The Cardiff Times

flr y^^ ENT.—• (BUDDUGOL.) MeiVIn ^wyddMyi:, aeT.hu?, FrWi 'Ai1 a"ysT*vv(rwydd Y ;| l yn al"-vydd 3'~ fceUt Augau yn ej awydd. fjnweut, y pruddaf !—He raae I. CATIBS.

DIW)t DR WynD. Y*a doetha iu erioed; Bob rhveithiWr dlwVd sathra -Bob rhyw rwystr dan-ei droed. PoLr?dd°r tm-v holl anian f'obpetli hon yn ddiwyd sydd Ni^oT r Uii,r ^oer h«P'au« Yrholl K na "osnadydd; *!Lholl.greaaiKaeti, hefyd Yn ei cbylchdro diwyd yw, •p yw wedi aros enytl cyhoeddiad Bydded" Duw Y mae ser y nef yn ddiwyd Ac von' W,Cre*wd»r niawr, Pfra 1 wasgar heiyd Nui ri ^Uni UWt'h y Hawr p "e.° dll» y» ugh read igaeth ■Kaith anfetdrol Duw ei bun audwyo ei fodolaeth wn uiogi, ond y dyn. y 111M, pob trychfilyn bychan y Ar ei etthaf wrth ei waith, /^rugyn, er mor egwan, Odiwyd garia'i bwn i w daith; i wnaeth Dduw erioed greadur Ow .t5Tu sefcur yn ei fyd, -U' by*yd creodd lafur 81 gi'BUr 0 hyd. <*owertoo. CIU'CKBT.V,

0 f U BALCHDER. i a chder ffiaitid coron yr hunsnol, o/ l? Wyc gy'udeithas a'lii weuwyn ruarwol v u. wnawn ddechreuad dy fodolaetii, yni a th gawn yQ wreidtiyu Jlygredigaeth; Y« k° w?Le8t» blith angyiion Gwyuia. u erbyn Duty gWI1est rai i wrthryfela, u ddichellgar a'th gynllun cyfrwye; a l'hl»»ut cyntaf yraist o B»radwys. Kfeulawn deym! mewn rhwysg a mawredd j'1 Rysegr Duw i brofi'th waeledd Vjwnei brytyu gWael mor fawr na phlyg ei liniau Y roil yr Hwn ddeil auadl yn «' ff'oenau; wyfc mor feiddgar, hyf, a llavvii o sonant, >nygi 'sbeililo'r Arglwydd o'i ogoniant; V^yt nior hagr, tel tra byddi yn°» oechina Dwyfol o'r He sy'u ciii* Ni fuost ti erioed i neb yn elw, vxorlenwi'r galon wnei o deimlad chwerw; J^r i ti godi dyn, ei godi'i gwympo» ^yna tii wir banes, a gwna'r oesa# dystio wyt fel tarth y boreu yn ymdaeuu, Ond, ha Haul Cyfiawnder wna it' dd-flaOu. x*wy rydd ymddiried ynot end yrynfyu? vch Duw y uefoedd a'th ffieiddi* hefyd. BfiTALLOO.

AFLONYDDWYR CYFARFOPYDD PRE. GETR U. Rbyfygus eneidiau mae'cii owydau yn fflamio Mewn gwneuthur cyulluuiau dychryuiiyd eu rhyw, A'u gollwng fel saethau gwenwing er rhwystro Crefyddwyr twym-galon addoh eil Duw Mae Seion mewn dagrau o dan eich ergydion, A'r nefoedd yn gwrido mewn digter a Hid Ond chwi 8y'n ymffrostio yn swn eich meilditbiou, Sy'u satbru cynghorion y pwlpud i gyd. Poenydwyr gwir grefydd mae'n anbawdd dar. lunio A phwyso'r digofaint sy' genych at Ddnw, yn staebio Pob iot o'ch cymeriad lies duo ei IIw > O. nwydwyllt ieuenctyd yr ydycb yn gwawdio A sathru gl&u ddedufau y Duwdod yn 6arn, Mae'ch llwybrau diuystnol yn hyglyw ymdystio Gan fwgwtb eich gwysio'n ysglygaet" i farn. o anian lygredig! dy rfid yw dinystrio Pob cysur ddyfera i euaid y tlaW". Pan fyddo'r Gwinonedd yn cael ei egluro, Bydd hon ar ei heithaf yn tywallt ei gwawd Ot cotia, bechadur, fod Duw yn dyymyl Pan fyddot yn cellwair â. chrefydd mor ddrud Mae'r Gwr wyt yn wawdio i ddod ar y cymyl, I farnu yr oil aflonyddwyr i gyd. Casllwchwr. LLWCHWRYDD.

Y FORY. Y ffol sy'n'dvwedyd, y fury yw'r diwrnod Y gwnai i orchestwaith rhyfeddol ¡t m tafod Ond pan y gwnaiff godi oddiar ei obenydd, Bydd fory mor belled ag ydyw ef trenydd Mae'n chwilift drwy lieol "Cyn-bo-hir" am dano, Ond riid yw'n cMl gafae] ar fory bell yun Ac wrth yr hen dyddyn Diamser uiae'n aros, Gan guro am fory o byd yn y cyfnos. Y fory, medd y dyn sydd yn rhodx/u segurllyd, weithio i ^ynal ty uhuulu newynlly^ • Y fory, medd y ffol, rho'i heibio'n ff„iUieb, Gan chwilio'r Gair Dwyfol i geisio doethineb Oud, beddyw yw r amser, medd Uais y Gwiriott- edd, Bydd fory'n rliy bell i geisio trugarodd Mae fory bob boreu fel seien yn syrthio Yn mbell o dy wyddfod pau lyddi'n dihuno. Mae lluaws fel hyn drwy eu hoes yn sylldremi Drwy spieuddrych ffolii,eb am rhywbeth y fory, Gan roddi o r neilldu r hyn allant ei wneuthur 0 fewn y dydd heddyw,—gan sefyll yn segur, A phlethu eu dwylaw, i orpbwys mewn breudd- wyd, Am rywbeth y fory, 'rhyn etto ni welwyd • 0, adyn dienaid a wy ulost fod fory Mor belled o'th gyrhaedd ac amser uy eni ? O! cofia, tra gelwir hi heddyw yw'r diwrnod 1 geiHio yr IOMI,—rho'th enaid yn barod Rliag ofn mai r bedd fydd dy dyng^d tra'n oedt Wrth edrych yn miaen i'rdyfodoi am fory; IVIae lluoedd aneirif yn uffern yn «,vl0 Am adael i fory drwy'o bywyd i'w twyllo. Mae fory n rby bell, cais heddyw ddnwioldeb, Mae fory yn rhywle yn mro tragwyi-loldf.b. Caerdydd. lOAN GLAN TAWE.

TOSTURI, 0, destyn mawreddog mor fyw yw o swynion, Mor eang-gyfuethog, mor fawr ei gynrchion, Mor lawn o amrywiaetb, mor bur ei adnoddaU, Mor addfed a pheraidd bob pryd y w ei ffrwythau. tlor fwyn yw r awelou anadlaut trwy'i ddolydd, Mor glaer y w y dyfroedd a lifant drw^'i froydd Mor wyrddion yw bronau ei dlysion fynyddau, Mor bur yu mhob awel yw per-sawr ei flodau J,oc f. r ydy w dw'r ei ffynonau dihysbydd, Mor llachar yw'r huan a deithia'i wybrenydd danbaid ddy^gieiriol yw ser ei tfurfafeu, Mor dlosgain yw gvvyneb ei leuad oleuwen Mor wynion yw'r cymyl 'vnt megys cerbydau Ananaidd yn rhodio drwj'r faith eangderau x rhai sydd yn orlawn o fywiol fendithion i- tythol ddtidwyddu calon»u meib dynion. Fendigaid dduwies I mae dy wiag arianaidd i if eneiniedig gau ddwyfol-wlith sanctaidd, A i chain ymyiwe yn dyfeiu bywyd, p Anet-awelull yn ymwau drwyi wyntyd, Mao th orsedd der o gymaur a pheriau, A haul nefol-fvd wasgar w*wi belydrau 0 1 liauigylch hi a gwelir Medd a Ciiariad II ymliytrydu yn ei dercii Lt'lydriad. "lae'th deyrnas eang yn gartrefie. purdeb, A'i holl adnoddau yn mwyl'au'i dy^gieirdeb. Mwyii lifa tangnef dlwy dS freision ddolydd, Eel afon loew drwy risiaiogl^nydd. Ni chlywir croes-wynt drwf dy boll lanerchau, Na defnydd storm ui cheir <)rwy'th holl dsvieithau. Dy deyrnwialen, pan wnei'i'ieslyn ailan, Sydd mor gain-ddy^glaer a f,'olemu trydan Yn ystafelloedd ift y rhew-begynau, Neu wrid haul hat ar golofri dderch o beriany A phawb 11.'1 cyffyrdd wisgir^'i goleuni, A'r yinarweddiad yu ei gwrid yn gloewi. Tydi yw oenhedlydd holl ri#iau'r ddynoiiaeth, A'th fyw atiadliadau rydd iddynt gyiilialiaeth Dy nef-wlith arianaidd bob iiydd sy'n eu maetou, A perlawg ddyferiou a'u denant dyfu. Fe sychai oy ir-wlith ond aui un fynydyn, Fel Mynydd Gilboa i'i pnb rhinwedd wedyn; Oild claer ddyferynnu ysgycjwi drwy'r hollfyd, A'u nefol ireidd-dradry bobpeth yn fywyd Dy gyutaf ddyferiou roest ar lwyni Edsn, Pan bechodd ein rhiaint yn t'byn ei Piierclien Ac, O! drwy ei gloewder rhtd anaiil ail-iywyd I ebrwydd udiffoddi'r cleddjf«u g4r danllyd. Agored y w'th glustiau i bobrhyw ymbiliad, A'th lj'gad dysKlaerwych wet angen yn wastad. Od Cain glywi'n gwaeddi, Mwy yw fy mnfcb. odau Yn erbyn y nefoedd nas gelfr en maddeu," A than ei gydwybo < yu U.,»^i ei enaid, Mae dagrau tynerweh yn ghiewi dy lygaid; Defnyddi y gwyrdd-ddail i jsgwyd ei nos-wlith, Er rhoi i'r ffoadur ddyferioneu bendith. Neu os rhyw law-forwyn a'i h^digen diniwed A weli yn teithio, broil trengUgan syched. Dan belydr yr huan. yn narh»noi aychdifoedd, Dy "Fydded" a grea fyw ffrVdlif o ddyfroedd: A th anwel-law e^tyr ei llygaif niewn mynyd, A gwel yr arian-ddwr fel atiyo aymud Ac Agar a syrthiai i lawr i c^.d'Ji Y Duw Hollalluog am ddafu 0 dosturi. I'th lygaid gloevvon Did oes DO gwahaniaeth Rhwng dyn a dyn, na grisiali yn inodoineth Y naill a'r Hall; ond pawb dfwy'r byd dderbyniant O'tb gyfoeth di, a'th faethlavn iconau suguaut. Tydi a gartrefi yn mron merfi 1 brenin, A'tb ddelyv yn chwareu yn igloewder ydeigryn Ddisgynai yn araf dros rudd «u'^ d'wysoges, Pan welodd y cawell, a llaw^la^rwen Moses Yn codi, er tlangos tod rhwnft e~erchwynion Dlws fywyd yn bongian «<tk ddeddf ei thad creulon. s "0, dygwch ef yma," meddiaw ei thosturi, II Mne'm calon, yn HWU ei ar dori O, dly»ni dihafal d^ddf gre» awri Pimrao A'i dygodd ef yma." Ac, O^fAl.mae'n wylo, A'i dagrau tostuiiol oedd yn ymgj'inyfgu A'r rhai oedd ar ruddiau y ba^mn anwylgu. Drwy law hael Tosturi y bachgen waredwyd, A'r fam yn y famaeth tnor beiffaitb fe'u bunwyd Na allai'r ysbiwr a't argrnffus lygad Fyth weled y gadwan a g'lyiosi yr uniad. Dihysbydd yw dy gyfcetb, a'th ddaioni Sy'n rhoi i ddyferiou er tragvyddol loni Dynoliaeth wan, sy'n gorwecd mewn dinodedd Y II ffosydd anfri, wedi colli'imawredd. Cloodig emrynt, gydattb fWYrl gyffyrddiad A welwyd yn agoryd mewn tmrantind A'r dail, pan adroddai deimhdau ei enaid, Py duftMQn » wwlid yn ngloewder ei lygaid, i".f; v. 11a p^in yn iip:iyruict,K'wr.^ mab oeuu wt'dd w U Naiu, yn dwys wyli oherwyddei haw; Tydi a oroii'mynaist i'r an^'aad i sefyll Nes peri i Angau i giynn'n ei wersyll; AV mab a estynaisc i w fam a'th law burlan, J I ddyclnve) i'v.' gartref O'¡ augladd ei hunan. Pan yjopdd y swyutoedd yn hidlo gaianas A'ti heriyn ofiiadwv yn ngwyllter Tibf.rias, Y mellt iriegys seirph oV ne'n poeri ffl imiau, A'u cvlcb llosg olwynawg yu cocfi-hwio'i donau, A nwytbau'n givyllt neiuio fry, fry ¡'r uebelion, A'a chvvvddawi gynddaredd yn gwynu eu plygion Y daran groch, drystfawr watwarai ei ruad, Ac yntsiu fel cadarn anghenfii ro'j 'sgydwad, Gan deflu'r llong fechan oddiar ei vsgwyddau, Fel pluen aderyn, i fro y cymylau Dy law wen gyfodaist, a'r gwytit,,ed,i lonyddodd, Ac wrth word dy loewder, pobeifen (idycinynodd; A than ar ul ton oedd fel pe yn chvviho Am fynwes agored ton arall t'f cuddio 0 olwg yr Hwn oedd Lywiawdwr y hyd, A'r Hwn oedd a'i fron yn Dosturi 1 gyd. Mae cenedlgarwch yn dy wrid yn fflainio, A derch wladgarwch o wawl yn illfo; D.fl tiia gortiirwm yn ngwydd bys oyngarwch, Pan sangu di dros drothwy ei dywyilwch. A welsoch chwl'r gain wawr ar haf-ddydd yn cychwyn I agot- ei dorau S'i Haw wen, i'r hanl Ddod allan o'i 'stareil, a'i gyntaf b ^lydryn y 11 denu cerddoriaetli o demlau y dail? Yn debyg i'r gain wawr bu liaw wen Tosturi Yn agor lteiria-ddoraiilc circharau i gyd, A haul mawr Dyngarwch John Howard yn codi A'i wrid yn creu cerddi yn mynwes y byd. A,welsoch chwi'r huan ar foreu gwanwynawl, Fel llygad byw angel ar fynwes y nef, A". beiydr yn toddi y cymyl pyg dduawl, A'u gwueyd yngarpedau t'wlwybrau heirdd ef? Yn debyg oedd calon eangfawr dosturiol Ein Wilberforce enwog, yn llosgi'n barhaus, Nes toddai ddolenau'r ca lwynau caethwaaol, A gwrid eu tafodau nertholai ei lais. Pa fron na theimlai wrth y drinfa erchvll Dderbyniai'r caethwas dan y tryimou ffl-ingyll Gwel greulawn waith yr arch gythraul ddfn L*gree, A'i ill t ngelllem yn tori'r cnawd yn gwysi, A thaflu'r truMu, yo ei waedlyd glwyfau, I 'stafell unig er mwybau ei boenau Ond gwel, mae Tosturi, fel yn ugwynt y cyfnos, Yn ysgwyd ei edyn uwci) ben F'ewythr Tomos A', oerawl atiadlsad rnae'n gwneuthur cadachau 0 ia, er mwynrhwymo ei waedlydddyfn glwyfau. Ond, cyn i'r wawr drwy ddorau'r dwyrain dori, Mae Eva anwyl ar ei glwyfau'n gweiui; Mae'i dagrau brwd yn gwlychu'i ruddiau duon, A delw'i henaid ar y pur ddyferiou. JUi enaid nerthir gan ei tbrem dosturiol, Ac yn ei loewder he i i'r Wynfa Neiol. Mor ysgafn Ai di i'r 'stafell wely Lie mae dystawrwydd angeu yn teyrnasn! Mae angeu'n datod pur, ieuangaidd fywyd Ein Eva brydferth, gwelwa ei gwynebyryd, Ond Oil yw'i heirdd lygaid yn colli eu gioewder, A awn ei pheridd-lais yn trengu'n y peilder, Argreffir Tosturi y hili yn y deigryn Ddisgyaa yo ywyllordùolltlD ei phlentyn. Nid yw amgylchiadau yn nawid dy nodwedd, Nac effaith hinsoddau yn lleihau dy fawredd; Dy law a estynl i'r rbewllyd Begynau, A'th wlithol (idyferion a wlitba'r Trofanau. Mae swn dy bereiddiais yn t.reiddio drwy't' Cread, A bywyd yn fSamio yn hot dy gerddediad. Tydi fu yu ysgwyd dyferion dy lygaid I nefol ireiddio holl iwythau'r paganiaid, A mwydo calonau y llu gyfoethogion I roddi o'u cyfoeth, i lanw anghenion Ysbrydol cenedloedd sy'n nghanol tywyllwcb, Ac anfon cenadon i ddweyd am Dduwr Heddwch. Mae Affrica heddyw yn gwlitbo dan fendith, Ohervvydd it' itti droi bys dy athrylith A China eangfawr sydd megys ffigysbren, Yn byfryd flodeuo a ffrwytbo dan heulwea Efengyl ein Hiesu, a gwelir dwyf gariad Had. Yn lledu'i ddysgleirdeb drwy wreiddiau ei theim- Drwy India gyfoethog, a gwlad Madagascar, Mae swn dy bereiddlais yn swyno ein daear; A thrvvy dy ddylanwad agorwyd trwy'r gwledydd Ffordd lywiol i 'iioeddi Mab Duw ya VVaredydd. Tydi y w cynyrchydd y nawdd dai gyfodir Drwy Brydain orenwog, a thros y Oyfandir; Cynyrchaist gartrefi i'r lluoedd amddifaid A rcdient yn unig drwy'r 'strydoedd heb damaid Ysbytdai gyfodwyd drwy'oh iraidd ddylanwad, I gleifion y gwledydd i gael ymgeleddiad; A byddant drwy'r oesoedd yn fyw gofgolofnau 0 nerth dy athryiith a glowder dy ddagrau. Ond, beth yw eangder Tosturi'r fron ddynol Yn ymyl Tosturi y Galon Anfeldrol ? Nid yw ond fel llwchyn ar arffed y cread, A'r gwynt yu ei golli yn swn ei gerddediad. 0 fynwes lor rhed ffrydlif o dostnri 1 wael bechadur yn ei ddygn galedi; O'i ras bob dydd diwellir ein hangeniad; Ac i'n gweddiau egyr Ef ei galon. O. Dduw fy r"r! O! dyro'th ras i'm lloni, ■. A ohuddia ti yn mantell dy Ddost.uri. GWYDDOMFKYN.

I THE CHARM OF EGYPT. When one first lands in Egypt the jesne is tne freshest imaginable. Within a hour you are launched from the Peninsular and Oriental steamer, that has carried home with it to the Unt moment, and are plunged in a new world. You find yourself in a narrow street of quaiutest houses, and in a throng that presses past, each figure in it a picture and a novelty. Ou either side are the pigeon holes ,of shops where tur- banned merchants sit tailor fashion, gazing out, calmly as oxen in their stalls, upon the hurrying tide of life which fills you with wonder. You would like to arrest each person for scrutiny as in a waxwork exhibition. You long for a kind harle quin that with a touch they might ho transformed into motionless tableaux vwanU. Here is a string of camels with their heads aloft above the crowd, moving with soft step and long stride as they carry bags of spico that have come from the distant Soudan. Here is a rich official with his reis running in front and his pipe-bearer behind. Here comet a lady of rank, perched high on her padded saddle, riding stride legs, and except for the large eyes that glance from the kohi.tinted eyelids above the white veil, and the little henna-stained hands that hold the reins, she I might be mistaken tor a bale of silk. Peasant women hurry along with veils hUllg by a kind of thimble to their headgear, their little forms thinly draped in the long bathing gown sort, of dress of blue cotton, and carrying astride on their shoulders their httie naked children with weak eyes and grave faces. There comes a Bedawee on his hardy horse, that frets under "the crnel bit, the saddle richly caparisonad, nod the stirrups broad and coarse as iron shovel. And here, with many a stroke on tbe tough quarters of tiie long-eared donkey he drives before him, comes the donkfy-lv v shouting his Ruach "—" Shenieenuck," "Regiuck"—as he steers some large Engli*hm»n, who sits perched I over the quarters of the Homat." Crowds there are of brown-legged, brown-bosomed labourers, wearing the kind of grey felt cap which we see on ciowns in the circus at Lome; and water-carriers flounder past, bearing the bursting skins that palpitate and surge with their liquid contents; I and sellers of bread, carrying id,t cakes on a tray 011 their heads and sellers of swords bristling with steel, like moving stands of armour; and then the h^ggars—the blind, halt, and deformed —such as Raffaella introduced into some of his pictures, but to i,, seen in the fl "11 oniy in :tn Oriental city.—Dr Donald Mdtod, in U Good Words."

THE BAREFOOTED NEWSBOY. Mr Matthew Arnold (says the Boston Herald) was greatly struck by the democratic government of our reading-room when he was in Boston. He came in here one day and saw a little barefooted newsboy sitting in one of the best chairs, enjoying him«elf app-irently for denr life. The great essayist was completely astounded. Do you let barefooted boys in this reading- room?" lie asked. You would never see such a sight as that in Europe. I do not believe there is a reading-room in all Europe in which that boy, would e, dressed as he is, Would enter." I Then Mr Arnold went over to the boy, engaged him in conversation, and fouitd that he was read- ing the Life of Washington," and that he was I a young gentleman of decidedly anti-British tendencies, and, for big age, remarkably well informed, Mr Arnold remained talking with the youugjiier some time, and as it, eamc back to our desk, the Englishman said, "I r]„ not think I have been so impressed with anything else that I have seen since arriving in this country as I aBi now with meeting this ba*>efonterf boy in this reading-rocm. What a trioute to democratic institutions it is to say that, instead of sending that boy out to wander aionfj in the streets, the) permit him to come in here and excite his youthful imagination by reading such a book as the Life of Washington The reading of that one bonk may change the whole course of that boy's life, and may be the means of making him a useful, honourable, worthy citizen of this great country. It is, I tell you, a sight that impresses a European not accustomed to your democratic way.

A drop too Inueb-tbe one on the scaffold.

HISTORICAL RAMBLES IN WALES. PAPER No. IV. By T. Evan Jacob, B.A. owns GLSNDOWEE rs SOrTH WALES. Owen was very active during the campaign of 1401. He took and burned the town of Mont- gomery, visiting later on the suburbs of Welsh- pool with a similar punishment. The abbey of Cwmhir, in Radnorshire, was destroyed by his troops. The castle of Radnor was taken, and the whole garrison, 60 men a!l told, beheaded in the castle yard. Thence Owen marched to tbe south and west, but these shocking cruelties armed against him those people for whom he was strug- gling to secure independence. Themen ofRadnor and Cardigan, assisted by some Flemings from Peinbroksshire, marched against him who came to offer them the blessings of freedom in such a ques- tionable shape. Owen was fairly outgeneralled by the enemy, who hemmed him in on Mynydd Hyddgant, where he was cut off from all com- munication with the outer world. No magician c 'uld live lone amid such desolation, provisions running short, watchful enemies on all sides. In such emergencies there was but one resoUI ce-a courage to Jo or die. Oweu and his men were abundantly supplied with that article. They made a desperate charge, cut their way through the enemy, two hundred of whom they left dead on the field of battle. After this momentary check, Owen pursued his career of conquest. The constable of Castle Emlyu surrendered to him. Carmarthen, town ¡ and castle, were taken, and 50 persons killed. The Lord of Carewe was forced I to open negotiations with tbe victorious rebel. I Gleodower's army, at this time and in this district, numbered 9,200 spears, such as they were (1)' The southern couutios were in great terrOl. Constables of castles near the danger sent to the commandants of more remote fortresses urgent messages for help. Owen and his 9,000 might be written iown contemptible—any kuave is master of that verbal courage. But the writer of the bravb words took care to add, If there is any help coming, hasta them with all haste towards us "(the encouragement given to the relieving columns is interesting as sn indication of the character of those ancient warriors, and of tbe mode of warfare prevailing In that age), for they may have goods and victuals pienty, for every house is full about us of their poultry, and yet wine and honey enough in the country, and wheat and bean, and all manner of victuals" (2) These heroes were less eager to do deeds for poete to sing than to supply cooks with materials to operate upon. Storming castles was not so gratify- ing to their martial palate as rifling hen-roosts. It wasdurmg this campaign that Owen had an interview with Hopkyu ap Thomas, the prophet of Gower. Gleudower couid "call spirits from the vasty deep," but be could not read bis or others' destiny in the stars or in mystic volumes Ap Thomas possessed thateasily-acquired faculty so Owen "prayed him, inasmuch as he beld him Master of Brut, that he should do him :to understand how and what manner it should befall of him. and lie told him wisely that he should be taken within a brief time, and the taking should be between Carmarthen and Gower aud the taking should be under a black banner » (3). Prophecies are, as a rule, but au individual s interpretation ot passing events. We know what the event was that gave Ap Thomas such assurance and geographical precision A small detachment of Owen's men had been, a short tune before, attacked and cut to pieces by the troops of Lord Carewe. The loyalists of South Wales were unreasonably elated at this success (4).. The prophet shared the loyalty and the py, winch dimmed his vis.on and wrecked his fame. Hopkyu', prophecy has not been fulfilled yet. wG,lend°Wer Wa* cmy;n* before him in South Wales matters wore a very different aspect «n North YVales. The king's troops were commanded by a young general not yet fifteen years of age, one who will by and by force he world to admire his genius, and cut his way to the forefront of England's heroes. History will pay its homage ta him under his name of glory, King Henry V. When K ng Henry IV. ear of young Percy's feats of arms at Holmedon, he envied Northumberland WUMVTH'\th6 *heme of honour', tongne, Whilst I, by looking on the prai*, of hiJ, See not and dishonour stain the brow Uf my young Hivmy,- • lyu-r, A mere fiction apt to gather around the cradle of and the boyhood of great men clouds whlCb the imagination of Shakespeare threw around the star of his hero when it began to appear above tin? horizon in "rderto make the glory and brilliancy of its ascendant the more conspicuous. The character ef young Harry was sacrificed for stage effect. As a matter of fact, this prince bad very little time to spend in riot, as his heart rebelled against the thought of dishonour. Existing documents prove that he was employed in Wales, or in the Marches, all through Glendower's rebellion, and that, after all danger had been stamped out on the bloody fields of Grossmont and Mynydd y Pwll Melin, he was specially requested by the Privy Council to continue in command of the army which watched the insurgents and protected the English counties against the raids ot the Welsh. The Privy Council had learned the value of this young prince, and their request to him vindicates his character, as it is an unconscious Compliment to the valour of the Welsh and the skill of their leader. The throne and council were uneasy save when England's Harry stood between them and the irregular and wild Glen- dower." PRINCE HEXET SEARCHING NORTH WALES. Prince Henry wsu; in search of Gleuduwer in North Wales. He was led to undertake this expedition out of pure chivalry. Information had reached him that the Welsh were gathering. The rebel leader was very confident, and uttered some boastful threats, which were carried to the Prince, losing none of their violence in transit, we may be sure. These insults had the desired effect. The young Plantagenet could not brook the idea that these barefooted knaves" should speak scornfully of the English. He would give Glendower an opportunity of making good his threats. If the rebel wants fighting, he shall not be disappointed from the lack of enemies to contend with. The boy general will go and meet the great magician, uamned Glendower." He I went, but, unfortunately, not in the right direc- tion. Owen was, as we have seen, engaged in South Wales, frightening lankya Havard out of his wits, and obliging Archdeacon Kyn gsfcon to write a letter to the kiug in al! the languages he could command. The duel between Henry and Glendower did not come off, and the former was obliged to war on buildings and produce an ignoble chastisement which he had prepared for the enemy, whose blood, though it flowed in streams, would have wiped away the stains of cruelty from this crusade of devastation. Stracge animal is man his blood can ennoble murder. The more blood is shod the holier the crime. [ the more famous the butcher. Prince Henry burnEd Owen's principal castle, called Saghern (3yearth),a "well-built mansion." Thence he carried the incendiary's torch to "GIyn- dourdy," and committed that castie also to the flames. In the neighbourhood some of his marauders made a great man of that district prisoner, "who was oue of Oiven's chieftains." The great man offered JS500 as his ransom in order to obtain his hfe. However, this was not accepted, but he had death, and several others of his companions whu were taken 00 the same day bad the same," Henry moved on to the commote of Edeyrnion, a beautiful country and well inhabited," which was set on fire. So war was waged in those days. However, One cannot help regretting, in spite of the lights of history, that the hand which placed the crown of France upon the head of Henry VI. should have carried such unchivalrous instruments in Wales. The chronology of these incident'! is very doubt. ful. Some writers place this expedition in the autumn of 1402. But it is scarcely credible that Owen, flushed with success, and the double triumph of Fyrnwy and Brynglas should, as these writers would have as believe, have fled at the approach of the English and their boyish captain. The letter of the Prince, from which I have quoted above, is a very interesting document. It was addressed to the lords of the Marches on the Prince's departure for England, at the end of the campaign, and is the earliest memoir extant from his hand. We were recently informed," wrote the Prince, that Owen de Glyndourdy had assembled bis forces, the rebels hia adherents, to a I large number, purposing to m*ke » raid and also to fighi-, if the English tolk would endeavour to oppose hia purpose, and thus he boasted to bis j folk; therefore, we took our folk, and went to a 1. The informant is Iankyn Havarrt. who wrote in ha"t and yn dred," from Dynevor Castle. The dis- parading phrase of Iankyn s letter was belied by the terror of bis heart. 2. Iankyn Havard's letter in EUis's Original Letters," p. lb. 3. Letter from the Mayor and Barenesses ol Caerieon to the Mayor aua Burt;esses oi Monmouth. Ellis, nt supra. ¡ 4. The joy is thus expressed:—" No more can we say to you at this time, but be glad and merry, and dread ye 1-ou-ir, i r we hope U> ttod that ye b&ve na need." ICsi#iteuu letter.) castle ot Owen's, weii-buiit, which was his prin* eipal mansion, called Saghern, there where we thought we should find him, if he wished to fight as he said he did; and at our arrival there we found no man (5). If the reader will compare with this authentic letter, simple and modest, as true courage ever is, with that blustering bombast which Shakespeare puts into hi3 hero's mouth as he addresses the citizens of Haifleur, be will be struck with the tremendous distance there is between the creations of genius and Nature's I products:— "For, Ti* I am a soldier. (A name thar, m my thoughts, become# me best), if 1 begin tbe battery once again, I wilt not leave the hall-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shs.ll range With conscience wide as hell." 6. This sort of hectoring rant is spread over nearly 50 lines, as uubecoming the character as a bishop in a cobbler's apron, unnatural as figs on ferns. The riot of the prince's youth is a pardon- able poetical licence compared with this violent transformation of nature that but affects the accideuvs, this destroys the very essence of the character. Henry V. may have been a wild youth, though history renders it very improbable. But the speech written by Shakespeare might have been uttered by a Pistol, by Henry V. never. Pompous declamation was the taste of the age, to which the poet sacrificed the soul of his hero, as he sacrificed his morality for stage effect. Prince Hal would have forgiven the poet the latter freak of his genius, but he would have been offended at the swelling buffoonery of the hero. The letter quoted above sets the prince's character in its propel light, a man of action, with small leisure for words, and no inclination for elaborate harangues. 5. Ellis's Original Letters," II. Series, Vol. I. 6. Shakespeare, Henry V., Act IIL, Scene 5. THE CHARTIsf MOVE- MENT. By William Francis. No. 2,—WILLIAM LOVETT: CHARTIST SECRETARY. I ask not for his lineage, I ask not fur his uawe If manliness be in his heart He noble birth may claim. I care not though of world's we&ltb But slender be his part, If yes'' you answer when I ask Hash he a true man's heart ?" Robert Xieol. In the present Mammon-loving, Mammon- worshipping age, it will be well for us to remem- ber thai the world is more indebted to poor men than to its men of metal and acres." Weigh what Dives has done for the world, and what the penniless have done, and Dives kicks tbe beam. For the most part they have been the landless and the penniless through whom the world's best gifts have come to it. Who was Martin Luther—he who nailed his theses to the church door at Wittenberg—the monk who shook the world ? The son of a poor miner was he. Who was John Bunyan—he who bequeathed to the world a legacy whose value seems to increase I with the ages? A poor tiaker was be, and in bis prison cell penned his nobie work. Who was Carey, the founder of the Baptist Missions in India? Who was Morrison, who gave the Bible I to the Chinese in their own mother tongue Who was Abraham Lincoln, who smote slavery in America? Who was John Pounds, the originator ot ragged schools? Who was David Livingstone, who traversed the dark continent ? Who were these men ? Why, they were the children of poor men—parents who Rave their children a heritage of toil, and whose children, battling with adverse circumstances, have gained victories grander and nobler than the victories of earth's potentates. It is, therafore, no discredit to the chartist movement that it had a lowly birth—that its leaders were not born with silver spoons in their mouths—that they were men before the mast rather than cabin passengers. Inheriting neither fame nor fortune, these men, by virtue of their real enthusiasm and intelligence, set in motion a train of forces which have exerted a potent influence fur good on the social and political life of the country. Near Penzance is a little fishing village, well ku wn to the writer, called Newlyn, and there, in 1800, William Lovett, the secretary of the Chartist movement, was born a few weeks after his father, I the captain of a small trading vessel, was drowned at sea. Wars and rumours of wars abounded when Lovett was a boy. So much British I' treasure and blood were sacrificed on the field of battle that men had to be pressed into the service, and some of Lovett's earliest recollections were connected with the doings of tbe pressgang. Deeply engraven on the memory of my boy- hood," he writes in hie autobiography, were the apprehensions and alarms amongst tbe inhabitants 01 the towns regarding the pressgang. The cry that the pressgang was coining was sufficient to cause all the young and eligible men of tbe town to flock up to the hills and away to the country as fast as possible, and fco hide themselves in all manner of places till the danger was supposed to be over. It was not always, however, that the road to the country was open to them, for the authorities sometimes arranged that a troop of light horso should be at hand to cut off from retreat when the pressgang landed. Then might tbe soldiers be seen with drawn swords riding down the poor fishermen, often through fields of standing corn, where they had sought to hide themselves, while the pressgang were engaged in diligently search- ing every house in order to secure their victims. In this way, as well as out iu their boats at bea, were great numbers taken away. and many of them never heard of by their relatives." Who can doubt but such scenes lit the first sparks of Lovett's natural indignation against wrone ? Leaving home to better bis condition, be pro- ceeded to London, where he sought employment as a self-taught carpenter, suffering for a time much privation. He, so far, however, overcame his difficulties, that the Cabinet-makers' Society, which at first refused him admission because be had not servad an apprenticeship, chose him at last as their president. When 26 years of age be married — making Ills own furniture—which furniture was seized five years later because he refused either to serve in the Militia or to pay the fine for a substitute, his plea being, No vote, no musket." His daring conduct was not without effect. It attracted the public attention. It aroused public indignation. It led to discussions in Parliament, and to the exposure of the system in practice, and from that day to tbe present no drawing for tbe Militia has taken place. A working man, possessed of an intatleet far above the average, he took a keen interest in all the popular movements of his times. So early a 1829 he drew up a petition for opening the British 1\luseum 011 Sundays, aud Wail active in the agitation for a free and untaxed press, begun by his friend, Henry Hetberington, in 1830. When the convention of delegates trom all parts of the country met in London in 1838 to prepare and to procure signatures to the national petition for the Charter, Lovett was chosen secretary, and, as secretary, had much to do in drawing up the famous document. There has been much dispute as to who was tbe real author of the People's Charter. Some maintain that it was the joint work of a committee, others that William Lovett was its author, while some ascribe this honour to Henry Hunt, the Radical. It would seem, however, that the dooument was drawn up by Lovett, and the preamble was written by Jobu Arthur Roebuck, Francis Place contributing to give it a somewhat terser style than it originally possessed. In days when the schoolmaster was not abroad and newspapers were dear, tbe working men of Birmingham were accustomed in the evening to assemble in the Buli Ring, when one of them mounted some elevation and read the Northern Star aloud, for the general information. Ou the 8th of July, while so engaged, they were attacked by a body of police, who, on the requisition of the magistrates, had been sent from London. The reader and his audience fled, but quickly rallied and attacked their assailants, who were compelled in turn to retreat, several being seriously injured. The military were than called out, and the Riot Act was read by the magistrates. The police re- turned to the attack and took several prisoners, I after which the soldiers guarded all the approaches to the Bull Ring. Towards midnight an exas- perated mob tore down 70 feet of the railing of a churchyard, armed themselves with the palisades, and wore marching towards the Bull Ring, when they were met by some leading Chartists who; with some difficulty, induced them to abandon tbeir design. At that time the convention was sitting at Bir- mingham, and the first act of the convention on the morning after the disturbance in the Bull Ring was the passing of resolutions affirming that the people of Birmingham are the best judges of tbeir right to meet in the Bull Ring or elsewhere, denouncing the dispersion of the meeting all unconstitutional and a wanton outrage. These resolutions wsre printed aud posted about the town, and, being signed åJ) Lovett as secretary, led to his arrest and that of Collins, who had ordered the printing. Both Lovett and Goilins were convicted of a seditious libel, and condemned to twelve months' imprisonment in Warwick Gaol, where they suffered the most ignominious treatment. They were stripped as common felons, and their hair was cropped. Their diet was of the most inferior description. They were confined in a cell with a brick floor, and were not allowed any covering for their feet except their stockings. Yet they were thus coaCaed, without fire or candle, during the greater pad of, every twenty-four hours. They were not allowed to write or to receive any letters, nor to have any books except those the chaplain par- mitted. It was whiie Lovett was suffering this .1 systematic and cowardly tyranny" in Warwick Gaol that Ebenezer Elliott, in his U EpithMamium on the Marriage of Queen Victoria," penned the following lines:- Behold that silent captive Apprenticed to the tomb His heart-worn features glimmering through The dull damp prison giooin, Roder? or Bradshaw is he called? ^Shaw? Ostler? Gree? O'Connor? No W hat his crime ? Say hath he sold iiis memory to dishonour ? Hath he traduced a nation Because three hundred years Have seen her trampled people drink Subjection's bitter tears! All otoer shame bath he eclipsed— Barbarian, Greek, or Roman Blaspheming all blest nam, in onej The sacred name of Woman Hath he betrayed the people Unto the people's foe* ? Mean triumphs given to paltriest mlllD Whose gods are bonds and biows ? Deceived the poor, the ever-wronged And factious noisy froward, Urged them to unpartak^n death A cruel, skulking coward ? No He whose spirit dieth Beneath .the dungeon's pall Proclaimed that all men brothers art. For God is sire of all I Oh Lady, if thy heart were stone, This tale of tears would move it The man thou see'st ib-guileless, braver Kind, childlike William Lovett. The best rebuke, however, was given by them. prisoners themselves, who occupied the time which most men would have spent in bitter revilings of their petty tyrants in indicting a book entitled "Chartism," written in a very noble spirit of forbearance, of kindliness towards all classes, and containing a well-argued scheme tor the education and impiovement of the people socially and politically. As a mere literary produc- tion it becomes interesting, but it becomes more so when we contrast the almost philosophic calmness of its tone with the painful circumstunces under which it was written. The Morning Chronicle, speaking of this little book, says Tue fact of such a work as that having been concocted in gaol is a severe rebuke oa wrong-headedness, to call it by no stronger term, that visits political offences with vexatious restrictions and torturing aggravations of the judicial sentence of simple imprisonment. May the plain statements and sentiments of this work meet with the attention they merit from legisla- tors and statesmen." When the Chartist movement collapsed, Lovett did not cease to work for the people in whose interests he had toiled 110 long and suffered so much. The rest of his life was given mainly to educational movements, and two educational works by him, Elements of Anatomy and Physiology aud "Social Political Morality," have been highly spoken of. Such was William Lovett, the secretary of the chartist movement. He was a true patriot, if ever there was one history records no truer. He was not self-seeking nor ambitious, save for the fame of good deeds. Not a strong man, but essentially a good man-just, intelligent, peace-loving. What epitaph of praise needs be?-" guileless, brave, kind, childlike William Lovettbeyond his title, "The Framer of the People's Charter," a charter greater than that which our forefathers won at Runnymede, because the latter did not rscogtuse the working man as a man.

DINNERS FOR POOR CHILDREN. We have several thnes noticed the efforts that are being made to provide food for school children, and have pointed out that one of the greatest difficulties is the economic side of the question-to do the greatest amount of good with the least possible wakening of the sentiment of self- dependence in the parents. That a large number of school children are underfed or starving appears to be demonstrated it lias aIso" "been shown that the power of the body and brain suffers therefrom. In too many cases starvation is chronic and incapable of permanent relief in other neighbour- hoods the relief may be required as an exceptional matter, during times of special depression in trade. We have ourselves seen a large Board School in the jewellers' quarter of Birmingham where most of the children appeared to be starving, and exhausted in consequence; this was explained as owing to the local depression of trade. Here was a case where a supply of cheap or even free food at the school might have been JOust useful in arresting the ten- dency to disease, and in aiding development. The Charity Organisation Society, in a valuable report recently issued on charity and food, points out many facts founded upon evidence which they have collected; reports have also appeared in Birmingham, Liverpool, and other large towns on the work done there. The starving children often appear to show more signs of daintiness than of hunger, which seems to indicate the dyspepsia of inaniti m. Tile apparatus used for cooking makes much difference in the economy of the meals, as well as in their success in point of tastiness. T& leave the children attending school without dinner for three months is likely to result in a delay of growth and development of body and braia which would take a long time to overtake. Temporary relief in periods of distress, when the children continue their school work. items very desirable—a true work of charity, and one not too costly, though requiring much personal labour on the part of managers aud visitors. If relief is to be temporary, it cannot be self-support- iug; if dinners tor school children are to become a permanent institution, they ought not, we think, to be provided by charity or by the State, but by commercial resource. The numerous experiments made by charitable people have afforded much information upon which commercial enterprise may be founded but it seems hardly likely that self-paying dinners can be provided, unless ac- commodation is to be had at or near the schools rent free. If it be shown that there is a per- manent demand for dinners at or near large schools at a commercial ptice, the necessity of the case might be met oa the sauie basis as at some of our colleges let rooms appropriately fitted be provided by the public, and let at low rentals to contractors. It ought also to be arranged that > such rooms, being independent of the scho-ns, should be open on Saturdays and during the holidays, if wanted.—British Medical Journal,

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. Griggs was quite proud of the sensation whidb be caused in church the other day, until be dis- covered that his gloves (which he had been carry- in* inside his bat) were reposing on tbe top ef bie bead.

NO ON* ANT WI8EB. There was a deep student of some sort of hm, I cannot just say what they term it, So much interrupted by leisurely friends That he longed for the life of a bermit. So he left hit loved books for a number of daya, Left the home be no more could abide io, Determined to search in unusual ways Till he found a enug nook he could hide in. He found it! 'Twas down a long avenue's length* "Twu down through a lane-with a turning, Then round a queer corner and four stories high, A snug situation for learning. How lucky he cried, all be moved in his books. Sweet solitude Dearly I prize her— Here, hard I can study alone by myself. And « one be any the reiser." The fortune ot a man who aits sits also; it sleeps when be sleeps, moves when be moves, and rises when be rises. A WoKDEBTCL ACHIOTHNT.—Professor at Vassar (to class): Now, who can tell me the most wonderful achieve men t of the nineteenth century ? Miss Morris, I see your band raised.* Miss Murris (proudly My sister Nellie taught her pug dog Thietlo tc chew guin.* J

L.O- '<* i g I [ALL RI&HlS R;.< iiiVJiD. j h HERR PAULUS: ft d fiis RISE, HIS GREATNESS, AND HIS U FALL. By WALTER BESANT, I Author of All S' rts and Conditions of Men,' i &c., &c. R [THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RKSKKVKO.] OJ' BOOK THE THIRD. R. CHAPTER VIII.—ONE MORE ENGAGKWENT. [ **I am always at your command, Lady Angus- la." He was returning from Beaumont-street and 'tflouglii to go straight, to his own room, there to consider this un^xp^ct^d b:ow. Hb was so ignorant of affairs that this parade of an account, With its preposterous list of charges, deceived him. £ te had been so careless of affairs that he never ftsked his partner — of course they had been partners for any statement, hut he blindly Relieved himself entitled to a vast Rum-a. thousand dollars seems a vast sum to a young Ulan who has never hr.d any money to spend, and does not. understand the meaning of arithmetic. Ana now he was in debt, and in England, where they have. he kn^w, the Fleet Prison and the Mnrshaisea and the Queen'* Bench Prison, aud ¡ Correction Humes for debtors. How was he to I pay that debt ?° and what would happen to him When he had no money ? The young man would I fain hare sat down to consider tlie.se thing* in his own room, but on his way he was met by Lady Augusta's message. I Thank you, Paul." She hesitated and appeared to have some diffi cnlty in formulating ii6r questions. Then, moved ¡ by *oine recollection or thought, she put on the I gracious smile of a pravde dame de par It monde. You have been very different trjir. the ordi- Mary medium, my dear Paul. You did not come here for money'; you cattip, A getitlpmfin upon I visit, you have made us all lore you—especially Hetty. Let me talk to yon, as a woman old enough to be your mother, and very much interes- ted in you," "Yun have always been too kind to me, Lady Augusta. I have nor, deserved your kindness." First, my dear boy, is it quite true that you have lost your powers?" it is quite true." M Consider. Men, I know, sometimes pretend things for ambitious purposes. Teil me frankly, are you hiding something ? Take me into your confidence, Paul." Ias«"e yon, Lady Augusta, np"n my he checked himself, remembering that he had never owned any of that precious possession, all of which had yet to be won. I assure yon that I have entirely tost such powers as I ever lIad." I And shaJ you never recover them ?" I have resolved to make no attempt to recover them. I have entirely closed that chapter of my life." "KeaHy? PIif why P", "I cannot toll you exactly why. But I have no other choice." t: Oh Paul, it b<??" "It Witeu we are ou'y standing on the threshold oftnpTempie—whenyou have dotje little more than the dcor for us to peep in Frankly, Fat! I am disappointed." j I am ss-rry." 5 "You came to us with credential far beyond anything we had -ver received before. My cor- respondent, Anna Petrovna, promised us achieve- ments the like of which we had never before heArd," I did some thinsr? for you. Were you disap- pointed in t.hem ?" N'<j,~wa wsfe not. We were both surprised and delighted. But Pan!, the things you did were as nothing compared with the things you taught. I for one can never forget your teaching. You raised us, Paul. You lifted our souis—and yet you abandon as—you pi ve up your work. Oil It is as if an ancient Prophet had resolved to listen no mors to the Word of the Lord, and had Rone back to his plough and his vineyard. How can you abandon your calling, P"ul ?" I have no choice," he repeated. There was never any man," Lady Augusta Went on, who was able to move me so deeply as you could and did, Paul. No preacher, 110teacher, no singer, no novelist, no poet, no actor. I longed daily fur your voice, and now it is silent, or it Utters only common things. Why ia it, Pdul- Why is it ?" "I cannot tell you." "I looked for greater things, Paul. I looked for more teaching, more elevation of soul, a deeper Communion with the other world." "You would always look for greater tilings; you would always expect more." Paul recovered a little of his lost authority. "Those who first Converse with Spirits through a medium and Witness manifssewtions are always asking for Tnor-i. You, to whom a glimpse of this other World has been permitted, are impatient and dissatisfied, because you cannot have at once full sisrht ntid fuH communion. Have patience, Lady Augusta. Perhaps this will come iu time- perhaps not." I "Yes. Uut acknowledge, Paul, that the Message wants completeness." "It may be so. Some alio wance should be made for the imperfections of the messenger." "There are always imperfections in the medium, to be sure—even in the best—in such as yourself. For instance, you promised that before you went away I myself should be endowed with your power of seeing and conversing with the spirits." "Do you think th:.t you would like that power? Think, Lady Augusta." "You have is yourself. Do you like it?'' I have it no longer. Think, however, what it might mean. There are countless myriads of hUlnan souls—all immortal and imperidmblA-the souls of all the generations which have passed away: try to think of the air filled with them. They are the souls of the ancient barbarians and j Ravages—wild men and women of the woods-the souls of prehistoric man, as well as man of these recent times. The common medium offers to call the spirit of Juliu> Cse-ar or Homer. How can he, amid all these myriads, call for one? Think of being always conscious of their vase multitudes. You would see them wh rever you epened your j eyes darkness would not hide them—wails would not protect you from seeing them. you had, aft well; the power of conversing with them, ) they would pass you in a never-ending silent pro- cession. If you could speak with them, how many wcula you care to address? Think of the thousands of savage faces, brutal and ignorant IiItill-of the bad faces, many more bad than good. You would never sleep for thinking of their dreadful faces. There would be no kindness for you in their faces there would be no sympathy for you. Could you endure this re vela- tion?" II No, no I could not. It would be too awful. But we shall die. Shall we join this dreadful procession of savage souls?" I say not that. You will be enabled to find and join your own friends to walk upon your own level." Lady Augusta shook her head. She had never before realised how small a band her own friends constituted. To look for them in this vast crowd might be a hopeless task. "And consider—if my Message has been delivered, that something survives. Mr Brudenel says that he stands upon the Solid Rock. The fortunes which were in such shipwreck have been saved. And there are these conversations which we have bad together. If what is true in them survives I shall be content to remember them with gratitude.' But is your power really—hopelessly—gone ?" "It is hopeie.ssiy gone." What a pity-wbat a pity." II Perhaps. U "WeU—it cannot be helped, then. I have enjoyed your visit very much, Paul. I am very, very sorry that it is all over. And-atid-- Oh my dear boy The tears came to her eye*, and she wrung her hands passionately- To think that it is all over when I hoped for so much. You do not know the dreadful disappoint- ment I have had to endure year after year, when one man came after another and all-all-wer.e found out. If it were not that we Lwow-as the outside world cannot know—the grand truth which underlies the pretences of these creatures, and that they actually have something of the power which we crave, I should have gone out of my "»uaes lottg ago. Aud then you came and every- t thin#, seemed oper.ug up for us at las!. You wanted no money. Y<-u came bringing Wisdom r^id Power with you. OU my h^ari leaped up. At last, I thought, we have the Piophet we have lo-ige'i for." Oh stop—stop—" Pn.nl murmured. "And then I disc-wied that what I had longed for and prayed for all my life had come to me at I last; and the other world was to bs no more an Article of Faith but a tiling proved like a mathe- matical theorem. I thought that the Immortality of the Soul was going to be demonstrated so that every man in the world should know that this life is but an episode in which we may advance ourselves spiritually or degrade ourselves make friendships and alliances to last for ever. Oh I' think of the change which would happen to the world. Did you ever try to think what would happen if we all knew for an actual fact that we are immortal, anù that we are always for ever going upwards or downwards. Then those who are on the; upward slopes would encouraere those lower down, and then would arise a universal longing,for better things. Then vice and selfishness and all the sins of the world would vanish away, and we should understand the beauty of holiness. Think of the great hymn of praise which would go up from all alike if this were once proved, and the living and the dead could commune with one another." I If that could be done said Paul, meekly. "I thought that you would do it-you, Paul. Aud I thought that we would buiid a great College for Spiritual Research, and that you should be its Director, and that we should attract nil the highest minds among the young people to make them students, and then our advance would be so rapid. Oh I thought I saw world after world unfolding, planet speaking with planet, star to star. Paul—Paul—" her voice rose higher and higher—" all these things were in your power. You would have done all this and more—and more—and you have basely abandoned every- thing, and are now no more than an ordinary young man, one of the world—blind and deaf and dumb, though the spirits call aloud and order you to speak." They do not, Lady Augusta. I hear nothing. I see no! hing." Oo It is dreadful—dreadful—to have this last, hope, the best grounded of all, wrecked and ruined. Wei:, Paul; you could not help it, I suppose." He was silent. For a while neither spoke. Tiien Lady Augusta went on in a changed voice Tilt-re were two other things 1 had to say. What were they? Oh First, have you beard about our conference ? What conference ? I thought my husband had spoken to you about the conference of spiritualists. It is the first reunion of spiritualists ever attempted to be held in this couutry. Mr Brudenel has been a.ked to preside. They will come from ail parts, from America, from Russia, from India A confereuceof spirJtuaiists ? Will Mr Cbic!: andpeopte like him be asked to speak ? "All will be invited to attend, from the most, serious seeker to the commonest spirit rappers. We shall present to the world an imposing array as regards numbers and names we shall en- courage and stimulate ourselves by thecommuniou of speech and the exchange of experience. You will speak, Paul ? "I do not know. I think you had better not ask me," be replied, with lowered eyes. "I itust ask you. Why, Paul, there has been DO experience at all to compare with your own in the history of spiritualism. Thesuddeniossof your powers is in itself a most striking corrobora- tion of their Kenuineness. You must epoak. We shall have papers of the common-place kind from men Lke Mr Athelstau Kdburn and Mr Amelias Horton. There will be, I am afraid, papers full of exaggeration. which we Spiritualists always expect. There will be, I daresay, papers con- taining downright untruths and inventions. There always are." What subject do yon wish me to speak on ? You may, of course, take auy that you please. In tact, tile world spiritualism covers an enor- mous field of Research. Bat, Paul, the subject which I should like you to take up is the History of your own Embassy." The History of my own Embassy. Yes, Lady Augusta," he luoked up with a strange hi-dit in his eyes, I will give the Conference the History of my own Embassy." Very well, that is settled. And now, Paul, let us return to yourself. You have lost your powers, and you have at the same time fallen iu iove with Hetty. I questioned her about it, and she confessed the whole—And you are going back to America. Waat are you going to do wlien you get there ? I cannot say, yet." •. Have you any money?" "None at all. I have no profession, no private means, and no influential friends/' But you cannot marry, Paul, unless you have an ÎnCc>lIle." "That is true. I ought not to bave spoken to Hetty." You have rendered the greatest services to this house, Paul. You must not go away empty handed. It must not be said that we suffered you to go a wny without solid proofs of gratitude. No, no," Paul made haste to reply," it is im possible for me to take money of you or anyone else in your household. Lady Augusta, you said that I came a gentleman on a visit. Let me go as I came, a gentleman-who euds his visit." CHAPTER IX.—YET ANOTHKR BLOW. It was the day of the dance, and an unwonted stir and restlessness, with the running about of the servants, and the voices-actually the voices —of strange men filled the house. The prepara- tions of festivity, the gaiety and happiness of the girls, mocked the melancholy which filled Paul's hreant. How can people be heartlessly happy in t.he presence of other people who go in sadness ? Everything conspired to make him sad. He was oniy a young American, a medium, a mesmeriser who had somehow lost the magnetic power, and a pauper. The only thing that distinguished him was his great achievement in saving the family fortunes, and that feat was damaged by the dis- covery that, whoever caused those letters to be written, he himself knew beforehand of the danger that threatened the company. The only consolation to his soul was the importance which the mysterious fiat conferred upon him. Come upstairs, old man," said Tom. "We'll have tobacco and talk. Pve got nothing to do this afternoon, aud yuu never have anything to do." Paul followed him with a sinking heart, and the certainty—less sensitive men wouid have felt a little uneasiness oniy—but Paul knew for certain that something unpleasant was going to happen. Every day brought fresh disgraces and humilia- tions. There was going to be another. Tom had no intention of making unpleasantness. He construed all the line talk about the loss of power, and the recovery of memory as to the past, and the rest of it, as the machinery prepared beforehand to cover a graceful withdrawal, with perhaps n. final little miracle to mark the departure of the magician. "Thank the Lord," he observed to Sibyl, there will be no more Abyssinian Phi- losophy. That's done with and decentiy buried. That fellow's ashamed of his rubbish. He has the grace to be ashamed, Dodo. Whereforel like him the better. Strange that you and I should like a fellow who came here with a mass of lies, and has made fools of everybody in the house except you and me. He's ashamed, Dodo, He won't bver do it again." Tom had no desire to be unpleasant. Yet he became horribly unpleasant. For he knocked away the last prop which kept up Paul's self- respect, and plunged him into the lowest depths of abasement. But he only meant to straighten up things a bit before Paul left them, so that there should lie no misunderstanding afterwards. It surprised him afterwards to think how unpleasant he had made himself. Well," he said cheerfully, it's all over, isn't it ? Prodigies came out unexpectedly strong. Miracles undoubted. Manifestations not to be explained on any other reasonable hypothesis than the direct interferences of supernatural agency. I haven't had an opportunity of talking to you pri- vately about the thing-but I hope you are satis- fied." "Quite. I had a message to deliver—" "I thought you were forgetting that. Wel], let us put it so, to save explanation." My massage once delivered, of course every- thing was done." And now, I take it," Tom went on, we may consider that the whole business may be frankly discussed, just as if you had not been the principal actor in it." "Ye—yes. I suppose so. Why not?" Well, if you come to that, why not, indeed 1" Tom sat down and lit his cigarette. He smoked it straight through without saying another word. Then he threw the stump away and took another. Paul, old man," he said, hI took to you from the first. You know I did. It wasn't so much your cleverness, because clover men are often beasts. And it wasn't becausalsawatthe first go off that you were a long way ahead of Chick and his lot. Of course, I admired your wonderful cheek, and some of the stories you told were first class. But I bked your manner, and I've always liked your manner ever since." "Thank you." "Yes. It was your manner. You cast yourself upon us. You made everybody your friend from the very beginning, except Sibyl. You've got a most surprising manner. It's irresistible. No wonder you mesmerised the girls and cured the housemaids' toothaches. It was your manner that caught ou to MM. !(.'« admirable, Paul; au. ¡ miraoSe. Now that you remember where yon hail from, you might perhaps remember how you got it. Was it from some Italian Marchese, your grandfather ?" No. We are plain New England people, who came over for conscience sake two hundr ed years apt' For conscience sake, just as you came back to the old country. The Puritan bfood is still show- ing itself. Paul blushed. Your manner is most certainiy inherited. I expect, you come in reality from some great Eng- lish House. What was your came before you were christened HerrPaulus" "Mynnmo:sTrindcr." Trinder—Lord Trinder—E?rl Trinder—Sir Paul Trinder, Baronet. Tough old Sir Torn Trinder who fought at Agincourt. No, I can't remember any Trmder in history. But it's the fault of the historians. There must have been si'tiie Trinder, brave and handsome, clever and 1 courteous. He was the comrade in arms of Bay- I ard, his grandson was the friend of Phiiip Sydnev. his great grandson the sworn brother of Criehton. I know nothing about my English ancestors, j said Paul, graveiy. Well, old man, before you go away let lis have I a little explanation. You've given up the business entirely, I hear. I am not sorry, because though the miracles are exciting' at the time, the machi- nery must give a great deal of trouble, and the- the-actillg-, you know, has got to be kept up all the time after." I have lost my power and I shall never get it back again. That is what you mean, isn c it. That's near enough. Well, old man. j tola you the very first night you caine that I she>n watch you all the time. I told you that, didn 11. "You certainly did, I hope you have been watching me." "That's just it-I have-and I've arrived at pome rather curious and interesting results. First of a!l, before I tell you what they are, ten me what you propose to do. That is if it is not an impertinent question." I have not decided." „ "Look here," Tom laid hi« hand on 1 > "let us make 110 mistakes about things. x» saved all that money. Nothing could have made my dear old hump of a guardian beheve that the Company-his Company—could be in a bad WHY. You saved all that. Very good. Then w are grateful. And you made him write ti)at letter to me. Nobody else could have 0 because he'd got an idea in his blessed chump that the Cause wants a Vestal and that it was his duty to provide the esta, he had determined to carry it throug another Jephthah. Nobody but you, I .coma have made him writ, that letter. As tor t o three cheques and the letter of introduction, ,„n>f thej were just part of the machinery. <> throw off a miracle to advantage witl £ liminary patter, and the scenery, ntl p P Therefore, don't think 1 aul cr°vv(,n then the little discovery that I have made. dppnlv long and short of it is, Paul, that we are, deeply indebted to you—so deeply, that notti g pSiar -—»• "ati- Y„u will not, I kiiow, Indeed sir.ee you have ceased to— to manliest you know-Lady Augusta, who is nothing if not a bpiritualist, has ceased to desire your stay to be prolonged. I dare say she w.U tell you so herself very soon. So you wiii go away—I have no right to ask where you are fomt. But you have given me the right to ask whether we can in any way make your path easier for you-wbether we can find some of the funds necessary for comfort— whether, in fact, you are rich/ "Yesterday morning, t>aid Paul, "I should have replied that I was possessed of ample funds. This afternoon I Can tell you that I havo but a single sovereign in the world besides a lot of Use- less and expensive things which I can sell, or Dawn in order to get back to the States." '"And then?" I do not know. I must get back. I must get away from this. And I must take Hetty j away too. My dear Paul, you must take something from me. You have saved everything that Sihyl. Cicely, aud I possessed in the world. You must let us provide for you." No, Tom. If there were nothing but splitting rails for the rest of my life, I would not take your money, nor the money of anybody in this house. I could not. Oh 1 You must understand why ?" I think I can, old man. I am sure, on the whole, that I can. Then let us lend you money. wi)oie Burrow, if you will not accept." No, I would rather dio than borrow your money." He sprang to his feet and rushed to the window. Tom thought he heard something like a choke. He therefore preserved silence. I have noticed," he went on presently, for some days that you've been looking unhappy, Is it tiie trouble about money ?" Perhaps. Never mind the money. Talk of something else. It drives me mad to talk about money." Well-if I must not—yet it is a very important subject of conversation at ail times, jot: us talk of something else. Let HS return to that watch 1 have been keeping up, you know. Would you like to know what I have learned? Paul turned pale—to the veiy lips. "Yes," he faltered, I should like to hear." First, when I came to think over the very wonderful manifestations—you know—of the first night which, I must say, were far away the best things of the kind I ever witnessed, I connected them, as our friend Emanuel Chick did, with Mettmeric foice, or Magnetism. Then I began to read up the subject. I read many books which contained many Jies. I even began to practise at the Laboratory. And I succeeded in putting two or three of the students into a me-ntbric trance and I made them do things. You see, I Wits on the right track." <0 Paul made no reply. I then made another discovery. I found that legerdemain, added to mesmeric powers, would enable a man to do all kinds of things. The two things together explained how the girls were made to see and say exactly what you pleased, and how the paper came fluttering from the ceil- ing, and why the photographs represented the girl's thoughts." Go on." "I also found it abundantly proved that a par- son may be cuied oi many disorders by being subjected to mesmeric influence, and that mes merism is an anaesthetic which deserves to be considered scientifically; and that a man who has developed this power, which I suppose to be latent in everyone, may get another into his power completely and ma ke him do all kwf 3 of things of which he will afterwards remember nothing." "All this is perfectly true." _„ Then, Paul, come with me, and I will show you something more." f. He led the way up a stair to the root, un roof stood a little kind of tent. "Comeinhere." Paul followed him. The canvass fell over the entrance, and they were in darkness. "This," said Tom, "is not a photographers tent; though it looks like it. The tent is in tact a camera obseura, and it is so arrange as to command a view of a place with which you are familiar. See." TOM EXPLAINS TO PAUL. I The little table which stood within the tent became suddenly lit up with a oictnre in colours. It was a picture representing Mr Oyrus Brudenel in his study. That gentleman sat in his wooden chair before his table, papers a..etters were lying before him, but he sat tappmg his knuckles with bis double glasses. "Do you recognise that look in his face?" Tom whispered. "I have seen .-it a dozen times. It means doubt and discouragement. It is the old story. One after the other they nave come here, bearing in their hands the keys which 8e(; 0pea f the gates of the other world. Mr Brudenel has 1 been permitted to look through the gates. He I never sees anything, bnt be is always going to J have a full view next day. He pays large sums of money for the privilege. Sometimes the spirits 011 the other side converse fvifcb hm,; they have even appeared to him } he has seen them he has been permitted to grasp^ tbeir hands, to feel their breath upon his cheek, a;rid to be kissed by them. But they have n&ver told him one single thing which conveyed the least instruction. Just as he had seen nothing, so be learned nothing. All his life bad been spent in accumulating testimonies to the existence of the other Norld, and the possibility of communicating with its inhabitants. It seems to me a waste of a good life. Does it not?" Paul made no reply. Eitchctaimant as he came brought him at first complete assurance and firm conviction. In fact, he never doubted for one taoment the truth of Spiritualism. But every successive operator has left behind him a doubt, to say the least, as to his truth and honesty. Something unpleasant has come out before they went away or after. As for poor old Chick, he has been discredited a hundred times. Yet he still turns up again with a new message which means nothing. He, however, is quite used to be trentedas a 6 humbug 3 Look—he is very uneasy." Mr Brudenel at this point rose from his chair and began walking out the room. He is thinking of what that old boy said about your power of putting two and two together. His mind is filled with the suspicion that it was you who found out the state of tha Company, and not his Excellancy the Right Reverend the Lord Bishop Iz £ k Ibn Menelek, the Falasba, who interfered. Tbe suspicion keeps him stretched upon the rack. It is turning the Solid Rock into a quagmire. Paul, my dear boy, it was awfully clever, but it won't h "Id water after Mr James rnl Berry's innocent observation this morning. Paul, Berry's innocent observation this morning. Paul, if I were you I would pack up and go very soon. He will recover a little when you are gone. Paul uttered some inarticulate kind of groan. r 0<Ujiied n.y-elf/' Tom went on, in „ i" interesting series of observations, the nature of which you can guess. I have see,, our Sr old friend there morning after monr.ng Suced to insensibility I have then seen you PiuTtake his keys out of his pocket, unlock and 1 i ie oven and read Jus letters, anr] *rZek' I have seen you-not heard examin ciuost.;on,s to him aud receive answers 2°U 1,in.' I have seen you order him to°"write 'letters which you dictated. By ff heln of a magnifying glass I was enabled to read those letters. In this way I acquired infanpat.cn which was very useful tome. T lict Pa»l I knew all along what yoa were V„n!rr 'though I confess there were some things „ T did not quite understand for instance, Re appearance of the day's paper. That of the „th old paper was a very feeble performance. Anybody c..uld do that ^with the help of the mesmeric power. But Paul groaned heavily and fell across tbe table, over the image of Mr Cyrus Brudenel, who was iust then sitting down again. He. had fainted. Why," said Tom, when he bad got him down stairs and' mfide him sit down on a sofa, who 011 earth would have thought that you were going to take it like this ?" *• Oh you knew—all along— Yes—I knew." »« And Sibyl knew." Yes-certainly. Sibyl knew. But no one e'8" And every time I spoke you were laughing at "Not exactly laughing at you. We were wondering, perhaps, what was com ngnext." V I will pack up and go at cnce," Paul cried, springing to his feet. Not yet, Paul. Sit down again. After a fainting fit you must rest a little. Tell me, Paul, you did not think that we took you seriously—you never insulted my intellect so far as that—did „ 9)} you I The othersdid, and I hoped—I thought—that after those letters you would. Oil I am only a detected imposter. Let me go." "Not just yet." Tom gently forced him to lie down. "Such a fainting fit as that shows that you were knocked over by more than my little siory. Rest awhile." I am a detected impostor," said Paul. I can never lock anyone in the face again," "Tut—tut—nonsense, man. I know all about it, now. I know about the old man in Beaumont- utreet. I know all about Bethiah. I know all about Hetty. And I've known all along-wllo could help knowing?—that you were playing your own game. There are people who believe in the clumsy jimmy about the Mahatma3 and the Occult; Philosophers and Karma and all that stuff—and so you were quite justified in thinking that there would be people rpady to believe in your own litt'e fake about the Falasba and Prince Menelek. Ouiy I never thought that you reckoned me among the possible believers. That's all. You came to England in order to distinguish yourself. You thought you would perform your miracles' and get the whole world ringing with your name. Well," he continued, the miracle came off. No doubt about the miracles at all. Wei), where's the nonûur r Where is the ringing voice of fame? The miracles have fallen flat. The papers never took them up. Just now the papers will not take up Spiritualism, except to relate how another medium has been detected. The thing is in bad odour, you see. One or two people have asked me about the Indian paper trick, but no one reaily beiieved it. Flatness, Paul, dead flatuess—a frost —has fallen upon the miracles. Devil a bit of dis- tinction after all your troubles. The old man in Beaumont-street is the New York medium who taught you- Paul groaned and buried his face in the sofa cushions. "I know everything—you see." Does—does anybody else know ?" "Sibyl knows. She has known all along." "Oh Paul groaned again. Hetty does not know. It is left for you to tell her—what you please. If I were you I would tell her all." "I cannot." As for in,, there is one thing more that I have to learn." • «• I wiil tell yon nothing more. Oh! Hav« «, not tortured me enough ?" IXave *°a "Sit up, Paul. So—" Paul obeyed. me in the face. Sc. Keep your eyes fiIeT m i ne—so—so" A strange giddiness fell upon Paul, mi, stiffened in all his limbs and sat upright had mesmerised so many others was now Iv self mesmerised. mm- "You have told me everything, pau| 4 T much obliged to you. You have beer, m mesmeric trance, and you ha ve told me how » did the Indian Paper miracle, and the tZ? 1 bells and everything. You are a prestidi»i?^^ 1 a ventriloquist, and a mesmerist all ia one OH you very much." °Qe' li»ank Paul rose pale and confused. Is it t;rue?" be a!lked. "It is quite true. But have n0 f0B- T •„ not do it again. And now, „ld man it'J \n W,U your cleverness will go off into soli Tr' won't it? The last is a very strikin^ n ^er 1,ne» tire line, but it is liable to misConSSk-ttra-c; people take it seriously. Better have d 0D.lf St The magician will soon be f," ?!'n9 With Hetty will make you happy, gotten, and virtue except one—she cannot be no every honour her parents. She is fun »Trsu»aed to about truth and tricks. AU the mPreiud'Ces He should be able to hon^T why isn't it?" aei husband, Tom said no more. He fe]«. to speak-of the shame he liaifhi-r to other man. He held out his hand poa the » I connot take your Rand » o, Ti "You can-you shall, pau', Paul. else, by the Lord, I'll mesmerist „ at once» make you sit down and Write i y°u W'n, and Hatty." letter and give up (To becontini(edA

THE ECONOMICAL PUDDING. Shove another plum -n, They're too far off to hear one another shout."

ON THE HUG. Do you really, truly love me More than any girl you know? Well, then, hug me just a little, If you must, before you go, Fold your arms around me tighter Have you never hugged before? Draw me nearer, press me closer; Can't you but; me any more ? —Love-sick Poetess. litig you more No not to-night dear. For you talk so dreadful loud, Every piuch and sqeeze I give you Is told by you to all the crowd. But never mind, yru'il soon learn bstUr When you see more of this life; There now, darling, don't be foolish Let me go—here comes my wife. -I-luggor of Hugyj]^, HOKOtrns WKHE EVEN.—Carping.Yankee Critic- Your German language is so devilish long-winded" you know. Now, here's a word I've just struck.' Schwanenfluegel." It twists me up.— Q„jet and Contemplative German Listener Yaae. I vos affecgded der saire vay veu I read der Soon dis mornin', unt game across GubernatorialJy AT AN ENGLISH HOTEL.—New Arrival: Are the rooms ready I wired for last night ? English Hotel Clerk: What's the name ? Arrival: Sullivan Clerk: Oh, ya-as, your honour. Boots: show Mr Sullivan to the first suite of drawing- rooms. You'll find heverything ready Mr Sullivan Arrival: Sir Arthur, sir! not Mister. v jr. I'm Sir Arthur Sullivan, the composer Clerk: Tenth floor, back, boots! (to himself.) r thought >i« waa little stubby for John Heii lU0U*W

V GOLOFN GYMREiG. Dymunir i'neolipbwvr r-*™ • ■ i iaethau, 11 vf^ u {n?rei- Sy^inoeugoheu- liafydd Mbrnanwn fel r street, Oarditf. *ior9<tn^g-Hoxm., Llohiwit-