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[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]
[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] A HIDDEN CHAIN. By Dora Russell. Ii Author cf "Footprints m the Snow," '"The Broken Seal," "The Track of the Storm. A Fatal Pass," "The Vicar's Governess, "Hidden in My Pit art," &c., "cc. CHAPTER XIII. Very Disagreeable. In the meantime, Eva and Clair, quite 1111- *<>nscious of the storm within, were smilingly Approaching Sea View House, and stood talking ■ugether in the porch what seamed a very un- itcfssary time to several eyes that were watching them. Even the pood naturpd farmer felt disturbed he noticed from the dining-room window the lingering hand-clasp and lengthened parting of the young pair. "This \yjlll.C\'2r do," he mutterCQ to hnl1self, afid when at last Eva entered the room and saw Air Dighton, the expression of his jovla] face was hot as its wont. "Mr Dight'in exclaimed Eva. advancing Withjutstretehed hand, this is quite an unex- pected pleasure." Well, my dear, how are you 7" answered Mr pightou. So the young lord was with vou, was he ?" "Yes," said Eva, with a pretty little shrug and a smile; he's been here a day or two, and he's nothing to do." Exc.-pt to walk about with you, seemingly," *aid Mr Lighton, "his father does not know he's bfcre; he told me he w.s in London." So he was a day or so ago, and he's g"ing back directly, I supple that is how Lord kiimore made the mistake," replied Eva calmly. "Nowadays, you know, Mr Dighton, young men do not write home every day to tell where they are going." No, indeed," said Mr Dighton, shaking his head. Ho's a very pleasant companion," continued kva. Yes, yes, so he is—Lut still, my dear At this moment the room door opened, and Richard Dighton entered with a frown on his brow. Oh you hers too said Eva, going towards him with a smile, and holding out her hand. I "ope you are better, Mr Dighton ?" It wouldn't matter much to you whether I I.tn or not," answered Dick silently, and as he sPOke Eva opened her large dark eyes wider, and looked at him in surprise. Why do you say that ?" she said. "It does Matter—it must matter I think, when you were 80 dreadfully injured in trying to—help ma and Eva gave a little shudder. I have nevsr had the opportunity uf personally thanking you yet," she went on the n-xt moment, but I do tbank you now with al) my heart." Oh I did nothing," said Richard, still sul- lenly j I failed." And he sneered. I thank you all the same, and I have grieved 'ery much to hear of all the pain you have gone, through on my account. But I hope the change "ere will make you quite strong." Oh yes, Dick will soon pick up here," said Air Dighton, pleasantly. Well, young folks, I don't know what kind of housekeepers you are, but I feel uncommonly peckish. But mother has come armed with hams, and eggs and butter, as 1v'e thought we would surprise you so we won't starve. anyhow." And Mr Dighton laughed his lovial laugh. My dear Mr Dighton," cried Eva, who liked •he farmer, "you make me quite hungry by talk- ,l*g of all those lovely country things! But I Assure you Annie has net starved me she is a '*ttious little housekeeper." Well then, Annie, see about something to said Mr Dighton, "and I'll go and look -rter mother and her good things, for I can telj ^ou we all want something after the journey/' And saying this, he left the room, closely fol- *o>ved by Annie, and Richard Dighton and Eva -jloore were left alone. Almost from the very jjrst sight of his sister's friend, Richard Dighton "ad conceived a passionate admiration for her, Vihich had quickly ripened into violent love. It Was quite true, and he knew it, that Eva had lever given the slightest encouragement to his Somewhat awkward advances. But in spice of all the young farmer had cherished the most romantic hopes. He was really in Jove with Eva, his desperate attempts to save her during the Pfe had proved this, and now his heart felt very Outer within him at her seeming forgetfulness of "hat he had gone through. Ho turned away his head as his father and Annie left the room, and then the next moment looked at her, still with anger in his rather deep- en ken eyes. "So," he said, you've had the young; lord here '0 amuse yourselves with—or to amuse him." Both, Mr Richard," answered Eva,1 airly. "That's well It Y eg, Lord Clair has nothing to do here, and Vie have nothing to do, so it has been a mutual Accommodation," said Eva, and she laughed. Ht-r mirth jarred on Richard's ears, and made hinl more bitter still. Well, I won't let my sister make a fool of herself any longer," he said roughly. How has she made a fool ot herself?"inquired Eva, looking at him. I consider any woman makes a fool of herself who allows a man to dangle after her when he gleans nothing but to suend an idle hour or two." But Lord Clair has not dangled after Annie «■ Was the person he came to see." And you say this to ine exclaimed Richard oercely to me who- t: Why should I not say it to you, Mr Dighton ?" asked Eva, calmly. "Because you know—you must know," and the young man's face flushed darkly, and the £ eins on his forehead swelled, that I can't bear to hear it that I can't bear to think of any •^an making a fool of you that I shall resent it." You have no right to do so, Mr Dighton." Yes, I have at least, you are under my father's roof." Eva was silent for a moment; then she said lUietly :— "I have received great kindness from you all; am greatly indebted to you—so much indebted can never repay it—but still, Mr Richard, this RlVes you no right to speak of Lord Clair as you are doing." I thmk he has no right to come here I am aUre he has none." Why ?" Because as I said before he only means to ^touse himself. Well, and if he does, what of that ?" Richard Dighton bit his lips under his dark Moustache, and turned his head indignantly aWay, If you look on it in that light-" he said. We all seek to amuse ourselves, Mr Dighton, So why not Lord Clair ?" Richard Dighton said nothing more. He strode hastily out of the room though only to return to a few minutes later. Eva Moore possessed to him the old symbol of the moth and the flame. *ie could not resist the attraction of her near Presence, though it onJy gave him pain. He sat down therefore to the substantial meal ^hich Mrs Dighton and Annie presently pro- vided, with a scowling brow and a sullen heart. •Pjva maddened him love maddened him. In yam the farmer essayed his most genial jokes. Hichard neither ate nor smiled, and Mrs Digh- fcon's maternal feelings were greatly troubled. 1;:)he also secretly resented Eva Moore's conduct, *nd blamed ker for making her beloved Dick un- happy, though in truth she was not in the lease to Blame, though her beautiful face might be. At all events this evening meal was not a suc- cess, and when as the twilight gathered the house- hell rang, and a few moments later Clair was an- nounced, they all felt—including Eva—that his visit was an ill-timed one. Nevertheless the farmer rose and welcomed him With the respect due to his landlord's son. How are you, my lord ?" he said. Ah, Mr Dighton,"answered Clair, pleasantly, holding out his hand, I did not know you were here ?" "Only came this afternoon, and my wife and Dick." Then Clair looked round, for the room was very dark, and perceived Mrs Dighton and Richard. lie went up to them, but Mrs Dighton received him stiffly, and Richard more stiffly still. Eva Moore, however, was or appeared to be quite at ease. "We have had a pleasant surprise you see. Lord Clair," she said; "when I came in this afternoon I found in my absence that Annie had Rot her father and mother and brother all with her again." A great pleasure to Miss Dighton, I am sure," answered Clair, pleasantly. "And how are you, Digbton?" he added, turning to Richard. '*Nearly well again, I hope?" Yes, nearly," answered sullen Dick. Upon this Clair sa.t down by Eva Moore on the couch, but Eva did not remain long by his side. She rose, crossed the room, and drew a chair near the farmer's. "I want you to tell me all about my pets at Holly hill, Mr Dighton," she said. "How is Rover, and Dubbin, and Rose, and my little pet pig. and last, but not least, is the puppy old enough that you promised me for me to have him now?" The farmer laughed aloud. "My dear, how many questions have you asked ttie at once?" he said, good temperedly. "The horses are well, and the cow, but I don't know Which was the pet pig. And the puppy? He's growing a very handsome fellow, and I daresay you could have him now." "I tell you why I ask. Now that you and Mrs Dighton are here, I am no longer needed to chaperon Annie," said Eva, with a little laugh. "So in a day or two I propose to leave your hofpitableroof." "Nay. nay, my dear, don't say that. Annie will fee! lost without ye. Stay at least as long as We are here." Eva gently shook her head. "You are very good, but I should nob have stayed so long only Mrs Dighton could not be here to lookafterAnnie. I have enjoyed my visit to you very much, Mr Dighton." Not so DIUCi1 as we've Anjoyed having ye, I taake sure of that," said the hearty farmer. Come. Miss Moore, promise to stay a bit longer with us." While this conversation was going on, to which Richard Dighton was eagerly listening, Clair was talking in rather a disjointed fashion to Mrs Dighton and Annie but his heart was not in it, and it did not progress very satisfactorily. Then Iouddenly Eva rose and left the room for a few ttiinutes, and on her return she resumed her soat by the farmer. Altogether, no one geemed en- joying themselves particularly, and, somehow. Clair felt that his presence was not overwelcouie t" the family group. He, therefore, after a short stay, said he muse go, and no one pressed him to bia viai, He shook hands with the rest, and then ad- vanced towards Eva, who rcse as ho approached }R" I want a word with you for a moment, out- side, she said. Yes, most certainly,' answered Clair, only toe well pleased. Fhb followed him, therefore, to the door of the room, while all the eyes in it followed her, and without going out into the hall, she put a small note into his hand. „ -r I want you to study that," she said, smiling. She did not suspect her action would have be'.n st-ri) but as the hall lamp was lit and tne room rion.rW dark, it was and a fierce pang of rage and jealousy darted through Richard Dighton o Thank vou, I shall." said Clair, and then they shook hands an i parted, and Eva returned to the roum and began to talk of something eisc, as though aim had done nothing out ot the way. But this was not the opinion of Mrs Dighton. Shó cleared her throat, and (for her) began in a somewhat severe tone • Y>m seem very friendly with trie young lord, Miss Moore." I like him," replied Eva carmessjv. And has he been coming here much ? con- tinued Airs Dighton. "Oh, 110; we have seen him outside once or twice. But how stupid we all are Annie let us sing them a song, and try to enliven them. She thus changed the conversation, but not the current or Richard Dighton's thoughts. He re- mained sullen and moody during the rest o 1 the evening, an when the party broke up for the right, he hardly spoke to Eva. In the mean- while Clair, at his hotel, was studying the little 1] note Eva had put in his hand. It was very brief but significant. # "Dear Ciair, "Dou't come here any more just now that voung rustic, Richard Dighton, has been making himself remarkably disagreeable, and for the short tint3 I now mean to stay here, I do not want any quarrels. I will see you once before I go, and will write and tell you where we can meC^' Your?, Eva." CHAPTER XIV. An Anonymous Letter. C1:tir read Eva's brief note many times, and was absolutely reading it again the next morn- inn-after breakfast, wlu-n a waiter entered the room, and asked him if he would see a gentle- man who had called. Certainly, answered Clair, and a tew :10- men's later, Richard Dighton was ushered into the room "Ah, Mr Dighton, said Clair, rising politely, and holding out his hand, but Richard did n jt ta^'Yhave not come on a visit of ceremony, Lord Clair," he said sullenly, with down-cast t<ycs. "Ah—then may I ask "I have come to ask you not to come hanging -bout my sister or her friend any more." answered Richard roughly. "You mayn't look on them as ladies but I mean to see them treated as such. C'sir oporifd his grey eyes a little wider, and stared at the angry young man opposite to him in complete surprise.. „ I utterly fail to understand your meaning, hR" It is this," retort 3d Richard Dighton fiercely, "vou've been walking about with Miss Moore and my sister day after day, and going to my yatiter's house in all underhand way. and I won t have it! They are not in your station of life, Lord Clair, and you had better keep to ladies who are." "You are extremely rude, and are speaking in manner utterly improper and uncalled for. And you arc much mistaken. I regard Miss Mnorv in my own station of life as a» la.dy or X should not have sought her society," "That's all very fine But as long as she is W'<t.1\vould you kindly leave the room ?" inter- muted Clair, coolly. And with a half-muttered cursrt Richard Dighton did so, leaving Clair feeling greatly annoyed. Say,- he was more than annoyed—he was angry- That this young Dighton, the son of one of his father's tenants, should presume to speak to him in such a manner absolutely amazed him. Clair, at Kdmore, and indeed through all his voung life, had been accustomed to be treated with respect, which his own kindness and sweet- lPg« cf disposition had certainly merited. Ho had known Richard Dighton from boyhood, and fh-v had always exchanged pleasant words with oh C)ther when they chanced to meet. "And f -him suddenly to turn round thus, and abso- hjtel v "insult me." thought Clair, indignantly. "T suppose he is jeatous about Eva. What „idence of him ever to think of her," went on his1 reflections. Indeed, this last idea ruffled him Sfc"llTiTmonstrous," decided Clair; "and from t' ■pvv-Tnote ho has evidently been talking foUy to her also. But I am glad I ordered him out of the room, the rude cub." It took Clair quite an hour to get over the irritation of Richard Dighton's visit. Then ho went out and wandered on the sands in the hope TVrieetin'°- Eva and Annie Dighton. But no; 01 0f the Dighton family were to be seen, and riair returned to his hotel for lunch m anything bnt a ha.ppy stllte of tnmd. Put he found a note lying in his rocm from v:' which instantly restored his good temper. verv brief, but it asked him to meet her M" v-TV pfternoon, and that was sufficknt to wfnsr the sunshine back to Clair's heart. ? "Dear Clair, 17 r certain reasons I have decided to leave this i t-nlmorrow, so will you nieet me this after- P to «ay food-bye? Come to the rocks where noon unfortunatestumble about 1 o'clock, but ple[\s!) do not stUll, hIe agaIn Your, Eva." r tlle news in this note did not displease ni V Eva was leaving Eastcliff, and Clair was ? for this, after his unpleasant interview n<>l? Richard in the morning. He felt that he 1 not "O to the Dighton's hous^ now, but he St that he could go wherever Eva was going, ,1 then he could see her and be with her witli- t that idiot," as h.; mentally dubbed Richard t? Mi ton "talking folly." <fn he' went with a light heart to the rocks, i,e had his mischance, long before the rented hour, and sat there watching for Eva's ^'X'w graceful figure to appear. And presently ?'f her advancing in her white gown along the sands, and he roso and went eagerly forward t0 "y^'got my note," said Eva, as she. took his ^yes I was awfully glad to get it," he an- SW"rInd yet we are going to part." "Onlv to meet again very soon though. 41T don't know. Clair," continued Eva, looking t 1 „ornestlv, indeed sadly, I've been think- fnJover'things"; I owe nuich to you, and I don't want to repay it badly. How do you mean, E\ a It would be better for you, wiser for you—not to see me again. "Listen to me, Clair, and do not be angry. It •- „nt- that I should not like to see you again, for indeed I should. But, if you like me in the way y°" I do "not like vou, Eva, I love you with my whole heart ?" answered Clair impetuously. >< TV> not talk any mo-e tnus, please. Not see on-iin I do not know what I should feel if SSenU believed that." "Still Eva you are leaving here to-morrow you say, now tell'me where you are going ?" .< Thflt is just what I have been making up my mind not to do just what I have been telling lc»lf T should noi do. You had far better Wet me Lord Clair, far, far better for yourself." Eva spoke these last words with some emotmn, her lies quivered, and her voice faltered. I coidd not forget you if I would. replied Plair also agitated. Eva, why do you torment irif'rhus'' You know I love yon, yet you are saying things that you must also know give me gr"ai donot wish to give you pain-here are the rocks let us sit down, Ciair, and I shall tell you what I think. Thev sat down together on a shelving brown rock, near which there was a deep fissure, into which the sea swept and gurgled, raising the brown sea-weed, and passing over the sea fl^werq With that changeful mood of hers EVI. pointed these out to Clair talking of the heautv of their colouring, while the young man s heart was hot and restless, thmkmg of ether "i^ou were going to tell me something," he said at length, almost impatiently, "Yes so I was," she answered, looking round. "Chir-if I toll you where I am going—if you come and see me we must just be friends, you know." „ "You mean-" Well, to put- it in a different way, you— must think of me as a woman older than your- "■ I do not believe you are older," quickly inter- rupted Clair. "Not in years, perhaps, but in mind, in everything, tar, fat older. You have had no troubles. I have had heaps—troubles and sorrows G!"Let me shield you from them all," he answered, ardently, claspiug her hand. You would if you could, I believe, Clair," answered Eva, softly. I will, and I can—give me the right to shield you, Eva, and you shall see. •' And so br.ng them on yourself, perhaps. Clair, you must not talk thus—you must pro- mise, and theu I shall tell you wh&oa .1 .mem to /«v" well, ceil me AVell, promise I promise not to say anything you do not wish to hear for--ever so long." Eva laughed. Ah, Glair, Clair she said, shaking her head. Do tell Inc. Rvt I know I should not; however, I will. You must know, Clair, since Mr Richard Dighton came down here he has made himself 1110:t remarkably disagreeable. He affects to be angry about you IJeriiap? he i,,)ealom, But you have given him no cause to think—" "Certainly none," said Eva, decidedly "but front the time I went to Holly Hill he, I suppose, admired me a little." And you ?" I certainly did not admire him. I never liked him, yet lie took upon himself to lecture me on your visits." • Impertinent fellow "It was rather cool I must say. Certainly he tried, I believe, to help me 011 that dreadful night at Hoilv hill. He was hurt, you know, in trying, j so they told me and this, I .suppose, gives him. he thinks, a certain claim. But not to be rude, and he was rude, and so I am glad to go away, and I do not wish Mr Richard te know where I amg-ing." Do w,t teJI him." I do not mean to I mean to go to Brighton tor a. day or two, and write to Annie from there, and then to go to my own house in town. I wish, in fact, to drop Mr Richard entirely, for I am getting rather frightened of hiin." Erightened ? "Yes, he looks so savage and suilen there is no saying what 110 might do, and therefore I mean to keep out of his way." He had the impertinence to come to me this morning, and to request me not to go near you and his sister any more." "Had he really? That's just what 1 say; he has taken some folly or other about me into his head, which I suppose he will forget if lie does not see me, but in the meantime it is very dis- agreeable. Therefore, when you come to see me, come to Kensington." When, Eva ? "I shall be there in a week. This is the address." Then in a week I shall see you ? Yes, if you wish to do so, with no Mr Richard Dighton to watch you and make himself dis- agreeable, I live alone." Alone?" "Yt;S, quite alone; does the idea make you afraid, Clair?" Why should it ?" "That I have no chaperon; no maiden aunt, no friend to look after me. I am a solitary being, Clair, and if you are wise, you will leave me alone." "Then I shall not be wise, Eva." She sighed softly, and leanedforward and rested her cheek against her hand. "Things are so strange," she said, musingly. Why do you say that ?" I was thinking that when I went to Holly Hill, when I danced that first day with you in the tent, that I little imagined such a short time afterwards I should be talking to you and treat- ing you quite like an old friend." "Then from that day, Eva, do you know what I felt to you ?" She slightly shook her heaci without looking up. "I was thinking of you, dreaming ot you, tnat night when I first saw the red light in the sky that warned mo of the fire at Holly-hill. So „. ou see from the vety first, Eva, what you were to me." Was it fate ?" she said, now glancing up with rather a sad smile. Yes, you are my fate, my beautiful tate," and he put his hand on hers. Take care I am not your beautiful fate—but no, no, I must not be that, Clair I will not, I must not injure you." He answered by some impassioned words. He sat there gazing at her, his young heart »11 aglo»v with love. Her vague warnings against herself fell on deaf ears. He could believe nothing ill of her. To him her suul was pictured in her face. And when she rose to leave him, and held out her hand. he would not let it go. Neither of them suspected that at this moment jealous eyes were watching them, and yet this was so. for with bitter emotions raging in his breast, Richard Dighton had followed Eva at a distance when she went to meet Clair, and at a distance also now saw the two Standing handciasped on the rocks. He could scarcely restrain his rage, crouching down there behind them, hidden by a jutting crag; and yet he did so. The rebuff he had received from Clair in the morning was still rankling in his heart, and he felt that if he made his presence known to Clair now, he would only be treated as he had been before. So he watched them, and the jealous anger within him grew and grew as he did so. And to do him justice he really believed that Ciair was only amusing him- self with Eva Moore. It never entered his imagination that ho would marry her if he could. "1:1e wishes to make a fool of her," he told himself darkly, "but he shall not, if I swing for it." And had he heard what Eva and Clair were saying of him, he probably would have been more angry still. I lua-jt go, Clair," said Eva, smiling; "con- sider if I were to encounter m> rustic and most unpleasant swain, Mr Richard Dighton." on., "Oh confound that fellow answered Clair. It's best to lcep out of his way, I feel sure he. has a sullen, dangerous look in his eyes that I don't quite like." He had better not come in my way, I can tell him, or do anything to anncy YOll." He won't annoy us in Kensington so, pleaej leave him alone." Then, after a few more worth, Ricnard Digh- ton saw them part, and he remained where he was until they both left the rocks. But an idea had entered Tiis brain there; an idea which he believed would soon end the acquaintance of Lord Clair and Eva. He would write annoymousJy to the Ear), and tell him how his son was conduct- ing himself at Eastoliffe, and he believed that this would effeotuallj separate them. In the meanwhile EVil was walking towards Sea-view House, and as she did So her expression changed and saddened. Poor fellow," she murmured more than once to herself, poor, poor Clair." And when she reached Sea-view, she went straight to her bedroom, and locked the door be- hind her after she got there. I should not have told him, she was think- ing in self reproach, I meant not to tell hiin. but he looked so dear, so honest, that I could not resist. It's folly, madness—but I am afraid. I like him too well." Sho sat down and sighed wearily, and it was not until Annie came and rapped at the door to tell her tea was ready that she roused herself. She did this with an effort, and went downstairs, whore she found Mrs Dighton and Richard. \VdJ, Miss Moore, so you have been out for a walk Annie tells me?" said Mrs Dighton as she entered. Yes, a short walk," replied Eva. I hope you enjoyed it T remarked Richard, disagreeably. "Not particularly," said Eva, and then she began t'alking of her journey on the following day to Brighton, and Richard sat listening, wondering if Clair would follow her there also, and deter- mining at the same time to do so himself. And he did not go to bed until he had accom- plished his idua of writing to Lord Kilmore. And this letter took him much time and thought to compose. It was written in a vindictive spirit, and lie could hardly disguise this in bis words. HecOtnmenced it again and again, and could not satisfj him sell. He wanted to abust> Clair, hut his common-sense told him this was unwise. He must write a friendly warning, and not let Lord Kilmore suppose that it was written by an enemy of his son. At last, as he could make no better of it, he sent the following lines, going out to post his letter after the rest of the family had all retired for the night. My Lord," began Richard, this is written to T. arn you that your son Lord Clair is here, and paying marked attention to :t young lady nam<*d Miss Moore, whom it is said he assisted to rescue during a fire. This is written by a friend who leels sure that your lordship would not approve of his conduct, the yoang lady being in a com- pletely different position of life to himself, and her friends also greatly object to an intimacy from which no good can result.—And I remain, your lordship, your obedient servant. A FRIFN-D." Richard having p.sted' his letter felt happier, having no doubt that it would at once cause his parents to lock after Lord Clair. Therefore at breakfast the next morning he was not quite so sullen in his manner to Eva as he had been since his arrival at Eastcliff. She was going away, too, and the real love, or rather passion, in his h?art made him anxious to remove any bad impression he had made from her mind. And she looked so handsome, too, as she sat opposite to him, that he could scarcely take his eyes from her face. She was goint, to start in an early train, and Richard asked if he might escort her to the station, to which Eva smilingly assented. Annie is going with mo, too, she said, but I am very sorry to go." She was not really though. She was half afraid of this young man, and of the jealousy he had so plainly shown of Clair. She knew something of the darker passions of men's hearts and felt it was playing with fire to arouse those of Richard Digh. ton. She was pleasant and gentle m her manner to him, therefore, but this was all. She had in truth never encouraged his admiration in fact, despised it. But she did not show this she simply ignored it. -r.i. «•> And how long will you sta? a* Brighter. ? Richard asked, going to her side, as she stood & few tfUUUfaWAt.thQ wiudew icckiQfi £ 0*- M6* .&. (,I.-LL! 1.1. LL.¡1.1.j.il.lÔ 1.u.lJU. If I P-O thr.r* to see you, will you cut me ?" went 011 Richard. Certainly not; why rhcul,.? I c-it you, Mr Richard ?" That's all right then. I will go," oaid Richard, and Eva decided at this moment, what she had indeed intended before, tint her stay at Brighton should bo a brief one, and after she left there that her future residence should ba a secret frcm thf Dighton family. But she gave no hint of this. She thanked Mr and Mrs Dighton for their kindness ;«nd hospitality very prettily, and the farmer mere than once told her that she would be always a welcome- guest on their return to Holly Hill. Then the cab came to take h"r to the station, and Annie and Richard accompanied her there. Eva had asked Clair not to go to see her off, as tin- Lightons weft-sure to be with her, and Chir un- willingly had promised not to appear. And at the very time when the brother and sister were taking leave of her, Richard's letter to Lord Kihnore was being opened at the Hall. Breakfast was cv;r and the post bag had just been brought 111, and among other letters was one bearing the Eastcliff post mark. Lord Kilmoro glanced at it, opened it carelessly, and then read it and frowned as he did so. But he said nothing. His wife and Annette Gower were in the room, but Lady Kiimore noticed that ho looked annoyed, and when he rose and gathered his letters together to 'leave the breakfast-room, and go to the library, he beckoned to his wife to follow him. Lady Kihnore did so, feeling anxious, for her thoughts had at once flown to her son, and there was something in her husband's manner that made her uneasy. When she reached the library she closed the door behind them, and looked at Lord Kilsnore. Any news, Kiimore ?" she said. Yes," he answertd, gravely if the news in this letter be true, it is a great blow to me, Jeanie, for I must cease to believe in Clair." In Clair repeated the mother, and her face paled. I Yes; this letter states that he is now at Eastcliff that he is constantly with that girl Miss Moore and yet the last' letter I had from him was from his ciub in t">wn. H must have gone there purposely to deceive us." Oil, Kihnore, this cannot be true Lord Kilmore answered by plaongthe letter in his wife's trembling hand, and when she had read it tears rushed into her eyes. Oh this is terrible," she said. You must go to him, Kihnore vou must try to save him I am very much disgusted with him," replied Lord Kiimore "I did not think our swi would have acted a lip." (To Is continued.)
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A FEARFUL RESPONSIBILITY.
The proper thing for a ury is to be firm, but nut fixed. What is forgiveness ? It is the odour which flowers yield when trampled upon. The heart is that part (f you which leads you into scrapes from which ycur head has to extricate you. A waitress may not know how to deal a pack of cards, but she can raise the deuce by dropping a tray. When a man can't find his shirt button of a Sunday morning his wife is apt to have trouble with his choier. We can't save much by employing electricity to do our work, because of the consequent increase in current expense. Though a man fancies that his wit is like cutlery, he makes a mistake it he undertakes to sharpen it by a continual grind. AT THK FUNERAL.—First Sister Why don't you cry ?—Second Sister Can't. Left my em- broidered handkerchief at home. Stationmaster (to suspicious-looking oldj lady in saloon carriage): Are you first class, n.um ?—Old Lady I am, thankyee. And how's yourself ? LITERARY NOTE.—Friend (with manuscript) I flatter myself with the hope that this poem will meet with your approval.—Editor Y«s, you flatter yourself. OVERHEARD AFTER CHURCH.—Bov (who does not appreciate sermons) Well, I'd just like to know what preaehiu's for, anyway.—Small Sister: Why, it's to give the singers a rest. A SENSIBLE MOTHER.—He: I love you, Miss Fanny. Do you return my love ?—She No, indeed. Mother told me never to love a young man until after I was married to him. Quills Why did young Penn leave your people ?—Blotley He didn't like the way thpy did things. — Quills: What did they do that he didn't like ?—Blotley Gave him the sack. THE WANING OF THE HONEYMOON.—She It was right here that I accepted you, John. Had you foijotten ?—He My dear, there are some things I can neither forget nor forgive. Smythe I dropped a penny in front of a blind beggar to-day to see if he'd pick it up.—Tomp- kins Well, did he ?—Smythe No he said, Make it sixpence, mister, and I'll forget my- self." MANY OTHERS DESERVE JUST SUCH A FATE.— The Patient: Of what did Patsou die?—The Doctor Absent-mindedness.—" What ?"—" Ab- sent-mindedness. We*; to sleep and forgot to wake up." Husband How much did you spend to-day when you were out shopping?—Wife Two pounds nineteen and six ?— Husoand (ironically): Was that all ?—Wife (with an injured air) That was all I had. You don't know what kind of plaster they ought to us«_ in a room to keep it warm ?" -aid Yvaliis.—"No. I don't; Wallis," returned the nurse. "What kindMustard planter," roared Wallis. Tomkins (a visitor): Do yon quarrel with your neighbour about his hell coming over in your back garden ?—Popkins N'j we're over that now.— Tnnbns: Buried the hatchet ?—Popkins (grimly): No buried the hen. Let us take cotton as an example," exclaimed an Yankee tariff debater. Or lor that matter, let us take tobacco. Or, better still, Jet us take whisky 1" And the chair immediately declared a rtcess at the debater's expense. BUSINESS ITEM.—Isaacs Vere have you been f'>r de bast veek ?—Jacobs I vas in Boston.— Did you go there for pishness or only bleasnre?" —" I went dere, to get married."—" So it vasii a pishness trip after all." Gros Binet is the most ignorant of men. En- ter,ng a bookseller's shop he said: "I want a nice book, something in the historical line."— Would you like the Last Days of Pompeii ?' What did he die of ?''—" An eruption, I be! ieve. A FEARFUL RESPONSIBILITY. The feast you never quite enjoy, Although you may be starving, If yen are called upon, my boy, Toundertaka the carving. RAPID TRANSIT.—Jones Well, good-bye I'll nave to leave you. I promised to be home f*_r breakfast to-morrow. — Smith But it is only thr>e o'clock in the afternoon.—Jones: That makes no difference. I'm going to take the e evated. Hs REASONED IT OUT.—" Are you fellows going to play baseball again n> xt season ?" allied one small boy. '• Yes." replied the oile-r. I've got a name fer yerclub." "What?" "Anar- chists. "What for 2" "'Cos yer such bum throwers." CLEAR PROOF. —" My wife is a singularly in- genious woman," remarked Mie married man. "Indeed," said the bachelor, with a languid effort at interest. Indeed, I assure you. It was only yesterday that she found a new place to hide my slippers." She on the sofa It was a nice p,nou?h affair, but I had to dance wilh Henry all the tune, and I must say I like variety.—She in the chair: An engaged girl can't expect variety.—She on the sjfa Well, I suppose not. But there's one tiling certain, if Henry takes me to another. I shait break off our engageinsnt the afternoon before. THEY KEEP BETTER WHISKY.—Anxious Wife Doctor, iny htisbuiid was delirious last night, and this morning he lies in bed and doesn't say any- tiiing. Doctor Fill this prescription and he will be all right.—" What drug stole shall I take it to;" —"You had better get it filled at a saloon. TEMPERANCE IT^I.—GUS De Smith swore off from drinking some time since, but a few day-s afterwards Mr Murray Hill caught him putting himself outside of three fingers ot Cognac. I thought you said you were going to be a new man So I am but, confound it, the new man diinks just the same as I used to." THE EXPERT LADY DRIVER.—She You say you knew it was I who was driving when you were half a mile from us. Now how could you recognise a peison in a carriage at that distance ? —He: Easy to recognise you. The carriage never turned out for other vehicles and stopped three blocks one side of the railroad crossing because the train was coming. HE SHOULD BE GRATEFUL.—Old Judge Peterby has been laid up some time wich the gout. His legs are swelled to an enormous size. His doctor, who is also a church member, rebuked his im- patience and told him :—" You should be grateful to the Almighty for his kindness."—"What kindness ?—" His kindness in giving you two legs to suffer with. Suppose you had as many legs as a centipede. A PRECIOUS INFANT.—There was an heir born in the Mose Schaumburg family not long ago. fo say that Mose was proud is to draw it very mildiy. Oil the day the infant was bapLized- circumcised we believe it is calied-a young Israelite out of employment approached Mose and said I vould like very mooch to get a position mit you as apookkeeper Vfn you has a vacancy." "Dere vas a vacancy," replied Mose, "bull keeps dot blace open for my son, who will sue- cecd me in pishness." THEATRICAL NOTE.—First Actor You can't have any idea of how popular 1 am. I am very n ueh annoyed by it. As soon as I appear on the streets I am saluted by thousands of people whom I never saw before.—Second Actor That's nothing at all. About twentv years ago I played in Memphis. Last summer I played there for a second time. I had not been in the city during those entire years, and yet the children on the streets remembered me and called me by name. What do you think of that ? A QUAINT OLD WATCH.—" What sort of a watch is this," asked Duzenbury, picking up a curious old time-piece from a Harlem watchmaker's show c¡¡,;e. That," replied the watchmaker. is a. real curiosity. It is a watch that belonged to Alexander the Great when he died on the barren island of St. Helena.—" The mischief you say. Why, man alive, in the days of Alexander tho Great they didn't have any watches.—"That's just what makes it such a rarity."—" And Alex- ander the Great did not die at St. Helena. "He didn't, eh? Well, that makes it a still greater curiosity," and taking the rare relic from the hands of Duzenbury, he locked it up in his burglar-proof safe. A CONTRADICTION IN TERMS.—Young John Jay was a very literal, matter-ot-fact fellow, who, after he had graduated at the high school and taken a year's course in shorthand, obtained a situation as secretary in a !arge mercantile estab- lishment. One day his employer, who had a good opinion of John's literary ability, called him and said, Jay, I want you to wnte a circular letter to our customers, telling them squarely what we are going to do for them in the matter of that big consignment of peicales." John went nwav to writ" the letter, but the task troubled him. Bv- and-bye he came back and asked, "Didn't you tell me, sir, to write a good square letter to the customers r' Yes." And didn't you also tell me that it was to be a circular letter ?" Why, yes." "Well, sir, how can it be square and circular at the same tune? That isn't good geometry, is it ?" The merchant looked steadily for a moment, then he said, I forgot the geometry. Perhaps you had better tell them roundly what we are going to do-uot squarely. Can you do that?" Oh. yes," said John. *Tiiis time he peuouaftd the task without my trouUla
[No title]
Dymunir 111 gohebwyrCymreiggyfeirio eu goiieb- iaethau, llyfrau i'w hadolygu,&c., fel y canlyn: Dafydd Morganv:g,Moryanv;y House, Llantwit- street, Cardiff.
AT EIN GOHEBWYR.
AT EIN GOHEBWYR. Y Dafarn," "YLlong," "YFynon."—Ym- ddangosant yn cu tro. "Yr Eisteddfod."—Un gwall bychan; cywir- wyd ef. "Y Gaua.f.Cvmm0rndwv iawn. "Utman Yinwadiad yr Iesu." — Nid o?s angon y gair "Hunan," cblegyd y mae'r blasn- ddod "ym" yn go!yen hunan. Mae'r llincll otaf yn yr englyn cyntaf, a dwv lineil gyntaf yr ail yn wallus. Y BJewyn Bpith."—Dewisasoch fesur g-arw iawn, ac ni wna hyny ychwanegu at werth y darn, Credwc-h fi n-u beidi nid yw defnyddio mesur od ac anystwyth yn 1111 fautais i neb. Mae oich syniadau prvdferth yn cael cam gan y mesur hwn. Y Kechab'aid," &e. — Cymmeradwy iawn. Dr Saunders."—Yuiddengj s. "Cyffes yr Annuwiol wrtli Farw."—Cvwir, oddi-ithr bod y rhagwant uiewn lie anmhriodol. "Y Criscion yn Marw. '•—Mae dan neu dri o wawau yma. Cysr-aw-niadgwatius yw I'r lli- Iorddonen. Heb'aw hyn, v mae'r d.iwy hnell olaf yn wall us—Tad—gwlad — g.ilenui. Buasai gwlad di galcQi yn iawn. Mae I yn eisicu yn y llinell olaf. Ddu."— Cynghancddiad cvwir, ac etto iriac gwynu pethau "gwynion" yn arreidiol ac y mae "araith areithyddol" yn berthynasc»u go agos. Ithaid caboli y rhai hyn cyn; r ymddangos- ant.. Byddwch bwyllcg, frawd, a lyddwch yn sicr o lwyddo. Icsu yn Ngardd Gefcbs»manc."—Ni wna asio dwy linell yn un, er ceisio cuddio odlau baglcg, y tro, frawd ac nis gellir lledu y Goiofn er rtlwyu rhoi llineilau dwbl-hyd ynddi. Aii- drefnwyd y llineilau yn unol a rheol briodol, a chant ymddangos. Ing -idd^ Iesu yn Ngethseman" — Awdl lithrig ac eguir. Diolch am dani i'r Goiofn. "Dyùd Nadolig."—Ymddengys. "Yr Ysgül Sabbothol." Mae yma ddau àwyIl- cdl: ac hob'aw hyn, nid yw'r gynghanedd yn gywir. Treiwch etto. Yr Iaith Gymraog.—Y ddwy liuel! ryntaf yn iawn ond go-sod enwog" yn lie "anwyl" yn gyrehair. Nid oss cynghauedd yn y ddwy linell olaf. "Goleuni."—Darn rhagorol. Da chwi, frawd, new id i wen ffurf eich dd. YDysgvbl Cuddiedig."—Cymmeradwy iawn. lywodyn."—Ymddengys. Y Ddannodd."—Yn ei thro. Y Wawr," "YBaban."—Cymmeradwy.
--,BARDDONIAETH.
BARDDONIAETH. ENGLYNION COFFA ROBYN DDU. Mewn bed a er gorwead, gwneir ei garu—"n hir. Yn herwydd ei ganu Goleuddy-g er ei glaodu, Byw'n ei ddawn wna Robyn Ddu. Craffder a hewyd crefftwr Awen-oedd Iddo yn ddiamgen; Nid Jlao ei bersain acen, Ei gy wrair. bwyth geir yn ben. Glewiaidd odiaeth gelfyddvolwr—y Gerdd, Ago ardr11111 Cyinieigwr; I Heb arnodion estron wr i Erioed, na dyn vvareuvor. Araoedd^y fraeth Robyn-roddai fawr Ddifyrweh fel telyn A mwvniant ar bob tant tyn, Llavvenyda yn mhob ilinvn. Ei ddirlwythog ddarlithiau—a fuont Fywyd Cymdeithasau, Gan gynwys i'w llvvys wellhau Fyrdd o wiwgoí frawdde^au. Y11 ei ing ni fu'n anghardd, — eai frodvr Cyfreidiol anesganld; I'w wad mewn profiad Prif-fardd, Da nlud fu'n dylawd Fardd. Brooklyn, N.Y. ANEUMN FARDD,
-------MERTHYii BOARD OF GUARDIANS.
MERTHYii BOARD OF GUARDIANS. The weekly meeting of the Board of Guardians was held at the Board-room, Merthvr Workhouse, on Saturday, under the presidency of Mr D. P. Davies, J.P.—In accordance with notice of motion, Mr Dd. Davies, C.C., moved :— That this Board rejoices at the action of the Presi- dent of the Local Gvv, niment Board in reducing the qualification of poor-law guardians to £5, because it is a step in the right direction at the same time this Board considers the property qualification should be done away with on all Boards, ancf that the voting should be conducted under the protection of the ballot ■ also that the ex-officio element be abolished, and that a petition he forwarded to the ltight Hon. H. II. Fowler, M.P., embodying this. —The Rev Alderman Aaron Davies, in seconding the motion, was glad Mr Fowler had shown such courage.—Mr R. H. Rhys b gged to move the previous question, as he took exception to the first part of the proposition. He thought they had nothing to rejoice at or be thankful for in the qualiheationbeingreduced. Seven-tenthsofthe population of that district resided in houses of probably £5 per annum ratable value, and did not pay rates directly. Eurther, in bad times owners did not sometimes receive anything from their cottage proper^; and his contention was in view of the fact that their expenditure was now about B26,000 that it was desirable those who had the administration of the finances should be responsible as direct ratepayers. Of course, having been made, he knew the order would stand.—Mr Thomas Jenkins, C.C., seconded and, upon being put to the meeting, the "previous question was carried by a large majority.
NEWPORT BOARD OF GUARDIANS.
NEWPORT BOARD OF GUARDIANS. The weekly meeting of the Newport Board of Guardians was held wf the workhouse on Saturday, the chairman, Col. Lyne,presiding.—The inu ates cf the workhouse numbered 389, increase 30 outdoor paupers, 2,385 there were 214- children in the Caerleon Industrial School, an increase of6. —A letter was read from the Nottingham Board of Guardians, protesting against the action of the Local Government Board in reducing the qualification for Guardians. On the motion of Mr W. II. Brown, the Utter was ordered to lie Oil the table. A communication was received fcom the Local Government Board respecting the decision of the Guardians that in all future ap- pointments no superranuuation would be allowed. The higher board, however, pointed out that the decision would not be bind- ing upon the successors of the present board. A further communication was received from the Local Government Board upon the questionof the action of the Chairman in ruling out of order a notice of motion handed in by Rev C. Ayliffe, which stipulated that in future contracts should only be given to those tradesmen rnu T^ily the trades union rate of wages. The Local Government Board stated that the motion was in their opinion one which the the Guardians might consider.—Tiie Chairman expressed satisfaction at the result of the com- munications with the Local Government Board, and asked Mr Ayliffe to renew his notice of mo- tion, which was done, and the subject will come on for discussion in three weeks' time.
CARDIFF BOARD OF GUARDIANS.
CARDIFF BOARD OF GUARDIANS. At the weekly meeting of the Cardiff Board of Guardians on Saturday, Mr Alexander submitted a letter he had received from Mr Harry Cousins, solicitor, referring to the casoofalad named incmas, aged 15, who was injured while following his occupation at a quarry near Wenvoe. The letter stated that an action had been brought against the lad's employer, who had paid £70 into court. Asitwasttiaintentionof the court to have it invested and the interest devoted to the lad's maintenance, this would not be sufficient to maintain the lad, whose mother was only a poor widow. The Judge, however, was willing to allow a small sum to be paid to the Guardians as a premium for the apprenticeship of the lad. It was pointed out that the case had already received attention at the hands of the Board, and that an effort would be mad-; to carry cut the suggestion contained in the letter.—A communication was read from the Cardiff Corporation respecting the scheme on foot for the crection of municipal buildings and other public office and institutions on the site known as Cathays Park, and asking the Board to give the scheme their consideration. It was decided to refer the matter to a sub- Committee, the latter being asked to give the subject full consideration and to submit a report thereon to the whole Board at the next meeting
-----------A CAPTAIN'S HUMANITY…
A CAPTAIN'S HUMANITY RECOGNISED. The Board of Trade have awarded a piece of plate to Thomas T. Earrell, late master of the steamship Euclid, of Liverpool, in recognition of his kindness and humanity in rescuing the ship- wrecked crew of the schooner Maggie W. Smith, of Ardrossan, which was abandoned in the North Atlantic on the 11th November last. The Board have also awarded a silver medal for gallantry for saving life at sea to Christopher Jones, late chief mate of the Euclid, who was in command of the boat that rescued the shipwreckeol crew and bronze medals for gallantry in saving life at sea and a sum of £2 each to the three seamen who accompanied him in the boat., viz,:—Henry Kennedy, William Cope- land, and Emanuel Gulteno.
SWANSEA AND THlTcANADIAN TRADE.
SWANSEA AND THlTcANADIAN TRADE. A few days ago we announced that Sir Charles Tupper, the Canadian High Commissioner, in res- ponse to an unofficial representation by Sir John Jenkins of the claims of Swansea to be the port of arrival and departure of the new fleet of mail steamers between Canada and England, requested that a report should be sent to him by the Swan- sea. Harbour Trustees. With this object a special meeting of the Executive of the Harbour Trust was held on Saturday, Sir John Jenkins presid- ing, and Sir Hussev v ivian, Bart., M.P., being present. The question was discussed at length, and the only apparent drawback observed was the inability of the Trust to obtain dues for the land- ing of passengers. This, however, can be got over by Act of Parliament. Eventually it was decided that a deputation should wait on Sir Charles to advance th" claims of Swansea, and that amongst the members should be Sir Hussey Vivian, who about 18 months ago was Sir Charles Tupper's host at Singleton.
DISPUTE AT THE MELYN TIN-PLATE…
DISPUTE AT THE MELYN TIN- PLATE WORKS. Mr Arthur Lewis, Recorder of Carmarthen, has accepted the appointment of umpire between the masters' and men's arbitrators in the Melyn Works dispute, and he will meet them as soon as possible after the Christmas holidays, say about the middle of January.
A SUCCESSOR TO DR DONALD FRASER.
A SUCCESSOR TO DR DONALD FRASER. At Sunday's service at Marylebone Presbyterian Church the Rev. Dr. G. F. Pentecost announced that he had finally determined upon accepting the pastorate of the church, in succession to the late Rev. Dr. Donald Fraser.
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IIWiUt LUS1-.
IWiUt LUS1-. A Tale of Love & Fortune. I By RICHARD DOWLING, Author of "A Hidden Flam?, "Fatal Bonds," Tempest Dfriven," The Mystery of Killare," "A Baffling- Quest," CHAPTER LI. Husband and Wife. As Pollie .) e¡iters sat that evening in Edith Orr's room at the open window gazing out on th" Ihamesall silver in the moonlight she was at pMce. and nearer to happiness than fm-many a long day, Mrs Natchbrook's had been a haven, but it had afforded nothing beyond safety and peace, and so long as she was there she had be- fore her eyes sights which recalled the supreme misery of her lot and the terrible ending to her married life. Here in this cheerful room high above the ever- moving river she found variety and a scene of movement to keep her from stagnating. Edith's voice, and spirit, and manner, and sympathy, even in her own troubles, were more potent for good than the rough kindness of Mrs Natchbrook and Jim s young wife, Nancy. Looking out Oil the moonlit placid stream she gave play to her fancy, and pictured to hers«lf the river bringing Lack to her all it had swept awaj, all that had been finally lost to her on its bank, in its v .iters. If not en earth, perhaps in 1 cloarer and higher life, the old state would be renevyed, th:, stato of th" first few months afttr marriage when she had nothing to do all day long but think of her handsome gentlemnn hus- band, who in part th-mght of nothing but honouring her and anticipating her wish in all things. ::h" m ver for one moment regretted hermai-Dage. If it werw given her to livelier whole life over again, sha would marry Frank Jeaters again. She would risk all, suffer all for the sake cf the intoxicating sweetness drunk by her when she believed he loved her, had loved her only, and would never love other woma: Oh, to be his Jove once more for but a day "he would take all the illness, pain, disappointment and woe she had known since she could remem- ber Ay, she would go back to that last awful empty house under which 'flowed the river she then dreaded and loathed. She would go back to that fearful place and live there the remainder of her life if she might have one day only of the perfect bliss she once knew, one evening even, one even- ing of the moon like this with hsr head resting on his shoulder with him singing softly the songs she lovpd and running his fingers through her hair and stooping now and then to kiss her fore- head, her ear, her neck All at once her thoughts stopped, AU at once her thoughts stopped as absolutely as the motion of the river would cease if the water were frozen fathoms deep. Suddenly her ear caught a sound which filled her soul with estatic awe. She rose stealthily from the chair and drew n"ar the open window as cautiously as though she had lighted on a gathering of midnight fairies and feared to scare them. The moon stood iow in the east and no more of its direct beams entered the room than made a narrow zone ot white radiance on the floor and a pilaster of shining marble on the western Wall. Into this region of light she moved, and reaching the low sill of the window leaned out over the river, listening, as though her soul took life from a sound. The deep voice of a loan came upward to her bent ear as though the sound rose from the silver surface of the water. She couid see no one. It was a spirit voice a spirit voice singing a song- she knew well, As I view those scenes so charm- ing," was the song. This spirit not only sang the soug she knew so Well, had heard him sing so well, had heard him sing :o<u often, but had bor- rowed his voice, had borrowed the very Quality of the voice which used to make her fe21 inso- lently secure of her perfect happiness as she lav in his arms while he sang. If this spirit music were so heavenly up here, so like the music she had long ago heard and felt until her very heart trembled with ecstacy, it must be a thousand times more exquisite lower down. She rose from the window sill and with a foot- sfep soft as the music's self, crept down in the dark. stair by stair, steadying herself by the ballustrade lest any noise might mar or destroy the melody. When she reached the foot of the stairs she found the door leading into the parlour open. The song was almost ended. No such mimiory as this cuuld be the work of mortal man, and no man could be here but Edward Fancour the rich suitor of Edith Orr. No light but the light of the moon canae from the parlour, so that no one was there. If therewasnoone in the par- lour and yet the voicc came from that room, it was plain the music was spirit music, and was sounding here as clear and strong because it came in from the surface of the silver water under the witchery of the moon. With inaudible tread she stole into the parlour. In this room there was partcfa zone of moonlight on the floor and part of a pilaster of gle. mi g moonlight-made marble against the western wall. But neither the zone nor the pilaster was perfect. Eash was broken by shadows, by the shadow of a man seated on a chair. The moonlight fell full on his face, shone on tl1A moist under lip, shone ou the gleaming white teeth, making them white as pearls with the sparkle of diamonds. The whole of the man's face was in the full light of the moon, his eyes glittered cold and white like small moons. They were fixed on the moon her- self, and as he sang with perfect ease and free from all consciousness and preoccupation, his appearance was weird, spiritual. When Pollie saw the man she said in her mmd, "It is his ghost, his spirit, Keneveriookedso sweet and tender. He will look like that 'jfhen we meet in Heaven. I am glad I came down. As soon as the song is finished he will dirappear he will melt into mist-he will glide away through the open window." She stood inside the door and gazed at him until the song was over. He did not disappear or melt away lie simply turned his head and glanced out at the stream. She drew a step nearer with the utmost caution. The sight was unutterably precious to her, and she dreaded that motion of hers might cause it to vanish, and yet it was so intolerably dear it drew her towards it. The window was no higher than ,t man's thigh. The chair in whiph Jeaters sat was low. He leaned forward, and resting his elbow on the sill looked up and down the river, taking his fill of beauty from the lovely night. It was April, the Spring. There WM no likeli- hood of Edith and him being married before summer, but in the summer they should be married, and they would go north. They should go on a sea voyage along the Norway Coast, inside the multitudinous isles. Theretbeun- mooned summer night was never darker than the Thames now. He bad read of these sheltered masses ot the sea, and they yield interminable surprises and delight fit for his wondrous sweetheart's eyes. He had never kissed his Edith yet. He ha.d never put his arm round her waist; he had never held her hand unduly. Partly, this was owing to a kind of fear he had of her, partly owing to the fact that they had never alone., and partly owing to a strange, sickening shirking he had to touch the mourning worn so newly for the man she loved. She had put John Crane's engaged ring away from the finger on which Jeater's ring was to go, but she clad her whole body in mourning for the man who o.vned her body and soul. But when she came to him here to-night in the moon sho would be all white. Even her black gown would borrow radiance from the splendour of the moon, and he should take her quietly in his arms as though it were the mere form of shaking hands when they were alone, and he would kiss her lips as though no other form of greeting were known. When he should hear the front door shut and this late customer had been dismissed he should rise. When the door between himself and this room opened he should go to the door and take his Edith's hand. While he was leading her across the room he should put his arm round her waist, and when they got into the moonlight he should put his arm round her neck aud kiss her. He should do it all mechanically, as though no other form of greeting were possible—all—except the kissing. When he held her head iu the loop of his arm he should kiss her—as it pleased hlln- as it might arise—but certainly not as though no other form of greeting were possible. At this moment of his thoughts he felt a hand on his arm. She had come in without his hearing the front door shut, without his noticing the door of com- munication with the shop open. She was at the right-hand side of the window, the dark side. Dearest he cried, springing to his feet. "Dearest, I did not hear you enter." She said nothing. He put his arm round her. Ho had never done so before, and he thought she seemed less tall because he had never touched her waist until now. He had judged her height always in the daylight and by sight, and now' he was judging by touch in the dark. He pnt his arm round her neck and gathered her head to hur. with infinite tenderness. "My love, my Jove! My only love!" he moaned into her ear, and kissed her up- turned hps before he moved his feet. Then, that he might feast his eyes on her sweet beauty before he tasted tdese not unwilling lips again, he drew her into the moon- light, holding her neck still in the loop of his arm. He moved slowly. He moved so that the full light of the moon might fall upon her face. When he saw what ho had kissed and what he still held in the ioopov his arm, it was the corpse of his wife. God bad found out his crime and sent th., dead body of his wife as witness. With the yell of a lost soul seeing its accuser and knowing its doom Jeaters sprang through the window into the Thames. Pollie uttered a piercing shriek, and sank gibbering on a chair. \Vhat. is the matter," cried Crane, bursting open the door from the shop. ° "It was not his ghost," whispered Pollie. "It was my husband himself. When he kissed me I felt the broken tooth against my jip." CHAPTER LII. The Last. Whether Frank Jeater" was drowned that night or not no one ever knew. The fate which he had designed for his wife had befallen him- self. He had dropped into the Thames and never been heard of after Whatever chance Pollie had of recovering her reason was for ever lost that night. She waxed in body and waned in mind. She became the gentle uncomplaining companion of Edith, who remained no longer Edith Orr than it took John Crane to sell his gems and bUJr up the business of Wrighton and Ery. Upon the investigation of Wrighton and Fry it came out that the business stood in no way responsible for the collapse of the firm. Neither -ei pataj^aaa-satisfied, ,wj frktytepjEy par Hau., iron is. jooin nau piungea inco speculations in hides or railways in Peru, or ostrich farming at the Cape, into everything or anything so Jong- as it had nothing to do with the trade "to which either had been brought up. '■'hose who had known Jonn Crane during tne few years of his manhood placed unlimited confi- dence in his grasp of his business, his shrewdness, his inventive genius, and his absolute integrity. UJI« or his first acts on getting into the ne<v premises was to offer Ben Sherwin t.h.. best posi- tion that highly respectable married man was qualified to fill in the grand establishment ou the Viaduct. The salary attached to Ben's new position was of so satisfactory a character that Ben told Kate, his wife, ho was now able to sup- port aot only on>' wife but two, and that he hl- tended to marry another us soon as he found second in every respect the double of Kate her self. But as he informed her with mock dolour, neither he nor uny on" else couM find anyone within four thousand percent. cf the requue- Iiients of the case, there was a very strong chance of his remaining to the end of his' life all insuf- i'Cientlr married man. Unaer these melancholy circumstances, my aear," he said to his wife," "I think the best thing lean do is to give you your own share of the money and the share of the other wife, as veil aw two or three times the love 1 would giwe to ¡;iV8 to each of you if I was married to both of you. 1 RIH farm about the money, mv dear but if yon want more of the love, say the word, and :11 tn: to meet you m the lane" when the clock strikes nine, or in any other wsv that luav be for our mutual advantage. Please address care of Wrighton and Fry, Holborn Viaduct, London, KC, p ist paid, enclosing A penny postage stamp for a reply, not necessarily for publication, but as a guarantee ot good faith." After the marriage of Edith and John Crane, and when they werebving most happily, with Mrs Orr in Hampstead, John Crane set up Nancy Natchbrook as a stationer and paper- seller in No. 8, Muscovy-place, at which she was much nearer to the great Arsenal where Jim was employed than she had been in the Isle of Dogs. MM Natchbrook, tke elder, did not require help from anyone, and would have resented the offer of it, as >he had not only a business which more than sufficed, but a stocking as well as the em- broidered handkerchiefs. It was more than sus- pected at the Isle of Dogs stairs that George Sabers would, n^twitnstandmg' his saymgs against women, have been glad to sign a fresh deed of partnership with one of the name of Natchbrook fat at.y church licensed for the registration of such deeds. Mrs Natchbrook did not, however, at all second his desires, and upon George ascertaining the unwillingness of the widow," it is said his gloom could not be expressed by any words man is acquainted with, and that after a period of silence his language was such towards women in general that no respectable printer could be sup- posed to keep letters capable of setting it up in type. The story of John Crane's extraordinary adven- tures in foreign parts had got noised abroad, and great curiosity being felt m the expedition which resulted in so astounding a iece of luck, one ot the interviewers of the livening Bulletin waited on him to obtain an account of his adventure from the ¡,ilJ.O of his leaving Bahzo. At first Crane's modesty made him decline even ueeing the journalist. But Ben Sherwin's love of romance, wmch. owing to sumestrango perversion or mmd, he coniiecteci with anything in print, was brought to bear on his friend to the result that the following account appeared in the Bulletin one fine evening that summer. '■ Since Mr John Crane's return from Central America he had not been able to spare time for house-hunting. At present he occupies spacious and handsomely furnis-jed apartments in Bedford- row, Russell-square. Mr Crane is th° most modest and unassuming" of men. In an interview accorded a representative of the Evening Bulletin, he began by saj'ing that all his adventure-, had come to him by accident, that he was Cockney born, and would have been quite content to end LIs day" without site of a more savage landscape than the view from Hamjistead Heath or Greenwich Park, or experience of more dangerous seas than the English Channel at Brighton. Mr Crane's mission to Guatemala was under- taken in connection with the death of an uncle on 1 there. I' or the purposes of this interview it will tie sufficient to say that instead of receiving a considerable sum of ¡:lOUtiy in Vera Paz, Mr Crane found himself in a wild, half civilised country without the prospect of a penny of the fortune he expected, that he was robbed of eveiv- tiung he had by a band of marauders, t-h" t for dtys and days he wandered aione through the trackless primeval forest, enier^ine finuily on the Pmeridge of British Hondura-^ where the first person he met was an outlawed Englishman, the leader of a. brigand band, and that Mr Crane finally found himself in Balize, the only town in Biitish Honoura*, without a farthing or a friend. In Biliz^, Mr Crane succeeded in borrowing a few pounds and shipped as boy on the Opal, a barque hailing from Hull and bound to London with a cargo of logwood. INTERVIEW EK: I believe, Mr Crane, you knew nothing of the sea ? Mil CHA:;K Nothingwhttever. Iam a watch- maker and optician by trade, and was never at sea even as a passenger until I went to America. Of course, Captain Bams of the Opal, was aware uf this. He tuld me he would not expect me to go aloft, I was to lindce myst-if useful ou deck. INTBHVIKWKK Did anything remarkable hap- ')"11 at the beginning of the voyage ? MR CKANn No we had beautiful weather. lNTKRv iKvmi Perhaps you witlbs kind enough to tell me what befell later? Mil CKANIJ We were some days ont-when one morning I heard the mate say ho did not like the look of it. U It" at sea always means the weather. That day was very hot and op- pressive, with little or no wind, and we went along cin< fly by the aid of the current, an aid which Captain Bains could well do without, as he was new to the coast, which was at this point thick with coral island-, inside a line of which we had kept after leaving Balize. Next day it began to blow shortly after dawn, and almost instantly it seemed to me a terribh cyclone was upon us. When it struck us I was onthepoop. The barque lay over, I roiled into the waist, and was washed clean out ot the shin by a tremendous wave which seemed to come along with tke first of the wind. INTERVIEWER Yon were washed overboard ? Mr CltANE: Yes. INTERVIEWER Was an effort made to rescue you ? Mr CRANE Fortunately not, or rather fortun- ately I was not rescued. If I had been rescued by the Opal then I should not be here now. Within a few miles of where I was swept over- board she struck on a coral reef, and she and every man in her perished. INTERVIEWER We left you, Mr Crane, strug- gling 111 the water. Mr CRANE The Opal earned a few light spars lashed together on deck, and these were swept off by the sea which carried me oveiboard. They were tumbling and tossing about 111 the water, and I swam for them as well as I could, and suc- ceeded in reaching them. There were four spars lashed together. Fortunately the lashing held, and they formed a rude raft. III a very few minutes the awful wind passed. The sea had not time to get up, and that evening the raft grounded on a long, low island, and I scrambled ashore. INTERVIEWER Not much the worse of your wetting. Mr CRANK Not much the worse of my duck- ing, but very much the worse of the roiling grinding of the Ion?, loose spars. It appears Captain Bains ought not to have been in among these islands. INTERVIEWER The island you found yourself on was uninhabited. Mr CRANE: OiJ, yes. It was uninhabited at the time. IxTRuviEWER And barren ? Mr CUAKE; On the contrary it was covered with the most luxuriant growths of all kinds of tropical plants and flowers, but no trees. INTEEVIKWEU And there you found something very wonderful ? Mr CRANE Yes. The island proved almost perfectly flat. It was about two miles long by a mile broad, and in the centre there was a hollow, and in the hollow were three shallow artificial openings. These openings were about twenty feet deep, ten feet broad, and seven feet high. They were perfectly dry, and eontameda. few articles of old Spanish furniture dropping to pieces. There were two old rusty flint- lock guns and a. couple of swords eaten throngnwithrust. In one of the caves I found a mouldering mass of what had been a man. It was lying among the ruins of a rotten chair. Before the chair by the rotten remains of a table. A few old-fashioned drinking glasses lay among the fragments of the table, and when I stirred the bones and rags ot what had once been a man, what must have been a stout waist-belt fell in powder, and among its dust I found three hundred and two large cut stones winch sold for tweniy-seven thousand pounds. INTERVIEWER And how long were you on the island ? Mr CRANE A month. INTERVIEWER:. Had you any difficulty about foixi? MR CRANE No. In the forest I was almost starved. Bub in that region when you are not shut in under trees or lost in a sea of grass. when, in fact, there is any kind cf mixed vegetation, averything is food. You have only to stretch out your hand and pluck and eat. INTERVIEWER And how did you get off? Mt: CRANE I was taken off by another home- ward bound vessel-the Sea Mew, bound to the Thames, with logwood, too. That is the most marvellous part of my story. Only that vessel, the Sea Mew, of Aberdeen, was out of her course too, the chances are that in another couple of hundred years, some might find a second hea.p af bones and rags in that cave and the treasure it has been my good fortune to carry to England. INEERVIEWER So that you have been lost in the torest and lo t in the sea. I-]1\ CRANE Yes, I have been twice lost. THE END.
RAILWAY ACCIDENT NEAR PANTYFFYNNON.
RAILWAY ACCIDENT NEAR PANTYFFYNNON. On Friday evening an accident occurred on the Cross Hands brancii of the Great Western R tit- way, near Pantyffynnon, several trucks running wildly down the incline for a distance of about half a mile. Nine or ten trucks were damaged, and the coal was strewn about in all directions. Morgan Walters, the incline man, endeavoured to stop the trucks but failed, owing to the acci- dent to the break. Inspector Tudor Davies and Foreman Carter, Llanelly, went up the same day with a breakdown gang, :md were engaged in setting the place aright until three o'clock next morning. The damages are about JS600.
DAGRAU AR FEDD DR. SAUNDERS.
DAGRAU AR FEDD DR. SAUNDERS. N ewydd oer! un trist a chwei w, Svud pr glusr.iau'r wlad yn awr, Doctor SAUNDERS wedi inarw Proph wyd a phregethwr mawr., YTn g-rkldfanu y mae miloedd, Dagrau heilltion gollant hwy. Pawb o'r rhei'ny [1'll gwrandaWoddl !• 1: n eu calon gawsant glwv'. Cw vmpa'n cedyrn yn nceiniau 0 ffurfiifen Eglwys Dduw I Doctor SAUNDERS, čwymJ!odd yntan Oddiar furiau Seion wiw; i Bwa nertha) iddo roddwyd, Ac arhodd y bwa'11 gryf, Lhiaws in awr y g-1yn ghvyfwvd Trwy ei weinidogaeth hyf. Anhawdd ydyw ihoi dadganiad Mewn galareb wael fel hon Anhawdd laeddw), anhawdd s^arad. Pan mae gofid dan ein brcn Llonder weithiau gwyd i h-ny Wrth adg. fiw'i bregeth ef, Gofid etto ddaw o'm deutu, Gan achosi chwerw lef. Mel us odia-th yw r adgofion Am ei wir athrylith fawr; Einan f/nvd o ddoniau glwy.sion Trwy y rhai doi'r Nef i lawr. Yr cedd bardd ac yiiire^yn ydd Yn ymdodcii ynddo ef, Yr E-boniwr a'r llanesydd Gaed mewn gweinidogaeth gref. O'w pa focld mae svlweddoli Fod ein SAUNDERS wedi myn'dl Byw'n rhy agos oedd i r Iesu" Xeu i'r Nc-f yn ormod ffrynd. Braidd na ddvwedein fs-1 Ezeciel, Nad cyfiawn cedd y Xef yn hyn, Myn'd u'n gwlad a dawn aruchel— Udgorn arian Seion Frvti. Ef oedd gerub ar y llwyfan, Hefyd EtengvIwr clir, L10nai gynulleidfa. gyfan Pan yn traethn am y Gwir. O. C,t",d given heb weniaeth iddi Nid ysgafnder greodd hon, Ond melusiun ffrwythau gerddi O iechweddau'r Ganaan Ion. To'dwng y,v o weithfawrogiad Cae! uu gloyw. 11,awr, difraC, Yn dolilyciiwin ei gymeriad, Yn dolilyciiwin ei gymeriad, Fel yr oedd pin Athraw mad; Nid oedd nn ysmotyn arno Yn pardduo'i wisgoedd ef; Yn niha le y ceid, er chwilio, Un luwy teilwng was i'r Nef? Esaiah ydoedd rhwng prophwydi, Gwelarn n.iiell i). llygad clir Ffydd a Chariad fu'n cartrefu Yn ei gal on ef yn wir. Portreadu wna; ei Geidwad Mewn goleuni pur, dileu; Pob rhyw ddawn oedd at ei alwad, Fel y dygai hyn i ben. Cyfrodeddau wi w hanesion, I With ddarlunio geiriau'r Nef, j Un cyfanwaith o faterlon Ini capd ei bregeth tof. M'-ddai dcrf o efeiychwyr, Ac edmygwyr yn ddiri', Ond un SAUNDERS i r gwrandawyr, Gaed rhwng bryniau Gwalia g-u. Ha, hoff Gymru collaist ieithwr, Collaist wir bregethwr mawr I Ymresymydd ac areithiwr, I 'Doedd ei well trwy'r wlad yn awr. Bvw ar enill, cael a cholli, Dyma lianas Eglwys Dduw;— Pdoe a heddyw, 'run yw'r Iesu, Erys Ef yu Berson byw. J. D., PlasmarL,
,:DYDD NADOLIG.
DYDD NADOLIG. Dy;1d i gadw coffadwiiaeth Genedigacth Iesu gwiw, Dydd y canwyd tnwyn gerddometh, I Dy dd i gadw hor.o'n fyw Dyoiu cys;adlu yw yn Nghymrq, Dj-dd i fwyta ^euiu'r.piu, Dydd i'r plant i wel'd rhiem, Pa wb am weed ei g.irtret cu. Dydd y cododd Haul Cyfiawndep I Ar dywyilweh fagddu hwr, Dvdd daeth engyi yn eu gvvynder I longyi'arch teulu'r I'awr: Dydd i wledda gan gyfeillion, Yn mhob gwlad a chan bob rbyw, Dydd i roudi i'r tylodion, Dydd Naoiong, dyna yw. Treforss. TREFORYN EV ANS.
Y MEDDWYN.
Y MEDDWYN. Dros drothwy cartref clyd, Llano leuanc rocldodd Jam Aetii gyda'r brys flys, Dirmygodd gynghor mam Hoenusrwydd Ihv.vn ei frou Yinsaethai i'w lygad non, A b.1chd"r ved Oedd ar ei rudd, Fel ewyn ar y don. 111\! '.Tilaen yr afith yn ffordd ei iygaid beilchion, Dilynodd ol traed y llu damnedigion, Hyd lwybr distryw He mae'r damniol wirod Ar bob IIaw gan y Temtiwr wedi'i osod I'w ddenu, ac i ddirywio'i enaid. A'i roi mewn trvvmgwsg, tra'n tynn'i Iygaid Itiiag iddo droi a chanfod I lwybr puideb, Sy'n arwain fry i lwybr iach inoesoldeb. I bob teintasiwn, Ow! y mae'n ymollwng; Pob dafn, pob gwydraid sydd yn ei ddarostwng. Yn is, yn ddyfnach a dros risiau meddwdod, Mae heddyw vn ymlfrostio yn ei bechod Ei flys, mewn nerth bob dydd sydd yn cynyddu, Ei flys, mewn nerth bob dydd sydd yn cynyddu, Y pcethaf wirod nis gali ei foddloni Y11 awr ei enau sy'n dybeu au; ddafnau Poethao-h na'r gwirt unwaith a'i diwaliai; E; enaid ddymuna bleserau chwantach, Mwy damniol, nag sy'n y feddvvol gyieddach. Ow! olygfa brudd O! derfyniad prchyH Un wnawd ar dde:w Daw, mae'n eihin ellyll Ei wedd anffnrfiwyd gan wahanglwyf meddwdod, Ac, O 1 mae'n gwingo dan frathiad cydv. ybod Ei wisg sydd garpiog, ac, O! mewn meudwyaeth Trenga mewn g-wewyr esgor dd iinnedigaeth l' n mhalfau augeu gvvel y 1m diVflig Oedd yn y ca\ pan iddo yn guddiedig, A gwaedda, uyda'i anadl olaf, olaf!— o 11a f'il.03ai 'mywyd yn un liam, d'wedaf, Heibio corsydd lleidiog bydol b'eseran, I hwyrddydd einioes—i gyfvng-borth angau o fsva tynged wyf saeth wedi'm taflu, Heb fodd dycii\lv £ ij dros greigiau trueni! Gt wysi D. WliLUHS (Gwvrydd).
[No title]
t-rom the Modei Novei. Faithful to her promise, and with beating heart, she noiselessly glided along the dimly-iit corridor, in which reigned the awful stillness of death. At the door of the blue chamber "he paused for an instan and, giving one swift, frightened glance around, disappeared into the recesses of that mysterious apartment, within whose walls Jay hidoenthe silent family secret of Granmore Grange. A moment later a sudden, piercing shriek rang out upon the midnight air—a cry startling in its a?on;zing wail. Without delay the door was rapidly burst ..pen by the hastily-awakened household, when, to their horror and amazement, a heartrending pipht met their ize. Crouching in a corner, her eyes transfixed in terror L,y Hester Hardage, pointing to the other end or the room. i. gii'j, cried her father, m a voice tnjai ,»iuig w;th rage tr*^ me what vou have seen "Far,her," she entreated, do not reproach me be meiCiiut, I implore you—I saw—a spider His Name on Every Tongue. "Years and years ago," said the loquacious traveling man, as he res, d his fe*t on one of the t-est chairs in the lobby of the Rvan Ilct-l and took a careless shot at the cuspador, "there came to this country a man who had not a dollar m 0.1s pocket, lo-day his name is heard in every hamlet in the country, and it is familiar to every schoolboy and gin m the United States. The qu.er thing .bout it is that he never did anvth'me 01 a particularly brilliant or sensational charac- tor. "It must have been Carnegie," said the shoe arniumer. .N 0, it was Jay Gould," said the clothing salesman. Yuu are all wrong," said the first speaker. "Well, then, who was it:" asked the clothing s&.lesmaD. "John Smith." Then they all walked into the room distin- guishes! by the array of bottles ajad glasses, and the clotiuug salesman threw a dollar on the poii~iea surface of the bar. It's worth it," be remarked. I'll sell good, wi th that joke." e His Fashion Ideal. "Talk about wimmin s close," he was bleating discordantly in a know-it-all voice, ef I had mv way Id hev 'em hiokin' sensible, and not all kerflummuxed up with gewgaws. I'd j=>st like tc dress 'em 'cordin' tew my notion." Yon wouldn't let them wear trains to their dresses ?" suggested one of hi* auditors. Not muchee, I wouldn't." Nor corsets, eh ?" No, Mr nor st'ff-boned waists, eyether." Suppose you tell us just how you would have them 1 g ;heinselvos out." "Sutti-my, suttfu.y. I'd have 'em wear a broad- cloth skirt and a loose jacket for comfort. Ain't that all l ight ?" "Goin." "Short skirts tn be tidy— jist comin' to the tops of their shoes." Yes, what kind of shoes ?" Soft leataer shoes, shaped like a human foot, sir, ano flexible like a glove." All rigbt-and their hats ?" Somethin' like a veil or a mar.tdlv, but nc Sicri styles as they wear now. you bet. \nd I'd have the h*r hangm' down their backs in a nice, sh1l1Y lea d. women that dress like that now," said one of his listeners. bhow one to me and I'H marry her ter- lllorrow. "I saw one just the other clay, and that war her style to a dot." What was she doin' ?" Selling baskets and moccasins on the dock. :he had a blanket over her head." But the crank who knew h00 a woman should dress had suddenly disappeared. Appalling Figures. Mrs M'Swat Biiliger, how often do vou get haved? Mr M'Swat: About four times a week on an averse. How much time does it usually require ?" "About half an hour." "Half nn hour four times a week That's twc hoars a week, four and one-third days in a year and nearly a mouth and a half in ten yea.rs. Think of it, Biiliger If you should let youi beard grow you would save time enough m-ten years "But look here, Lobelia Great Scott! I don't want to let it grow. Did you ever see me with a fuli set of whiskers ?" No, but Well, let it be the cause of the most hearts felt joy and gratitude you ever '^xpeneiiced 1 Lobelia, that 3-012 m-per did With a fnlt beard, madam, I look like a cocoar.ut in a fit of delirium tremens. I tried it once, years ago. Dogs barked at me on the street, children lied from me in terror, footpads who caught a [ glimpse cf me by moonlight or theyale, flickering C rays of a street lamp, dropped their sandbags and j slunk tremblingly up the alleys, and i was i offered 60 dols. a week and all expenses by a dime mu-euin man for a year's engagement. Mv por- er trait was hawked all over the country as the most hideous-" "I don't believe any of that stuff. Biiliger, and I'm sure Don't interrupt me, madam. My beard growSv straight out, up, down, sideways, every bristle for himself, like the spines on the fretful chestnut burr, and it grows in every shade and colour, from brindle to vermilion and back again. If yon could see me once with a hedge fence all over my faca you would But think of the time you lose in—" The time I lose! Look here How often do fix vour hair:" "Every day of my life, of course, but that's different." That's different, is it, hey How long does it take you to fix it ?" "I think you're just as—" You needn't answer. I know how long it takes. I've seen you do it often enough. It takes you half an hour every blessed day of your life to lock alter your frizaes, if that's what you call them. Thtukofit. Half an Invar a Cay, three hours and a half a week, nearly eight days 111 a hear, an entire month in lour years, ;» whole year in 48 years, and over two years in a century. Lobelia, you'd better go and look after the baby." A Scientific Sport. My interest in the game of football was first aroused by seeing various photographs of craclt teams. Then, one day in a gymnasium, I was shown the ball itself. It is a quick, willing affair, shaped like a ripe watermelon, and I had fun with it for an hour. Then a young- man, who said he was captain of the Athletics," asked me if I wouldn't join the team. He said they wanted some new blood in the Athletics," and that, with aflittle practice, I would make a first-rate half-back or water-back, or something. I was only toog glad to enrol myself as a member, and on the following day I met with the team for practice. Although I found this practice delight- 111I In many ways, my suspicions were aroused by a. stocicy young fellow in a blouse, who persisted in throwing me down every time I secured tht ball. I did not resent this as I might have done, because I was assured it was a feature of the game. I determined, however, that before the die was cast I would ascertain definitely just what do- inanols tiie game made upon theptayers. Accord- ing-Iy, I witnessed a game of football. So far as I could determine, it was this way t the opposing teams, each consisting of eleven men :n uniforms, faced each other, and the bali was kicked out between them. The most of them then settled upon it and formed an amusing jumble of padded legs. After a moment's scramble someone aptly remarked. Down Then they all crouched motionless over the ball, while a gifted young man in the rear aimlessly recited a mangled version of the alphabet. Just as the recitation was becoming monotonous the whole gang again settled down upon the ball and each man went into convulsions. The elocutionist climbed up on top of the mass of writhing hu- manity and danced exultmgly upon it. This performance was repeated many times, and was, in a way, rather interesting. More c'ollai bones were broken than anything else, 1 thmk. Once during the game, I asked a man who sat next to me, why it was called "foot-ball" in- stendof head-ball." He did not reply. He was a voiceful idiot who yelled most of the time and pretended that he could keep score. It 18 a rough game—not many vowels in it, so to speak. I decided that all football players should speak the Welsh language, enjoy Wagner, and eat horse-frod. Immediately after the game was over. I sought thecaptitiuof the "Athletics," and finnly re- signed from bis teal1,. But you don'c understand the game yet," he expostulated. Why, man, it's the most scientific game played I grant that," I said in my scholarly way but the game is not what it should be it is handicapped by the restrictions which, I pre- sump, are imposed against the use of artificial weapons. 1 be game, as now played, compared with what it could be made, is a.s crude as were the ancient ways of battle c nnpared with modern warfare. Everyone ol those 22 men should be armed, say with Win- chester rifles, or self-cocking revolvers. But you don't even allow a man to use a club, aud the most primeval and degraded savage availed him- seif of that simple weapon. Even with ineas1 y little bowie-knivos, neater and more effective execution could be accomplished, than bv thfc present harsh methods 0; course, there is science 111 it, if by 'science,' you mean calculated Aod concerted effortthere is science in all battles. But why not refine it a little by taking advan- tage of the many improvements "that have been made in fire-arms ? ow much prettier it would be to qiiietiy pick off your man at 12 paces, with a 33 calibre revolver, than to trip bini up, jump on his stomach, kick his ribs loose and walk Oft hi-eyes. No man shall ever stroll around over m •. with spiked shoes 011, and hope to pass it oft saying A-B-G-Q-12-21.' It is doubtless true, as the Captain said, that! the Athletics need new blood. J know th v left a good deal on the field that, day that .aid never again be put to any practical use. l::{; they shall never have any of my own personal bhjod to spiil around over a barren waste of ground with white lines painted on m,