The Cardiff Times

SHOT-FIRING ACCIDENT AT ABERDARE. Shortly after eight o'clock on Friday morning considerable excitement was caused by a rumour that a frightful accident had happened in one of the shafts of the new pit now being sunk at Aberdare Junction for the Dowlais Steel Com- pany, and that ten men had been dreadfully injured. Fortunately, however, rumour had considerably exaggerated the true facts of the case, and, although a large number of men had a narrow escape the number actually injured to any serious extent was only thrse. It appears that the morning shift, composed of 28 men, descended the south shaft at six a.m., and that some of the sinkers at once commenced drilling a new hole for shot-firing purposes. A round of fourteen shots had been fired by the night shift at two o'clock in the morning, and it is now con- jectured that one of these missed lire. At any rate, while the new hole was being drilled an unexploded shot in one of these holes went off, the smouldering fuse, it is supposed, being re-ignited by the vibration caused by the drills. How any of the men then below escaped with their lives is a marvel. The poor fellows were all brought to bank in less than half an hour after the accident. It was then seen that three of them had been seriously injured. Dr. Leigh, of Llanvabon, and Dr. Griffin, his assistant, who had been summoned, rendered every assistance, and the men were as soon as possible carried on stretchers in an insensible condition to their homes. They were Edward Roberts. William- street, Cilfynydd (married), whose injuries con- sisted of fractured bones Thomas Burton J ones, Howell-street, Cilfynydd (single), dreadfully injured about the face and eyes; and Samuel Newport, David-street, Coedpenmaen, Ponty- pridd, who had his ribs fractured, and whose recovery is regarded as doubtful. The South pit, where the accident occurred, has been sunk to the depth of 110 yards. Oiir representative ex- perienced considerable difficulty in securing ^Information as to the details of tho unfortunate mishap, the responsible officials on the works being exceedingly reticent. Writing at 10 o'clock on Friday night our Ponty- pridd representative states :—Samuel Newport, one of the three unfortunate men, succumbed to his injuries about seven o'clock this evening, at his lodgings, 40, David-street, Coedpenmaen. Newport was a single man, about 31 years of age. He had four of his ribs broken, his shoulder dis- located, and sustained internal injuriesof a serious, nature. But little hope is now entertained of the recovery of either Jones or Roberts. The Inquest. On Monday, Mr E. B. Reece, coroner, held an inquest at Bonvilstone Hotel, Coedpenmaen, Pontypridd, on the body of the sinker, Samuel Newport, 31 years of age, who died on Friday last from injuries received on the morning of that day at the shot-firing accident, which happened at the new pit of the Dowlais Iron and Steel Company, Aberdare Junction. Mr J. T. Robson, her Majesty's Inspector of Mines for South Wales, was present; and Mr Walter H. Morgan, solicitor, Pontypridd, appeared on behalf of the Dowlais Company. Mr H. W. Martin was also present. Mr J. Edwards, Market-square, Ponty- pridd, was foreman of the jury.—The body having been identified by Edward Newport, Winston, father of deceased, and Mrs Charlotte Marsh, David-street, with whom he lodged, deposed that he was brought home injured on the afternoon of Friday last, and died the same night, remaining conscious up to within half-an-hour of his death. He was attended by Dr Lyttle. Henry Poole, Aberdare Junction, said he was leader of the shift to which the deceased belonged. The sinkers were divided into three shifts, each working eight hours per day. On Friday last, his shift descended at six o'clock in the morning, and about twenty minutes past eight, an explosion occurred, caused,in his opinion, by an unexploded shot. The leader of the shift that went out at six o'clock, named John Powell, reported to him that they had fired fourteen shots at two o'clock that morning. His (witness') shift, as soon as they descended, went on with the work of clearing the rubbish occasioned by those shots, and commenced to bore nine other holes for further shots. Before commencing to bore, however, he had examined carefully about to see whether all the old shots had gone off, and as far as he could see, no shots remained unexploded. The bottom looked solid, and all the new holes were bored in solid rock. He was on top when the explosion occurred, having gone up to fetch some fresh drills. There were 27 men down at the time, the bottom being at a depth of over 115 yards. He got down as soon as possible, and found that the deceased and two other men, Roberts and Jones, had been hurt. He got them out as soon as possible, and, after being ex- amined on top by Dr. Leigh and his assistant, they were carried home.—Examined by Mr Robson, witness described the position of the nine holes he was boring, and said that, as near as he could make out after the explosion, the injured men were within half-a-yard of the hole which exploded. He saw no hole there, but he found that the ground had shifted a bit, and that there was a crack there which was not there before the explosion. The hole which the injured men were boring was a perpendicular one, and did not point in the direction of the shot which ex- ploded. The holes were filled with dynamite cartridges and fired with fuses, and they gene- rally counted the reports to see whether they corresponded with the number of shots fired. If they did not, then they would search for the unexploded hole; and if they could not find it, they would come to the conclusion that two shots had gone off with one report. He denied that any of the fresh holes were being bored in the bottom of an old hole. William Brown, Cilfyiiydd, who was in the pit at the time of the accident, corroborated. The deceased, another man, and himself were engaged in drilling a hole about five feet from where the shot fired, while Roberts and Jones, the two other injured men, wefte about eight or ten feet away. He could not tell how the explosion occurred. John Powell, Norton Bridge, leader of the night shift, said he counted 13 reports of the 14 shots fired, and looked about carefully for the fourteenth hole, but could not find any. He then came to the conclusion that two shots had gone off with one report. He did not tell Poole when he came on at six o clock that one shot had not gone off. He (witness) and his men lad cleared away nearly the whole of the rubbish by that time, and could find no trace of an unexploded shot.—Witness having described the position of each of the 14 shots, Poole was re-called, and said that the shot which exploded was within a few feet to where the deceased and another man were boring a fresh hole. He had never known a fuse to hang fire m a sinking pit—it was too wet. —Replying to Mr Walter Morgan, both wit- nesses declared that the fuse used was of excellent William Jones, the master sinker, also gavo evidence, and said that he visited the pit both before and after the accident. The explosion occurred a little to the right of the hole which the injured men Jones and Roberts were boring. Their hole was about 18 inches from the spot of the explo- sion, and was a perpendicular one. Newport's hole was also a perpendicular one, and neither of these could have penetrated into an old shot. Replying to Mr Robson, witness said he had never known a fuse to hang fire, though he had heard of some. Mr J. T. Robson, Inspector of Mines, said that from the evidence given he could not understand how this explosion could ha.ve occurred. It could only have occurred in one of two ways, either by the fuse hanging fire, or by drilling into the remains of an uuexploded shot, and he was inclined to say that this was the case in the present accident.—The Coroner having summed up, the jury, without retiring, returned a verdict of Accidental death.

THE ALLEGED PERJURY BY AN M.P. Mr Samuel Storey, M.P., was summoned to appear before the Sunderland magistrates on Monday to answer a charge of perjury alleged to have been committed by him on March 7th, when he charged the superintendent with assault in ijgonnection with the Silksworth evictions. Counsel ^*5% the defence applied for an adjournment, Wch was granted, a day to be arranged within a month.

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NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. I A FAT AT PAST. BY DORA RUSSELL, Author of "Footprints in the Snow, "The Broken Seal," "The Track of the Storm," "A Bitter Birthright,' &c., &c. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] CHAPTER XXXIX —FIXING THE DAY. Helen was very pleased indeed when she re- ceived Lady Ennismore's splendid gift. And during the next few days after Francis Roche's return to town she grew almost like the bright Helen Drummond of old, whom he had met and loved at Brackenford. In her sweet sympathetic way Mrs Southwell noticed the change, and spoke of it to her old friend, Colonel Walter Roche. What a strange gladdener of the heart love is to be sure she said, smiling. Helen is a different girl since it was all settled with Mr Roche." Yes, I suppose so," said the Colonel a little grimly. Perhaps he was envying his young nephew, and regretting that his day for all such gladness was over. What a romantic story, too And you kept Lady Ennisinore's secret all these years ?" I was bound in honour to keep it. Of course I am glad that Frank has come into such a good thing but, all the same, I feel great pity for Lady Ennismore, and think that scamp of a brother of mine has behaved very badly he had no business to return to England." It was a great temptation." That might be, but still consider the position he had placed the poor lady in if Lord Ennis- more had lived, what on earth could they have done ?" At least Lady Ennismore must be pleased with her eldest son. Ah, my friend, you are not one of those who talk of their good actions, but your conduct to this young man—you, a. soldier— to trouble yourself with the care of a helpless babe is beyond all praise." Praise from your lips is very sweet to me, you know," said Colonel Roche, smiling "but I believe some good people were kind enough to get up a scandal about Master Frank but what did it matter T' What, indeed Well, you have your reward now, for he is a charming young man." You will make me quite jealous of Frank." "No!" And again she smiled, and gently waved her feather fan and Colonel Roche sat looking at her, thinking of his old folly, and wondering if she had quite forgotten it. He went very often to see Mrs Southwell now, and these two had always plenty to say to each other. In truth, Colonel Roche never admired any woman as he had admired this lady, and if the General were by any chance to leave her free he would still most certainly ask her to be his wife. And as they sat and talked by the fire in the pretty drawing-room, the younger lovers in a quiet corner were whispering sweet folly in each other's ears, Francis Roche was urging Helen to fix an early date for their marriage, and Helen was listening anything but ill-pleased. "But there is one thing, Frank," she said presently, "before we settle anything, that I want to ask you—should we not consult Lady Ennismore 1" Well, I don't see any good in doing it, darling; she especially said she could not be present." I understand that—still you know I must write a few lines to thank her for that lovely necklace, and I thought I should mention some- thing about—our marriage." I don't think I would, Helen; and don't make any allusions to the troubles of the past when you write let us keep all that to ourselves." "Yes, of course; and, Frank, there is some- thing else." Well, my pet 1" Do you remember," went on Helen, when you were in Scotland, one day in the mist asking a gentleman to show you the way to Ardleigh, whom you took for a gillie V Francis Roche laughed. To be sure I do," be said, "and the long- legged Scottish gentleman was furiously indig- nant." He was, as I told you," said Helen, smiling, a certain Mr Johnny Campbell, the son of dear Aunt Margaret's lahdlady,and the future Laird of Ardleigh. Well, Frank, after poor aunt died he was very kind to me and, in fact, I may as well tell you, he asked me to marry him." Indeed, Miss Helen Yes, indeed he did but I told him I never meant to marry and I never did then-as you know." The past is a forbidden subject, Helen." "Yes, I know, but really poor Johnny Camp- bell was very kind, pnd when I left Ardleisrh, intending never to be heard of more, I left him my two poor doggies, Ben and Jack, to take care of. You remember them, Frank ?" Yes, quite well." "I have often thought of them," continued Helen. "Oh, so often, Frank, though I am quite sure Mr Campbell is very kind to them but I've been thinking it would seem so ungrate- ful both to Mrs Campbell and Johnny not to tell them "To tell them what dear?" "Well, about us—about being married, you know," said Helen, blushing very prettily. But what will Johnny say ?" laughed Francis Roche. "Suppose he hangs himself .among his native hills ?" Oh, uonsense, Frank and besides, to tell you the truth, I want to have Ben and Jack back—if I may ?" "Oh. that's the real reason, is it, Miss Helen? Well, I give my consent; you may invite your dogs, and Mr Johnny Campbell also, to the wedding, so please be quick, and name the day ? And Helen actually did write to Johnny Campbell. She told him in a few simple words that when she left Scotland she never intended to return, nor yet to see anyone she had known again. Painful family circumstances induced me to act thus. Mr Campbell," wrote Helen, "though I should never have forgotten your kindness to my dear Aunt Margaret and myself. But now these circumstances have changed. I am going to be married soon to Mr Francis Roche, and I have told him all about your goodness, and Mrs Campbell's goodness to me, and he bade me tell you he shall always be very pleased to see you when we are settled in our new home, and I hope you will come. How are my poor dogs, Ben and Jack ? Most kindly cared for, I know, but you must bring them back to me now. And with kindest regards to your mother and yourself. "I remain, yours sincerely, "HELEN DRUMMOND." The rural postman carried this letter to Ard- leigh Lodge one morning just as Johnny Camp- bell had finished breakfast, and was looking lavishly after the creature comforts of Ben and Jack, who were thoroughly enjoying them- selves.. Poor Johnny was little changed he had given up all hopes of ever again seeing Helen Drum- mond, but her image was still impressed on his faithful heart. He had begun, indeed, at last, reluctantly to coincide with his mother's fixed opinion, and to believe that Helen was dead. But none the less did he attend to the charge she had left him, and Ben and Jack lived in clover, to the ill-concealed jealousy of several other dogs belonging to the establishment- So Johnny got Helen's letter, opened it, and then a sudden exclamation burst from his lips, and his face grew quite pale. Johnny, what is the matter said his easy- going mother, looking up from her newspaper. Has something gone down the wrong way, my dear ?" Still Johnny made no answer; he gasped twice, and his mother's maternal anxiety was aroused. Margaret MacNeil," she said, addressing her companion, "get up and slap ^Johnny back, don't you see a crumb is half-choking him/' Upon this Miss MacNeil, a tall, gaunt Scotch- woman, arose and administered a resounding application of her bony hand on Johnny's shoulders. It's not a crumb," gasped Johnny in a stilled voico, "it's—Hslen." Helen Drummond cried Mrs Campbell, dropping her newspaper; "they've found her then? Oh, Johnny, was it in the river or the sea ?" "Neither," answered Johnny in a bijjken voice; "but it's as bad for me." "Whore was it, then, my dear?" asked Mrs Campbell, rousing herself and crossing the room to where Johnny was sitting. Don't look like that, my dear boy," she continued, putting her stout arm affectionately round his neck. She's dead, and you can't bring her back, however much you fret after her, Johnny." But she isn't dead," said Johnny with quivering lips; "she's going to be married to some other fellow—and it's all np with me." Married repeated Mrs Campbell indig- nantly then all I say is she's a bad girl, put- ting you to such expense and worry, indeed, and she gallivanting on with some other young man all the time she ought to be ashamed of herself, Johnny." But this aroused Johnny's chivalrous heart. Don't talk like that, mother, of Helen," he said "she isn't a bad girl, she's the best girl that ever lived. But you can read her letter and let me have it again. Come along, Ben." He rose as he spoke and went out of the room, and the collie followed him to his own bedroom, and when Johnny got there he locked the door first and then fairly broke down. "Oh, Ben, Ben he cried with a sob, we've lost her—you and me." The intelligent creature looked up in his face, and laid his handsome head against his knees, for he quite understood poor Johnny was in great trouble. It was eaeier to bear to think she was dead," murmured Johnny to his sympathising listener; and yet, that's selfish, Ben. Yes, we mustn't think of ourselves—but of her." Ben began now licking Johnny's hand by way of consolation. "Poor old boy, "said the kindly young laird, stroking Ben's head; "you are to go back to her, Ben; only I'm left m the cold. Well, never mind." He was thinking if she were happy, what hap- pened to him did not matter much. There was something almost pathetic in this faithful dog- like attachment; but presently he tried to rouse himself. "I mustn't vex the old woman," he thought, for Mrs Campbell's heavy footfall was now heard ascending the stairs, for she had become uneasy about her son, and a moment later she rapped at the door, which Johnny rose and opened- Don't vex yourself, my dear," she said as she entered the room; "I've read her letter, and if there was anything about her family that was not respectable, well, Johnny, it's quite as well that you bad nothing to do with her. Her family made no matter to me," answered Johnny sturdily; t" but don't talk of it, mother— it upset me a bit at first, that was ail." You could have mp.ny pretty girl?, Johnny," went on Mrs Campbell, consolingly. There s Minnie Cairns, now, and she's seven thousand of her own, I am told not that you want money] with your wife." "P don't want a wife, mother, nor Minnie Cairns either, for that matter. I'm content to stay with you." Upon this tears filled Mrs Campbell's round eyes. "God bless you, my dear," she murmured, and bent down her face and kissed him. She's had a great loss," she said she'll live to know what she's lost in yon but don't fret." "I'm not going to, mother. There, go away, now, like a dear old woman." So this was the end of Johnny's love affair with Helen Drummond, which he was quite honest enough to say and think had all been on his side. He even wrote her a letter in well-expressed terms, for Johnny was more fluent with his pen than his tongue, in which he wished her all happiness, and made no allusion to his own un- fortunate attachment. He told her that her dogs were quite well, and had been great com- panions to him. and that he would bring them to her whenever she wished. And Helen was glad to get this letter, and when she showed it to Francis Roche, he declared the young laird was a very decent fellow after all. By this time Helen's wedding day wn.s fixed, and her old servant, Elizabeth May, knew also that her young mistress was once more well and happy. It wanted, indeed, but one week to the mar- riage when all tkeir pleasant plans were upset, and Francis Roche was called away by a summons he could not resist. CHAPTER XL.-A LAST SUMMONS. He came early one morning to Mrs Southwell's house, both pale and excited, aud when Helen saw him she asked at once if anything were the matter. Yes," he answered, something dreadful has happened, Helen-to Lady Ennismore." To Lady Ennismore repeated Helen, greatly shocked. I ve had a letter this morning from Julia Bingham," went on Francis Roche a letter to tell me that there has been a fire at Brackenford, and that Lady Ennismore is badly burnt she was burnt in trying to save little Pat." Oh, Frank, how terrible cried Helen, and she grew very pa ie. "Read Julia's letter," said Francis with emo- tion it is, indeed, terrible." Then Helen put out her hand and took the letter, and read there of Lady Ennismore's severe injuries. Deu,r Mr Roche,—My poor mother has bade me write this letter to you, to ask you to come at once to her. A dreadful thing has happened here so dreadful I can scarcely write of it. But last night my mother awoke about twelve o'clock, and thought she felt the smell of fire. She got up at once and rang her bell, and then ran up- stairs dressed just as she was to see if the nursery was safe. When she got to the corridor leading to it she found it was in flames. Never for a moment thinking of her own danger, she ran on, and rushed into the nursery, which was filled jwith smoke, and seizing little Pat, who was asleep, m her arms, she wrapped him in a blanket, right overnis head, and carried him through the smoke and iiame.s outside and then down into the hall. -"T, v',as 'mrt- only frightened but she is terribly burnt, for she protected him with her arms, which are dreadfully scorched. By this time the alarm was raised in the house, and one ot the servants awoke Maud and I, but the fire had not reached eur room. But before the engines could be got from Mortonbury, the left wing where the nurseries were, you know, was burnt down, and poor Pat's old nurse, who slept in the room with him, I regret to tell you, was burnt to death. Mother says she called to her, but perhaps she was half-stupified by the smoke. r> ^evJ8 '1° Ul)k, that dear mother saved little 1 at s xife—buu at what a fearful cost! She is very, very ill, and the doctors are very anxious about her, and I am so miserable. "Please come at once when you get this, Mr Roche, for she has asked for vou several times, and wishes to see you very much and I remain, m great haste, Yours sincerely, XT JULIA BINGHAM." wlHelen,read th'S sad letter tears rushed into iv^?';e=S'nani a jlomenfc later she went up to Francis Roche and took his hand. Don't w,th y0U' dear1?"' th"lk ifc would a^tate her' iknow 1 am there, but I could be some help I think to Julia. Oh, let me go, ^nnot Veal' to think of those two poor house "f tliis °ne W such terrible trouble in the J^courso, you would be a great help to the I Jhrn? w'ndear He,en> 1 you had better go s°°,n can you be ready ?" And Francis « ™ °?-ked at h,s watch. ^nii+l)vwnUeCt1/ 1 wil1 ^nst run UP and tel1 MlS If- 011 n'y bat and jacket; Julia take Jy hipg."nS 1 niay want' SO 1 need n0t iJOU!V°r y°» ca,u half an hour then, dear Helen. It is so cood of you to think of going. *4 !l.e her and went away. m half an hour these two young people ^rie,r? nving to King s Cross Station, and started 1 e nrst train north. They sat together in the carrIage with cla?ped hands and pale, anxious la es, saymg very little, for their hearts were lull ? 1 olle the stations Francis Roche te egraphea to Julia Bingham that he was on his way to Brackenford, and he asked to hive a carriage sent to the station at Mortonbury, to train he expected to arrive by. He did not nention that Helen was with him, as he was afraid Of startling Lady Ennismore. AnL. a.s the grey twilight was settling over the grey hills they reached Mortonbury, and Helen could not restrain her tears at the sight of the lamiliar scene.. The carriage was waiting for them, but Francis Roche had a word to say to Cox, the head groom, who accompanied it, before centered the carriage. How is Lady Ennismore ?" he asked in a low tone. Cox shook his head. Awful bad, I believe, sir; it's a terrible busi. death & has gone right since my lord's What did he say?" asked Helen eagerly, as seated himself by her side. •4.1 1S very ill, I fear," answered Francis with emotion. Oh, Frank!" cried Helen, clasping his hand nervously; and then almost in silence the two were driven to Brackenford, and a few minutes was in Julia Bingham's arms. j1' thank you, thank you for coming!" sobbed the poor girl. Oh, Helen, it is so dreadful!" v^i'K3 bad seen Julia first, and when y 1 ° ber he had brought Helen Drummond, ran at once to tho room where Helen was «( and k'ssed her almost passionaoelj\ ti -p s been all so miserable lately," she cried, ver since you went away, Helen, I think. i'< -f ai-Y,80 «lad you have come again." will try to help you and be of some comfort «rii^0Uc' whispered Helen, tenderly, M fu6 Was a'so wet with tears. fi„,t her told me after Mr Roche went away strpngest11'6 to marry him, and—all the 0ii' \be your sister really now, you Wh'i A We alwiiys loved each other." trv t>o v>e it ^wo were talking thus tenderlv cn other, Francis Roche had been summoned e °hamber where, swathed and changed, lay +prm"??Cei.^>eautiful Lady Ennismore. She was lernmjr burnt, principa!!y about the lovely arms r(m |r0a4' for the flames had literally lapped Jn their cruel play, and in protecting the child she had sacrificed her own life! no°m the first the doctors had given little P-i and when Francis arrived it was feared o-on WaS sinking- fast. The pain was now almost •?'j r was quite conscious, and she smiled faintly as Francis entered the room. -1 I ,°11" you it would not be long, Francis," she sa,d;r ^t1 saved his boy." ly dear, my dearest mother cried Francis, Hinging himself on his knees by the bed, and kiss- ing one of the bandaged hands. He was moved ? very soul, and Lady Ennismore looked "AT °n wbite agitated face. y eldest son," she murmured and then after a tnoment 01 two of silence, she said more firmly 1 i?t is Jitter thus, Francis better for the Ciiiidren better for you—and I wish to die—to go so Ennismore." • 19!1' don't, don't, mother—stay with me!" saii< a ln a sob-choked voice. f leave him in your charge—your little brother—-little Pat—Ennismore's boy," continued Lady J iinmsmore. "Francis will you promise your dying mother to watch over the child 1" Rocl e S° help me answered Francis o Even if he is wayward, you will not forget ? But he will n0t be, for he has his father's face." '< T N°T forget." A TI ^h°uld like the children to live with you and Helen," said Lady Ennismore, after a few moments's silence; "I know she will be good to them." ° I am sure she will. Mother, would you like to see Helen?" ^It is too late. Francis." -INo, mother, she is here; she came with me, she wished so much to see you, and she thought shemi-hi help Jul,a." T, Helen here! Yes, I will see her, Francis. Poor Helen." "I will bring her to you." said Francis, and he rose from his knees by the bedside, r.nd went downstairs to seek Helen, who was still with Julia. My mother wishes to see you, Helen, dear, he said; but you must be prepared, she is greatly changed." "IwiUgo," answered Helen, rising, her face nusning as she spoke. But oh, Frank, do you think she is very ill 1" "I fear very ill," he answered. Oh, Helen, it is terrible And he turned away his head to hide his emotion. "Dear, dear l^rank," said Helen, going up to him and taking his hand. Frank, you must be^strong, or what will become of us all ?" ".Thank you so much for bringing Helen," said Julia's soft voice. He sat down for a moment or two and covered his face with his hand. He felt almost completely overcome, and Helen stood by him with her hand on his shoul^r. She musTTiave suffered so terribly," he said presently. And Pat, Julia—is he any worse ?" "No," answered tho young girl, while tears gathered in her eyes; dear mother got 80 dreadfully burnt in protecting him—he is no •■"orse." "It was a noble action," said Francis Roche, rising. "Come, dear et us go to her." They went together into her room, and the iying woman looked at them very wistfully as they approached her. Then Helen knelt down by the bed as Francis had done, and kissed her hand. Dear Lady Ennismore," she half whispered. Thank you for coming, Helen," said Lady Ennismore, with some agitation. "1-1 wished so much to come," faltered Helen, who could scarcely restrain her tears. When I am gone you will take my place here, Helen," continued Lady Ennismore with quiver- ing lips. Oh, do not talk thus, Lady Ennismore!" I have much to say, and little time to say it," she answered. "Helen, look after the poor people here—my Ennismore always did—and the children —but I know you will be good to them." Helen could not find words to answer her. She hid her face in the coverlet to hide the tears that were now streaming down her face, and after a moment or two Lady Ennismore seemed to sink into a sort of half-sleep, half-unconsciousness, from which she never again really quite rallied. But she murmured disjointed words occasion- ally words that fell without meaning on her listeners' ears. "Ennismore, forgive me now," they heard her say, for the boy's sake—forgive me now." And so as the hours passed she drifted away, and Francis and Helen watched her all through the night. Watched her until another day was born, and a faint light stole through the window panes. Then suddenly a strange change came over her face. She opened her eyes, and a look of joy, of great peace, for a moment shone in them. Ennismore she cried, lifting her ban- daged hands as if in welcome. But the next moment they fell back, and the light in her eyes faded, and with that last word on her lips she died. They led in little Pat to kiss his dead mother, and the weeping girls, and thus all her children stood round her, and gazed with tearful eyes on her changed face. And Francis—her eldest son —bent down and kissed her also, and then kissed his little brother on his white brow. A great charge had been left to Francis—these fatherless and motherless children, and vast wealth, and responsibilities of every kind. It was well for him that he had a bright clever girl like Helen Drummond by his side to share them, for Helen at this time showed her real nature, which for a time had been so utterly crushed down by the knowledge of her unhappy mother's shame. Now she seemed to have forgotten all this, for Francis wished her to forget it, and she owed so much to him she. told herself, that she tried completely to put it out of her mind. And during the sad days that followed Lady Ennismore's death she was his right hand. It indeed made the situation so much easier to them all to know tlnit Helen was to be Francis's wife. The girls had always known Helen, and knew nothing of the tragic nistory of her birth, and they accepted the stranger brother for her sake, and began to call him "Frank," as she did. Francis telegraphed the news of Lady Ennis- more's death to his uncle, Colonel Roche, and also to the man who had wrecked her life and broken her heart. And it must be admitted that George Roche felt very uncomfortable when he heard it. So uncomfortable that he very nearly brought on an attack of delirium tremens in an attempt to deaden a certain uneasy feeling in his heart that he could not get rid of, He remem- bered the beautiful young girl he had loved long ago, and the beautiful woman he had seen in the Park after his return to England, and he almost wished his work undone. "Still he had only done his duty to Francis," he told himself, to his son and heir;" but he did not express any wish to attend her funeral, and wrote a very subdued letter to Francis to express his regret at her melancholy death. Colonel Roche also wrote, and then Francis asked liifri to come down to Brackenford, which request the Colonel cheerfully assented to. He had been very much shocked at Lady Ennis- more's death, but he could not help Jeeling a sort of sober pleasure, when he arrived at the magnificent house, of which Francis Roche was now the owner, and reflected on the great pro- perty he had inherited, and thought of the moors and streams—for the colonel was a keen sports- man—that he, the Colonel, would now have the enjoyment of. He found the young people at Brackenford-for Francis, the eldest of them, was but twenty-two —all on very good terms with each other, and there seemed no ill-feeling in the hearts of Julia and Maud Bingham towards Francis. As for poor little Pat, he was too young to understand his loss, and was quite delighted to have a big brother." He was pleased also with Helen, who showed both tact and good taste in her new posi- tion, for she was now virtually the mistress of this great house, though she consulted Julia about everything. You have chosen very well, Frank, I think," said the Colonel as he and his nephew were smok- ing on the terrace the first evening the Colonel was at Brackenford Miss Drummond is a very fine girl, I think, and Mrs Southwell thinks so too, and I back Mrs Southwell's opinion against any- one's to know a good woman when she sees one." She's a very dear girl, at any rate," answered Frank I don't know what we should have done without her here, and I'm so glad vou like: her, Uncle Walter." She's got a good head on her shoulders, which is a great thing," continued the Colonel, who prided himself on his correct judgment about women. However pretty a woman is, she is sure to pall on a man unless she's got some, wits to back her looks. Yes. I consider, Frank, you have done well." This conversation between the uncle and nephew took place on the night before Lady Ennismore's funeral. The tragic circumstances of her death-dying, as she did, to save her little son—so soon after he had lost his father, aroused public sympathy, and the most beautiful wreaths of flowers were sent to Brackenford from all parts of the country, for Lady Ennismore, in her life, had made many friends. They buried her in the family vault at Brackenford Church, where her father and mother slept, and Norman Maiden, her brother, who had died in his early youth. Here, too, lay Robert, Lord Ennismore, her husband, and they placed her by his side. None knew the terrible secret of his death, for the dead woman bad spoken no word. They knew now, however, of the early marriage which had blighted her life, and people said it was a strange and pathetic sight to see her two sons, Francis Roche and little Pat, following her coffin as it was borne into the church: little Pat holding fast by the hand of his elder brother. The girls went also, and many tears were shed as the once brilliant woman was carried to her long rest. It was a bright day, too, with the sun glancing on the hills but the shining beams only seemed to make it more sad to the black-robed mourners. "It will be lonely without her," wept Julia, leaning her head against Helen's shoulder. "Hush, darling," answered Helen, putting her arm round her slender waist. And all through that sad day it was the same thing. Helen was the consoler and the help of everyone. Perhaps the sweet hopes in her own heart, the knowledge that Francis Roche loved her, that this was to be her home, and that these mother- less children were bound to her by the tenderest ties, helped her to be so bravo and !:trong. At all events she was so, but when the will was read by Mr Beale, after the funeral, she gave a little start when her own name was mentioned. For Lady Ennismore had bequeathed to Helen Drummond, the neice of my late dear and faith- ful friend, Margaret Drummond," the sum of six hundred a year. There was no allusion made to the closer tie between them, and Helen looked quickly at Francis, and gave a little sigh of relief when she found that tins was so. Lady Ennismore also left five thousand pounds to the Rector of Mortonbury, "in token of her great esteem." X 0 one was so much astonished as the Rev Peter1 himself when he heard of this bequest, and his sisters received the news with great pride and satisfaction. The rest of the will we already know and how in it Lady Ennismore acknowledged Francis Roche as her eldest son and thus by the will of his grandfather, all the great property became his which Mr Maiden had entailed on his daughter's eldest son. No mention was made in the will of George Roche, but to Colonel Walter Roche Lady Ennis- more bad left a sum of five thousaud pounds also in acknowledgement of "his great kindness and honourable conduct." The Colonel was very pleased with this legacy for he was by no means a rich man, and he felt much inward satisfaction when he looked at Francis, and remembered all that he had done for him, and how also he had honourably kept faith with Lady Ennismore. "Well," he said to Francis after the will had been read, "I must say, Master Frank, that you have been born with the proverbial spoon in your mouth—and yet just to think He was thinking of the poor wailing babe that had been given into his charge twenty-two years ago in Paris; a babe disowned, motherless and fatherless, and now all this was changed "But for you, Uncle Walter," answered Francis holding out his hand and grasping the Colonel's, where might I have been now ?" Heaven only knows," said the Colonel with a laugh; "but never mind, Frank, it has all come right at last.?' Right for Francis and Helen, at least these two thought as they wandered together that evening in the twilight under the dusky firs, where they used to meet long ago. The girl's head rested on her young lover's shoulder, and her hand was clasped in his, and there was sweet content in her eyes. Yet Helen was not talking in love's soft whispers, but tenderly and thought- fully of the children that had been left to them. "Do you know, dear Frank," she said after they had talked a little while about this sacred trust, that I think it would be so much better for them all to leave here for a time and go to town. I am sore the change would be good for Julia." You arc quite right, darling. When do you think we should go f' answered Frank. It was soon settled after this. Before the end of the week the whole family party left Bracken- ford and went to the house in Grosvenor-place, which, among his other possessions, had come to Francis. Here Helen left them for a little while, and went back to Mrs Southwell's, though she saw them every day. A new governess was engaged for the girls, a friend of Mrs Southwell's, and thus two or three months glided quickly away, alid then there was a quiet wedding. Francis and Helen—the young couple who h'ad loved each other so well, and were married in the sw^efcfepring-tiine of the year and of their lives. "Their children," as they call Julia, Maud, and little Pat, live with them, and Helen frequently playfully boasts that she makes a most excellent chaperon to Julia. Mr Curzon often goes to Grosvenor-place, when he is in town, to see his old friend Roche, he says, for Francis left the service before his marriage. Helen, however, does not encourage his attentions to Julia, and she has great influence on the young girL She is very lovely and fair Julia Bineham's story is yet untold. THE END.

NONCONFORMIST SECESSIONS. The Bishop Again on the Warpath. The Bishop of Llandaff (the Right Rev Dr Lewis) commenced his third triennial visitation on Monday, when he delivered an important charge in Llandaff Cathedral to a fair attendance of clergy, most of whom wore their academical costumes, and cf laymen. The BISHOP, in the course of his charge, said there probably were very few periods, if any, in the modern history of the country, whether the outlook was into the region of politics, upon the condition of trade and commerce, the relations between capital and labour, or upon the varied social problems which had fixed themselves upon the attention during its course, which were more remarkable than the triennial period which had elapsed since his last visitation. Bishop Lewis next referred to the visit of the Church Congress to Cardiff. Before that visit had been paid (he observed) THE FALSE AND GROUNDLESS STATEMENTS so persistently repeated by Liherationist agitators had been very generally neeepted by their English friends as, for the most parT, if not altogether, true, and had rendered utterly vain all Welsh Church- men's efforts to convince them that the Church contained more than the fragment of the popula- tion, or that the Welsh were not practically a nation of Nonconformists. In consequence of this widespread ignorance, the sympathy of Eng- lish Churchmen was not of a practical character: and believing that nothing they could do to avert the utter extinction of the Welsh Church at no distant day, they had subsided into a passive, if I sorrowful, observance of that seemingly hopeless condition. Thank God, those were not the senti- ments with which the Welsh Church was regarded I to-day. Their English friends who came to the Church Congress in such numbers were able to go back and say that the Church in Wales, so far from being a mere skeleton, was a robust and healthy body, full of vigour and energy, engaged in carrying out the work committed to her with an amount of zeal and activiiy which would bear favourable comparison with that exhibited in any diocese, containing within her, at the present moment, a far larger number of members than any other religious body in the Principality, and receiving continually from the ranks of each of those bodies such extensive additions as to render her ascendincy every day more conspicuous and remarkable. From that moment THE ATTITUDE OF ENGLISH CHUKCHMEN had assumed a diiferent character. Apprehension and despondency gave place to open confidence, and their language alike in the press, on the plat- form, and in Parliament afforded abundant proof that in their estimation the Church in Wales was worthy of all the support and sympathy they could render her, and that no greater evil could befall the people of Wales than for their Church to be dispoiled of any portion of those lawful possessions which had contributed so largely to promote her efficiency and to further her work. His Lordship proceededto give statistics toshowthattheopinion he had expressed as to the activity, growth. and progress of the Church in Wales, and more especially in the diocese of Llandaff, was not with- out foundation. Following the plan adopted in his last two charges, he had arranged them under the following heads :—Clergy and lay workers confirmations church building and church res- toration. The number of deacons ordained ffom the commencement of his episcopate to 30th December, 1890—a period of seven years—was 184- against 89 during the last oaven years of the epis- copate of his predecessor. Of the :i84-, 77 were admitted to the diaconate since his last visitation in 1833. Of these 17 were graduates of Oxford, 12 of Cambridge, 2 of Durham, 2 of Dublin, 2 of London University. 14 of St. David's, Lampeter, 10 licentiates of divinity of St. David's College, 2 licentiates in theology at Durham, 5 students of St. Bees and St. Aidan's. 2 associates of King's College, London. 2 students from Dorchester Missionary College. The remaining five were persons who had received no special training at LTniversity or Theological College. FOUR WERE EX-NONCONFORMIST MINISTERS, who, previous to their ordination, had served for varying periods as lay readers in populous parishes under incumbents of his (the bishop's) own selection. In each of the cases in which this ex- periment had been tried it had, so far as he could see at present, proved successful, which was all the more satisfactory because, if be might judge by recent experience, the number of such cases with which he would have to deal in the future was likely to be much larger than it hril been in the past. In proof of this he might state that during the last four weeks he bad received no less than four applications frcm persons of this class for permission to present themselves as candidates for holy orders. He was well aware that the in- crease in the number ordained to the diaconate, which the above figures indicated, was not COn-, elusive proof of a corresponding increase in the clerical staff of the diocese, since it was possible that many oj the newly-ordained deacons might have been required to fill vacancies. He next dealt with the number of CANDIDATES PRESENTED FOR CONFIRMATION during the last triennial periods, Since the church membership of every candidate was openly declared by himself before his confirmation, whilst the accuracy of the number was indisputably proved by the fact that each candidate, before his presentation for the sacred rite, was required to produce a certificate of his due preparation signed by one of the clergy of his parish. During the years 1882-3-4 the total number confirmed was 7,479 during 1885-6-7. it was 10,200 and during 1338-3-90, it was 12,247, shewing an increase in the second period over the first of 2,731, and in the third over the second of 2,047. He believed he was correct in saying that these statistics shewed the rate of increase in the numbers con- firmed to begreaterin the diocese of Llandaff than in any other diocese in England or Wales. Amongst those confirmed during the last of the above periods, as in the preceding period, the number of adult candidates, i.e., of candidates over 20 years of age, was unusually large, being seldom less than one-fourth, and often upwards of one-third, of the total number presented. Of these he had learnt upon enquiry of the clergy, that the majority were RECENT CONVERTS FROM ONE OR OTHER OF THE VARIOUS NONCONFORMIST BODIES, a fact which received confirmation from the num- ber of adult baptismals—over 800—that had been reported since LÚS last visitation. Amougst the adult candidates were no less than seven ex- Nonconformist ministers, of whom one held a curacy in an English diocese, another a curacy in the diocese of St Asaph, three in the diocese of Llandaff, whilst of the remaining two one was engaged as a lay reader in the diocese of St Asaph, and the other was a student at Queen's College, Birmingham, preparing himself to become a candidate for holy orders. He was afraid that if these facts should ever come to the knowledge of the Liberationists, they must be prepared to hear that these secessions from the ranks of Nonconformity were due to some very objectionable conduct on the matter of the Church —conduct which they were pleased to describe as proselyti~m. But if by this term they meant to imply that the Church had been guilty of any practices which were unbecoming in her as a Christian body, he distinctly denied the charge and unless those who preferred it were prepared to furnish some, at least, of the particulars upon which it was founded, he did not think he would be guilty of any breach cf charity if he ascribed it to It desire to impose npon the credulity of those who were ignorant of the real facts of the case in order to create in their minds a prejudice against the Church. THE REAL CAUSES OF THOSE SECESSIONS were not far to seek. There were to be found, first, within the Church and, secondly, within the Nonconformist bodies themselves. In the former, in the far greater carefulness mani- fested by the clergy now than formerly, in the observance of their ordination vows, not only in seeking to banish all erroneous and strange doc- trines, contrary to God's Word, -in the more dis- tinct and definite teaching of "the faith once for all delivered to the saints," in admonishing in public and in private the sick and the whole within their cures, but, above all, in seeking to frame and fashion their lives, and the lives of their families, according to the doctrine of Christ, and to hold themselves as wholesome examples and patterns to the flock of Christ. Secondly, the I causes were to be found in the wide departure of a large section of modern Dissenters from the principles and practices of the founders of Welsh Nonconformists as seen in their efforts to exclude religious instruction from the day schools, in a substitution of political for religious teaching in many of their pulpits, and in the utilisation of the Press for the en- couragement of lawlessness, dishonesty, and fraud. He felt sure that there was not one present who did not deplore the sad change which even their own papers had shown to have been talcing place within the various Nonconformist bodies, and who should not, m the interests of religion, earnestly desire to see them all once more animated by the spirit by which the Noncon- formist bodies were distinguished in the earlier years of their existence. But sorrow would, to some extent, be modified by the thought that G-od h«d not left Himself without a witness, and that the spiritual life which was so sadly lacking within the borders of Welsh Nonconformity was every day becoming more and more conspicuous within the Church. And under these circum- stances the fact that so many should be willing to forsake the religious bodies in which they had been brought up. and to seek admittance to the communion of the Church, was one which he felt sure would be hailed with satisfaction and thank- fulness not only by Churchmen, but also by thoughtful persons of all other religious communions. One of the greatest difficulties with which the Church in Wales had to contend was that of making adequate provision for the spiritual needs of bi-lingual parishes, which would require, in many places, if it was to be done efficiently, the doubling of the number of existing places of worship, and also of the clerical staff. The way in which the difficulty had been too generally dealt with in the past by many of the clergy was as simple as it was unsatisfactory, namely, by either wholly ignoring the existence I of the Welsh-speaking section of their parish ioners, or providing them with services at such inconvenient times and places as to convince them that their spiritual interests were worthy of far less consideration than those of their English brethren. It was a comfort to know the folly and injustice of such a policy was now very generally recognised, and that a more fair and considerate treatment of the Welsh section of the people was bringing forth good fruit in the return of large and daily increasing numbers, of them to the communion of the Church.

Y GOLOFN GYMREIG. Dymuniri'n gohebwyr Cymreig gyfeirio eu goheb- iaethau, llyfrau i'w hadolygu, &c., fel y canlyn Dafydd Morganwa, Morganvxi House. Llmdwii- street, Cardiff.

AT EIN GOHEBWYR. y darnau canlynol yn gymmeradwy:—"Y Nos," '• Mi ganaf yn y no" Hen Ffynon Pen- ¡ yfan," "0 dan v Ddraenen Wen," "Gvda'r Dydd," "Barry Dock, "Y Dydd Hwnw," Yr Eigteddfod," Yr Eneth Brydweddol," "Ad- fywiad Anian, "31. M. "Beirdd-bregeth- wyr Ymadawedig." "Dorcas," "Y Wraig Gyn- enllyd," Blodeuyn y Glasweiityn," "Dvn Rhv- fygup, "Y GwUtbyn," "Y Gweddnewidiad, Y Gyfeillach Grefyddol," "YBardd." Darnau heb fod yn ateb ein dyben :—"Abra- ham yn Aberthu Isaac," "Mabon, A.S. "Y Dyn Gwenog," "Heddwch" (gresyn fod odliad hwn yn rhy annghelfydd i'r Golofn), "Gwas Drwg a Meistr Cellweirus" (rhy ddibwynt), "FfarweJio" (dim yn daigon celfydd).

DR. DAVIES, TAIBACH. Difa wna'r Dr. Davies—laweroedd O ddoluriau poenus Y wlad sydd yn ddyledus-o roi mawl I un mor haeddawl am rin mawreddus. CYNFFIGWTSON.

YR OGOF. Ogof unig, gwel gyfanedd-hyd deyrn Tra heb dy'n ei "waeleud Ond greddf fod gar haddef hedd, Mwy ga hawl i'w hvmgeledd. E. ODYNFAB EDWARDS.

Y MEDDWYN. Gwr red am y gwirodydd—yw meddwyn Tra modd cael diodydd, T1'a'n feddwyn, 'does un dyn sydd A'i olwg- mor ddig'wilvdd. Maerdy. GOMER LL. EVANS.

Y BEDD.—(GOSTEG.) Y marw ga yma orwedd—o'i boen, Heb enyd o chwerwedd Nid oes gwanli na dewis gwedd Yn agos,-—one unigedci. Dan bechod, Ow ein buchedd—a lygrwyd. Gwel hagrweh ein trawsedd; Ac onia tai dialedd Ein Duw byth yw y bedd ? Y gwr enwog, yr uuwecH— a'r tylawd, N O r tv a iwvr orwedd Yn y fvnwent; cat annedd A 1(2 ïr balch yn Jl:H bedd. Gwir yw. fan yma gorwedd—y brenin, Heb riniau aurLydedd Ef fwriwyd, er ei fa-wredd A'i holl barch. i gell bedd, Yr ieaiangc filwr hoewedd,—yr un fath A'r hwn fu mewn Ilesgedd, I'w aros, er ei ddewredd, Yma o'i boen y mae bedd. Yn ddiau nid dyma ddiwedd—Lanes Dynion, er eu llygredd E godir pawb yn gydwedd, Yn y byd tudraw i'r bedd. + Gwely lie r'uo'ir y gwaeledd,—ran fwrir Yn farwol, yw'r gyntedd Ond a enaid i'w annedd, Uwch y byd a llwch y bedd. Ein dy.ear a ga'n y diwedd—ei rhan, Hi ga roi ymgeledd I'r egwan, druan agwedd, I'w gael yn bur o galon bedd. HyU, hagr ddelw ilygredd—oedd arno Yn huno'n ei annedd Ond, rhafir newid rhyfedd, Cwyd yn bur er cadwyn bedd. Y duwiol mewn gorfoledd— a gyfyd Yn gyfiawn i'w orsedd I rawdiau nef anrhydedd. Wedi'r boen a gado'r bedd. Ond yr annuw dirinwedd,—i'w aros Mae gerwin ddia>edd Ei euaid noeth ni edvyn hedd. Ei Dduw ga mewn eiddigedd. Agorwyd, drwy arugaredd—ein Ceia wad, Y cedym fyllt rhyfedd Ewyllys lor yw'r allwedd A egyr borth hagr y bedd. Ein Duw! dod ynom duead—ei geisio Dy gvson dangnefecld Ac ymR maddau'n camwedd, Cladd ein bai cyn cloddio'n bedd Gowerton. CEUGFRYN.

YR HEN AMAETHDi MAWR, Ar leehwedd iach y ruyuydd, o gyrliaedd twrf y byd, Y saif yr annedd ddedwyad, Yn nc;hysgod coed wig glyd; A'r gonj&nt fach yn ni^rumr Gan wyllt ymruthrcvi hwr, Yn nghanol tlysni natur, :Ma2'r hen amaethdy inawNk Yn lluoedd ar ei fuarth Y r anifeiliaid sy', Yn chwvrn mae'r cwn yn Pawb el at ddrws y ly Gerllaw ina.e"r ardd gauedig, A'i ffrwythau per eu sawr, Tra cvngherdd yn y goedwig amaethdy mawr. Mae'r bugail yn chwibanu, Ar uchei graig mae'i sedd A'i fron yn llawn o ganu Mae'r hogyn vra'r wedd A hith&u'r lan forwynig Serch-gana bob rhyw awr; Rhyw adail cysegrediar Yw r hen amaethdy mawr. Pan ddelo hirnos gar.a', Tra'11 chwiban bydd y gwynt, Jfae'r teulu yn chwedleua Am yr hen amser L'vnt; C"_J;t felus hun y gweithiwr, A chodi gyda'r wawr, A dioleh i'w Cynhaliwr Yn yr amaethdy mawr. Femdale. R. H. JONESjCenin).

Y GLOWR.—(BUDDUGOL. 1'1' lofa, Ú y Glowr by', A'i lusern yn ei law Gwyneba ar beryglon lu Yn wrol a difraw; Ni chaiff tra is y ddaear werdd, Fwynhau gwres llesol haul. Er hyn o'i fin claw r?' lus gerdd, A gweithia yn rldiffa,el Os du ei groen pan wrth ei waith, Gall feddu caJon bur. Ceir ar ei wyneb ami graith Ddynoda lawer cur. Hen goffrau'r graig ou hagor wna., A'u cyfoeth rydd i'r byd I'r bwth a'1' bremlys cysur ha' Geir trwy ei lafur drud. Y glowr ydyw asgwru cefn Hall fasuach daear lawr, Y byd a'i bobl ai'n ddidrefn Heb ei anturiaeth fawr. Os mewn tywyllwch mae c; waith, Ei enaid ofna Ddnw 1'1' Def anfona fynycn s'ieth Am gymorth i iawn iyw. Mawrygwn ei anturiaeth gref. Pan oeriiyd byddo'r hin: Ein serch a'n nodded haedda ef, Fel cymwynaswr dyn. Ei gyfran dda o gvfocth byd Ddymunaf iddo'n grwil, A dedwydd oes mev. n cartref clyd. Heb wasgfa ar ei bwn. Y glowr gyda'r cewri mad Deilynga gaeI ei sedd, A llais yn nhrefniant àeddfauï wlad, Er meithrin dynol hedd. Birchgrove, Llansamlet. W. G. SMITH.

PAID CHWAREU GYDA'R CWPAN. Os wyt am enill yn y byd Hardd lawryf wech anrhydedd, Os wyt am bleser mawr o hyd, Ac yfed pur orfoiedd Os wyt am barchu'th fam a'th dad, A chael cyfeillion dyddan, O! gwrando'm cynghor, cynghor r'nad, Paid chwareu gyda'r cwpan. Os wyt am gadw'th wisg yn I an, Gwisg brydferth dy gymeriad; Os wyt am birch gan fawr a man. Yn weddaidd dy ymddygiad Os Wyt am oehel tlodi erch A bar i'th enaid ruddfan Os wvt am be:dio rhewi'th serch,- Paid chwareu gyda'r cwpan. Os wyt yn penderfynu dod Yn enwog fel areithiwr Os wyt am esgyn grisiau clod, Fel gwron dewr ddiwygiwr; Os wyt am eniJl cyfoeth byd, v- Ac aelwyd glyd yn mhobman, O cofis'm cynghor mad o hyd— Paid chwareu gyda'r cwpan. Hanesiaeth sydd a'i huchel lef. Fel nerthol swn gwefreiddiol. Yn treiddio trwy bob gwlad a thref, Mewn pruddaidd lais rybuddiol; Yn hvglyw. mewn bvddarol iaith, Rhvbudaio wna, gan ruddfan, Yr ben a'r ieuanc ar eu taith- Paid chwareu gyda'r cwpan. Bu llawer bachgen gwridgoch hardd, A'i frcm yn iach a nwyfus, Fel blod vn swynoi, teg mewn gardd, A'i drem yn lion a serchus Trwy ddrws y dafarn myned wnaetb I gwmni torf annyddan. I'r bedd yn feddwyn ef a aeth, Wrth chwareu gyda'r cwpan. HoB dlotdai'r wlad, pregethau mad Sydd ganddynt ini beunydd, O'u IDewn y mae gwehihon gwlad. Yn bruddaidd eu lleferyda Yn drist eu bron, yn welw'u gwedd. Bob dydd a nos yn tuchan; Cynghorant bawb mewn llais dihedd— Paid chwareu gyda'r cwpan. Paid chwareu gyda'r cwpan erch, Yw iaith yr holl garchardai Paid boddi holl deimladau serch, Yw iaith y tyner famau Paid chwareu pydaT cwpan sydd Yu Hawn o wenwyn Satan O cofia r bwysig farn a fydd,— Paid chwareu gyda'r cwpan. Felinfoel. CABODTK,

FACT AND FANCY. In Unequal Proportions. METEOROLOGICAL QUERY.—When is the worst weather for rats and mice? When it rains cats and dogs. He was from far off England, And he loved with vows in sighs, And while he dropped his h's" Why, the maiden dropped her eyes. Johnny Papa, do the good die young': Papat Yes, my son. Johnny (after a pause): Well, accordin' to that, what a bad man poor old grand- pa muse be. He's so old. THE WP.ONS; MIKI>.—He I think I'll have to use glasses. His wife Weil, dEar. you always did u*e them but they never got higher thàn your lips. A CI.OSE CALL.—"My baby had a fearfully narrov-uscape yesterday." "How so?' By mistake my wife left the poor little fellow alone with the nurse-girl. LIOOKING FORWARD.—Mrs Noear: Do you think my- daughter will be a musician ?—Professor I gEtnt zay. She may. She dell me she gome of a long-lived family. An old lady who imagined the sea must be dirty because so many people bathed in it. was consoled upon being informed that it was washed upon the beach every morning. OTHER MEANS TO THE SAME END.You snored terribly in church last Sunday. You set everybody talking. Yes, I resembled Byron." I don't understand." I wokeand found mv- self famous." BROTHERLY LOVE.—Primus: How absurd it is in Hawley to be always trying to prevent people from knowing his age 1 can't understand it. Secunaus I can. He has a twin sister in society, man. A LIBERAL MAX.—Meakin: Heakin is generous to a fault. Deakin Yes, that's true but the fault he s generous to is his own. He's never generous to anybody else's faults. INEXPERIENCED SPORTSMAN. — How trained youv dogs are \Vhy does this c-ur -paWiift in running between my legs? Gamekeeper ..t.¡ Sensible animal that Kiiows it's the only a^te place when you are shooting. Jack Hustle Wiil you marry me ? Rita Rustle This is so suddèli-give me time. Jack Hustle You can't afford to waste any more time. You must be 26 now. Say yes, Rita. Ethel (age uncertain) Well. Maude. Charlie Hicks has proposed at last. He asked me to be his last night. Maude (young, but jealou •) You don't mean it He is the last man I'd take for a11 antiquarian. A banker's paper says that one of the prettiest sights the human eye ever rested upon is gold in its liquid state." In Liverpool the human eye is satisfied if it can see any of the metal in a solid sm,te. "My dear madam, you are jierieetly charming to night. Oh, you are a natterer; I don't believe you." I assure you I am speaking the truth. Why, when I first saw you, positively I did not recognise you." Madam, are you a woman suffragist ?" No, sir, I haven't time to be." "Haven't tune ? Weil, if you had the privilege of voting whom would you support ?'" The same man I have supported for the last ten years." And who is that?" My husband." Mary George, I have heard you spoken of frequently as a successful businessman.—George: I am that. Why?—Mary: Well, considering the fact that you have been visiting me for three years, I think you should maintain your reputa- tion and talk business.—He maintained his reputation. WHERE TO FIND BUTTONS. — "Where arevou going ? asked Parson Jones of his wi 'e, on seeing her put on her had. You need a button on your coat and I am going to the store to buy one.was the reply. Have you looked over the money that was taken up in the collection last Sunday ?" BRIGHT HOPES.—Circus Manager (to clown who has just been engaged): Ran you a family » Clown I've got a boy and a girl. The girl will never amount to much,but the bey has got geiriua. He will be an artist some day. What makes you think so?" He is only three years old, and already he can tie his legs in a bow-knot around his neck." Mrs Lugsby Old Mr Grumsby, the doctor says, is suffering from elephantiasis —Mrs Bagsby Caught it at the show, I suppose- Hereafter no boy of mine shall go to see the ele- phant without having been vaccinated. Y cu can't teU exactly what the elephants fetch over bere in "-heir trunks. A. GOOD REASON.—Little Johnrry Fizzletop I has the habit of waking up every nigtit and de- ma laing something to eat. At last his mother said to him Look here, Johnny, I never want to eii anything in the night." '"Well, I don't thini: I'd care much to eat anything either in the night if I kept my teeth in a mug of water." A BLOCK OF THE YOUNG CHIP.—" I wish you would renew tins note. My father will endorse for me," said a Texas youth toMose Schaumburg, the merchant prince of Austin. Yen a fader lias got no more sense than to endorse for such a son as you vas, vat segurity ish dot for me ? Dot shows dot your vader vas an old block of the young chip." To make himself look more manly and robusi, Meissomer frequently incased hi" diminutive k/s in huere cavalry boots. He prinked daily before the mirror, and was nenT weary of cmDpa.7!!Jg himself with other small men. to show thyt he was really not so very little. To the end becon. fided in his friends the pangs he ever suffeied on account of his small sive. Occasionally, bu> only ooeassionally, did Meissonier find the iesired I consolation he sought from his acquaintances. One afternoon, as the sculptor Dubois entered his studio, Meissonier excl:1lmed, :JoYIuLy: "What do you think ? The corn-doctor was just here, and wbat do you suppose he says ? A six-ioot grenadier can not get any bigger corn* than mine." A lady who was making an evening call met a man bv the name of Brown, who hae invented an improved button-hole-making att;«ohment lor a well-known sewing-machine, and whose name, preceded by a hideous caricature ot his face, had been mnni-pre8ent in the advertisements for some time. He had two charming daughters whom the lady had seen, not long- beiore, and with whoui she had been greatly pleased. During the entire call, she ha.d succeeded 11l addr^seing Mr Brown by his rightful name only by great mental exer- tions, as another word was constantly trembling on her lips. At last he rose to go, and with:1 sigh of relief Ae heard his "good-evening," to which she responded with her sweetest smile, and added, "Please remember me kindly to the Misses Buttonhole 1" As he entered the car at Baltimore he saw at a glance that there was one scat with » young lady in it. and he maiohed straight down the aisle, deposited his grip and overcoat, sat down and familiarly observed I entirely forgot 1<1 ask your permission." "That's of no conse- quence, "she replied. "Thanks. Travelling alone, eh? Almost, but not quite. My husband is in the smoker, my father and brother are in the .scat back of us, and the two gentlemen across the aisle are my uncles. The conductor, who is a cousin 01 mine, has just gone forward, but will return soon, and I will introduce you to my aunt if you willgc back a few seats." Ah Ah I see. "gasped the man. and the floor of the car suddenly became so red-hot that he picked up his baggage and his leet and lit out for the next one ahead. No Hope. Penitent Phaser "I have been such a terrible smner that I fear there is no salvation iorme." Minister Cheer up. my friend. There is hope for even the vilest." "Ilut I have been such great, sinner. I hav.e worked on Sunday papert putting in type accounts of prize fights, murders, and all manner of crime, thus to spread its in fluence all over the land." "But there is still how for you if you truly repent." "I am glad to hear you say so. I have often put your ser- mons in type and thought how full of love thej were, and Are you the fiend who when J wrote of Pale martyrs in their shrouds of fire,' made it read. Pale martyrs with their shirts on lire?'" "I am afraid I am. 1-- "Then I am happy to say that I do not believe the herf after holds any hope for you." Love's Opportunity. Two lovers by the old front gate, So young and all alone The village clock tolls: Late Late! Late J Twelve times In solemn tone. "No No A deep voice says aloud. Sweetheart, don't go Till the moon goes under a cloud." f The Queen of Night rides high in spaoa Serenely bright and fair. Her kisses gild the young swain's face, The maiden's glossy hair. 'Tis late. And all their vows are vowed Why wait, and wait. Till tbe moon goes under a cloud f The fair girl's dewy lips repeat: I Good night is not good-bye." But love in youth is very sweet, And village maid are shy. Dear one. With head so swee.'dy bowed— Don't run, don't run, Till the moon goes under a cload, At the Garden Gate. Together a.t the garden gate They stood until the hour was late. And hugged and kissed and sighed < A maiden fair, with golden ha.ir, A stalwart youth, with manly air, Who sought; her for his bride. And they were wed. Still at the gate She stands until the hour is late, But he i8 with her not; She waits, tlie while her heart it burns, To guide him in when he'returiffl About three-quarters eiioW