The Cardiff Times

CARDIGANSHIRE JOINT POLICE COMMITTEE. Mr Willis Bund and the Chief Constable. A meeting of the committee was held at the Town-hall, Lampeter,on Thursday week, under the chairmanship of Mr John James, Aberystwyth, when there were also present Colonel Davies Evans, High Mead Captain Stewart, Llandys- sul; the Rev J. M. Griffiths, Llanfihangel Messrs Willis Bund, Peter Jones, C. M. Wil- liams, and D. C. Roberts, Aberystwyth J. E. Rogers, Abermeurig Morgan Evans, Oakford Rev John Owen, Blaenpennal; Charles Lloyd, Waunifor; J. W. Szlumper, Aberystwyth; Daniel Jones, Llanon; D. Griffiths, Penlan; Arthur Jones, Penrallt John Powell, Troedy- raur; J. T. Morgan, Maesnewydd Tobit Evans, Llanarth John Fowden, Lampeter T. H. Maddy, Aberayron; Major Price Lewis, Aberayron and Mr II. C. Fryer, clerk. Chief Constable Howell Evans reported that the police force consistedofonechiefconstable,two superintendents, one inspector, five sergeants, and thirty constables. The report contained several allusions to the recent tithe sales, and the chief constable in conclusion said he felt he must tender his best thanks to the members of the committee and other gentlemen for their presence and assistance in preserving the peace at the various tithe distraints and sales. Mr WILLIS BUND called attention to the re- moval of P.C. Thomas Jone3 from Llamlar to Llechryd, and said he had a. letter alleging that the removal had been in consequence of the evi- dence he had given at Lampeter county-court in the pound breach case of Vaughan v. Evans, heard in September last. On that occasion P.C. Thomas Jones was one of the most important witnesses. He gave what he was going to say to the solicitor to the olaintiff. Having done that a gentleman, whom Mr Willis Bund beiieved was an amateur in the matter, wished to get a state- ment from the officer, and accordingly he was ordered to attend at the chief constable's office, and in the presence of the chief con- stable was examined and cross-examined at great length, and made to sign a statement with regard to his evidence. He was then called at Lampeter, and it was mainly upon his evidence that judgment was given for the plaintiff. That was on the 22nd September, and on the same day notice was given him that he would be removed from Llanilar to Llechryd. The allegation was that he was badgered in order to qualify his evidence, and that as he stuck to his statement in the box he was at once removed from one station to another., He (Mr Bund) therefore moved :— That a sub-committec be appointed to investigate the allegation respecting the preparation of the evi- dence of P.O. Thomas Jones (No. 18) in the case of Vaughan v. Evans, tried at Lampeter County-court on the 22nd September, and the circumstances attending his removal to Llechryd. The CHAIRMAN said that the Chief Constable told him a month before the county-court that he intended making the removal; and the Chief Constable, while denying the allegation, said he had merely told the officer to tell the truth and then he would have no occasion to fear anyone. Mr PETER JONES twitted Mr Willis Bund with inconsistency. On a former occasion when Major Bassett Lewis was chief constable Mr Willis Bund deprecated any interference with the dis- cretion of the Chief Constable in regard to his men on the ground tha.t it would weaken his authority and affect discipline. At the same time he (Mr' Peter Jones) cordially supported the appointment of a committee, remarking that he was sure there was nothing done but would bear the fullest investigation. The committee was therefore appointed, Mr WILLIS BUND referred to a recent licensing case at Aberystwyth, where a constable had ob- tained a conviction in a case of supplying drink on a Sunday by representing himself as a private individual, and ho said he would move at the next meeting— That this committee disapproves of police-constables being employed in breaking the law to secure evidence for a prosecution, and directs the Chief Constable to discontinue such practice. Mr WILLIS BUND next moved— That the resolution as to the instructions given by this committee at the meeting in June, 1891, as to tithe sales be rescinded that the Chief Constable be directed, until further order, to attend at all distraints and sales for tithes in the parish of Penbryn with such force of constables, not less than 25, as shall be suffi- cient to cause that the distraints can be effected and the sales carried onto In doing so, Mr BUND said that matters had reached a crisis with regard to the tithe business. It was hoped that the people would have been content to allow their goods to be sold for tithes without committing any breach of the peace. The way the matter had been dealt with, how- ever, by the people of Penbiyn exceeded all licence. The chief-constable said he did not see any breaches of the peace, but if the evidence given at Troedyraur was substantially correct, then certainly there were not only breaches of the peace but proceedings such as were a disgrace to the county. He therefore thought that such steps should be taken as would put a decided stop to the matter. At present he proposed that his resolution should apply to Penbryn only, be- lieving that when once the county saw that the authority was determined to put a stop to breaches of the peace nothing further would be done and people would obey the law. Mr D. C. ROBERTS rose to a point of order. No notice had been given of the resolution, and the committee could not reverse their policy with. out having time to consider the matter. Major ProCE LEWES thought the subject a matter of pressing necessity. He was inclined to think that the newspaper reporters were not a pack of liars, and what he had seen in the papers led him to believe that peaoe had not been main- tained at tithe sales. Mr PETER JONES contended that more work had been done at tithe sales when no force of polico was taken than when a large force was taken. The CHAIRMAN finally ruled Mr Willis Bund'a proposition out of order.

THE WELSH TITHE WAR. The County-court Bailiffs Operations Frustrated. On the 6th inst., Mr J. P. Howell, high bailiff of the county court, in accordance with the order obtained at the last sitting of the court in a number of tithe cases which were allowed to go undefended, went to the parish of Whiteohurch for the purpose of distraining on the effects of the farmers, as they had stoutly refused to comply with the order of the court to pay. In the performance of hia un- pleasant duty Mr Howell was protected by P.C. Parry (St. Dogmells) ard P.O. Morris (Boncath), who know th people and locality well. Distraints were effACed at Tyddyn Farm, owned and ocoupied by Mr Melchior Evans at Maesgwyn Farm, occupied by Mr John Pioton and at Coedoefnlas Farm, owned and occupied by Mr Stephen Pioton, Whilst the high-bauiff and the police were engaged at Coedoefnlas Farm, some persons made it thetr business to capture the vehiole whioh conveyed the representatives of the law, and which had been l-jft at a place called Penfeidir (some 300 yards away from the farm), and damaged the harness very much by cutting the trace, the breeching, and the reins with a knife. Consequentlythebailiffwa3p0werjes5 to proceed any further with distraining, and to proceed with the vehicle in its disabled state in the best way he could to EglwyBwrw Vioarage, where he received much sympathy and the loan of a set of harness to enable him to return to Cardigan, the journey being completed about 8 po m. The weather was very inclement, high winds prevailing with much rain. It is rumoured that the perpetrators of this deed are known to the driver and the police. It LS that, after hia present experience, Mr Howell, who is an elderly gentleman, will not venture again to this district without a strong forye of polioe to pro- tect him, as he finds quite as much opposition ta the payment of tithes under the new Act as there was under the old. The .majority of the farmera in the parish of Whitechurch being free- holders. it is more than probable that a good deal of difficulty will i experienced in recovering the amounts due in respect to tithes, many of them declaring that they will suffer imprisonment rather than pay.

THE WORLD, THE FLESH, AND THE DEVIL. BY MISS BRADDON. Authoress of "Lady Audley's Secret," "Aurora Floyd," "Taken at the Flood," "Phantom Fortune," Wyllard's Weird." CHAPTER XIV. A MAN CAN HAVE BUT ONE LIfE AND ONE DEATH." Of all the men he knew Justin Jermyn was the last whom Gerard would have deliberately chosen for a confidant and counsellor. He had an innate dread of the man, thought him false, trieky, and uncanny, half a charlatan, and half a fiend; and yet he was drawn towards the man by such an irresistible magnetism, and was at this time- so sorely in need of some friendly ear into which his egotism could pour its complainings, that after trying to shake off Jermyn by absolute incivility, he ended by walking as far as Barnes Common with him, where they sat on a furzy hillock in the sweltering August afternoon, and talked in a desultory fashion between their cigars. So far they talked only of people who were in- different to both. Jermyn had a scathing tongue about men and women—but, being a man, was naturally most malignant in his estimate of the weaker sex. "I believe the generality of man hate all women except the one woman they adore," said Gerard, meditatively. "There is a natural antagonism in the sexes as between dog and cat. Turn a little girl loosa into a playground of small boys, and if it were not for fear of the school- master there would be no more of her after an hour's play than of Jezebel when the dogs ate her. Every boy's hand would be against her. They would begin by pulling her hair and tripping her UP. and then the natural savage in them would goon t-murder. Look at the way the Sepoys treated women in the Indian Mutiny! That devilish cruelty was only the innate hatred of the sex which asserted itself at the first opportunity. And your talk about Mrs Fousenelle and the pretty Miss Vinoent is only the civilised develop- ment of the same natural malignity." "Perhaps," agreed Jermyn, "But for my own part I am rather fond of women in the aggregate, as entomologists are fond of butterflies. I like them as specimens. I like to pin them down upon cork and study them and make my guesses about their future, by the light of their antece- dents. "Andyou do not believe in the unassailable honour of good women?" Not in honour for honour's sake. There are women who eleut to go through life with an un- spotted reputation, for pride's sake, just as an Indian fanatic will hold his hands above his head until they whither and stiffen, for the sake of being looked up to by his feilowmen. But honour for honour's sake, henour in a hovel where there is no one to praise-honour in the Court of a Louis the Great or a Charles the Little-that kind of honour, my dear Hillersdon, is beyond my belief. Remember I am of the world worldly. My intellect and my opinions are perhaus the natural product of a society in its decadence." And do you think that a good woman-a. woman whose girlhood has been fed upon all pure and holy thoughts, whose chosen type of her sex is the mother of Christ, do you think that such a woman can survive the loss. of reputation, and yet be happy ?" "Assuredly, if she gets a fair equivalent—a devoted lover, or a life of luxury, with a provision for her old age. The thorn amoag the roses of vice is not the loss of honour, but the apprehension of poverty. Anonyma, lolling on the silken cushions of her victoria, shivers at the thought that all the luxuries which surround her mav be as short- lived as the flowers in the park borders, for a sea- son and no m, cro. Believe me, my dear Hillers- don, we waste our pity upon these ladies when we picture them haunted by sad memories of an in- nocent girlhood, of their parish church, the school- house where they taught the village children on Sunday mornings, of broken-hearted parents, or sorrowing sistera. Ways and means are what these butterflies think about when their thoughts travel beyond the enjoyment of the hour. The clever ones contrive to savo a competence, or to marry wealth. The stupid ones have their day, and then drift to the gutter. But conscience— regrets—broken hearts Dreams, my dear Hillers. don, idle dreams." A chance hansom took the two young men back to town, and on nearing Queen's-gate Gerard in- vited his companion to dine with him. There was nothing now or striking in Justin Jermyn's discourse, but its cheap cynicism suited Gerard's humour. When a man is set upoo evil nothing pleases him better than to be told that evil is the staple of life—that the wickedness which tempts him is common to humanity itself, and can not be wicked because it is incidental to human nature. They dined tete a tete in the winter garden, where the summer air rustled among the palm leaves, and the atmosphere was full of the scent of roses, climbing roses, standards, bushes, which tilled all the available spaoe, and made the vast conservatory a garden of roses. The sliding windows in the lofty dome were opened and 14 showed a sky, starlit, profound and as purple asif this winter garden near Knightsbridge had been some palm grove in one of the South Sea isles. The dinner was perfection, the wines the choicest products of royal vineyards and Hillersdon's, guest did ample justice to both cuisine and celler while Hillersdon himself atei very little, and drank only soda-water. Fortune which has favoured you so highly in some respects has not given you a good appetite," said Jermyn, when he had gone steadily through the menu, and had even insisted upon a second supply of a certain chaud-froid of ortolans. There is such a terrible sameness in food and wines," answered Gerard. I believe my chef is an artist who really deserves the eminence he enjoyed with former masters—but his productions weary me. Their variety is more in name than in substance. Yesterday quails, to-day ortolans, to- morrow grouse. And if I live till next year the quails and ortolans and grouse will come round again. The earliest salmon will blush upon my table in January February will como with her hands full of hot-house peaches and Algerian peas March will offer me sour strawbarries and immature lamb. The same-the same over and over again. The duckling of May-the green- goose, the turkey-poult, the chicken-turbot, I know them all. Thrre is truer relish in a red herring which a working-man carries home to eat with his tea than in all the resources of a French cqok, when once we have run through the gamut of delicacies, I rJmembr my first Greenwich dinner—rapture—the little room overlooking the river; the open windows and evening sunlight, the whitebait, the flounder-souche, the sweetbreads, and iced Moselle, food for the Olympian gods— but after many seasons of Greenwich dinners how weary and hackneyed is the feast." You have possessed your millions little more than a year, and already you have learnt how not to enjoy," said Jermyn. I congratulate you upon your progress.' Afi, you forget, I knew all these things before I had my fortune-kn.w them in the days when I was only an umbra, knew them in other people's houses. Money can buy hardly anything for mo that has freshness or novelty, any more than it could for Solomon, and I have no Queen of Sheba to envy me my splendour until there was no more spirit in her. Nobody envies a millionaire his wealth nowadays. Millionaires are too com- mon. They live in every street in Mayfair. To be worth anybody's envy a man should have. a billion. Ymi begin to find fault with the mediocrity of your fortune ? said Jermyn, with his pleasant laugh at human folly. A little more than a year ago you were going to destroy yourself be- cause you were in pecuniary difficulties-parse. cuted by tailors and bootmakers. In another year you will bo charging tho same revolver to end all existence that leaves you nothing to live for. Solomon was not so foolish. Indeed, I think that great king was simply the most magnificent sham that thfl his- tory of the world offers to the contemplation of modern thinkers, a man who could philosophise so exquisitely upon the vanity of humn life, and yet drain the cup of earthly pleasures—sensual, artistie, intellectual—to the very dregs Vanity of vanities, says the preacher and, behold the slave market sends its choicest beauties to the king. Vanity of vanities, and lo his ships come into port laden with apes and ivory, with Tyrean purple and the gold of Ophir, for the king and the Duilding of the mighty temple yonder on the holy hill affords a perpetual interest and an inex- haustible plaything for the man who calls tha grasshopper a burden. I'll wager that in Jerusa- lem they called that gorgeous temple Solomon's Folly, and laughed among themselves as the great king's litter wont up the hill, with veiled beauty sitting in the shadow of the purple curtains, and little slippered feet just peeping out among the jewel-spangled cushions. Solomon in all his ir lery I think, Hillersdon, if I were as rich as you the thing I should feel most keenly would be that money could not buy me back one glimpse of the glory of the pasr—not half-an-hour with the guerilla leader David, among the wild hills, not one glimpse of Jeruaalem when Solomon was king. We may imitate that gorgeous past, but we ean never recall it. Billions would not buy It back for us. All the colour and glory of life has faded from an earth that is vulgarised by cheap trippers. From Hounslow to the Holy Land one hears the same harsh, common voices. German and Yankee accents drown tho soft Tuscan ef the Flo- rentine in the ViaTornebuoni, tramloads of Cock- neys rush up and down the hills of Algeria, camel loads of vulgarity from London and New York nervaek the desert where Isaiah wandered alone beneath the stars. The bill where the worshippers of Baal waited for a sign fxxjm, their pod, the Valley of Jehosaphat, are as banal as Shooter's Hill or the Vale of Health. The spirit of romance has fled from our vulgarised planet, and not a milliad of golden sovereigns could tempt her back for an hour I should be content to let the past go if I could be happy in the present. Thst ia ib., diffi- culty." I am always happy. I have fancies, but no passionate longings. My only troubles are climatic. If I can follow the sunshine I am con- tent." If you have finished your wine let us go to my den," said Gerard, who had allowed his com- panion's rhodomantade to pass by him like the faint breath of evening wind among the palm leaves, while his own thoughts travelled in a, circle. We can't talk freely here. I feel as if there were listeners in the shadowy corners behind those tree ferns." "To your den with all my heart." They went upstairs to the room where Gerard's test of power was fixed against the wall, an old Italian vestment of richest embroidery, with jewels embedded in the tarnished gold thread, hung in front of that eccentric talisman. He had not looked at it since the night when he first met Hester Davenport, and when the tremulous line which his pen made upon the paper showed him that a disturbing element had entered into his life. To-night he flung himself into his accustomed chair wearily, and a heavy sigh escaped him, as he pushed aside the books upon the table in front of him, and looked at the splendid face of his betrothed in the photograph. Jermyn was walking round the room looking at everything with an unusual air. So like my old rooms," he said, I feel quite snug as I look at the things. Mine are sold, dis- persed, vanished into thin air. I gave up those old Inn chambers—too uncanny for a man of cheerful temperament. I have a pied à. terre in Paris now, my only settlement." What part of Pa.ris ?" AN I never tell my address. That is one of my idiosyncracies. But if ever I meet you on the boulevard after the theatres have closed, I will take you to my den to supper, and will give you Mar- got or Lafitte equal to the Maidera which you liked that night in the old Inn. By Jove, my image in bronze. How did you come by it ?" The image was a bust ot Pan, and the features and expression of the god were the features and expression of Justin Jermyn. Allow for the phan- tasy goat's ears, and the bust was as fine a likeness of the fate-reader as portraiture could have achieved under the happiest conditions. Who is the sculptor ?" asked Jermyn, hovering over the image with childish pleasure. "It's an antique from Sir Humphrey Squander- ville's collection. I found it at Christie's tho other day, and I bought it as the best substitute I could get for that black marble bust which I saw in your rooms." You must be very fond of me, Hillersdon, to have set up my image in your sanctum." "Fond of you! Not in the least. I have a horror of you—but I like your society, as a man likes opium. It has a foul taste, and be knows it is bad for him yet he takes it—craves for it— must have it. I could not rest till I had your likeness; and now that grinning mouth of yours is always there to mock at my heart ache, my doubt, my despair. That broad smile of sensual enjoyment, that rapture in mere animal life, serve me as a perpetual reminder of what a poor creature I am from the heathon point cf view— how utterly unable to enjoy life from the Pantheist's standpoint, how conscious of man's universal heritage—death." 'Death is here and death is there, Death is busy everywhere,' quoted Jermyn. Cheerful poet, Shelley an exquisite harper, but a good deal of his harping was upon one string-death, dust, annihilation. It would have been very inconsistent if he had lived to be as old as Wordsworth. But why should my image," posing himself beside the bronze bust and laying his long white hand affectionately upon the sylvan god's forehead, remind you of dismal things ? My prototype and I have the spirit which makes for cheerfulness Your very cheerfulness accentuates my own gloom." "Gloomy! With youth and good looks, and ninety thousand a year ?" More than enough for happiness, perhaps, if I had the freehold; but I am only a leaseholder, anp I know not how short my lease may be. I have pretty good reason to know that it is not a long one. Yes, I know that, Justin Jermyn. I know that these things belong to me as the dream-palace beloDgs to the dreamer who fancies himself a king." "Make the most of your opportunities while they last. To be as rich as you are—and to be young—is to command the world. There is not a flower in the garden of this world that you cannot pluck." You are wrong. I am tied and hampered. I see before me one—and only one—chance of supreme happiness, and yet I dare not grasp it." And then in a gush of confidence, in the pas- sionate egotism that must talk of self, he told this man whom he distrusted the inmost secrets of his heart—told him how he had been moved by the sight of Hester's face on the platform in the concert hall, and how from that night he had struggled in vain against tho attraction which drew him towards her. He told Jermyn every- thing—his intrusion upon her life, alheit he knew her desire to avoid all intercourse with friends of the past—-told of those quiet hours in tho humble lodging, those unalarmirg gifts of Bowers and books—told of those slow pacings to and fro by the river, with the old father always at her side— pouring out his soul to this man whom he doubted and feared as a girl tells her story of hopeless love to a trusted sister. yVe have never been alone togother since that first hight in Eton-square. I have never dared even to hold her hand in mine with a lingering clasp, and yet when our hands touch there is a fire that runs through my veins till heart and brain are fused in that passionate fire, and I can scarce shape the words that bid her good-bye. Our talk has bc.en only of commonest things. I have never by look or word dared to express my love—and yet I think she knows I love her. I think that when my heart leaps at the sound of her voice or the touch of her hand her heart is not silent. I have seen her lips tremble in the faint evening light when we have walked side by side under the trees. I have felt that thero was eloquence in her silence, in faltering replies. Yes, I know she loves me." What more do you want—knowing that ? Are you going to leave her at her sewing-machine when you can make her life one blissful holiday. She is not a woman to be had for the asking. Would you advise me to fling every consideration except happiness to the winds, and marry her V "You cannot marry everybody," replied Jermyn, with a practical air, and I tak3 it you are irrevocably pledged to the lady yonder," pointing to the stately form of the gold and lapis lazuli frame—a fero of jeweller's work—on the table. "Yes, I am pledged to her." In any casi tho world expects you to marry her—and it will go rather hard with her, from a society point of view, if you don't. But perhaps you care very little what the world says about Mrs Champion ?" "I care very much. I am bound to care for her reputation, and for her feelings. Till she, of her own free will, releases me, I am bound to her by every tie that can bind a man of honour." So J" exclaimed Jermyn, that means a good deal." It moans not one syllable to Edith Champion's discredit," answered Hillersdon, hotly. She was a faithful wife to her husband, and I know how to respect her position as his wife, although I had been her adoring lover. In the three years of her married life we were friends, and friends only. It may be that we both counted on the days when sho would be free, and when the thread of the old story might be taken up again just where we dropped it." And now she is free, and you seem hardly to have taken up the thread." It is her fault,"said Hillersdon, angrily. "Her fault. She is beautiful, generous, loves me with all her heart; but she is bound and fettered by petty laws which brave women laugh at. She ran away from me just when my salvation lay in her society. I wanted to hold fast by my first love. I wanted to live all my life in her company, to lure back the old loves and graces that had fluttered away, to forget that there was another lovely or lovable woman upon earth but she told me that people would talk, and that it was better we should see very little of each other until the period of conventional grief was past, and I could decently make David Champion's widow my wife. So she is sketching snow peaks at Murren while—" "While you are over head a.nd ears in love with Hester Davenport." It is more than love it is possession. My world begins and ends with her. I tried to run away, tried to start for Switzerland, to follow my betrothed to her mountain retreat, in defiance of her objection; but it was a futile effort. I was at the station my man and my portmanteau were on the platform and at the last moment my resolution failed. I could not placc myself beyond the pdssiLility of seeing the face I worship, of hearing the vpice that thrills me." "And you are content to g on seeing the lovely face and hearing tha thrilling voice in the presence of a third person ? Isn't that rather like being in love with a ward in Chancery, and qouvting her in the presvnce of the family lawyer? Why don't ycu get rid of the old man t" That's not as easy as you suppose. You saw me sent away from her door to-day. She will not receive me in in her father's absence, and I am not such a cad as to force myself upon her seclusion. I behaved badly enough in the first instance when I acted in direct opposition to her wish." "To her alleged wish, Do you think a woman is ever quite candid in these cases, either to her lover or to herself t Look at Goethe's Gretchen, for instance, somewhat snappish when Faust addresses her in the street, but a few hours after, in the garden, what had become of the snap- pishness ? She is ocean deep in love, ready to throw herself into the lover's arms. I can't I conceive how you can have gono on with this idle trifling, like an undergraduate in love with a boarding-school miss. You with your millions, your short lease of life, your passionate desire to make the moat of a few golden years. Strange to what hopeless fatuity love can reduce its victim. Get rid of the old father, make a clean sweep of him, and then at least the coast will be clear, and you need not oonfine your love.making to crawl upon the Embankment." How got rid of him ? There's the difficulty. He has been reformed by her patient care, and it is the business of her life to make his declining* years happy. Nothing would induce her to part with him. "Perhaps not; but very little would induce him to part with her. Do you suppose he is not tired of his present lifo ? Do you know what reform means in the habitual drunkard ? It means deprivation that. makes existence a living death. It means a. perpetual craving, a thirst as fierce as that which racks tho parched traveller in the African desert, the perishing Bailor after a week scorched upon a raft in mid-ocean, only it is the thirst for alcohol, for fire instead of water. To his daughtor this poor wretch may pretend resignation, but you may be sure he is miserable, and will resume his darling vice at the first oppor- tumty." And you would suggest that I should find the opportunity, that I should fling him back into the Jophet from his daughter has plucked him. 1k. ife?aayn, I am not so vile as that." t X suggest nothing. Only if you want to wiu t daughter you must get the father out of the way unless, indeed, you prefer to take the other line—throw over Mrs Champion and make a formal offer for Miss Davenport's hand. No doubt the old man would be very proud of you as a son in-law, though you might Wbve some occa- sion to be ashamed of him as a father-in-law when the opportunities of an establishment hke this should lure him back to his old habits." I have told you that I cannot break with Edith." And you will marry her next year, while you are still passionately in love with another woman ?" "I dare not think of next year. I may not live till next year. I can think only of the pre- sent, and of the woman I love." "Yoù are wise. A year is a long time, mea- sured by a passion like yours. You have offered Davenport and his daughter an income through your sister; you have acted with most admirable delicacy, and yet your offers have been rejected. Have you ever offered Davenport mouey, directly —with the golden sovereigns or the crisp bank notes in your hand ?" "Never. I would not degrade him by any such offer. And I believe that he would reject any gift of that kind." A gift, perhaps, but not a loan. A man of that kind wIll always take your money if you humour his pride by pretending to lend it to him. Or there tU3 other ways. He is a good classic, you say, or was so once. Let him write a book for you. A literary commission would be an exense for giving him ample means for enjoying his evening in h's own way, and then your moon- lit walks upon the Embankment would have the charm which such walks have when heart answers to heart." What a. villain I should be if I were to take your advice and undo the work to which that heroic girl has devoted herself for the brightest years of her girlhood—those years which for the young lady in society mean a triumphant pro- gress of dances and tennis tournaments, and rby frocks and adulation—a path way ofjflowers. has given all the brightness of her youth to this one holy aim, and you would have me undo her work." My dear fellow, the end is inevitable. I tell you that for the habitual drunkard there is no such thing as reformation. There is semblance of it, while the sinner is cut off from the possibility of sin but backsliding comes with opportunity, and the reaction is so much the more violent because of that slow agony of deprivation through which the sinner has been passing. I no more believe in Mr Davenport's reform than the Broad Church believes that that Joshua stopped the sun." The conversation drifted into other channels. They discussed that great problem of man's destiny whioh is always being argued in some form or other. They asked each other that universal riddle which is always being answered and is yet unanswerable. In this line of argument Justin Jermyn showed an impish facility for shifting his ground and at the end of an hour's argument Hillersdon hardly knew whether he was full of vague aspirations and vague beliefs, in purer and better words beyend his insignificant planet, or whether his creed was blank negation. It was late when they parted, and after the man was gone, Gerard Hillersdon sat for a long time face to face with the bronze pau, the sly smile, the curious sidelong glance of the long narrow eyes seeming to carry on the argument, which the living lips had dropped, to strange and wicked conclusions. Wealth without limit," mused Gerard, "and so little power to enjoy—so brief a lease of life. Why if 11 were sure of living to eighty or ninety I should still think it hard that the end must come—that it is inevitable—foreshadowed in the freshness of life's morning; stealing nearer and nearer with the ripening noon and, oh, the blackness of life's evening, when the last sun-rays light an open grave. Oh, that inevitable end—poison and bane of every life, but most hideous where wealth makes existence a kind of royalty. I shudder when I read the wills of triple or quadruple millionaires. The wealth remains—a long array of figures, aslounding in their magnitude—and the man who owned it is lying in the dark, and knows the end of all things." He went over to the wall against which he had affixed his talisman, drew aside the curtain, and then stepped quickly backto the table and dipped his pen in the ink. It was the same large, broad- nibbed pen with which he had drawn the last line upon the night after his interview with Hester Davenport. He dashed his pen upon the paper in a fury, and drew an inner line with one hurried sweep of his wrist. It determination could have assured firmness that line would have been bold and strong as an outline by Michael Angelo but the tracing was even more waver- ing than the last, and might have been an effort of a sick man, so feebly did the line fafter from point to point. Dr. South and Justin Jermyn are right," thought Gerard. It is passionate feeling that saps the life of a man—most of all a hopeless passions-most of all a strusrgle betv/oen honour and i noli nation. I will see South to-morrow, and if he tells me the shadows are deepening upon the dial--if" The sentence remained unfinished even in his own mind. He spent a restless night, broken by brief slumbers and long dreams-vivid dreams in which he was haunted by the image ot Nicholas Davenport, under every strange and degrading aspect. In one dream he was in his father's church at evensong in the quiet summer evening. He heard the organ and the voices of tha village choir in the closing phrases of his mother's favourite hymn, "Abido with me," and amidst the hush that followed tha Amen he saw Nicholas Davenport lolling over the worn velvet cushions of the old-fashioned pulpit, gesticulating dumbly, mad with drink, but voiceless. There was no sound in the church after that tender closing phrase of the hymn. All that followed was silence; but as he looked at that degraded figure leaning out of the pulpit the church changed to the pit of hell, and the village congregation became an assembly of devils, and on the steps of Satan's throne stood a figure like Goethe's Mephistophelos, and the face under the little red cap with the cock's feather was the face of Justin Jermyn. There was nothing strange in the fact that he should so dream, for he had long ago in his own mind likened the Fate-reader to Goethe's fiend. Gerard Hillersdon drove to Harley-street before ten o'clock next morning, and was lucky in catching Dr South, who was in London, en passant, having finished his own cure and advised his gouty patients at Homburg, and being on the point of starting for a holiday at Braemar. There were no patients in the waiting-room, as the doctor was supposed to be out of town, a.nd on sending in his card Hillersdon was at once admitted to the consulting-room. Dr Smith looked up from his pile of newly- opened letters with a pleasant smile. Mylittle patient of the Devonshire Rectory," he said, cheerily and then, with a keen look and a changed tone, he said, But how is this. Mr Hillersdon, you are not looking so weli as when you were here last. I'm afraid you have been dis- regarding my advice Perhaps I have," Gerard answered, gloomily. You told me that: In order to spin out the thin thread of my life I must venture only to exist. I must teach myself to become a human vegetable, without passions or emotions, thought or desire." I did not forbid thought or pleasant emo- tions," said Dr South I only urged you to avoid those stormy passions which strain the cordage of the human vessel, and sometimes wreck her." You urged that which is impotsible. To live is to feel and to suffer. I have not been able to obey you. I am passionately in love with a woman. whom I cannot marry." You mean that the lady is married already ?" No; but there are other reasons If it is a question of social inequality, waive it and marry. You cannot afford to be unhappy. The disappointment which another man would get over in a year might in your case have a fatal effect. You are not of the temper which can live down trouble." "Tell me frankly and ruthlessly how long I have to live." "Take off your coat and waistcoat," said the doctor, quietly, and then, as his patient obeyed. he said, "I should be an impudent empiric if I pretended to measure the sands m the glass of life, but I can, if you like, tell you if your chances now are any worse than they were when you were with me last year. I remember your case perfectly, and even what I said to you at that time. I was especially interested in you as one of my little patients who had faith enough to come back to me in manhood. Now let me see," and the thonghtful head was bent to listen to that terrible tell-tale machinery we all carry about with us, ticking off the hours that remain to each of us in this poor sum of life. The downward bent brow was unseen by the natient, or he might have read his doom in the physician's countenance. When Dr South looked up his features wore only the studied gravity of the professional aspect. Well," questioned Hillersdon, when the aus- cultation was finished, am I much worse than when I was here last ? You are not any better." "Speak out, for God's sake," cried Gerard, roughly. I—I beg your pardan, doctor, but I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, no making the best of a bad case. What is the QUtlpqk ?" "Bad." "Shall I live a year-two-three years ? How much do you give me ?" "With care—extreme care—you may live some years yet. Nay, I do not say that you might not last ten years, but if you are recklcss the end may come in a year. Worry, agitation, fretting of any kind may hasten your doom. I am sorry to be obliged to tell you this." "I thank you for having told ma the truth. Itsettles one question, at least. I shall try to happy my own way." "Marry the woman you love, even if she is a housemaid," said the doctor, kindly, "and let her make your life happy in some quiet retreat, far from the excitements and agitations of the world of fashion or politics. You will go to the South, of course, before the winter. I should recommend Sorrento or Corsica. Your wealth will surround you with all the luxuries that make life easy wherever a man has to live." ( To be continued. )

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FACT AND FANCY. f 4 In Unequal Proportions. "it Mock Turtle—Calling a husband "my dear public, and" you brute" in private. Mamma Who dwelt in the Garden of Neddie Oh, I know—the Adamses. alii "Be mine, Amanda, and I'll treat you l angel!" "I daresay! Nothing to eat and less to wear Three and two-tenths grains make one 150 carats in one ounce of troy weight, carats in one troy pound of 5,760 grains. There is sometimes superstitution shon avoiding suprstÜutlOns, when men think tion best by receding farthest from the superstl that before prevailed.—Lovd Bacon. -=-- boStS "Go, Anthony—go yonder, where await you," said Cleopatra. "No, returned the Roman, "I'd rather stay wit" hostess." A young woman who married a man much than herself, against her will, fairly I by bringing up their offspring to call fi "Grandpa." nj She (trustingly) Am I the only girl you e: loved, Jack? Jack: Why—yes—certainly^ dear—that ij to say, the only girl I ever loved love you, my darling. r. ed'd, Employer: Thompson, you are disch et Employee But what have I done, sir ? M ployer: Nothing; absolutely nothing. '1' what I complain about. Judge Gentlemen of the jury, your verdi0^1, not in accordance with the evidence. ForeO'8^ jj May it please the Court, the evidence was B° accordance with the facts. n 111 Reportah So poor Will was accident*^ [( strangled to death. How'd it happen ? Fli0^ (j Got caught in a shower, and oouldn't unbo*8^ j; the collar of his flannel shirt. fc —— t Do you employ your man Rastus by t month or day ?" Well, with Rastus it's n both. I employ him to do a day's work no^,7 Q then, but it always takes him a month to do l* a Mulligatawny Supe I shall never play 1& again.—-Hamfatta J. Rialto Why not ?—i gatawny Supe My professional pride will permit. Even the gas went out last night. < 1 Maud What are you reading ? Pimmie t Man Without a Country." It s such a ( story Maud (looking drearily up and i beach): It isn't half as painful as a country out a man. ————— ibl» 1 Elderly Maiden (out rowing with a possi irf suitor and her little sister, who ia frightened the waves): Theodora, if you are so nervou9<?% what will you be at my age ? Little 31 (meekly) Thirty-seven, I suppose. ''if And so you're married, Jack?" "Yes.^JJ succumbed, like many another before me. røB' match, pure and simple. Come around and us some time." "I will with pleasure. are you living?" "Well, expect we will har father's for some time to come." For those who have eyes to see, the pr ways bears the impress of the past. Why 4 you stick out the middle finger of your left hajy so straight while you are eating ? asked of a tramp. "Was it ever broken?" j madam but during my halcyon days I war" tØ diamond ring on that finger, and old habits 9 hard to break." aftf Dedbroke It's no use denying that times hard. I tested the matter thoroughly J t morning. Jackson How ? "I accosted dozen fellows whom I met on the way to • city, and asked each one for the loan of a del. for a short time only. Would you believe 6 's not one of the twelve had that paltry sum in b1 pocket ?" The American had just told the joke. The latter did not laugh. I suppo911 said the American, caustically, that you 11 see the point of that joke about the day after morrow and laugh then ?" My dear hoy. 1 the point of that joke and laughed at it four ago, when I was in India," drawled the Engl man. A temperance lecturer once threw upon screen the micro-organisms in a drop of wateT» ^v; the astonishmnt of his audience. Then, on slide, he put a minute portion of whisky. Insta#tijjj it put its quietus on all that swarming life. j to make his point, a voice from the rear out, "I'll never take another drink of water out a drop of whisky in it," The Due d'Aumale once went to the tent dashing Marbot during an African campaign, which he had received his nineteenth wound. old baron was found grumbling after this To be a lieutenant general, a baron of empire, a peer of France, a grand officer Q' Legion of Honour, have eighty thousand fra.»C\o year, and be hit by the ball of a filthy Kabyle W has not four sous in his pocket." One of Mr Arthur Balfour's brothers, being "II ardent apostle of the aesthetic school, was OU »! discussing the subject of art-culture with Lq, Salisbury. Finding the Prime Minister anyth^J but responsive to his theories, he observed am afraid, uncle, you are a sad Philistine." that case," Lord Salisbury responded, I not the first who has suffered from the jaw-b° of an ass." It is stated that an Ohio widow owned a 111 gravel bank which a certain railroad company r' very anxious to secure. Several propositions ( made and rejected, and the president finally 60Lj his private secretary down with instructions offer up to §14,000. The young man *•, a couple of days, and, when asked how the ness had turned out, replied, I will accept offer." "You ?" I married the widow and o* the bank." The Evening Sun tells of a parson who had h.1 a call from a little country parish to a large wealthy one in a big city. He asked time prayer and consideration. He did not feel sure g his light. A month passed. Finally, some met his youngest son on the street. How i3 iiS Josiah," said the neighbour, your father I going to B Well, answered yL j youngster, judicially, Paw is still nrayin' 1 light, but most of the things is packed." At a, Paris club, a. Roumanian count was pellad for cheating. A few days later he discovered comfortably seated in the readi''? room's most luxurious arm-chair, with the Sa.J1 day supplement of the Figaro spread out be( him, Sir," sternly said a, black frock.ooa G member of the committee, are you aware th* your name has been struck off the list of ma bers?" "I understood I would not be ad mitt into the card-rooms," replied the other but, certainly thought I might continue to come 80- read the papers!" WHAT ELSE CQULP HE Do ?—Magistrate: '1 are charged with adulterating your milk have you to say for yourself f—Milkjnau: your worship? I'd scorn to do such a thing- Magistrate: Then how do you account for t" presence ef nearly 40 per cent, ef water in milk you sold last week ?—-Milkman your worship, this is how it was. The frost so sharp that it froze the milk, and I was 9bh to put some hot water in to thaw it. What could I do His worship said he could do month. DRAWING-ROOM SONGS.—A new humourist b turned up in Mr Barry Pain, who has published volume containing some capital things. lIere a snatch of parocjy directed at the senseless df&t ing-room songs of to-day Take my head on your shoulders, papa, Let's have it back when you've done; I only unscrewed it in jest, papa- Only unscrewed it in fun. And it's pleasant to lie and to think, papa, You can give it me back all right; My head, though it's screwed, is loose, papa« j And you, when you're screwed, are tight.' After the surrender at Appomatox, Ge«e?fJ j Wise came riding dawn the road furiously JJr where General Lee and his staff were graup^fy He was splashed with mud from head to I and there were great splotches of mud dried I caked upon his face. Addressing General Le0' he asked, in a theatrical voice: "Is it triift f General Lee, that you have surrendered!" "y General Wise, it is true." "I wish, then, to you one question What is going to become 0 my brigade, General Lee, and what is goiug become of me?" General Lee looked at splashed warrior for a full minute, and then calmly and in a low tone: General Wise, and wash your face." A country judge in Hungary gave a decisioflf few days ago, of which Solomon himself might P* proud. Members of the Nazarene sect in t}J6 town of Gyoma requested his honour to allowed to crucify one of their number," w)r¡ was a Messiah, and had been called h heaven save men." The judge, for a moment, was dutf1^ founded. "Friends, he replied, after recover'^ his senses, I do not wish to interfere with y°J\ religious practices. If your Messiah wishes to crucified, let him prepare himself for dea4!^ crucified, let him prepare himself for d8&t. Remember, however, that if he does not rise in three days I shall cause every one of you to hanged." The Nazarenes, it is needless to allowed their chief to live. How LONG A CHILD SHOULD SLEEP.• £ healthy baby for the first two months or so spel)?5 most of its time asleep. After that a baby sho15 have at least two hour of sleep in the fovenc- and one hour !n the afternoon, and it is quite sible to teach almost any infant to adopt this a regular habit. Even to the age of four or ti" L years a child should have one hour of sleep, or 1¿ least rest in bed, before its dinner, and it bo put to bed at six or seven in the evening an not be disturbed for 12 or 14 hours. Up to th 15th year most young people require 10 and till the 20th year nine hours. After that I) everyone finds out how much he or she requirgS' though as a general rule at least six or eight hOtlr are necessary. Eight hours' sleep will prevail more nervous derangement in women than al medicine can cure. During growth there n'1?". be ample sleep if the brain is to develop to full extent, and the more nervcus, excitably 0 precocious a child is the longer sleep should it Ser if its intellectual progress is not to come to premature standstill or its life out short at early age.