whether I was about to be married 2 I said 'Y,s,' and then he steadied him- self agaiast the wail, and asked why it was that Maiy had never been consulted. I could only t,.ii l aim that Mary had nothing to do with it, and t that I was to marry my real sweetheart, a Miss Fauny Dwyer, a dressmaker, over in New Town. TbdÐ at: tired U). and used some beautiful lan- guage, aud said he would never sdk.w ma to j i D1_ny another »o long as Mary held my written promise to marry her. k-Lor a iia came round a biT" and saia it uvght be ar ranged, and he w, !Uld not go to w. Fanny and ex- pose me if I puid them thirty pounds by way' of \:ùlHpensation. I Hr,,mcuEn SOT GO TO FANNT TF I PAID TriilM THIiiTY POUNDS. 1 was glad to agree, and I paid him tfmty pounus I 6ut of my savingf, and which I had intended to I help t.> furnish my house. I was so gsad to get the matter settled that I !lev'r thought of gettir- :> ?".r off his hand premising to make no more caiis on me, and he pretended that he had mis** the paoer of agreement which lus ^sisv-er he.d, but would send is me in a day or twn, II "Then he came on you for more money :So, not then, but you see I was now in a worse iix, for I couldn't get married through the loss of the thirty pounds, and had to tell Fanny I r,ad lost it through a hole in my pocket. S.e was quite content, and ■ympathised: with me so much that I felt a, if I bad stolen the money or it. A working man can't save money very fast, so it just meamt that I would neea to ivait a waole year longer. I could ha ve stood even that, out in fcwo, months eiuie Daniel tsp-rnon asking other thirty pounds. And you gave it? ■>• «. T I oouldn't, for I hadn't it to give. ouu i offereil him tea to give up the paper, ana lie re- fuo;ed. He wouldn't give up the paper at all, tnd if 1 didn-'c pay over that ten pounds at once he d go and ten yanny all about it. It was that I was afraid of all along-of her hearing about it—i- would look so like I had just been fooling her all, tbo w:s and courting Mary at the same tims. And you paid it I would have paid it, but the villain went on to ted me that a frieud of his—a sreafc brute o £ a Geix-an mason—who works along with him,f was A Gft2AT BRUTE Of A GKB.MAN* rA:;O: WAS EAGER ro MUEPES ME. to murder ine, and always wanting to find ,ui whew I hved. I said if I was to ha murderer 11 [ might as wen keep my money, and I bought the revolver to be ready for him." g But. you seem to ba still alive? "Yes hut how Jong'will it last? After I got i, owiv I tiiought I would manage the ;he wreic.i i t H^inrnv own way, and appeal to Mary h r Jn_a>. e- an :i%Aj ,a that she rather liked me, could easily wheedle her if I got and tuoJg ;rom her brother. A kiss and her a aood with a woman, you know, ieiul.jagoa oris■ righfc wny you can get »nd i- you mortal tL,ing. I'm pretty them to agree «o ». y made sure I'd have that Mi*r* it! H noci-mcuity. ha,:tnt put that beastly tJ,e>.ruta of a and aha never went Strtr.an oq to guard his f lt thafc I could Without W» oy her^a u „a;j ,0 .,g «:4 fore o*m» strong, and I'm i):, Once I mustered up courage to stop them and try to speak to her, but the Ger- man begun to snout at me in broken English and to swear like a trooper, as I understood it, in j German, so I was glad to get out of the way. I could not make out all that he said, but I under- stood him to say cl;at fae knew me well, and that i: I dared to marry 1'auny he would murder me the same n'glit Then it is protectitea you want ? He threat- ened you with bodily violence." "'No, icau protect myself, for though I'm wee 1 m a tenib'e fedovv to hgtit. It's deliverance I want metit. 1-can neither eat, nor sleep, nor work for tninking of it, wfi(-i I can see that Fanny be- gins to look queer at me, as if sha thought I was not q'lite right in t-he head." wc-)zidewal- it,for you do lo,)kia little 'off,' I sm.:iag!y observed, and you mu-t have looked very queer wheu you were laying off that story about the thirty pounds slipping through ar hole JU your pockec. What do you wish to do?—to charge them with conspiring to extort money fiom you ?" Yes, something of that kind. If I could just ) frjghtëu them into thinking that I'm.not frightened of them, I wouldn't care though they got off. Besides, I've no evidt-nc,) against Mary Sparnou or the German, and I've no witnesses to prove that I gavts D niei Sparnon tho money. Perhaps you could work up the case 8owehoow so as to fix them ail neat.y, like fowls ou a sput. I'm sure they deser ve a deal more than they'll get tor the months of torture they've inflicted on me. If it hadn't (wen for Fanny I'd have .swallowed that laudanum long ago, just to be doe witii ic, but t then I remembered that a dead sweetheart is of no use oo anybody, and that she'd maybe marry somebody else, so that pulled me back." W el.i, your be-it pi in would be to send for me the nexi; time the brother tries to extort money from you or arrange with him to meet the whole j three of them to settle the matter, and place me somewhere to overhear it all. I suppose you have quite resolved not to marry. the table maid, this Mary Sparnon ?" "Couldn't think of such a thing-never did. She's a nice girl to flirt with, but then that's not th-H kind oi woman you want t, make a wife of." I I found also that Mary Sparnon had giveu up her place at Minto-street to go and keep house for her brother, who had roeeutly lost his wife. Sparnon inmseif was a mason, but worked rather her brother, who had roeeutly lost his wife. Sparnon inmseif was a mason, but worked rather fiUuliy, tiniugu there was nothing titfui ill his con- I sumption ct whisky. It was therefore difficult for I anyone togesto seethe grirlwithou., the rist of also meeting her brother. Hughes had more than once made the attempt without success, but then | his faculties had become ao demoralized that the J ordiuary cunning of the lover seemed to have left J him. From the fact tlias.Mary tiparnon had not I once made a personal demand upon Hugliuo, it j seemed to me probable that the conspiracy rested j soley with her brother and tiie big German. J These two had threatened much, but done nothing j -wbat was more likely then than that they did j not mean to use their power, but to go on blaeding j the poor -a,-fitter as Joug as he had a penny to I give? From all I could giean, Sparnon was a low ( wretch, and would have bartered his soul for a gill of whisky, wiiiie Mary appeared to be a, bright, ) cheerful lass, fall of fun and innocent frolic. It i struck we, therefore, as not unlikely that I m'ffht be able to nip him up on some other charge, for a j man such as he would not stick to one crime, and | that then the persecution of the gasfitter would j cease. I therefore sa.d some hopeful thing3 t*> Hughes, and dismissed him, merely stipulatistg that I¡e must not thiak ot either murder or suicide, at least uzitil I isad completely failed. He gave the pledge most heartiiy.and then, in the ful- ness of his heart, explained to me w^at ho had hinted at en enter!ug. The robbery tiiat he I, feared would come off was a scheme he had formed for attacking Sparnon some night when he should be more than ordinarily drunk, aud taking from his person the paper which he was using as such a powerful engine of oppression and terror against I Huebes. If you know any very clever thief," he sugges- tively added, "and should happen to mention to him what I've told you, and that thief, in tho course of his ordinary work, should find that he had got hold of that paper, why, you might ^:ay to him that I wouid give ten pounds uov/n for it any time. You see ?" I did see with perfect clearness, but I hastened to assure him that my business Was not to incite anyone to commit a crime, but to do all in my power to prevent nny being: committed. *rI suppose yo'i've f ned fctiat plan already, a ad did not succeed ?'' I added, hitting straignt a.6 the mark. "Well, yes; I did arct some of my shopmates ( SUhini drunk one uigiit and then ripe his pouchas," he frankly answered, flashing a little nevertheless, 1 "but they couldn't nnd thfj paper. ferhaps :X)U could wheedle it from him, or Lind out where it is hidden?" I sat and stared at tha man. If ha had not spoken so innocently, I shouid have kicked fcim out of the place. As it was, I pretended to get i into a great rage, and said— NV )rse and worse Instead of inciting others to ctirne, vcu want, me to do it myself! And you know you've only come to me after failing your- self. 1> a good mind to lock you ? for attemp- ted robcerv on your O\'ll1 confession." "Gtwd God what have I said?"' lie exelkimed in the greatest aiiirm, w th his head jerking away like that of a Chinese mandarin. I thank I'll shoot myself and be done with it." you've j a-t promised not to do tbtet till I fail," I returned, relaxing a little. "Away you go, ind I pull you througii so that$ou get married t > one of tlie girls, youTi promise rae a bit of the brktescalcp, and—ir I wish it—a kj<s of the bride. The probability is I shall not wisTa it, bat i that depends on what the bride is like." Promise ? he would have promised me l/he whole caks to mysei', and went away quite certain that the end of bis troubles was at hand. I thought j it not impossible that they were, but, enviously, my idea w;>s that he might make the best of the foolish slip by taking Mary after all, and getting j the dressmaker to give him up. If she already J thva^lit him badf insane it would not ba difficult I to convince her that he was not tivo best man for a husband. The same evening, Hughes was brought into the < Central very mucfa damaged about the face, and I "xauY wk;;e both br ought in vebt much IX\MA*SJCD." charged with creating a d'istjurbauce. Along with him was a big German^' who was similarly damaged, and ei),-arged with a like offence. They were kept apart with great; ^difficulty, and, in the storm of words which followed, it was dimly indicated that eaet. accused the other of following him and annoying him, and efich volubly declared his intention of having the jolinnr's blood. They were release/i on leaving a deposit, and let out by different doors with half aau hour's interval. onner vetter knock mal! If I only him had in mein own cOaatry!" said the German, and then a great whai'lop of his huge list* tini/ued the sentence as lie disappeared. "It's a good thing I hadna le revolver wi' me," esplained Hughes confidtt niially to me as he wacj let out. I was jnst trying to see Mary when i met the brme on tho stai;* and he began to swear at me, and theu the fight .began." N,!Xt forenoon I was out at CariKigie-street in whveh Sparnon lived, and dropped Lito a etit-y I near the foot of the stair to see if 1; could pick u4) anything against the drunken IDa.C,n. To my f/urprise Sparuoa was not in debt; cir difficulty, though so dissipated and idle, b it -.the woman hastened to explain by paying a very bigli com- pliment to Mary Sparnou. It's her that keeps him cht and tak's care o' his money, and keeps'tho house above his tieid," she said. "My certie he'll miss her when she leaves him, and in a month there winna be a stick in the place, or a shirt on his back. They cam' into a heap o' siller lately, bat it wad have been.) awa' in a week if Mai v hadna taen it oot o' his pouch. when he was druuk and it for him." "Is Mary sDeaking of leaving him, then 1, Oij, no, but onvilt,d,v half, an e'e m their heid can see that that's no' far off. That sweet- heart o' hers is never awa' t'rae her, and there was a grand fpcht ..1.Joot her on the stair hist nicht- twa frer her atance—did ye ever hear the like? So feicht aboot it, and gied ane anither bhjidy noses, till the police cam aud took them baithawa' T j Dear me, she must be very fa3craaiing, i re- j niarkad, liughing so long and heartily that the 1 WOMAN' surprise was EXCITCI^ AikI which one do you think she is to marry ?" I Oh, the German mason, of cuursa.' "jlie—the what?" "The big German -be'$ no bomy, as weel I wat, but they say he's raol gnid-bearted, and a big nafr, lump that she can just tvidst roond her j pinkie." Goodness and do you mean to tell ma he is a sweetheart?" j Of course he is. He lodes next. door to them, [ but hu's hardly a meecit in his ain door, ant' Mary -M is getting her providing—but naebody is to ken t onyf'ing aboot that but me." Oli, of course. And sha'll be married soon, I aupiwse!" NVeel, it's no quite settled, but I think ii'l ccme aff in June." I "Iraplitn. In three months. And I suppose some of thia money that they came into lately ¡ will be used to buy her outfit ?" Na, na Mary has her ain hainingrp, and; the other money belongs to her brother. She dotssna need to be behauden to him for a penny, and only gied up her place and cam to look after him in j pity—for he's been a sair wreck since his wife de'eJ. Ye ken twa heids may lie on ae ced, and ia:,Illb tpll wtiaur the !tick I was about to reply, when the woman gave me a warning look, and looked up smilingly at a customer who was enfcerinsr, and whom she pleasantly greeted as Mary." This gentleman kens youv brother, and was just speaking aboot ye," she hastened to add, a little to my annoyance. Mary turned upon me a of bright, surprised eyes which made my reply a very confuted and in- coherent one. She was really very pretty, and I I did not wonder at the G<»rmau losing bis heart ou her, or at the gasnttergiving her a written promise of carriage. With very irtle persuasion I should bfc -3 written rnch a paper myself, thuagh quite (frtain that my own wife would not appreciate the UIh compliment to her bei.. Mary got her mes- sage, aad was turning to leave the shop when she said to me— Did yon w:*nt to see wo or my brother D*niei?!| Another look like that and I should have been ready to fight the big German myself. A stern recollection of duty recalled me, and made me cease to en vy Henry VIIL of his capital plan of div iree. I want to speak with you for a moment," I replied, following her out of tba shop. "Do you know a fellow named William Huhes" I used to know him," she very frankly replied, with a look which again made me envy Henry VIII. He was a lad of mine—not a right sweat- heart, you know, but-ub- a nice enough fellow." Didn't he promise to marry you ?" "-No, nothing of the kind. I didn't go with him long enough for thar, Besida3, he bad a j sweetheart of his own," j "Then why are you forcing money out of j h*, in? "Forcing money out of him? me? I don't know what you mean, sir," and she looked both indignant and tearful. I have no seen him for ever so long." That may be, but did he not sign a paper promising to marry you ? "Oh, yes—I forgot about that. But it was only for a lark he never mecmt it to be real." "If you think so why have you given that paper to your brother as a means of forcing money out of Wiiiiam Hughes?" I did not; I never gave him the paper, and I conld not, for I burned it long ago." "And did you not incite a German named Hans Schaltre to assault Hughes, or murderously attack him, or threaten to take his life?" I never did, but I've heard my brother trying to make Hans jealous by telling him about the gastittar—just in tun, you know. Hans does not understand it all, for be doesn't know much ISegiish, and the Scotch bothers him more, but; it is '\lery funny to see him fire up, and roll his eyes, and get excited when we tell him that the gasfitter is coming to see me." "What? are you in the conapiracy too?" I re- i proachfuliy exclaimed. > "Tut,ye, it's fine fun.' j But aren't you to marry the German ? f BUT abint toctto makey the germamV* j I don't know whether I will or not," she said with a pretty pont and a deep blush, which made me think Henry VIII. a perfect saint. "At any rate," she added, I like to make him jealous, for then bo's far fonder of me after." "Oh, you perverse little cutty I cried, "I've a good mind tc but I chauged my mind, re- membering the prejudices of some persons, and came back to stern duty. • Didn't your brother get soma money lately ?" "Yes, it was left him by somebody, and I wish thsy had kept it, for it just set him on the drink, and he has hardly ever been right since." j "That money was forced out of Hughes by threats about that written promise," I sternly re- turn ad. Is your brother at b..me Perhaps he may be able to explain matters." The brother was hot at home, and, when the girl fairly realised that I was in earnest, she burst into tears, and implored me to have mercy on her brother, who at times was scarcely responsible for i his actions. I got the name of the public-house he frequented, but did not find him there, and indeed I afterwards learned that he had made a change | that day and gone to work. In the afternoon the gasfitter appeared before me with elation in his step, and the brightest happinesa streauiinc from r his eyes. "Look! just look!" he cried, and then he quickly brought out a Lunch cf bank-notes and counted over thirty before my eyes. "I've got | the money back, and it's all explained. It was only a joke alter nil,ttid Sparnon was only haying some fun. Mary came to the shop and explained it all, and spoke so nice that I kissed her and asked her to be bridesmaid at my wedd'ng—and she is to do it! I was so glad that I thought I could have eaten her, and of course I signed a paper binding myseif to take no action against her paper binding myself to take no action against her brother." "You did 5" I snappishly exclaimed, trying to j i put on a ferocious look. After me spendiug so much time and pains on the case, and accumnla- ting evidence enough to secure a conviction, you must step in and spoil it ail. Weil, there is not much encouragement for a hard-working detective after all. I could have forgiven you, too," I added, in a more confidential tone, "if you bad only chosen Mary instead of the dressmaker, for then you see she would have been the bride, and then—of course you remembered what the agree- ment was?" then—of course you remembered what the agree- ment was?" "C, well, you can have it yet when I get j married," he said very humbly, and not seeing the twinkle in my eye. Don't want it now," I retnrned, in the same ) discontent tone. I dislike dressmakers exceed- ingly, but pretty tablemaids oh and I smacked my lips like a girl eating chocolate creams. "You I have muddled the whole business, and—and—I've a good mind to arrest you for that attempted I robbery which you confessed the last time you were here." ) I brought out a pair of handcuff?, as an excuse for biding the grin which would be out, but I sup- pose he had caught a glimpse of the expression in time, for his look of solemnity vanished, and he took my hnnd and wrung it warmly till tbe tears stood thick in hi3 eyes. In the exuberance of his relief he wished to press upon me the restored money, but I reminded him tbat it ne uia he would not be married for a year to corns. So he went away happy as a king., leaving me think- ing of Mary- 10 of her cherry lips or pretty eyes, but of her loving woman's heart, which had so promptly suggested thd giving up of her own slowly-won, hard-earned money to save her dissi- pated brother from the clutches of the law.

A Boston paper recently published n comilotnni- cation on "The Mcdel Wife," and 2,000 IW/ston husbands swore next morning that they Virata it. —Albany Argus. A Dos iSTORT.— Here is a dog story, tot;taken cum grano salisi The master of a clever -il,,)g was f nd of hot toils for breakiast. He placed A. penny each day in his dox's mouth and said ito him, -4 Baker." The dog would then start %),,I for the baker's. Arrived there, he placed hi3yffeet on tbe counter ?&id presented a pt uny to the jir^prietor of the shop, who, taking tho penny, place jl a bag con- taining a penny roll in the. dog's mou^'A. This the dog used safely to transport to his tc.Aster for his breakfast. One day the dog had as usual brought his pennv to the baker's counter, aatf/duly deposited it. The m2in, in order to see wi*af'i the dog would do, took a halfpenny roll, and, dispositing it in a bag, placed the latter, Ugtmi, inittie dog's mouth. The dog put down the bag-on th)3,Counter, and went out and fetched a policeman. Mast A Slip B;erpvEM -'rais CUP AND THE Lip.—This saying was t-uppdi/'ed to take its origin from one of Penelope's woofers being shot as he was going to driuk. But it arofiei, ae Ainsworth has it, tbus;-A king of Thrdee had planted a vine- yard, when one of Vs »la»/es, whom he bad much oppressed in that very work. prophesied that he, the kintr, should nener ttaste the wine produced by it. The king djifOreffltrded his prophecy; and when at an enterafmnrnt he held the cup full of bia own wine, he «ec,t for this slave, and asked him insultingly, vrJxg/t be thought of his prophecy now? The shne ig r,ly answered, "There's many a slip between "IN cup and the lip." Scarcely bad I he spoken when news was brought that a large bpar was laying ? his vineyard waste. The king arose in a fury, at tacked the boar, and was killed, without ever tasti jpg his wine.

BETWEEN DARK AND DAWN. By S. REID- ALF-PAST ten, and as rongh a night as ever visited tho Firth of Forth," and James Lyon, M.D., returned the heavy gold chronometers to his fob, rubbed his hands together, and glanced complacently round the cosy room. A kettle spurted vigorously on the coal fire, and the old case-bottle, the glasses, and tobacco jar on the little table before the fireplace sparkled back its hospitable bkze. But notwithstanding the luxurious surroundings amid which we have seen fit to introduce the worthy Doctor, let us hasten to say his life was by no means that of a sybarite. He was, on the contrary, a member of that moot honourable, most herd-worked and scantily rewarded of all professions, a physician in a small country town, with a wide and scattered practice. The day, towards the close of which our story opens, bad been to him as one of many in a long span of over forty years of useful labour. From early morning his white pony and modest green dog-cart might have been seen splashing cheerily along the breezy highway whose walls skirted the Firth, or jolting more warily down the billy inland road-a long alternation of quagmire and boulders -leading to some lonely farm-house or obscure cottage, where his coming was eagerly awaited. For most of such visits the Doctor's reward would be the gratitude of his patient and the con- sciousness of having done his duty or, if other reward should come, it would be in the form, per- chance, of a modest basket of eggs, or, not to be despised, a fat goose about Christmas time. But often these failed, for the people of Fife were at that time a poor and sometimes, I regret to say, a greedy people and they had so long been accus tomed to call in the worthy Doctoi's services without thought of payment on either side that they had come to regard them in the light of an agreeable provision of Providence for their well- being—something to be grateful for, but in a matter- of-course sort of way. It was only a few of the well-to-do farmers, and here and there a Laird, or the occasional distinguished guest at a big house," whose ailments contributed to supply the Doctor's modest wants, keep a roof over his head, and preserve tho necessary connection between his sturdy, weather-beaten body and his kindiy, honest soul. Once, indeed, some years previously, a great event had gladdened hit; uneveutful life. He had been presented with a testimonial. How the matter first took shape I know not; but somehow it had struck certain of the wealthier members of the little community and of the neighbouring smali gentry that it would be a proper and a graceful thing to recognise in some tangible form the Doctor's long services and modest merits. A subscription had been set afoot and liberally responded to, and the result had been literally the proudest moment of the doctor's life," when, after a dinnef in the hotel parlour, much speechmaking, which made the guest of the evening exceedingly uncomfortable, and an abundance of band-shaking, he bad been presented with the handsome old chronometer at which we find him glancing, as he pronounced tbe words above recorded. Half-past ten," repeated the Doctor, Its be slowly filled the long churchwarden," and spread his feet to the comfortable bl-izs. Just time for a modest pipe, a glance into an old friend, and then—to bed. The widow M'Luskie's bairn will want his bandages changed first thing in the morning (the young nickum to get into a mill-whee.1 I), and that's a good three miles, and the worst road on the hill-side." It had been a long and fatiguing day- as, indeed, most of the cheery little man's days were but this had been an unusually wet and stormy one even for his experience. All day long the rain bad fallen in blinding showers, i raking across the gurley waters of the Firth, accompanied by a gale which, in spite of the rain, had steadily gathered in fury. The prin- | cipal street of the little town iu which the Doctor's houses was situated had been deserted long before bpi had finished his frugal but hearty supper and' now, as he mixed his evening glarss of grog and. watched with lazy enjoyment the smoke wrea'/hs curling from his pipe, the windows rattled a& gust after gu-,t shook the walls, and seemed tc/strive with desperate strength to tear the tigiiifty-ceinented red tiles from the many- ga.htd rhof. p The Doctor had takp-n a well-thnmbed volume from .the quaint three-cornored bookcase, aud was deepiva.the pages of his favourite poet I I'dare not plead, 'Remember me,' .iSut-if I ask you, do not quite forget; j Jt is not that I wish to set Within you life's pure harmony One single note of v-iin regret. > I only plead how hard it seems To wake again to life's unbroken grey— To live once more the weary day; Nor from the sumtner of my dreams To etrive to bear one flower away—" :when high above the bustle of the tempest came a thundering rat-tat-tat" at the door. The Doctor started and hud his book face- j downward on the table, while a look of half- comical distress came over his face. A knock on such a night It's somebody wanting me, as I'm a sinner. Maybe it'll be Mrs Leverett again -that woman's enough in a burgh—or Tom Russel about that dwining bairn of his., They'll not got me out again to-night if they bammer the door down." On these occasions the poor Doctor's bark was worse than his bite- indeed he had'nt any bite, his nature being more akin to that of the lamb than of the noble animal of whom his name bore suggestion. Another furious rat-tat," and the little man rose with a sigh and proceeded downstairs to investigate for b;mself the cause of the disturb- ance. A third vigorous attack on the knocker assailed his ears, as w th hasty fingers he un- locked the front door and opened it as far as the chain would allow. A furious blast of wind and rain entered at the aperture so made. Who's there ?" said the Doctor. Someone ontside seemed to make answer, the speaker being apparently at the same time earnestly engaged in objurgating some four- footed companion, the crunching of whoso hoofs could be heard on the shingle, confusedly blended with the noise of the storm, Who are ye ?" again cried the Doctor, speak- ing as londly as lie could against the narrow stream of wind and rain. Come in, then," he added impatiently, as he flung the door more widely open, and tried to peer into the pitchy black ness outside. It's the pownie," said a voice, the owner of which was evidently blown with his exertions, whaur'il I pit him? "Take him round to the back," answered the Doctor; there's a shed there. And quick in ) with you, whoever ye are." And the little man I sheltered himself behind the half-open door, and fiwaited the return of the mysterious visitor, whose approaching footsteps were I shortly heard. When the Doctor again opened I the door he admitted a dripping mass of oil- skin and corduroy, surrounded by shock head of I reddish hair, plastered flat to a faco down which the raiu coursed in rivulets. I Well, who are you ?" again asked the Dootor. Grange, sir," auswered the lad, who was meanwhile rscovering his breath, while a pool of water slowly formed about his fees upon the tidy cloth of the Doctor's hall, Do you mean Mr Moncton of North Grange," said the Doctor, with a new expression of interest in bis face. Is he ill?" "Aye,' said the lad "ha bad a fit, or some- tbing, an hour or two eime, and they sent for you at ance." An hour or twa' to come two miles," said the Doctor, who had already began to pull on a pair of heavy-soled top-boots, which lay ready under the hall table. "Have you taken all this time on •;bo road ?'' It was the pownie, sir," exclaimed tho mes- senger apologetically. Dei'l tak' the brute, I'd a been better on ma feet, for he's that fat and hzy wi' naething to do and what wi' the win' takiu* my hat, an' him shicinl wi' the saut water in's lugs, an' his heid afcween's leg^s maist o' the time, an me sawin' at's mouth, an' Well, well," infcerrupted the Doctor; as you say, you'd ha ve made better speed on your own legs. What kind of a fit was it ?" •' A dinna ken, sir. He iiusna been weel a day, and jist after dennsr the housekeeper heard the soun' o' a fa' in's room, an' found him wi's heid cuttit an' speakin' deleerious I ke. So they pat him in's bed, an' sent me aff for you," ana the messenger glanced at his dripping nether garments with an expression which might have been taken to imply that he considered the whole thing a conspiracy deliberately organified with a view to his personal discomfort. But now Dr. Lyon showed himself a man of action. In a few minutes bo had enveloped himself in the serviceable outer-garments in which he was wont to face the elements. Close buttoned to the chin, the pockets of his long over- coat bulging with mysterious cases and packages', heavily booted, and oii^kin cap secured with ■strings behind his ears, he looked not unlike the captain of a lifeboat crew on active duty. Returning for a moment to his CIIZY room, and suppressing a sigh at the vision of comfort spread there so invitingly before hire, he hur- riedly extinguished the lamp, raked the tire together, and, taking one hasty gulp from the g tumbler of grog, carried the remainder downstairs to the bedraggled Mercury in the hall. u Y o're no gU.Ull to walk, Doctor?" asked the mollified lad. "Yø c-an have the pownie if ye like," be added, for I've got to tak' him back.' II.NL- o, no, my man," said the Doctor, Ill e'en take warning by you, and ,trust my legs. Old Blossom's done her day's work already, and I'd not t9.ke her out again. I'm good for two miles, yet," ho added, as the door shut behind them, and they found themselves face to face with the many- voiced darkness of the night. For a short distance thay were somewhat sheltered by the close cropped hedges, and scattered houses of the littln street. The lad wisely led the pony. which latter, h owover, now that he guessed himself on his homeward way, proved much more amenable to reason than he had oeen on the outgoing journey. By-and bye they reached the open rowl which skirted the Firth, and there their fortitude and powers of endurance were tried to the uttermost. The tide was at its height, the spray constantly breaking in blinding sheets over the low wall which separated the highway from the shore. In many places they were ankle-deep in water, for the rude port holes cut in the masonry were insufficient to clear the road from the deluge of rain and of iimo with winch it wasinundatud; and again and again, as the gusts came tearing landwards from the grey void of the Firth, the wayfarers staggered aside, lean- ing against the blast as against some solid obstacle. After about a mile of this, the road turned inland, with trees on either side. Although tbere was little sense of shelter in the straining and creating branches, which scattered their large drops upou tho riiry road, a certain relief from the incessant btttliiig was sensibly felt by each member of the trio, Aye, lad I sa.d the Doctor, breaking silence for tho nrst time, 'this i8 a „iKht that'll be remembered. We that do our business with tiie ^n-'er our feet have much to be thankful for. It must be awful out at sea." Lut his companion, not being of an imaginative turn, aud being at the tune deeply impressed with the conviction that the solid earth was by no means witnout its own troubles on such a night, made no reply, and the doctor guve up all further attempts at conversation. Indeed, ever sines his repose had been so abruptly broken in upon, his mmd nad been bu--y with thoughts of the patient repose had been so abruptly broken in upon, his mind had been bu--y with thoughts of the patient to whose bedside ha had been summoned. He had known" The Laird, as Mr Moncton was called, nearly all his hfo anyhow, ever since he had settled in the little i<Ve.,hire town, which, as a lad, he had selected aa the scene of his life's i labours. It^hard Moncton had succeeded to the property of North Grange on the death of his fath.r-a good-natured, brandy-drmking, selfish, yet open- inmded sort of mau-alui iuvJ hved' t-^ei.a ever since. Young Moncton, as Le was then called, was of a Bomewha.. different character from that of his worthy siro. Hard-headed, economically disposed, thnfr.y and reserved word and deed, he had set himself to repair, as far a3 possible, the shrinkage in the fannly revenues and the holes in the farauy estate which had occurred during the lifetime of his care-ess, improvident, be fuddled father. He was greatly respected, considerably father. He was greatly respected, considerably I feared, little loved-a. man juHfc and upright in his dealings with men, a strict landlord, and an im- placable creditor Once a year .Dr. Lyon dined at his well-spread table on the exchange of state hospitality with the neighbouring landowners and country gentlemen but very often between-times the Doctor would bare the homely fare of tiie ¡ Laird s week-day dinner hour, either tete-a-tSte with his host, or m coInpany with one or two chance business acquaintances Moncton had married in i:c„ ^K^FFPR D1?9 "°FS ^S'WHICH, BUTEFORD?HE spendthrift predilections of 'hfs ao^8tor wo^ have been his by inheritance. Whether the laay derived an equal amnrm<- r this fact is doubtful. Di' °c s^^tionfrom „ ii,- i„i, „ j f Jjjon remembered her as a thin, tall, sad-faced women, who spoke m a low. even tone of Voice, which expressed not hi, beyond tho com»non-plai.e v,ord's sha •uttered, lt was sa.d she had a love disappoint- ment m her early years, and thafc although her hand had been g^ven at her father's desi^ to the owner of North Grange, there was bui j;^0 heart lett to go with it. °5 a Doctor remembered that the r-ire. Kio-na' tiou she had ever shown had Kaon amma- the bifth of their only child m-o liMV°n a*t€r seemed centred. undemonstrative nature J1'in of r lni ?■ baby« the contrary, tiie child lived and th 10^1° growing up to be a hue young man> Ul0 !i hfc > empty house, and the joy of tile £ ne! okj^ life. On the rare occasions for the holidays, from the "S Bel on'' ,°-n,e he had beeu sent, he seemed to hrin<r Vv>o ° ritl, him. N..U.1.* room of the Grange wltll lm > ho ,anoped off () V¡" S(,nle youn acquaintance room of the Grange wltll lm > ready laugh, cut a oioud was brooding over the owner f^d and self-contented owner, The lad hnd been absent tha „ two years. Ho was in Edinhnrfi. if P?1 •<! pursuing his studiesatthat cplebr^i-pdro j8 U,« college ?K°'' S ssas, isrs^ £ -ru.i »bia to r,i.h«»i'ir&KLr us parent for selhsh neglect ,<•, this point. Beside" he had lofty '^eas W the boy. lie would Ea great man yet, a iJgnt anj,)nfc t!ie j { jj t the capital-aye, who knew? he might represent 'j* tenantry in Parliament and write M.P. after his name. In the meantime he must marry nothing like marriage for settling a biph- sp-nted lad, and maW him Kquare [|ls elb f for work in the worid, ami the person he must marry was all ready waiting for him. Of his father's views on the snbiect the vounr-1>„ fully aware also fhat. by^ the old property of the Monctons would be re stored to the representatives of itsoriginal owner • aud if, on the o-t asjons on which the laird had touched on this subject, the matter bad bet-n somewhat l-ghfcly put aside by the lad as prema- ture, it had never for a moment occurred to the father that his word upon this, as upon all other matt6rs, should not be law. When the son, after an absence of some month- during which only reports of his hard work and excellent spirits ^had leached his father, wrote to say he had married to please himself a lovely but pertionless girl, imploring his father's forgiveness and assuring him, nalt jestingly, that he had oulv to present his bnda to be certian of the same then there were stormy t-inies at North Grauge The Laird wrote to lus son a etern, uncomoro- mising letter, cursing him for having wiecked his own life and his fathers hopes, consigning lum to beggary and starvation, *ad command- ing him never to show his face within his gates ngain. He further added that as the estate was not entailed, it should be sold at his death, and the money left Is to the dogs, or the devil," as the angry writer put itt but not one farthing should his undutiiul son touch. He was of age, had made his bed, and must lie on it. III spite I,t thiii terrible letter the young man came down to the Grange post-haste. But he did not know his father. What happened no one knew. There wore high voices in the dining-room then the door was flung open, and the old butler and house- keeper scurried like. frightened rabbits into the eervants' quarters, as the laird, mad with rage, drove big son before him down tho great staircase, and the heavy IlaJl I door closed behind him with a clang. Since then ali mention of his son's name had been sternly forbidden by the owner of the Grange. Nothing further was known than that twice afterwards the family lawyer, was seen to call-bls sleek-coated cob nibbling long at the clover on the lawn—and that both times be left looking sad and holding his head down, as one who bad failed in some purpose near his heart. This was years ago, and now the strong man who had never known a day's illness in his life was stricken down in his strength, and the kindly Doctor's heart failed him as be wondered whether, even now, it might not be too late to risk once more the ungrateful role of peacemaker between II sire and son. By the time these thoughts bad passed through the Doctor's brain—the consecutive train of his ruminations being. seriously interrupted by the frequent difficulties of the way—the little party had passed the lodge gates, groped their way up the long carriage drive, and arrived in front of the old house of North Grange. Only a dim lie tit in a I window, which the Doctor knew to be that of tha laird's bedroom, served to tell them that the mass of blackness against the only less opaque hbdr, ness of the driving 8ky was a human habitation. Wtth a muttered "Guid nichr, hir," the lad siunk away with the discontented pownie and disappeared in the surrounding darkness, and the Doctor, whb knew his way well, after mount- ing the broad steps loading to the front door, felt for and gently moved the twisted iron bell-pull. A candle glimmered towards him through the hail, and the dopr was opened by a grey-haired n)an,(rvn n Liu Doctor bless the Lord it's you," ha ex- claimed, sheltering the flickering caudle with a shaking haud. Wa wore real sorry to bring ye ovvre 10 sic a storm, but the maister's been vcrra bad." "You were quite right, Saunders," said the Doctor, as he proceeded to divest himself of his heavy outer garments and hi? mud-stained boots, replacing the latter by a piir of list slippers ex- tracted from one of ins numerous pockets. How is he now ?" he askj.d, as the butlor preceded him along the dimly-lighted hall, He's been quiet for the last half hour," was the answer, "and 1\1 r Morris thinks he's asleep." "That's the bast thing he could do," said the Doctor, who had by this time arrived at the door of the Laird's bairoom, which he quietly entered. A fire of logs was glowing brightly between the andirons of the big, old-fashioned fireplace, and with two candles burning iu silver candlesticks on the drtjssing-table over against the mnsstve lour'post" bedstead, shed a ruddy the mnsstve lour'post" bedstead, shed a ruddy and comfortable glow through the room. A faint smoke seemed to linger in the obscurer corners, and creep gently about the low oaken ceiling. As the Doctor entered, a grave, elderly woman rose from a chair beside the bed, and advanced to meet hi in. Giod evening, Mrs Morris," he said, "your husband tells me Mr Moncton has been asleep for some time. How did his illness come on ?" The Doctor spoke in a whisper, for they were standing by the bed on which lay the old man, apparently aieeping quietly. A towel, slightly stained with blood, was tied ronnd his forehead | concealing the flipper part of his face; the eyes, j deadly vvriukloa at the corners, were closed, and tho firm-shut mouth with its somewhat thin Hps, wore an expression of complete repose. With the I exception of a slight pallor visible under the wetl- tanned skin, tho clean-cut, closely-shaven face seemed little changed froui what tiie Doctor had I long remembered it. | "It .was after dinner, sir," the housekeeper J said. H«o had been dull, and unlike himsL'lf, J most of the day, pacing up aud down the libr'ary w J most of the day, pacing up aud down the libr'ary instead of going out, as he mostly does and J after his four o'clock dinner, which ho barely | touched—just playin' wi' his fork and spoon as j if he nasiia' thiokhi' o' them—he asked me to liclit a fire in his bedroom, as ho thought he I micht go to his bed soon, raid as he michtna' sleep I he di,int, want to lie listenin' to the storm in tha dark. It was unlike tho Laird to speak like that, so I asked him, Was lie no' weel ?' and he said, Oh, aye i'—impatient like-' only tire'i.' Atter a while he cam' up to his room. I'd had a bother wi' the fire, owin' to the wind, and the iuni bein' cauld, and the room was fu' o' smoke, but he didna' seem to mind it. Wo heard ) him pacin' up an' doon for a long time, and then, I jint before nine o'clock, there was the soun' o' a heavy t'a', as if he'd knonkit something doun. At first I wasna' for comin' up, but Saunders said jist. to mrk'an excuse to be lookin' after the five s-) I knoekit at the door, and gettin' no II answer, I made hold to come in and there he was, Iyil), ou the hearth rug wi' the blood runnin' frae a cut 11 heid. It wasna' muekie o' a cut —jist a bit ficrape against the andiron ami I daresay the bleedin' did him good. We got his necktie loosed, and Saunders and the orraman undressed him and pat him in's bad, and I cam' up and dressed his heid. He was delirious like— ciyiu' out about his son, puir Cosma that's awa' stormin' at him 'whiles, and whiles greetin' and ,sE,,yizl, he was a miserable old man,and flitigiu, the bed-clothes aboot till Saunders couid scarcely haud him. I ventured to glo him a soothing I draught—ane o' your ain, Doctor, Miat ye gaed ns for the niistres?, and after a while he fell asleep." And here the good old lady paused, having at the same time exhausted her story and her breath, j You did the best thing possible," said the Doctor; "and now just you go and He down for a little'without undressing, and I'll sit beside him till lie w:<kenE." When the housekeeper had left the room, Dr Lyon took the vacant chair by the bedside and fell into a reverie. It was close on a quarter of a century since he had sat in that same chair, by thafc same bedside, waiting for the quiet passing I away of the meek spirit of her who had been so much and so littia to tha man wnose steady breathing ho now beard behind the same I crimson curtains. And how had time dealt with him, und with the owner of the Grange, iu that long interval! What had becom; of the lad whose first coining had been a I' sourco of so much joy to the inmates of the solemn old house ? to whom rdl his later vidits- I «ove al.'s that last one of ail—had been as the return of summer. Had h, he asked himself, done his duty by the lad whose first wail ba had heard, and by the father who had been, in his own reserved way, his frieud, in so readily obeying the latter'* stein refusal to listen to any pleading on tlie boy's behalf, even despite of the threat of being forbidden bis door if tbe subject were again touched upon ? Such thoughts as these on the boy's behalf, even despite of the threat of being forbidden bis door if the subject were again touched upon ? Such thoughts as thee I interwove themselves within the honest Doctoi a bruin, like the vague smoke-wreaths on the ceiling over his head, and mingled with the crackling of I the dying logs, and the souud of the storm which shook the heavy w indows, and whistled round the twisted chimneys of the Grange. No lie had not done his duty in this matter, and he vowed within Ivmsolf that as soon as the Laird was sufficiently recovered to listen to him, ,3, he wouid again bring the subject before him, backed by all the solemn arguments and powers of entreaty at his command, be the consequences what they might. i>r Lyon Is that you ?" The doctor woke from his reverie with a start, and turned towards his patient. Tho laird was sitting up in bed caludv regarding him. He had taken the baudapto from his head, and was fingering it, a puzzled ex- pression in his wide open eyes. Have I beeu ill, then, thafc they sent for you on such a night, for I can hear tho storm is as bad as evf-r ? What time is it, and what day is this ?' lie as lied altogether. Yes, Mr Moncton," replied the doctor you had a fali, I believe, and cut you bead slightly—nothing to speak of, but as you were unconscious and seemed feverish your housekeeper sent for me. It is close on midnight now," he added, with a glance at his watch, "and this is the. 24'Ji of August." You poor couotry doctors would require to ba made of iron, and go by steam like ulios,,3 new- hugled locomotives we hear so much of," said the Laird, with one of bis rare smiles. "I remember ri(Aw," he went on, and tiis expression suddenly grew serious I have felt a little upset all day, and perhaps t trifle light-beaded, or I wouldn't have' been fueli a fool as to crack my own .scones but nothing to trouble you about. However, since you are here you may as well make yourself quite comfortabI-5, for I'll be all right in the morning." The Laird spoke ca'roly, but his voice, the tones of which ha strove to render careless, III spite of himself, and the Doctor felt that Lie would have helped him more with regard to the precise nature of his illness had he caiod to do so. Bui his pulse, if higher than was consistent with perfect health, showed little signs of feverishness, and he seemed disposed to secfcla hi Disci f ogoiin to sleep as soon as c;rci-.rnst:tices would admit of bis doing so. Indeed, as lie finished speaking he lay back ou his pillow with a slightlv impatient sigh. The L)oi:.Lr was puzzled. A man of the Laird's temperament does not lin(iulge in fainting fits without some sufficient cause. Besides, it was evident he hail %undergoue a severe mental strain, tracf's of which were indicated by ths heightened pulse, and the abnormally expanded pupils of the usually cold grey eyes and now that he had aa opportunity to regard it more nearly, the Doctor fancied that the face before him had suddenly grown years older than when he last beheld ir. But there was nothing more to be done in the meantime, and the, .I)OCtor again settled himself resignedly in the big arm- chait by the bedside, while his thoughts once more reversed to the old subject. To-night, for the first titne, it had struck him that his friend of North Grange was an old man. It something was to be done to redress the wrong which had so long existed, delay was dangerous. These j men who went through life with constitutions which apparently rendered them proof against the thousand and one ailments which found an easy lodgment in their weaker brethren were the very men who often broke down most unex- pectedly and in spite o £ the Laird's words and tho apparent absence of excuse for immediate anxiety, tho Doctor's mind was by no means ,ks, assured with regard to his patient's real condition. In the meantime, however, he could only take the Laird's advice, and make himself as comfortable as possible for the night. "Doctor again came the voice from the bed. Yes." "Are you a believer iu the snpernrstural?" The Doctor was a little taken aback. He had thought his patient asleep, and this quesfiou of a nature entirely foreign to the laird's matter-of-fact character somewhat disconcerted him. H There are more things in heaven aud earth," he began cautiously, when the Laird interrupted him supporting himself upright ou one elbow and speaking in an eager and rapid manner, his keen wide open eyes meanwhile casting ti doubt upon the genuineness of big lately professed desire for sleep. "Bab," he said, why should I ask you such a question ? Listen, Doctor. I have not been frank with you with respect to the nature of my illness. I was afraid you would think me a fool, or mad, or drunk at the very least. And you probably will think so when I have told all. But I must get this thing off my mind, for I'm as far from sleeping as you were near it a minute ago, The Doctor would have interrupted him with soothing words, but there was something in the old man's face and in the deep undercurrent of suppressed emotion in his rapid tones which held him silent. "As I have told you," the Laird resumed, I have been restless aud disturbed all day, but the cause of iliv distress was the constantly recurring thoughts of my sou Cosmo. I thought I had forgotten him, and that I bad erased his name from my memory aa completely aa I had excluded the sound of it from my ears; but to-day. tha old lovo and. grief seemd tugging at my heart-strings—his faco floated before mo, sometimes young and gay, sometimes haggard and wau and old, aud the sound of his voice rang in my ears and tuned itself to every blast of the wind. I have been a hard man, doctor, but I had thought a just one until to-day. I loved th:,t boy, and set my soul upon his well- being, living sparely that be might want for nothing; scraping gold and land together as a foundation for his future plotting and planning- for him as I never plotted and planned for myself; rejoicing iu him as the man who should set tho old Moncton name higher in the eyes of the world tliau it had ever stood before. And all his life bis marriage with Thornicroft's only bairn had been the key-stone of my castle in the air—-she would havo money, and she would bring back to us the last acre of the lands we had lost—aud I watched the lassie grow and blossom into a woman with as keen an anxiety as I watched my own child. And all went, well, and would have been well, buc for his triad act. The lassie lilced him, and her father was keen on the match, and if the lad never took up the thing so kindly as I would have liked, I never had a fear but that seuse would come to him with age, and that my often expressed desires would havp their weight with him. But lie married to pi-ease himself, and my castle feA abou-t my ears. I cufsOti him, and drove iiim out, as you know, and for a-while I hated lam WltU a hate that wa" that my love. But he never came back, or made a sign. Not R15? a bate thafc was stronger .than my love. But he never came back, or made a sigu. Not tnat I would have relented—no, I would have cursed him again. But he should not have set his pride against mine—it-was for him t» make the first advance, at any rate. Unknown to anyone I had .him watched, an 1 from time to time-got news of him. For a while ha did well enough. He took to tutoring, and to writing for a man that prints books. Then I hoard that a baby was born-a boy and then lie got poorer and poorer, and chauged from one lodging to another, till lie was living in two roocna high up in one of those big Ediuburgh nouses behind the Castle rock. But he never wrote, and I waited and waited till hia pride should break down. To-day I thought of all this, am my heart misgave me that I had gone too far. Blood is blood, after all, and a son is bone and marrow of his father, bo he what he will." _Ihe old man paused for a moment, and the Doctor induced him to swallow a few drops of some cordial mixture he had meantime pre- ?res-ently tbe iaird resumed. whisnPra»hT'" he sa!d' sPeak:<ng almost in a wmsper I came up here after dinner. I was cold, aud had asked that a fire might be lit. As I stood in front of it, thinking of nothing—or rather of nothing but tho one thought that had haunted me all day there-over yonder, in the corner be. side the oak boskcase—I saw, as plainly as I saw anything in my life, the inside of a strange room with a sloping roof and a small window, on the sili of which a candle was burning. "I was about to take a. step forward to see what the thing meant, when the door of the room—I mean of that room—opened, and a mnn came in. He walked with the reeling stsp of one overcome with drink or fatigue, and staggered to the side of a low bedstead, which I now noticed for the first time. For a moment he lay with his thin, white fingers clasped over his head, and tbeu he raised bis face. Oh, God Lyon—it was my boy's face, pinched and haggered almost beyond knowing, buc his. He turned it towards ma, and his eyes seemed to meet mine ho stretched his hands out, so—" and the Laird made a gesture of passionate appeal — and then lie fell back upon the bed. Then everything went round with me, and I suppose I must have fainted." The Laird ceased, and lay back on his pillow breathing heavily. The Doctor was more puzzled than ever. Had this been a case to be dealt with under ordinary conditions his path would have been clear enough, and h should at once have proceeded by a few commonsense words to clear away the apparent mystery sur- rounding his patient's story. A itian usually robust-a long day spent in a way strange to him—disturbed framo of mind, aided by the I eternal unrest of the elcments-a meal hastily eaten, ill gloom and solitude- uneasy conscieuc 8ljht indigestion de- ceptive effect of smoke-wreaths in the obscure I corner of a dark room-all this would have come gliblv enough had the case been different. But the Doctor feared in the present instance to bring forwaid any such matter-of-fact explanation of I the Laird's story. It was a cause for thankful- ness that any circumstances, imaginary or other- wise, should have brought the old man into such a fmme of mind as would render it easy for the Doctor, with a little persuasion, to induce him to repair the wrong he bad doue his son. Meantime there seemed no pressing cause for anxiety, and in the morning the matter could be talked over quietly. At present the patient had best try to compose bis mind to and tha Doctor was about to rise from tho chair in which he had all this time beon patiently seated, whn. he was startled by the sudden grasp of the Laird's hand (In hiawrisc You have answered nothing, Doctor," he Haid. in a voice which sounded strangely hollow. I know you think me still delirious, or that I have been druuk, or dreaming." He raised himself half nnright on his disengaged hand. "But if I was "Jh -)u_ ..i.uhni- o:t.'I!n T .&) mad or ure»!imi}4 ui.o. uu»v JL.OOIC, man !—look yonder he almost screamed, while hi3 hold upon the Doctor's wrist: increased to a his hold upon tho Doctor's wrist: increased to a frantic clasp—" It is there again Much startled in spite of himself, the Doctor looked in the direction indicated, striving to discern some unusual object in the misty ob. scurity of the room. The smoke had apparently increased somewhat, rendering the distaut corner.; even move shadowy than before the fire hud burned low, and was now only a heap of glowing fragments the two candles, wnjcu tho Doctor had neglected to trim, flamed srnokily from their long wicks; the noise oi the storm sounded straugely distant, and seemed to contribute less than the sound of their own breathing towards breaking the profound rstillness of the room" In all this the Doctor failed to discern any- thing unnatural. His usual good sense re- asserted itself, and, forgettiug his former caution Pooli Dvtoiietoti, inin," he began, "there is nothing. You are over-excited aud feverish, and Want reit." But the other did not appear to hear him. Still retaining his grasp upon the Doctor's wrist, ho Razed with wide-open eyes into the same gloomy corner beyond the bod's foot. "Look again, man," he said, in the same husky voice. There !—there 1— do you s&e nothing there Again the Doctor gazed earnestly into the darkness. Was it f*,tl)cy? or some subtle inter- communication of sensation convoyed to him by the sick man's frantic clutch on his wrist ? Surely the cloudy obscurity of the far-off corner began to take shape and form before his eye- It was as when one, gazing loug upon ttie reflection of overhanging trees cast on the still bosom of a shallow poo), 0:1 suddenly altering the focus of the eyes, becomes conscious of tho intricate vegetation or clear-shiniug pebbles at the bottom, till then invisible. Undoubtedly there waa the sloping ceiling of an attic room, dimly lighted with some light of its own a low truckle-bed on which lay the form of a man, partially undressed, and kneeling by the bed a woman, her fair dishevelled head resting oil one of the man's bands, which 6he clasped. These things—in spite of himself, in spite of an indignant feeling of intense internal protest that he should so seo them—the Doctor saw separating painfully at first, each new obj-ct from the sur: rounding nothingness into clearer vision, till after a while he seemed to mako out the minuter detail of tbe scene, and .the outline of a child asleen a heap of something at the foot of the bed °n Now, the tall form of the man raised fully, as the other figure bent towurdt,> F"in" reutly speaking, though no sound reached rently speaking, though no sound reached the ears of the watchers—turning its f.,r„ „i the direction of the Doctor, wlm J'1?wlT m th. w. Kneer, "iTd here ho drew a long, gasninor V.o„tu i undoubtedly the face of the Laird's n<m m aS the wreck of what it had been °C ^er A sharp cry came from the Laird's bed -The clasp on the doctor's wr st relaxed and !?«*=« to his feet. The Laird lay back w^th hUP npf closed. He had fainted »g?in h L,S eyes With a hasty step the Doctor crossed the room crushed into flame the smouldering fire "3 the candles, and opening the door, called for the housekeeper, who soon after entered, followed by --T her husband, both fully dressed, but rubbing their eye sleepily. "Bring more light," said the Doctor, hurriedly. The Laird has fainted again. Fool that I was," he muttered. I have treated this case like a born idiot instead of a man who has had M.D. after his name for half-a-century." With the housekeepers help he applied re- storatives. and poured some brandy between the Laird's 1 ipa. A faint flush returned to his cheeks he opened his eyes, looked at the Doctor a moment, ami spoke. "You saw?" was all ho said. Then, reading his answer in the Doctor's face, lie added quietly, Tell Morris aud her husband to come to me at olice." They are. 111'1' flir." ''Saunders, said the Laird, "bring mo the family Bible." A minute afterwards Saunders entered carry- ing the bulky volume under his arm. Before laying it down ho naively wiped the thick dust, from its covers—an action the significance of which even the good Doctor hardly noted at the moment. The Laird tore off the cloth cover which pro- tected the leather binding, disclosing, as he did so, a folded parchment, which he seized, "Now, witness, all of you," he this is the last aud only will I ever made. In it I revengefully aud wrongfully left all my worldly possessions—away from my own tle.;h and blood— to strangers I cared nothing for, and to charities for which I cared less. If I ljve till morning I shall a new will, leaving all to my son. Meanwhile—witness ye all-I cancel this," and tlie Laird tore tho sheets across and across, and scattered the fragments from him. Now leave nse," he s:ud "I am tired. Sta1, you, one moment," he added, with a glance at the Doctor. I "And now," he went on, when they were alone together once more, "I shall go to sleep, and so must you there is no more can be done to-night. To-morrow you shall go to Edinburgh—you will do this for ine, Lyon?—and bring baclc iny boy to me. God grant it may not be too late." "Amen," said the Doctor, reverently, and again silence settled on the room. The sick man seemed t3 slumber peacefully, and by-and bye the Doctor fell asleep in the hollow of the com- fortabie chair. j It was bright daylight when he awoke. The storm had passed, and the glad light of early morning streamed througii the half-ope" curtains of ti e windows. The Doctor rose and flnng- them wide, open, admitting a stream of sunshine, and turned towards the bed. Apparently the Laird had not moved since he fast tell asleep, and still slumbered peacefully. But there was something in his face which caused the Doctor to seize a, small hand-glass from the toilet tttble and cross the room with hurried steps. The Laird was sleeping, but ifc was the sleep of the dead. Already, although he knew it not, without the worthy Doctor's intervention, the father and sou had met. Some days after the events above recorded Dr Lyon was seated m a small attic room with a s^opmg ceiling tn one of the lofty tenements of Oid Lumbutgb, conversing earnestly with a iialp- faced woman with golden hair while It little boy of same four years old stood between his knees, hugely delighted with the heavy Bold which depended from the watch-chaiu at the doctor's fob. As well.as she conld through her tears, the poor young widow strove to answer the questious of iier kind visitor—this friend who had come as it seemed, from heaven to help her when her need had been at the sorest. Bnt for this messen- ger of hope, and the comfort he bl'ough1, she had ere now joined him who had so lately gone from her; but the news that her boy was now rich, and that for him at least there might still be happiness in store, had arrested the feeble spark which had all but flickered itself out. The good Doctor's eyes were wet, but he had still a few questions to ask, a few melancholy details to ieai n. "It was on the night of the twenty-fourth," she said, he came home. ill about eight o'clock. I had been out for a few nlOment and when I came in I found him on his bed. He had wandered the streets all day in search of em- ployment, and seemed hardly conscious that it had been a day of storm fcuch as a dog would have sought shelter from. He spoke about his father calling on him to forgive him for our child's sake .—always coming back again to the child and to tne, aud breaking his poor heart over what would become of us. Oh! sir," said the grief-stricken girl, struggling bravely with the tears which choked her, "he spoke so till midnight—always the one same thing. A doctor had been, and said he would return later, but that he could do noth- ing and then-and then, all at once he cried out that his father was looking at him and had for- given liiin-and theu he fell back, and be was dead." May the Father that is over us all comfort you, and guide the groping feet of His poor, wandering bairns, one and ail of us," said the Doctor. _4_

HE KNEW HIS WEAKNESS. Arthur, this is a momentous question. You ask me to give my life into your keeping." Aurelia, I will answer you frankly. Speaking for a tailor or a hotel man I woul I say 'no,' but as a maiden I think you can venti re.

LIKE HIS ASSURANCE. "My dear," said Mr B. to his wife win u- countonance indicated the consc-lousre' done a good action, "I have just h/l °* 'Uv'nK 6ured for your benefit." "Wei! Ti ^te in" Mrs B„ looking round noon her f-Lp said with an expression of iniured in" a h-iends think of the seitis Iraesa of m,„ >8t to of husbands There, you {,„ 'u Particularly life insured, while your poo ar*dhad your any iusunace on hers lnay without of you." 1 s what I expected -m_ I WHAT'S IN A NAME ¡> PeTl?/ ^,ou_liave "ever met my wife, John, •t. me- John (to tbe bride); "Ah, yes- P eased, I assure you. Now you well, tl'ouKh—vefy well." — Xlm Bride: «SkV- oin, Tom has shown me lots of letters from My is

denTi!e,V^e eaf'i'lflU'ike struck Monte Carlo the •i»d c"t. °D? Rambling tables turned round 'ZtlTr Ut a Chic^° for throwing his y down so heavily,—Philadelphia Press,

Glamorgan Antiquities. By Henry G. Butterworth. XXXIII.THE VALE OF NEATH. The Knoll, or Gnoli Castle, the residence of Mr J. C. Fowler, is situated on a commanding eleva- tion within the grounds of an extensive park, adorned with plantations. The height on wIih*u the house stands affords a fine view of Neaii'» clùséJ a hand, and the country for a long- dinfcanc around, although this prospect is affected and the pleasant grounds fumigated by the smoke and grime that distinguishes the neighbourhood. old writer says,—"The house rises with baronial pomp and grandeur on the brow of a hilij overlooking the ton. and adjacent country, and has a very striking appearance irom every point whence it is beheld. Th* grounds have been laid out with a judicious regard to the bold features of tho surrounding scenery. They are indebted for most; of their ornamental as well as other improvements to th" judgement and taste of Sir Herbert Mackworth." tourist early in this century says it was theu ^encompassed by hanging woods and extan- 8ive plantations, shady walks, and picturesque c&.sc&de!?. Here for six eDeration at least lived the old family of toe Evanses, descendants from Jestyn ap Gwigan through the Leysons. An heiress married Humphrey Mack-.vortii, a lawyer, who, Dr. jNicool.is telis us, commenced mining operations at Neath, a.p. 1695." The Mackworths, a Deroys.me family, appear to have mig* rated to the Welsh borders, and thence Sir Humphrey pushed his way and his fortunes westward to Neath. A baronetcy was conferred on his grandson in 1776, the gentle- man spoken of above, Sir Herbert Mackworth, M.P. for Cardiff inwy years. 011 the death of Sir Herbers the estate fell to his son, Sir Robert Mackworth, who married in 1792, Miss Miers, a native of the neighbourhood, and died two years later, leaving no issue. I read in one account that Sir Hobert" bequeathed the whole of the property to his widew, to the exclusion of his younger brother, the Rev. DÎg-1JY Mackworth," who inherited the barren title. The widow married Mr Capel Hanbury Leigh, of Pontypool, and transferred the estates to him he disposed of them, "the h"use and demesne being sold to Mr jl. o. Grant. At the death of this gentleman Vr nSr° a$?ain s°13. Malkin intimates that Mr Leigh sold the pro- perty by reason of his preference for another. residential seat, and adds that in consequence ot some legal obstacles the purchase has never been completed, and a few years will probably see it in a ruinous state," a prophesy that has not been fulfilled. He further states, "a tower, designed for a banqueting-room, on one of the hills, takes in from its windows nearly the whole ot Neath Castle, river, and town, Swansea, the Mumbles, and Bristol Channel. The park has besides a fine wood, a dingle, and an artificial cascade, well contrived, the value of which is much diminished by the decided superiority of nature in her arrangement of sceueiy so near at hand. I much question whether the attempt, though successful to a certain extent, would not with more propriety have been omitted. The lawn is entirely undermined by the coal works. Perhaps Dr. Malkiu thought the surface would therefore sink, and the whole demesne b8 swal- lowed up home fine day. To the eastward of Gnoll Castle, at Cringell, lived 1\1" William Davies, an antiquary and historian, who collected and prepared a. large amount of topographical literature for a history "morgan. To the soutli-west is Eagle-bush, ong.the abode of the Evanses, of old noted f->r ie delightful views it commanded of tiie sur- rounding country and the channel. f Neath, Glyn Nedd, has ever been '!•'? for P'oturesque beauty aud quiet repose, which gradually grows wilder and grander to the north as the confines of Brecknockshire are approached the old highway up this valW lies on the western side of the Nedd ("I" Neath river as jt is usually termed), which rises in Brecknockshire, "in the romantic region to toe ncithward of I? ont*xS e^th-"V ;i u^h&n." A b1 a mile from Neat h, and lying to the noi-ti've-*t of that town, is Cadoxtou-juxta-Neath, or Llan- gattwg, where long resided in their respec- tive ancestral seats the Walkers and the Micrs families. The church liera can- lams a remarkable monument of the dead, being an entire history of the Wiliiamsos, of Dyi- tryn, traced for many generations througii tne descent. It ia engraved "n several sheets of copper, and concludes withPhtii)) Williams, E<4 » who died on the 6tb November, 1717." The. Rev E. Nichulson observes: As loug as a Welsh padigree is an old proverb completely verified in 6 }jnf,9ut instance." In Evans's tour tlii^i re- markable pedigree is eiVen at full length, aud occupies four widel 8vo. pages. In this neighbourhood Mr Howel Gwyn, of late ThwSf.?r,e(i ft beau^iful mansion of Duliryn. i' ? Pedigrees is traced back to Brychan Brycheiniog, the lord or king, who gave a name tc Brecknockshire, through Trabearn *b ^mion Rhys ap Philip ap David being a direct descendant. "The name Gwyn," lh\ Nicholas remarks, "is said first to have appeared ia tha family from three sons of Rhvddercb ap Rhys, who lived early in the XV. century, two of whom being of light complexion were "called Gwyu, which means white, or light in colour. In Gbugh's "Camden" may be found a descrip- tion of an ancient inscribed stone that stood in this locality at Panwen Bryddyu. Mr Llwyd communicated to B shop Gibson a description of this monument, and states it was known in the neighbourhood by the name ot Maen dau lygad yr ycli tlie inscription he read as Merci (or Memorise) Cantini filii Berici (or Bericii) Near ients fmm W0lK two.,sm*U Circular entrench- was derived. nce lfc 18 CG»J9cfcured the name 'lelkey2ad Ca<loxton, at Aberdulais, is a rematkaWy hue waterfall, and higher up the t i °Kr'b0U1° miles distance is another near tba oia Melmcourt Ironworks "both of these cataracts are on a grand scale the latter has a magnificent fall, where the stream tumbles over a urecipice eighty feet high. This and the Mynach Falls are the largest in South Wales. The spray at the Melincourt Falls is much increased by a fragment of a rock, which lies directly under the f™»:aQd casts off the whole body of water from jts flat surface." A little beyond Aberdulais is x nis-y-Gerwn, or Ynysgerwn, the residence of Mr J, T. Dillwyn Llewelyn, of the old 1 enliergaer stock. An agent at one time resided on this property. Doubtless the neighbourhood has profited by the personal dwelling of the owner. 'l'iJig family as the name indicates, is of old Cymric blood, though the members thereof were long' soated on the borders in Herefordshire, and branches once seated in Breckuockshire Lava emigratd to America. makeli a remark which, if of importance m us time, has double force now, i.e., Whatever iwrTr^ think of it in London, while we are ^kiU1^ through the Vale of Neath it is im- an!" re^ret the introduction of eom- lini- r maust«'ial element certainly was then sirir-o aKVIuancy compared to the dimensions it has forth v n°fU ass"es- His remark was called mu„ N.ib, „d ie Hu valley, is the mansion ofRheola now U, »rty of Col. V«OShaa H. K from hisuncle.thelato Mr Nash Edward V and formerly ,u the possession^«f wards, of Bloomsbury-squarc T "°hn Lu- Two miles further brings trto"0"' • and venerable house of AK- ancient seat denca of Mr Morcran tl>e leBl* miles higher brings us t, H Williams, and two so far as Glamorgan ™ enii tlie valley- Vaughan, with its ror,1.C,')!ernuJ~at on the borders nf p scenery, which stands 'belongs to S t i Vreckn?ck.shire' aud ( must write a iftH 8 0,7 o £ th,at coanty" But 1 the Williau -spe y\resPecting the ancient famiiy of have dwe'- f Aberpergwm.who forgeuerations near for tf e> anc* are renowned far and litpvoi- u" 'ov,u of couutry, its customs and II; llaure, vrtues which I hold form some of the know '^ted in a man's nature. This I time • 'S an u,}fas^'ou.a^e belief with many iu our s I' iotisiii is often ignored,and many people •I -aic of other- lands as being superior to their Own, This is not the spirit of the sturdy men who have made Britain great, who sacrificed hioiiey and blood in building up our glorious prestige, bequeathing to some degenerate sons an inheritance which the world before has never held, and such a freedom as God's blessed sun has never shed his beams on. At Aberpergwm, in 1560, settled Jenkin ap William ap Jenkin ap Hopkin, of Blaen-liaglan, I a direct descendant of Evan ap Leyson, the lord of Baglan, who again, as I have before remarked, was of the blood and lineage of JestyuabGwrgan. Jenkin ap William married Angharad. a daughter of Llewelyn ap Gwiiym, of Garreg-fawr. This lady was granddaughter of John ap Rhys, of Glyn Nedd, and so appears to have come to the property. He was succeeded by his son and heir, William, who married Mary, the daughter or Leysou Price, of Briion Ferry, she being the widow of Matthew Penry, of Llauedi, and had by her, with other children, his heir, Leyson Williams, wno married Anne, a daughter of Thomas Bassett, of Miskin, tbia lady being tbe Thomas Bassett, of Miskin, tbia lady being th. widow of Johu L. VV iliiatns, cf Yuys-y-Gerwn, aud, secondly, Mary, the daughter of William Ba«sett, of Beaupre, by whom he had a son. George, ^h" succeeded him. George Williamti flourished about the uiiddleof the 17th century, and from him descended Rees Williams, who left three from him descended Rees Williams, who left three son". Wilham, the eldesc, an accomplished scholar and traveller, an eminent antiquary, to whom the I history and traditions of his native country were so dear, whose native tongue he cultivated so zealoiyuy, and whose customs he so warmly cherished. Mr Wilhama married in 1837, Matilda, 'I daughter or GoL-nct Thomas Smith, of Castellau, Pontypridd, by wiiom he had four sons and two daughters, The two elder sons died without issue, and the third son, Mr Morgan Stuart l1, rar'ns' 6Ucceeded on the death of his father iu 1855. Appended to the descent of this old family Dr. Is icho as has a most interesting note. How that "Johu ap xt iy^ of Glyn-ne Id-through marriage with whose grand-daughter Jenkin ap William came to Abelpsrwm-wlls a man of n,ark in Ills day, kept a hospitable house, and was a friend of the bards.' We know this noma poem addressed to him, in the usual bardic style of boundless eulogy# the best historic poet Wales pI)3"e,sè,-Lewi. Glyn Cothi (fifteenth century). He giv°3 the festive board of Aberpergwm the next place to that of Arthur's palace the la-iguage spoken there was the ancient speech of the Britons y Brytaniad ') John ap Rhys was cmer ot tae gentry from Gower to Mary's Ohurcii and to iNoroh Wales the bard wished for himself cold and sickness if John ap Rhys was not the dearest of the tons of Japhefc (' os oes ci Inff.s j'u o waed Siaphedd'); his fame equalled that of SHUI, of three-quarters of the globe, even of the land of 'the three bountiful ones,* etc. he isuot^xct:li«td in peace, she (his wife, 'of the seed Llwyd,' of Brecou) ili tlm bottomless abui.dMic* of her mead ('eigion medd be knew ti,¡( like; the succour of Mary (and seven:' saint*) bu to Elizabeth, add that of the angels to Noh d Glyn Nedd." to.