The Cardiff Times

EXPERIENCES OF A DETECTIVE. By James McGovan. NO, 26.-THE CURLY WIG. t HE place had not been bro- ken into, yet it had been robbed of up- warda.of £400. The money, too, bad been taken from the iron safe, the keya of which were .1 kept ny um casaier, ana riie lodes ot that safe had never been tampered with. The plaee is » laxge one in the Mew Town, embracing » whole land of houses, and the money taken re- presented the drawings taken in the establishment during the Saturday afternoon. All the doors and windows were well protected, and not one had been injured. For additional security a porter lived on the premises, and he was positive that no one could have entered that part of the building without his knowledge; indeed, the cashier's room, in which stood the safe, could be entered only by going through the porter's dwell- ing-house, or by the front door of the shop. The front door had never been opened, and the porter'* < bouse had not been empty from the Saturday might till the Monday morning, on account of his wife being ill. But there was something even more mysterious about the robbery. The cashier himself, George Walters by name,was the first to discover the loss. He did not come quite so early as the others, but when he did appear, be called to one of the younger shop lads to go to the bank with some money. The lad followed him into his room ? saw him take the keys of the safe from hie desk,, spen the safe, and bring out a tin cash-box. The cash- box was absolutely empty, and the cashier gave a great start, uttering a cry of amazement. Where has the money gone to ?" was his stupe- led question, one which the apprentice could not be expected to answer. A rapid search through the safe and his own desk proved two things— that everything was in order as he had left it, but that all the money had vanished. "See if Mr Simpson has come, and tell Alec Saunders to come here," the cashier ordered, look- pallid enough. "The safe has been robbed (ince Saturday." Mr Simpson was one of the principals of the firm; Alec Saunders was the porter, and both were soon in the cashier's room, hearing him break the astounding news. Another search was immediately made by Mr Simpson, with no success, and then the three men ttood aud stared at each other. "It must have been done after you left on Saturday night, sir," remarked Saunders. "Saturday afternoon, you mean," replied Walters, in quick correction* No, nicht—ye were here at nicht," pusisted Saunders. Not after live o clock." Yes, about half-past eight; ye surely forpt," persisted the porter. I let you in mysel' You must have been dreaming," warmly re- turned Walters. I was—was much better en- gaged at the time. If you let anyone in at that time it must have been the thief." I let in nae thief--at least, I let in naebody but you," equivocally returned Saunders. Ye came at about half-past eight, and went away in hait-an-hour or 1ese-that I'll swear to." The cashier turned to his employer, and be- stowed upon him a peculiar look, as much as to I say, You hear him You will not have far to I look for the robber. At the same time Saunders looked at Mr Simpson as darkly and significantly. He was an I old and trusted servant of the firm, nearly sixty years of age. Walters, on the other band, was under thirty, good looking, and a great favourite in company,so he might be supposed to yield more readily to temptation. The discussion grew warm, and Mr Simpson could not decide between them, and did the only thing remaining to be done—sent for the police. All three were present when I arrived, and the facts which 1 have stated were soon laid before me. Had the matter been less serious, the eager and earnest expression of the faces of the porter and the cashier would have amused me. Liberty THIC POSTER'S STOBT. I and reputation depended with both upon the im- pression made by their statements, and both were even more emphatic in their declarations than they ad been before their employer alone. At length got rid of Saunders by sending him to see if hie wife was able to confirm his statements, and then said to Walters— "You teem to think that the porter knows something of this robbery, or that be has at least assisted those who executed it?" That is clear enough. How else could it-have been done I" was his confident reply. He has opened my desk with sialso key got the key of the safe, and so taken the money. Search his house, amd I'm pretty sure you'll find the money." M But why were yoa so careless as to leave the keys in your desk ?' "It has always been done for convenience," Mr Simpson hastened to say, so that either I or Mr Walters could get them, if tha other chanced to be absent. We have each a key to the desk." And are you quite sure that no one got at yoor key 1" "Positive of that. Here is the bunch, and they hive never been out of my pocket." And you ? I added, turning to Walters. W My key has never been out of my pocket sithar," be firmly answered. I took the key ia my hand. It was of the most Common description, and the lock the same-just tucb a lock as could be easily picked with a bent wire or the blade of a penknife. I took a bunch of keys from my own pocket, fitted one without difficulty, and locked and unlocked the desk before their eyes. Just then the porter returned, and said that his wife remembered of him leewing her bedside to let someone in, and of hearing someone go out about balf-an-bour later, when her hnsband noarked that it was only Mr Walters, who had been looking over his books. The woman was still in bed, but was abie to sea Xte if I wished. Have yoa any keys ?" I asked of Sana dew. He took a bunch irom his pocket, but none of them fitted the lock of the cashier's desk. Have you no more "No another key in the hoose, sir," was has Mswer; bnt not half-an-bour later I found several in a little box of tools, nails, and other odd. and ends, in his kitchen cupboard, and one of these did open the cashier's desk. I went with him to speak with his wife, and ia going be suddenly whispered te me— "I see you've a gttid idea wba tb e thief is," J Indeed r* Yes, It's the man himael' "What man!" "The cashier, Waltem. He swears ha was pever here on Saturday nicht. I let him in my- gftl'-—saw him wi' my &in een. the man that can swear to sic a thing is fit for eny thing. Ye should sip him up, and then gang oqt to his mother's and look for the money. If ye dinna get it there-if fee's no the thief-I'll let ye/tak" me in his place." « Are you quite sure it W-as he?" ffNaeboày could mistake him for anybody else long as be wears that early hair. He's aa pcoed ch;t-tai' V v,/hotic*dcne«»r* adlmrad %hem j r- *■ w cUzk bror/n, acu a crown Z "i. I eetuu « *• :r the prison .jx-k, .,f <kw I tbem. Th. I bar-^r w. uld hav-fun ay IB1? to i the porter s two pU,* ) the opposite point, especially when I found that one of the rusty keys from his kitchen press opened the desk of the cashier. I went back to Mr Simpson strongly inclined to take the porter with me, although there was no trace of the stolen money in his place. Mr Simpson, however, was Matronly inclined to suspect his cashier, and advised the arrest of Walters alone. Under these circumstances I thought it best to take both. The porter looked grief-stricken, but not surprised, but the cashier stared at me as if unable to believe his own ears. "I never in all my life beard of a more prepos- terous charge," he passionately exclaimed. You I suspect me on that man's declaration of coming here on Saturday night to take away that money, when, if I had been so inclined, I could easily have taken it with me at five o'clock. It is out- trageous!" "Y ou are not charged with taking the money at any particular time/' I replied: but it might help your case if your can prove an alibi for that hour. Where were;you at halt-past eight o'clock on Saturday night ?" He did not answer readily. He stopped; glanced uneasily in the direction of his employer, now looking stern enough; stammered a little, and then said that he would rather not say where he bad been. It is useless for you to say that you might have taken the mouey with you at five o'clock;" inter- posed Mr Simpsoa," for I was at the safe, and saw the money there, at least half-an-hour after you left." "Oh, indeed. Then, are you quite sure that you locked everything up as you found it?" coolly inquired Walters. Mr Simpson tried to transfix his cashier, with a look, and then wrathfully answered— Well, I think I did It is not likely that I would attempt to rob myself. You decline to say where you were on Saturday night at half-past eight o'clock; Saunders declares you were here, and we find the safe cleared of all the cash. I think no one in hia senses could doubt bow the thing was done." "Thank ye, sir," cried the porter; "Idinna care though I'm ta'en to jail, so long all I ken that you dinna suspect me." I looked at the man keenly. He appeared to be perfectly sincere in his exclamation; and there waa even a moisture in his eye and quiver on his lip that spoke of emotions not quite compatible with the idea of an active part in the robbery. Yet I still clung to the idea that the porter and not the cashier waa the criminal. The cashier's face waa open and frank, aud his glance so clear and honest, that I could not believe him guilty. And if Walters declined to say where be had spent the Saturday evening, the porter was as helpless to explain how he had declared that the keys in his pocket were the only ones he possessed, and yet kept one in his press which opened the cashier s desk. The key had lain there for years, he said, and he had never thought of trying to open any desks with it. I searched his house, but, of course, found none of the money—with a great place like that at his command it was not likely that he would conceal stolen money in bis own small dwelling. We walked to the Central together, the cashier chatting pleasantly by my side, and the porter following behind. No handcuffing was needed, and neither of my prisoners made any attempt to escape. Both repeated their declarations of innocence, and were them locked np, while I went out to Walter's house to search for the missing money. The house, I found, was kept by bis sister, who expressed the warmest indignation at the insult which had been offered to her brother by even suspecting him of such a crime. She did not know where he had been on the Saturday night. He had gone out about half-past seven and re- turned about eleven, and she had the idea that be bad been at the theatre, though be had not said so. She was a superior girl, and helped me to search the whole house—a small half-flat of two rooms and a kitchen, I turned out Walters' books and papers, opening some of the drawers with the keys which bad been taken from him at the office, bat I found more love-letters than money. The love-letters were delightful to me, but ap- peared to be a sore shock to bis sister, who read them over my shoulder, declaiming all the while against him for never letting her know that be had a sweetheart. "To think of him being so sly!" she said, "and all the while be was tormenting me un. mercifully if I just looked at anyone." Ah, well, with all his tormenting, I have no doubt be never found out the right one to torment you about—eh ?" I laughingly rejoined. "Indeed, you are right!" she returned, with the greatest elation, to which I added- "Ah, we are all pretty much alike in these matters." I had now discovered that the cashier, in spite of his frank face, bad a fair share of cunning, but I wanted to find out more. The love-letters were beautifully written both as to penmanship and language, but they bore no address, and were signed simply with the name "Emily." The heading bore the date, and even the hour, at which the letters had been written, aud these were recent enough. One, indeed, had been written only a week before, and spoke of there being U a chance of seeing him on Saturday." The moment these words met my eye, the sister, who was reading with me, exclaimed— ThereI now you know where be waa on Satur- day, and why he didn't like to say so. He has been away seeintr this precious sweetheart of bis." "Perhaps. We have no proof that he went, but if be did the lady and her friends will be able to testify to that effect. Who is the young lady who signs herself Emily f Hia sister had not the faintest idea. None of her acquaintances were so named, and none of them wrote so beautifully, or in the style of pen- manship. The old think was a revelation to Miss Walters, and I could see that she was not sure whether to be glad or angry with her brother for the entanglement. "Let him torment me after this!" she said, with determination in her bright eyes and pretty face," I think I'll be ready for him Poor, trusting sister she did not see the case in all its seriousness, or seem for a moment to expect that her brother waa in danger of not being at home for many years. I looked into their joint bank-book, and found that they were anything but rich. JEMO would have been a little fortune to them. Tbia artless, pure-minded sister seemed to believe that Emily was as good as herself. I took a harsher view, and inclined to the belief that the £400 would never come near that humble home, but go bodily into Emily's pocket. Where waa Emily! and how could I get at her? I thought that the case would be greatly simplified if I could find out that woman at once, and search the place before much of the money had melted. Wahers had professed to be ready to give any assistance In hia power for the unravelment. Now waa the time to take him at hia word. According to his sUter, ha. had never expresaed an intention of going abroad or leaving the city suddenly—the money could not therefore have been intended for that, and the natural inference was that it had gone to Emily, as such sums have gone tobundreds of Emilys before. I left the house resolved to give Walters another trial, and if be cleared (himself, then to begin on the porter. I did not expect him to willingly reveal more than he had already done, but now I had more information at my back and could force answers. He seemed to think, when I appeared before him, that I had come to tell bim that be was free, and looked disappointed and scared when I said— I have found out where you were on Saturday night. You were with Emily." A low exclamation—almost a groan escaped him, and hia bands were clenched together in agitation and despair. "Does he know ?" he asked in a husky tone. He? who!" I unguardedly replied. He started, looked at me curiously, and then, I suppose, reading in my face how little I really knew, drew back, and would make ns more ad- missions. I asked him for Emily's address and some particulars regarding herself, but be remained damb. He would not even say that be had been in her company, though, as I pointed out, hee evidence to that effect might set him at liberty. "You are ruining your case," I shortly re- marked. I cannot help it," he coolly replied. Better tbattban-" Than incriminating ber ? I suggested with a sneer. It is always &0 in such cases." Ha looked at me angrily and said— "I don't know what you mean by incrimina- ting her—will you explain ? "You will not say where she lives, nor deny that you were with her OIl Saturday night; the, inference of the jury will be that she has got that, missing money." Good God ia 'it possible ? be returned in horrified tones. "Why, what do >ou take her for?" A woman, of course." J "A lady, sir; and as far removed from 5*ob an'' action as the sun is from the earth. He raved away in that strain for some time, but I had to leave him at last, aa wise as when I came, for though he asserted many things in his defence and here, be would give proof of nothing. The same day the statement of the porter received confirmation from a man employed in the place, who firmly declared that ou the Saturday nisrht, in passing the gentry leading into the porter's house, he had seen the cashier issue from the stair. A street lamp stands near that entry mouth, and by the lig-htof that the lad said be distinctly recognised Walters. The time was about nine o'clock. The result was the release of the porter, and the committal of Walters. It seemed clear that he would be convicted, and he was strongly advised to plead guilty, in order to make the sentence light. Things were in that position when I waa called upon at the Central one afternoon by a young lady, tall, graceful, and dignified, but very young —not above nineteen, I think. She appeared to be greatly excited, and changed colour twenty times in as many momenta while asking me to give her a few minutes to speak of an important caM then in my hands. The case was that of the cashier. „ "My name is Emily Simpson, abe continued, with her eyes on the floor and her face chaining colour rapidly, as I have indicated, "and I have come to say that Mr Walters spent the Saturday evening with me. He came a little after seven, and did not go away till nearly eleven o clock, so it ia impossible that he could have been over at the New Town between- eight and nine." "Xhtsay » v v^cone sue to support your avidence She flushed, anc Resitted. There was no one else ihsre. Papa and the others were out ar a party Oh, u.-laed but there wt-^ld be the servant ,yho admitted hun," Her o btusion Lacaa-.e lore and more painful. Good gvacious and I wL.^tled aloud before f I tficciiecM-u tt-is, i wa«.m a pteseactji f'&o yon re-iliy mean t" aY that you wers there alone with Air Walterx?" The poor trembling creature burst into tears, and that upaot me even more than her extraerdi- nary statement had done. I know it was very wrong, but we see each other so seldom, and be loves meso madly, that I could not deny him a little happiness when there was a chance," she brokenly murmured as soon aa I had soothed down her robbing. And papa is so stern, and wants me to marry somebody of his choosing, and I know he would have turned poor George away the moment he knew that there was any love between us. Oh now I begin to understand. You are the daughter of his employer." Yes, sir, it must all come out now, and papa will very likely kill me, but I don't care if I only save George. It is horrible that he should suffer for the crime of that old wretch of a porter, and all because be is too noble to betray me." Are you quite sure he waa with you ? Are you not merely saying so with a view to saving him?" I would not let it be known for all the world if there was any other way of saving him," she answered, with perfect simnlicity and with truth written in every line of her sweet face. I had expected just such an answer, and though she little knew it, I had her own letter there in my drawer making that very appointment for the Saturday night. I dismissed Miss Emily with as much comfort and consolation as I could conjure up, and then went over to break the news as gently as possible to her father. I had expected anger, but I was quite unprepared for the suffoca- 1 ting rage and fury which he displayed. I thought for a moment that he was about to drop off in a fit, but he retained his senses, and expended the whole wealth of his vocabulary upon his dastardly cashier. He was now positive that the man who had stolen his daughter's affections bad also stolen his money, and be said that he would not feel safe or comfortable till the wretch was tried, con- victed, and sent into penal servitude. As soon as I could get a word of i;en%e out of him I found that his evidence'so far confirmed the statement of his daughter. He had been at a party on Satur- day nipht, with the "ther members of the family, leaving Emily at home alone with the servant. Then the servant herself, when I went out to Mayfield Loan to see her, admitted having been out by Miss Emily's permission for three hours on the Saturday night; so that unwittingly I had helped to prove a very clear case of alibi. ThuiI driven from one line of action, I consoled myself by again arresting the porter. But in thinking over the case it had gradually become forced upon me that neither the porter nor the cashier could have been the thief. The porter, indeed, might have been tried with some hope of a conviction but for the evidence of that shop lad, who swore so positively to seeing the cashier issue from the entry at nine o'clock. How the mystery waa un- ravelled is not very flattering to myself or my powers, but nevertheless it shall be put down in all its simplicity. In standing at the theatre door one night on duty with a chum, I saw a fast-looking fellow chaffing and daffing with same of my bairns, and asked who be was. "His name is Jim Falcon," was the reply. He was once a draper, but be went wrong, and has been in twice." The last information was almost unnecessary, for Falcon still bore the trace of his confinement in the prison crop. But it WM bis face which attracted me most. I felt sure that I had seen it before—quite recently—bnt with more hair on the head. My companion said it was impossible, but I stuck to my opinion, and so the snbject dropped. In going home that night through the dark streets, the face of Falcon seemed to rise before my mind's eye, and lo a crop of CUrli grew upon the bare poll, and the features became those of George Walters, the cashier He had been a draper, too, and was now flush of money, though only a few weeks out of prison. I took a note of the circum- stances and slept on them. Next day I went in search of Falcon's lodgings. I found him m a house in Niddry-street, in a merry company, and with a feast on the table fit for a king. He ad- mitted that the room in which he sat was his own, and I proceeded to search it. I am not sure if I would have done so with such zest and high expec- tations but for the fact that Falcon, who had n>ver been through my hands before, showed the greatest alarm on sighting my face. I expected to find a big bunch of bank-notes, of coarse, but I did not-could not, indeed, for they were not there. But under the bed I found a shabby carpet bag containing some worn shirts, and among other rubbish a curly wig—that is, a wig of glossy brown hair done up in criso curls. I This yours, too ? I said, for be bad admitted ownership ol the ragged shirts, "Yes," he answered, with a queer look into my face, as if be wished to read what was behind the question. "What do you use it for?" I carelessly con- tinued. "Nigger business," he curtly answered. Nigger business ? Why, this is not a oigger'a wig," I said, suspiciously. Well, for music ball singing-cornic songs, you, know," he anxiously added. Let's see you with it on," I quietly requested, holding out the curly wig. He had an objection, but I persuaded him that it would be best to oblige, and be reluctantly drew on the wig. As I had expected, the moment the wig was on and he looked me straight in the face be was the very image of George Walters, the cashier. I took him and the wig with me, and later in the day, was not surprised to learn that Falcon bad, not six months before, been employed in the place from which the JS400 was missing. Indeed, when his hair was grown, as it had been at that time, the striking resemblance between him and the cashier had been so often remarked that Mr Simpson now wondered that he had not recalled the circumstance. Both the porter Saun- ders and the shop lad when shown Falcon, with the wig on, identified him as the man who had entered the premises on the Saturday night; but all doubt was set at rest by the intimation of Falcon that he meant to plead guilty with a view to shortening his sentence. He refused, however, to say whero all the money was, and as only a few pounds were found on his person, it was clear to me that be meant to save the rest against his release. It chauced, however, that a commercial traveller was robbed in the same house but a month after, aud in searching for his property, about JBMO of that stolen by Falcon was found behind the washboard at the back of the bed he bad occupied. Then, and only then, did he admit the identity of the bank-notes, for by that time he was sentenced to nine months' imprisonment, and had nothing to lose or gain by withholding the information. The cashier, on being liberated, was promptly dismissed by Mr Simpson, who immediately set such a watch and guard upon his daughter that all communication between her and her lover waa effectually stopped. The result, however, was not the radical cure which they had expected. Miss Emily made no protest, resented no restraint, and never attempted to make her escape. But her health declined steadily; she refused to eat, and so pined and grieved in solitude that at length the doctor was called. That gentleman chanced to have a great liking for his patient, and, when the facts were made known, possibly stretched a point in giving his advice. If you do not let her marry that man she will die,' was his emphatic verdict. They did not wish their youngest and prettiest daughter to die, so the cashier was allowed to see her, and eventually to marry her. and Mr Simp- son now thinks that be could not have got a better son-in-law though he had chosen one himself.

j ■1 j A Now York newspaper says little women are j the fashion now." if Hrgs bustles will only j go out with innjsy wosjeo w* shall b»

AN INTRIGUE BELOW STAIRS. BY ROBERT H. 8HERRARD. I ut'iioi- uf Uiiogs matrimonial. A mild flirta- tion in which he had engaged in his youth, and which bad resulted in his being mulcted in heavy damages and in heavier costs on a breach of promise suit, had led him to look upon all love- making as a foolish, empty, and expensive pur- suit. Shunning therefore all female society, except when it came to him in the course of busi- ness, he had devoted himself exclusively to his occupation as a West-end bill discounter, and to such good purpose that at the age of fili,y he was able to retire with a very handsome fortune. His retirement coincided with the suicide of one of his clients, a gentleman to whose definite ruin he had largely contributed. This person left behind him. for all property real or personal, a prettily-situated villa at Surbiton, which it had long been the ambition of Mr Finch to pot-sesn. As the deceased gentleman was largely indebted to him, the transfer of the coveted villa to the ex-nsurer was speedily effected, without any out- lay of cash on his part. Mr Finch had not been settled in bis new resi- dence over a month when be received through his solicitor the information of the death of bis only brother—melancholy tidings which he received with all the more equanimity that he had not seen this relation since he left school. All that be knew of him was that he was established in the same line of business as himself in Manchester; that he bad married foolishly, and had had a sou. This son, accord- ing to the rare letters he received from his brother, was ascapegraco and an unbusinesslike youth, who was wasting his father's hard-earned cash in idltj dissipation at the University of Oxford. The solicitor's letter contained an enclosure 'which turned out to be a note to Mr Fiuch from his brother, written a day or two before his death. I hope," said Mr Finch, an he began to peruse it, that John is not going to ask me to interest myself in that scapegrace son of bis. That would be much too ridiculous." The letter, however, did contain such a request, but put in such a way that it by no means ap- peared ridiculous to Mr Finch. It ran as follows "My dear Amos,—Being convinced that it is all up with me, and that in a few days at the latest I shall be no more, I write to you to in- form you of the state of my affairj and of how I have by will disposod of my estate. When this will, of which I have constituted you sole exe- cutor, is proved, ycu will see that I die pos- sessed of about £ 20,000. This money I leave to you on trust for my son John, to be paid to him on his attaining his twenty-fifth year. He is now twenty-one. During the next fonr years you will pay him an annuity of JB200. The residue of the revenue of the capital to go to you during that period. And if before he at- tains his twenty-fifth year he shall contract a marriage without your full consent and ap- proval, the trust money will revert to you absolutely, subject to your paying him an annuity of B52 during your lifetime. This codicil I have only recently annexed to my will. I hear that John, whose behaviour has been far from satis- factory of late—fancy, ha has recently published a book of poems with our name upon it—has fallen in love with some penniless girl, a governess, I believe, and has gone so far as to make her an offer of marriage. My own wretched experience, and your brilliant example, convince me that I am right in asking you to see that this matter comes to nothing. It will be to your interest to oppose my boy's folly to the utmost. If, in spite of your sage advice, he persists in it, he will have to bear the consequences. I leave the matter in your hands with the fullest confidence. My solicitors, through whom I forward this letter, as I am unaware of your real'address, will give you all furthef information relating to my affairs. Yours truly, JOHN FINCH, P.S,-In case my anticipation is unfounded, I should like to know how Lord S- stands in the London market. A heavy bill accepted by him was'proposed to me yesterday." "Good John good, practical John. Alas be is no more," sighed Amos, as he put away his brother's letter. 44 Oppose your boy's folly to the utmost. That I will. But if I can get him to fancy that, in tpite of his father's will, lie will not be disin- herited by marrying without my consent, why —— Now what is the present value of £20,000 At four years' date ?" During the few weeks which elapsed before the proving of his brother's will, Mr Finch busied himself with the internal arrangements of his new bouse. Being well off, and having an almost certain prospect of an increase in his wealth at no very distant date, be determined to enjoy those luxuries which during his previous life be had systematically stinted himself. A housekeeper, a footman, a parlour-maid, a cook, and other domestics were engaged, and every- thing else was appointed on the same comfortable scale. As he had traded as Middleton, Garnett, and Co., there was no stigma attached to: his name, and the ex-usurer was accordingly allowed to enjoy his ease with dignity complete and full. It was some time before he heard from his nephew, but when this did happen it confirmed in the fullest degree the hopes he entertained of being able to enjoy his brother's money to the end of his days. In a wild and rhapsodical letter, in which the charms and graces of Rose Smedley were vaunted in Swinburnian prose, the young now begged his uncle to consent to their imme- diate union. Silence gives consent," chuckled Amos Finch, but not in the shape of a legal document," and acting on this Jesuitical reflection he put his nephew's letter into the fire, and left it un- answered. In three days, however, a fresh appeal was delivered to him' through the post. It was more piteous and urgent than the first, and ended with the phrase, I am pining away, 0 my uncle." "Pine away, my lad," said the uncle, as he took up his pen to reply. His answer was handed to John Finch the next morning bv his scout as he set at breakfast in his rooms in University College, Oxford, with his chum, Harold Carey. A letter from theold boy at last," be cried, -teadcg open the envelope. f P.ead it (jut. old chap," b;i,] his friend, who I was well acquainted with the who]a storjfc I I John Fioch read aocordiugly. I Eldorado, Surteton, j {C Deir Nephew John,—I am tnily sorry to | near y-Ovi are pining, and.most deeply regret that IIdt u) aQt. mthia ay powec to^beck this Eawifetai, complaint. Your dear father'sdying instructions to me were most definite. If you marry Rose Smedley, or any other Rose, Jane, or Polly, without my consent, you will be disinherited. How can I give my consent to your union with a girl who has pursued the degrading vocation of a daily governess, and who is penniless ? But whether, with the fortune that I already posses*, and at my time of life, I should be cruel enough to withhold your fortune in obedience to the will, if you disobey me, is quite another matter. I have natural feelings and, I may add, a con- science.—Your affectionate uncle, "AMOS FINCH." "Why, it's as good as a consent," cried John, excitedly, springing up from the table. What an old brick he must bp. I'll run over to Rose ot once. We crin be married in a week." Hum coughed his friend. "Eh What do you think? Tell me," asked Fine's eagerly. "Ig it a plant 7" It looks vary like it to me," answered Carey. But, of courM, one can't tell without knowing the old boy's character. I should strongly recommend you, however,, not to act on such a vague promise. Write to him again anti ask for a definite answer one way or the other. If he gives you a written consent, well and good, but if he shuffle" Again I should advise you to wait." To his nephew's third letter Mr Finch gave no answer, whatever, and waited patiently and confidently for the good news of his marriace. The good news did not, however, come, and, anxious to know what his nephew was doing, he wrote to his former agent in Oxford, requesting him to find out all particulars for him. This agent, a tobacconist in the High-street, wrote to him in a few days to tell him that John Finch had left the University at the beginning of the Long Vacation—it was then about the middle of August—and was said to be travelling on the Continent. Miss Smedley had also left Oxford, and no trace of her whereabouts could be found. It was while Mr Finch was reading this com- munication that his housekeeper, Mrs Marchaunt, demanded an interview with him on urgent domestic business. It appeared that she wished for his authorisation to dismiss two of the ser- vants at a moment's notice. She said she was dissatisfied with them, and strongly suspected them of dishonesty. Which two are they ?" asked Mr Finch. "James, sir, the footman, and Mary, the parlourmaid. I want them off the premises at once." "But," said Mr Finch, "will it not be very inconvenient, Mrs Marchaunt? You know that I am expecting visitors next weok. Do you think they_can jejsuitably replaced in time?" Oh, ye?, sir, answered the housekeeper • "I have two pearls m my eye, both out of place They would suit you admirably. Philip the man, was page-boy under me at Lady H.'B and Jane, the maid, comes with an excellent character from the Duchesa d. Pimento's. They can enter to-morrow, and I am sure yon will be satisfied with t.hem. with them," "If tbat is so," said Mr Finch, "do as you He had no reason to rec-ref- household. The Duohea?of vX? ?T*,n turned out to be One of the ? t T? had ever seen, while Philip thn f f tir*' ■assr1re on authorities the very model of a dignified preseuce. The same satisfaction with the new servants was mandated below stairs at Eldorado Villa. Mrs "tv«r weary of holding them AatPhilin8 u the rest of the servants. It is t P ways and habits that are not: j" denizens of servants' halls. H"otherwise exliih t eveu in kitchen, and otherwise exl bited extraordinary tastes. t3 and wm 1 a^undantly supplied with ? nn yLrv?mta ^i« St liberal 5n hia T pr*d ^Tnroof Of h;Ju .hu a«st<>cratic educa- things? D* b*m boru to Li&her popular with her ffinftqa and' ami*M°n accounfc of her extreme arpsi & TKSS favour rendered to her if the other domes c! would on all occas^ns assist her in those duties which she might not know how to perform oZ pcrly. ihis patrona^e she carried so far aa to a8S,„t the girl m her work with her own fair ha!Tds • &0 a.,?Port in the servants'hall it was Mrs Marchaunt herself who made Mr Finch's bed. It was not long before the footman and house- maid, who, at first, hud been singularly distant towards each other began to manifest a desire of that ,first ui p reading desiro by moarkin* that such a handsome pair were evidently made one for the other, aud that auch a match would be one of those that were made in "ea vin, fJ After this public declaiation 0f the fitneaa and Z! pnety of anch conduct, the footman was seen to make very biysk advances to the housemaid advances which, considering her beauty and acknowledged value, she received witb singular favour J^or waa it long before it became generally understood in the lower reeioni at Eldorado that Jane and Philip were an engaged couple. Unfortunately, however, for the smooth course of their young loves, j',ne's beauty Kn to attract the attention 0f their bachelor master! The flrafc mai^a tatioa of this was after a heavy lunch, when Mr i^mch, having drunk heavily waa chaffed by one of hia guests on the remarkable prefetiuesa of the maid who waited at his table This joke doubtless made the old bachelor think that a mild fltr ation with so charmiog a girl would assist to lighten the dulness of his worklesa hours, and that no harm would come of it seeing the disparity of. their positions. Nor did the melancholy experience of his youth in this tHree- tion restrain him ia his pm-poge; it rather stimu- lated him. Having systematically deprived him- self of the delicto -s of female society during tliircv years of his l«fe, hei argued that he was all the more justified in making Up fop ios(. time.' On this occasion, therefore, As soon an his guests bad departed, he determined to sag how the girl would take his advances, and ac cordingly returned to the dining-room, where Mia was engaged in clearing the table. But havincr no practice whatever in the arta of love he could find nothing to aayt The girl Rava hint every mute encouragement that she could lingering whue he aimlessly pottered about* cudgelling his brains for B0me neat phrase where' with to open the attack. aere It was just as she was leaving the room with the last tray that he mustered up courage But all that be could say w^-uj^ dear, shall I raise your wages r The courtship thus strangely instituted was pursued with much vIRHur by Mr Finch, who waa delighted to find that in spite of his ae-« and exceeding ugliness he had succeeded in making a favourable impression on his charmine making a favourable impression on his charmine servant; for Jane, far from expressing indigna- tion or disgust at her master's extraordinary behaviour, rather encouraged him in every way she could. Mr Finch's conduct was all the more deplorable and ill-advised that, at the same time, he was endeavouring t«> realise a hope which he had nurtured for some time past. Shortly after his arrival at Surbiton, he had made the acquaintance of Lady Sellum, the widow of a baronet. This lady was exceedingly well connected, and through these connections possessed no small Pariia- mentary influence m a Midland borough which it was Mr Finch s ambition to represent. Like many deluded roen, he fancied that a seat in Parliament would enhance his social position Animated by this ambition, he bad determined to sacrifice his prejudice against the married state, aud to win bis borough by wedding the lady. It was well-known fact that Ladv Sellum was anxious to remarry, and suitors of any solidity being rare in Surbiton, Mr Finoh had faidy well-founded hopes of succeeding in hia project.. When this wa* explained to Jane bv motherly cook, who said that she felt it her duty to dispel any false hopes the girl might be enter- taining, the young woman, far from bursting into tears at her master a treachery, clapped her hand* and cried, Why, then, it s as well aa done The footman, who was standing by, and whose lack of jealousy and indignation at Mr Finch's conduct, which was well known below stairs, had been greatly com men Led upon by the female servants, ap^ei-id to be no luoi elated at this iiiform_uoa. We can put on the screw to-m ^ow ho cried, as ha beskonea to J -'t.&l' Lu can' i-uo the ptntiy, where 1* had just seen 2,Ua Maroliauut. A long and secret, conference, a ku-L cloj, which mightily intrigued the rest of the household, was then held between the two new servants and tua housekeeper. The scolterymaid, who listened at f tfae dow, stfpai&d. ia»iai?ed Uroi a Marchaunt a cheque for JB1,000 in the event of something bappeniiig. The next dny Jane purposely put herself in Mr Finch's way. It was his habit, after lunch, to retire to a smoking room in th i back of the house, and it wa.s here be found the girl, busy in dusting the furniture. 11 1 beg your pardon, sir," said Jane, blushing as her employer entered the room; I forgot to do it this morning." On, no excunfti'. my prutty Juiro," answerfd the ex-u.-urer. "Iam only too delighted to see you. No, don't run away. I should like to talk to you while I smoke a cigar, and if you will bile off the end for me it tvill taste all the better, I'm sure." A few minutes later the footman entered the room, bearing a letter. He found his master try- ing to kiss the housemaid, who was struggling violently to free herself. Instead of discreetly retiring, the servant dropped the salver and rushed up to Mr Finch, whom he sent spinning across the room w.th a well planted blow between the eyes. "You villain," he cried indignantly, "don't you know that is my haffianced bride? How dare you, air ? And you, Jane I Is this beha- viour ?" At the same time Mrs Marchaunt appeared at the door. "Oh, Philip, Philip," cried Jane, bursting into tears, M it's not my fault,, I do assure you. He has been carrying on this way with me for a long time past. But though he has offered me marriage over and over again, I have never let him have a kiss. He tried to force me just now. Oh I'm so glad you came." Is this so, pir ?" cried the footman, turning to his master. "Are your intentions bonour- able ? If so, I am not one to stand in the young lady's way. and humbly beg your pardon fcr interfering. II Mr Finch looked helplessly from one to the other. The presence of his housekeeper made it impossible to hush the matter up, Pooh, pooh," he said at last. Yes, hut 'pooh, pooh' won't do," cried Philip, raising his voica so as to be heard all over the house. Do you many the lady, or do I ? Come, speak." He promised to marry me, he did, ho did," screamed Jane, going off into hysterics. Just then Mrs Marchaunt entered the room. "Lady and Miss Sellum have called, sir," she said. "They are in the drawing-room." Quiet that girl for goodness sake," said Mr Finch, distractedly. Then turning to his footman, he added, I'm sorry I did not know of your prior claim. You are quite welcome to marry the girl if my consent is worth anything; and I'il give you B500 011 your wedding-day if you will both get out of my house at once." "I'll take that in black-and-white, sir," re- joined the footman. "Sit down there and write it out. I don't think Jaue's 'jyslerics will stop before then." Well, be it so," snarled Mr Finch, going up to his writing-table. Mrs Marchaunt, go to the drawing-room and tell these ladies I will be with them in a minute." "What's your name?" he added, as he wrote out his promise, and that howling hussy's?" Philip John linch, sir." said the footman. "And Jane Rose Smedley, sir," added the maid. [THE END.1

A HOPEFUL VIEW. No, George," she said firmly, but gently I cannot be your wife. Father is old and feeble, and since mother's death has had no one to care for him but mo. If it were otherwise," she went on in a lower, softer, sweeter tone, "and I were free to listen to-but ah, no," she finished with a sigh, "it cannot be—it cannot be I" What's the matter with waiting, dear ?" responded George, with infinite tenderness aud hope; perhaps the old man may &kip soon."

-z I MORSE liAClNG. were called in those days, running horses in 'our national annals, are those of the 9th century sent by Hugh, founder of the Royal House of Capet in France, as a present to King Atlielstane, whose sister Ethelwithe, he was soliciting in marriage. When William the Norman conquered this country the breed of horses was considerably improved. Many were brought from Normandy and other countries. Roger de Belsure, Larl of Shrewsbury., in particular, rendered this nation essential servicell by introducing the stal- lions of Spain into his estate at Bowsland. From them a breed was cultivated whose perfections have been celebrated by Giraldus Cambrensis and Drayton. In the reign of Henry II. tournaments and horse-racing began to be frequent exhibitions; and Smithfield, which was the first market in England for every denomina- tion of horses, was the theatre of these sports and exercises Edward III. bought running horses at the price of £ 13 6s 8d each- equal to £160 in the money of the present day. He received a present of two fencing horses from the King of Navarre, and gave 100 shillings to the person who brought them." RACING TN THE REIGN OF JEMZAtETH. As far as racing is concerned, it ceased to be a great public amusement during this reign. No mention is made of the sport as forming part of the amusements which were provided for the • -overeigrri: during her visit to Lord Leicester at J £ enilworth, and Comipenino say* that in 1590 tilting or quintan is used, when a ring is stuck with a truncheon, instead of horse-racing, which, he adds, is grown out of fashion. PUBLIC RAOES RK-ESTABLISHEQ. During the reign of Jamas I., public races were established, and such horses as had given proof of superior abilities became known and celebrated, and their pedigrees, as well as that of their pos- terity (in imitation, perhaps, of the Arabian manner), preserved and recorded with the minutest exactness., The races were then con. ducted upon the same principles, and nearly on the same rules as at present, and the horses were prepared for running by the discipline of food, physic, airing, sweating, and clothing. The weight to be carried was rigidly adjusted, and tha usual weight of a rider wa; stated at ten stone. THE FIRST ARABIAN HORSE IN ENGLAND. King James bought an Arabian horse of onll Mr Markbam, a merchant, for which be gave JB500. It was the first of that country which had been seen in England. The Duke of New- castle, in his treatise on horsemanship, said he saw the Arabian above mentioned and describes him as a small horse with a bay colour, and not very excellent with regard to shape—a description applicable to the famous horse since known as the Godolphin Arabian. QUICEN A.NNE'S HORSKS. So much bad this great national amusement iucreased in favour with Royalty towards the latter end of the reign of Queen Anue, that we find that Sovereign not only increasing the number of Royal, plates, but actually running for them in ber own name. QUALIFICATIONS OF A TRAINEB. He must be sober and vigilant, implicitly trust- iug no man but himself, yet appearing to repose the frankest confidence in his grooms, while he exercises the keenest supervision over them. He must be as ditereet as the family lawyer, and as candid as Job's comforters and lastly, since whatever else he may or may not do, be will most assuredly bet, he must continue so to regulate his investments that he may neither excite alarm by his losses nor jealousy by his winnings. TOUTERS AND TIPSTERS. Touts are thieves who steal stable secrets. The employers of touts are simply receivers of stoleu goods. Like the slave trade of old, the openness of the traffic renders it none the less abominable. Its suppression serins impossible, though the Jockey Club has issued some stern edicts on the subject. You cannot close public highways or footpaths, nor can you always lock up stablemen, and if you could, "quis custodiet ipsos custodes." Tipsters are almost all swindlers, though to this rule there may be ex- ceptions. It must be clearly understood that in the above somewhat sweeping denuncia- tions of tipsters are not included the prophets of the sporting press. They are generally wrong, as everyone must be who attempt. the impossible feat of naming every winner for each day's racing but at least they do not pretend to in. fallibility. WHO WINS MONEY ON THE TURF? Who does win all the nioney on the turf ? is a question which constantly suggests itselt to the curious, and is asked even by many who have had some experience in its mysteries. The ring un- doubtedly at first hand—-into their pockets flows the perennial stream of the savings, or the superfluities of the backing million, and thence parca manu; some portion is distributed amongst thope whose acuteness, perseverance, industry, and mayhap dishonesty, enable them successfully to cope with what is almost an arithmetical certainty. Floreat scienta. The Badminton Library.

THE FORGOTTEN NATION. Under this title there wss lately written, by a lady who is an admirer of Polish patriotism, a pamphlet published by the Literary Association of the Friends of Poland. The name of this society carries our thoughts back to old times. Five years before Queen Victoria came to the throne the friends of Poland met, in 1832, under the auspices of Thomas Campbell, the poet, in whose Pleasures of Hopes "was the noble tribute toj Polish Jovo of hberty. Two years. before, in 1830, the Poles had made a last Btruggie for, mdependence, and wheu 2 the 8 Russians triumphed by brute force many of the exiles found refuge in England. It was to help the destitute among these exiles, all well as to perpetuate the traditions of their native land, that the Literary Association was first formed. A few of the veterans of the exiles of 1331 even now survive, and <er refugees have been aided who came after the Hungarian war of 184-8 9, and the Crimean war, and the insurrection of 1863-Oneof the council of the association it, tne xCev W. Somerville Lach-Szyrma, Vicar of Newlyn, son 0f Colonel Lach-Szyrma, one of the heroes of 1830. Among the Ruaaiau prisoners in the Crimean War were many who, after coining to this country, were al- lowed to enlist in the polish Legion, Lord Pal. merston. Lord Dudley Stuart, and other warm friendsof Poland have beenremoved.but the exiles who still remain among us must not be forgotten. Under the rule of Austria the Pole has been well treated, but tho German Poles are oppressed iu an unaccountable way by the Government at Berlin. The old Emperor cannot be aware of what is done at Posen and other places, where they are treated with a rigour as severe as in Russia itself.—Lciturt Hour.

THAI EXPLAINS IT.. v A New Fork artist was recently visited by a lady friend. The artist was painting an angel. Why do you always paint your angels with dark hair and black eyes?" asked the friend. "It's a great secret, and it might gat me into trouble if you were to give it away." I'm not going to give it away." "Well, the reason I paint my angels with black hair and eyes is because my wife is blonde See ?

A brakesman in the employ of Hia r» i and Hudson Company, U.S., is A TFRV if41* person, and thoughtful withal 'y °bliging party, which included many voni>f, excuruior} women, recently made a trinflom A Ta'1|l George! and, as the-train t0 which there are a good on th« W i°i call out in stentorian tones, Gon(-=, £ wou'd partners for the tunnel choose your IT PJUOBABLT WAS ™ i s»M dudisli and concert aQf ?,re aoft>" lianus every night to aiaep in." jj0 y Wit!, your hat on, a,i0 ?» a.sked a pcVT v2 woman. And the fellow replie-, £ lj o negative aud l0okei wondoringly because ti!! company smiled. K y oecSus« *ht j

v AMUSING METAPHORS. Says a Gorman critic, ridicule is like & blow with the fist; wit, like the prick of a needle; irony, like the sting of a thorn and humour, the plaster which heals all these wounds. All of these qualities may be found in some metaphors. Man is said to be an animal that has a mania for getting up societies, and making himself president. If the presidency has been already claimed, he contents himself with the position of treasurer. In a cynical old bachelor's opinion, ideas are like beards—men only get them when they are grown up, and women never have any. It was probably another oid bachelor who said "Nature shud- ders when she sees a woman throw a stone; but when a woman attempts to split wood, nature covers her head and retires to a dark aud moulder- ing cave in temporary despair." A spinster says old bachelors are frozen-out old gardeners in the flower-bed of love. Tp say that a coquette is a rosebush from which each young beau plucks a leaf, and tho thorns are left for the husband, is not very complimentary. Compliments are the com that people pay a man to bis face sarcasm, what they pay him out with behind his back. A farmer said; "One thing I don't like about city folks-lbey be either so stuck up that yer can't reach em with a haystack pole, or so blamed friendly that they forget to pay their board." A rural poet said of his lady-love: "She is Kracoful as a water lily, while her breath is like an armful of clover." An American poet wrote an eulogy of Washington, whose glorious life should com- pose a volume as Alps immortal, spotless as its snows. The stars should be ita types, its press the age, the earth its binding, and the sky its page. Truly, some American poets go In for marvels of metaphor. The Chinese call overdoing a thing a hunchback making a bow. When a man values himself overmuch, they compare him to a rat falling into a scale and weighing himself, A fanatical abbatarian writes: « The Sunday newspaper is a crayhsh in the dikes of misrule, a crayfish that undermines the banks, behind which the race- courses, the theatres, the saloons, the gambling dens, &c., are roaring for exit." Another news. paper deacuted a fir. by saying that the red arneB ance in the heavens, and flung their 6ery arms about like a black pall, until Sam Jones got on to the roof aud doused them S Afpa Water- Gordon Camming likened an African I unci A « F T r r. w J gl6 toa forest of fishhooks relieved by an occasional bunrh i • "You look," said an Irishman Penknives, smoker, "as if you had ?P>le' haggard light your cigar, and couldn't y°Ur S«»yo to again." A schooltnisf* du^0Ur way lender 2^ ™'i?V m°a"- h. lead, jroo ooad UYm'J" you in the subjunctive anri m«°a, keeps future." A close observe^?'"J?" yott 1,1 remarks—" Time marches on with th na!iUro measured tread of the mau working K Jv« day." A French author is charged w"h th« diction that France will throw herself inhwi6" arms of the liberating sword. This is not auitn bad as the Democrat's speech We will hr. our ships, and, with every sail unfurled E boldly out into the ocean of freedom 1" A cWv! man on board a ship began a sermon in the follow mg manner Dear friends, I shall embark my exhortation on the barge of my lips, in order to cross the stormy ocean of your attention, and in hope of arriving safety at the port of your ears A learned councillor, m the middle of an affecting appeal in court on a slander suit, treated hi? hearers ,o the following flight Gf „enius J Slander, gentleman, like a boa-constrictor of gigantic S.Z. and immeasurable proportion, wraps the coil of its unwieldy body Jbout its unfortunate victim, and heedless of the shrieks of agony that come from the uttevnin.f « of its victim's soul—loud and vJ? depths the night thunder that rolls i» iha i D<? ns it finally breaks its unlucky neck wheel of public opinion, forcing him tf00 peration, then to raaduess, and finallv « K-68" him m hideous jaws of mortal H young American lawyer, emnWri A culprit charged with stealing a pig LJ convince the court that he was hoL V^d ta Accordingly, heproceeded to deliver th« f°ii -n8- brilliant exordium "MAV IT- ,,I„ er the following gentlemen of the jury while courfc and Wood while AmL £ SnL fehVe ia orb in the judicial sky—I with Hn j-lin1 ri3e to defend the cause of thia h uf diffidence, respectable and rather whimsfoi?^ 0 «a Iat« i» the difference between law a h £ e» 1 what "Very little in courts ?" "they only differ aa far 'as time is n Lordsllil) 5 "they only differ as far as time is Concerned. At common i»w, y,m At nasas s&sr- £ wasa pl«y» will, it, victim brfot. iffin •• '™hicl1 IS prussic acid, the other Ian Ho » one metaphor was u'ed hi h- ? m* A curioas Krasp a ray of light from°fh Proposed to the followin¡ piece of 80ulstirringeloquenceequala coLAtt SSSJEffs: the Presidency, and when the DemocSwateh word was, Anything to beat Grant," w^ ad dressing an enthusiastic meeting of ItepJfcHcans* when a Democrat sang out, It's ea«w tin »' colonel; but we'll sbow you something next fall," The colonel was a great admirer of Grant TU at once wheeled about, and with nnlift^ u T" hair bristling, and eyes flashing firP erfA ha.nds« Build a worm fence round a whir d summer weather catch a thnrlS u ?PP-y of bladder break a hurricane *0 harnffa ia » the ocean on a grave-vinclo dry-bT j,?!"8 °Ut never for a moment delmU .never, sir, you ■»* tbat you can b1eat Grant, "-Oh4mbet's's Journal.

WHAT TO READ. Some distinguished men have recently been whS"* !,mf1Ve3 Witb the ""olobla problem • ble tr ?e°thUadredbook8? I-yini mak iHE r besfc for any as men'! tl tak°S most iuteresfc 5 and there is n tastea indefinitely, and t ere is no power and no taste which mav not h« depends npon theldi*' th° 6uifcabUity of books man n J idiosyncrasy of the reader. One Srr?d «ui «otW poetry^ wl.1* °f "Vel". »»-> .notb.; a wth <* sixth of thp«i quarian research, and a Doiitipq • ?.Ca controversy, and a seventh of F I '°*!e llkes the classics and another O-ien- tal or modern English literature; one is an Scott' and one for Coleridge, and Whi/ h • tT ^exaudre Dumas, and eo forth, but all rrn ?st^ That depends on the man; most anri » a whichever rouses his mind fully' ;0 ?0tt,n,auds his sympathies most power- Tiiirot! m probability the best for him. • Ov,ore rePresents all the reasonings and feel- ColeridgePsaay8°- °f civilisod men in a11 a*08- As ui! tk)0UKhts, all passions, all desires, A a^ever stirs thia mortal frame. All are but ministers of Love, And feed bis sacred flame.' We may apply the words to geniiu. To select any particular variety as best for all is as absurd as to say that every man ought to be a soldier. J^ut thia 1 may say: Take hold anywheres' read what you really like and not what some one tells you that you ought to like • let your reading be part of your liVes' It may have a bearing upon your true interests < and the function which you are to discharge'; I the world or it may be a relief to the occim 1 tions in which you are immersed. Even if > u a mere recreation, let it be such a rocreaf may be subservient to your highest develop —a rule which is of course applicable f employment, from preaching to plavino 6Ver.V But, in any case, remember that roL/i tootball. c of the name is not the acquisition nf worthy v •„d l«t» „ W.w,q, 0[ 'tJ° « » «ot of dl>^ labels, but an occupation which to T ect critical « any purpose must be pursued win purfiued t become, if it should not beei„ u Ze»l-mu9t t -Ji -UU Keen enjoyment and whV l De"% » real becoming not a mere luxury k f should end by life. If there should be «om0 a necessity of after all, that reading who find, fTaf' ♦ £ simply ponif anytlui'g is a that there are matl P°'»t out to them ■leading, and some of thL, "Occupations besides may study science and i. quite as useful. You tbropisw, though You art, or be active philan- nearly approaching ii never reati *»ythinK more reports of the AsL^tu/0 ^an Euclid or tbe tressed Washerw0,n^ the Benefit of Dis- tent with its tjenn ml L't1eratu, e should be con- to enlist the aei 'e worshippers, and not stoop am equally cerfcail, t? ? mere hypocrites. But I thing to read somen1-1 m?st 118 can find some- become a » oraething the reading of which can which wi]l P,ass'on, something, too, our Perceptions LTVnteI1?Cts' %ivo keenness to BomethjP whf.1 length to 0Ur sympathies, the liimjan r 1 W1|' n^ake us better specimens of of the dntioa vmol9^tted to discharge any QUalifv on ^'uc'1 l,e before us. And if fully to druggie v5!Ve;n ?etluires a struggle, it ™ a '< r; lclJ Wl11 bri«g an ample reward.— From Ml Marine!" Literaturc" in thi

SPOKEN OF IT OFEEx.-Clerical gent (to fellow passenger); i, Have you ever thought that in the ""J*?} "f We we are iu death ? Fellow passenger: Uiten. Have you reflected that at any moment we may bo hurried into eternity, and that we ought to be prepared for that event?" "I've said so millions of times." Is it possible that I am speaking to a brother clegyman I judge from your dress. "I'm at, insurance agent. Just let me show you a few femes."—Philadelphia Record. DROUGHT IN TEXAS,-CoI. Sumpter McBride, a distinguished Texan, being in New York on a visit, had some conversation with a native about the recent drought. So the drought in the Loan otar State is over," remarked the ISew Yorker. I reckon n't," replied Col. McBride. But I rea.il in the papers that there have been copious I rains all overibi.- Se,Ate." Oh, yes, that drought is over. It di'lu't am mat to much- What drought were j-ou thinking abouc ?" 4* Tl;e arought we poor Texans are genu? to have if t!o Prohibitionists carry the State, Then there will J be suffering, sure enough. I've a notion to stay rig.it hern in New York, and not go back to Texas to live. Let's I

Glamorgan Antiquities. By Henry G. Butterworth. XXXV.—G0WER.—PART I. Modern writers mmaIlysay that Gowerlies totb, westward of Swansea, which is true enough of ths peninsula, but in ancient times, and so late cer- tainly a.s Queen Elizabeth's reign, the TANVO divided Gower from Glamorgan, and Gwyr had » wider signification. In the divisions of Wales at the time of Llowóllyn ab Gruffydd (see Myfrian Archae- ology) Cwmwd Gwr is, according to one statemeuc, placed under, and belonging to, Cantrev y Gemiog, or Eginog, along with Cydweli and aruvvyltan, and in tiiQ second tho statement is 0 same, only the names are spelt differently, lus Cantrev Eginawg (contains) Cwmwds, well, Carn y Wiliiawn, and Gwyr. My own poor mutIlated and nameless history of Cambria clropping to pieces under apparently llr.. a hundred years heavy wear, say* with* 6aermardhyn -Gantref Eginoc, pi„ lese G«yr, now in Glamorganshire, Oydwell, a^d Caruwillieon. The older Welsh name was Rheged. over which, according to the old romances once reigned King Urien, which i« extremely doubtful. y0,1 take it Gower belonged originally to the province we now know as Carmar- thenshire, which again waa included in tbe ancient kingdom of Dyfed. I think, perhaps, the quotation of » note cm "Dyved," from Lady Charlotte Guests "Mabinogion" (Pwyll, Prince of Dyved) will set these ancient divisions more clearly before the ordinary reader than a laboured description of my own could do. Her ladyship wrote: "It often happens-and is a cause of great confusion in comparing ancient story with modern topography—that the old names are reo tained, while the boundaries of the territory which they indicated are changed. Not unfre- queutly the names of petty Celtic kingdoms were applied to modern counties. This is the case with the name now before us. Dyved, the country in' habited by the Dimetiae of the Romans, is noW I generally considered to apply only to the county of ^embroke. Ifc once included also tbe counties ot ^armarthen and Caidigan, forming, in fact, th* estern, while Gwent formed the eastern, division of South Wales. There appears, however, to have been an exception to this general division# a. portion of Cardigan having been once exclu- slvely termed Cen.dig.awn, and one-third part ot district of'"m.Ir8 having been included in tbe i,' 3 called subsequently Cantre* of aw K'dTelly-M Lewis4 Dunn, in the reign o Elizabeth, thus describes the ancient boundaries of Dyved as be understood them W have been:— iho kingdom of Dyved formerly have been.- The kingdom of Dyved formerly extended between the rivers Teivy and Towy, from Llyn Teivy and the Bource of the Towy t° St. David s, and the centre of this kingdom St. David s, and the centre of this kingdom was the Dark Gate, in Carmarthen, and there i* I at this day a reoord of these boundaries >° an old parchment book of the Bishop of St. David s. According to this, Dyved would appear to have comprehended about a sixth part of I Cardiganshire, two-thirds of the county of 0*r' I marthenshire, and the whole county of Pembroke* It is evident, however, that at the time tbe | Mabinogi of Pwyll was committed flb writing j Daved was restricted to the Captrevs (or Hu"' reds) of Arberth (or Narberth), Dan GladdvV, Y Coed, Perivro, Rhos, Pebidiog, and Cemina«tf>> to which, we arc told. that Pryderi added the I sliir« ^ntrevs of Ystrad Tywi, or Carmarthen' Cc&ne"ev naw &;c, As we have alread)" trev' ™?ne £ ^°I0,|ged to the latter can- which nrnKoUi1 ^3 added district, extent at th«^ y re3ctor.ed Dyved to its origin-'1' bore theVnn^l'T °f Romans, at one tim* U.v»ut .?aot which old MCS' ''Tl» KX'fVu' »f Oadair Mo,g.r,«l! ThL. h ta*W) over tho wl.ol., These provinces, with their people, »n5w.r,» T)im (.'■ f ny description, he placing Dimetiae to the westward of the Si lures, and tb« division thereof was probably the river Tawe. Of the district, Gower or Gwyr, Aberr.awe, or owansea, would be the natural capital-" « or fortress of Gower. Thu8 Giraldus say ing, Entering the province called Goer, we spent the night at the castle ot Swoynsei, which in Welsh is called Abertawe, of the fall of the river Tawe with the sea." Just in the same mauner as Cardiff has for ages been the natural capital of Glamorgan owing to its situa- tion, so has Swansea been the natural western capital of the old lordship of Gower, Men va*S alter boundaries and change names, but natural advantages and situations are sure to tell. Make fresh roads, well-nigh blot out the names, but sooner or later situation and position re-assert* themselves, and the well-nigh forgotten town Willo phoenix like, spring from its ashes to a reo newed aud more vigorous life. This bill never been the case with Swansea, but it ha* with many English towns I could name, Thoof remarks have led me farther aiield than I intended to stray. And now with regard to the meaning of Gower, the name itself, on which authorities °.n 9n* P°'Ot I believe all agree, i-e-» that its origin ia the British Gwyr. Some say is descriptive of the country as a narrow Ion/f tract, aud that the ancient British pronunciation 8tretchUiff°ln tW° 8,yllable8» Go-hir, far ouf Gwif" at la8fc «oftened int» S" le*med author of Welsh P nftmos, and whose pnoer on names appeared in these columns some time ag°» •8 more correct in saying that Gowe? is a ir- ruption of the Welsh Gwyr from GwSo. tion^nf tKt0 sweFve> suggested by the devia; "Betwixt No ?uD1US]^r the mainland- savs l i and L°2°r> Glamorganshire, Sovinn- f ? rie-r' "is tfais Gower, littl* onf fended into the sea as a Chersonese J rv west rise the two rivers named by Drayton. With Tawy, taking part t' assi8c tue Cambrian pewer: then Liu and JLogor. give0 to strengthen them by Gower." Mallrjn says," circuit of Gower is between forty and fifty mile* In point of landscape it affords less than most parts of Glamorgan but the origin and habits of j the antiquities and curiosities, rendef ,i worthy of an attentive examination. abounds in many places with deep pits, for which no cause has let been satisfactorily assigned. The vated^"Sltk remarkably fruitful and well cult1' The district, as a glance at the map will show, /J P^montary, or peninsula measuring ,„ aw9» at Swansea, to the extreme po nt at Wormshead, very nearly eighteen wi h an irregular width or thickness of from abouS J six to seven miles, leaving a coast-line, roughly E speaking, of some fifty miles. The interior of tin* [ Uistnct does not, perhaps, generally afford muoh interest. The land is cold and poor, but the soil covers probably minerals that render it of fat t greater value than richer surface laud would do. In the picturespue point of view the interior wil' not compare with the romantic hills and valley8 of Glamorgan proper, but this in amply compen- sated by the incomparable beauty of the coast. ihe towering limestone cliffs, the deep, indented bays, the long sweepsof smooth, clean siuid gtiiten- ing with varieties of shells, the caverns and the glorious views to be obtained from i.l i.U ridge of hills that runs ucrosB th« th,° r to w„t, th. seeker, the botanist th« l ai!e to tlie hea and nature under '<.]] i Ver,of tho Picturesque, moods. Here J r sili,des and various off business cares aurffL^ fo* th° timeJtbr0^ the world's grosser vol,;iP!-uary sated with delight in P'sasures, may find a new the insomiuac"rt?nj0ymeut8- Jj6fc the dyspeptic* lady suffttHnr't Worn-out pen-driver, tho fc»# theyacSedneirr.th« cares of doing nothing—' poor brol^ ,enn»l engendered of laziness—the rake „>] Parted widow, and the cleaned out then! c down to the coast of Gower, let stronJ^ V'usally of homely food, drink nothing the 1 n fiT°°d Priuce Albert's "Nectar for r s»' which common men term Bass's bitter. ^ec them live in the open-air, drinking in the ^ear pure breeze, aud the life-giving ozone; aud f a month of such a legiuieu does not send thenn L Jack to their haunts better in brain, liver, | ■touiach, and vastly purer in heart, then I am BO j >rophet, and have no honour in this generation. f Of the various places of interest in this ionntry I shall write hereafter; it is the lordship if Gower with which I must first deal, and some- j vhat ou the history thereof. The Briton, Roman, Norman, Saxon, and f laining, ail alike in their time, have made their exits and their entrances" on the stage of life ia he Gower theatre. The descendants of the former are well-represented now, for I suppose the full- [' blooded Cymry are, and like to be, cousidered their descendants and representatives. The second people, the Romans, gone 1,4-00 years, and have left not a blood trace behind them, vanished like a shadow, their veiy race, of which they must have left some taint in the native popu- lation when »ey withdrew their eagles to Impe- rial Rome, swallowed up and absorbed that no t visible sign remains nnloes the handsome Roman pose is considered a remnant.. Nothing but the p !?lr wonderful roads, and the '"nmhline- will cam(j trenches, a few t r.nt of i' an(i sometimes a larger or leaser th«ir L"°Ckery and coina unearthed, show th«F senc9 and rule here is but a myth The third „ Uuau)Jstantial pageant of a dream." j t .Ce» the Norman, is well represented, SdoTVi"ei names or rValrous »<"thmen suffer their people mv. ea8° to perish. Of the third natient T« lace» tha Padding, industrious, loTt thoir h ^^aic when have they ever The last rS'\}havJnff. buC °"ce *ofc a ^t *riP tries ren foreigners from the low coun- promised Tlr° a muc'1 fu'ler examination, and as I Fleming day write a chapter on tha »a« « shall now soon be done.

will vo^f?fislimaa was awaited thus: "What Paul's 9" to stand all night in the dome of St. the franlr I ^teak «nd a pint of beer," was a Scofci>t,^rep y- ^'Ia next one thus accosted was Lastly, S Says Saudy: What wiU ye Kie ?" what ha i ^on!? Pafc' and when he was asked of St. Paiii» i fca^e .to.8fcand all night in the dome I'd be mw8' 'le wdlingly answered, "Sure, ao' A to take a bad cowld." see tl.aUlf»3FUL AOTHOK.Author (timidly): "I 1 see that the price paid for Tennyson's jubilee ode this little effopV J U b ^nirse, tliat castically). «> ,\of mtnf would be-" Editor (,ar- sir." Autho, fc Y "'l,1 ^re \'>a modest, i11 < ?r irr But if you WiU kin^lv inis^rt VOirthe rSu\i"0r^inp• 1>ape,,» rii v 'if'n«Iy l"y 'hue II ^rVMl adv"rtld' rato of 50 „er feeling) Editor (with <2 !vp I find it full f'ng ovur the uyn »*> ui", Xste rivir; around the corner i, I i „ utr ttiiiti ins poert would tiu ao. of the oaic? *4u

ACROSS THE DEE. Lift me, brother, into the swing Th'i hedge is high, I cannot see The blue Welsh hills where harpers sing Across the swiftly flowing Dee. I ha.ve a harp, the strings are dumb To other ears, but not to'me I'll sing until the sound shall coma From old Welsh harps across the Dee. Lift me, brother, and swing me bigh Above the hedge that I may see The blue Welsh hills and sunset sky, Across the swiftly flowing Dee. I cleave the air as bird on wing, Blue hills and golden clouds I see, And music floats-si wing, brother, swing, I bear Welsh harps across the Dee. -D. L. Tollemachc in the" Academy,\

Owl is the name of a Cardiff young man. When he goes to see his girl he has an object in view- to wit, to woo. SUNDAY MORNING AT CHUBCH.— It was the common enstom of the constable, along with the dog-whipper and sexton of the old chapel after sermon had commenced on Sabbath morning each carrying his staff, the badge of office, to walk the highways and lanes in search of Sabbath desscra- tora. Instead of returning to service at St. Mary's, they adjourned to the parlour of the Fleece, where they found sundry membors of the choir of tue cb&pei i#ho htxl slyly WFy ,jownthe staircase of the gallery when they found the taxt had bceu jcivcn out. A.s fchfj '.vers had been jcivcn out. As the ¡'tl'COuU" '.vers Kene. aiiy upwards of an hour in length, and the fireside of the Fleece t/as cosier than the "old atmosphere (Jf the chapel, these jovial orii.rial* and guard! l of the peace amused themselves until the cracked old bell struck the hour of 12, when they nr»rW.»d aa decorously us possibly to their places iu the ancient cdifioe. as decorously us possibly to their places iu the ancient edifice..