The Cardiff Times

BARDDONIAETH. YR EHEDYDD. A'i odlau hudol phedydd-a gyrch I gain deml y wawrddydd Ac yn nor nen, mewn llawenydd,—cana 'I emyn bereiddia' am wen boreuddydd. Birchgrove. CoBtLWYN.

DYCBWELIAD "CYNONFARDD" I AMERICA. Cynonfardd! Yankbe'n ei wynfyd-a fydd Efe inwy, trwy'i fywyd 0 Walia myn ridycbwelyd I'w hen faes,—Gorllewin fyd. (Jwr da oedd e'n d'od i Gaerdydd,—ond drwg 1'rcti'n ol dros y Werydd; Uncle Sam," 'rwy'n coelio, sydd A'i eisiau yn ddiuasydd. Bellach, canu'n iach wnawn ni,—a mynych Ddymuno daioni Mvvy i'n brawd, ac aed mewn bri Ar encil i dir Yankee. DAFYDD MOKGANWG.

Y BEIBL. Hen Feibl bendigedig! Mor anwyl wyt. i mi, Mae'th enw'n gyegreaig, Annrhaethol yw dy fri; I Mae ar dy dudalenau Gvflawnder o adnodau I lanw dymuniadau Pechadur euog, du, Ca. yuot felus seigiau I loni'i enaid cu. Ysbrydol ddoeth ddadguddia3 0 feddwl Dwyfol Dad, A chywir yinddadolygiad •( O'i wir ewyllys rad Wyt. gyflawn o wybodaeth Am gyuwys Dwyfol arfaetb, A threfn iachawdwriaeth, Ddidevfyn ei mawrhad Gwyrdd feusydd i'r ddyr.oliaeth Yw'th dudalenau mad, Mae Dwyfol ysbrydoliaeth Yn llanw d'eiria.u gldn, Canfyddir rhyvv unoiiaefch Trwy'th holi ad nodau mân; Ac wrth dy ddarilen beunydd Dnw rhywbeth fel o'r newydd I'n llanw a llawenydd, Nes gwnend ein bron ar dart 0, nefol brofiad dedwydd Gawn drwy'r Ysgrythyr Lati.- „ Dangosi ein trueni, Trwy bechod yn y byd, A dyfnder ein tylodi, A gvvarth ein noethni'i gyd; Erchylldra eviymp dynoliaeth J ddyfnder llygredigaeth, A natur yr elyniaüth Sydd bennydd lanw'n bryd; A niaint y ddamnedigaeth Sy'n phiol Dwyfol lid, Nid r-in trueni'n unig Sydd ar dy leni di, Ond hanes bendigedig Am Iesn'r Ceiawad cu Ei eni'n Brynwr Iawnoi, I adfer yr hil ddynol Yn 01 ar ddelw'r dwyfol, A'i dwyn i fythol t'rj; y" Hwn oedd Dduw Anfeidrot, Yn gvvisgo'n natur ni. Mae ynot addewidion 1'1' Cristion at- ei daith, A thyner ymadroddion 1 loni'i enaid caeth Ni raid i'r rhai a'th garanfc Fytb ofni y diffygiant, Amddiffyn dwyfol brofanb Al" hyd yr amal maith 'Nol cyrhaedd y gogoniant, Molianu fydd en gwalt.b. Dy dreiddgar ymadroddion Gyrhaedda'r galon ddu, A ph leni egwyddorion Y Nefoedd ynddi hi; Pa air mor ddyianwadol Ei effaith ar fod meidrol, Ynisudda'n anorchfygol Hyd wreiddiau'n natur ni; O! fendigedig GyfroJ, Dawn Dwyiol ynot ti. Gowertou. CBUGFRYN.

TYN ER WCK. —(B UDDUGOL. ) Beth ydyw Tynerwch ? Blodeuyn harddliwiog A dyfa ar fron y ddynoiiaeth yw <-f; Fe'i planwyd ef yno gan law'r HoJialluog, Ac, 0! mae yn llawn o dlysineb y Nef; Fe'i cedwir yn iraidd gan ffynon bur cariad, Yr hon sydd yn tarddu o amgylch ei wraidd; A gwenau haul gras a rydd iddo feitbriniad, Nes i'w holl amgylchoedd ei bersawr a draidd. Beth ydyw Tynerwph ? Llaw wen Cydymdeimlad Y-n estyn cynorthwy i'r truan a'r gwan. Pan mae yn y dyfnder mown cyfyng ddirwasgiad, Yll methu agweled un "gilfach na glaD;" Tynerwch a weina i'w gysur yn ffyddlon, A'i gadach fe sycha ei ddagrau i n'wrjd A eheisia yn rasol gyfeirio'i olygon I'r wlad lie mae cariad a hedd yn cydgwrdd. Beth ydyw Tynerwch ? Gair addfwyn, caredig, Ddyfera o'r genau fel gwlith ar y gwellt; Aur-allwedd yn agor y galon gloedig, Ffrwd cariad yn diffodd y gwreichion a'r mellt. Beth ydyw Tynerwoh ? Yr lesu hawddgarol, Fel Oen tyner-galon yn niarw dros ddyn,— Gwaredwr dynolryw, y Tynfaen tragwyddol Yn tynu y byd tuag ato Ei Hun. Treforris. JOHN PHILLIPS (Treforfab).

A gas trust seldom trusts anybody for gas. One of the prevalent disorders at sea-snit. room. The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they get there all the same. A good many men are more interested in having work than poverty abolished. The preacher tells you that you should marry for love, and yet he often married for money. A woman's most eloquent speech is—? lovt you! A man's is—Coma and take something* boys! It.. » Some men would think they were cheated f they had the mumps lighter than their neighbours. Tobacco-chewing husband (after ascending tb6 stairs): I'm all out of breath.—Wife: Then kis* me, please. We read a great deal about the solid vote of th. country, but no reference is ever made to thf liquid vote of the country. A South Carolina coloured man preaches in hit sleep. The general rule, it will be remembered* among the clergy is to preach in other folks' sleep." Bobby: Pa,what does the pawnbroker's sign of- 1 three balls mean ?—Pa It means, Bobby, that it is two to one that the man never redeems hi* property. A MATTER OF NECESSITY.—She: Seems to mn your wealthy friend dresses better than h4 did.—He Yes. He has lost a lot of money lately. OVERHEARD IN A PHARMACY.—Druggist: I got stuck on this lot of court plaster. It's no good. Friend If it's no good I don't see how you go* stuck on it. Marriage in moderation is a good thing, but tog much of it—well, too much of it is certainly ap^ to make a man sneaking, misanthropic, round* shouldered and often bald. Pity the poor man who is doomed to make. super-heated guy of himself dressed up as Santa Claus. He knows better, you know, and he only does it to please the children. HURRYING UP. —Mrs Witherby What are you wearingyour new hat for every day?—Witherby! I haven't—I haven't any time to lose on that hat, Miranda. In a few davs it will be out of style. The individual who stands on his dignity probably brings his feet into contact with as un" substantial a possession as is that pride which poor man is generally supposed to put in hi* pocket. There was, we think, some warranty for the schoolboy maintaining that a week consisted of eight days, because, as he said, his father had alS eight-day clock at home which only wanted wind* i ing once a week. I No HARM DONE.—141 suppose you know that f Miss Gold bag has run away with her father'' coachman Yes but it's all right. He i* f an experienced coachman, and a runaway is safe, in his hands." Mamnia!(to Walter, who has just returned frofli his first experience with a fishing rod): What, back so soon?—Walter: Yes'm, I thought 1'^ come home. The worms were so nervous I couldn't get 'em on the hooks. A pitman went into a hat shop near Durban} one day to buy a har.—14 What size do you take r said the salesman.—"Aadivvent knaa," said Geordy, but aa tyek nine in byuts, an' that cannot be far off the size o' ma head A workman observing a handkerchief in which were some dishes lying about the yard, another workman near him with 44 Aa say. marra, is them plvets yor di8hes ?" No," \VaØ the answer my plyets is two bvesins 1" ENTCOURAGEMKNT.—Straw ber Old man, going to take the fatal step to-night. I propose to Miss Quilleutter.—Singerly Are you going tq do it in that necktie ? -Strawber Why, yes, en course.—Singerly Then if she says yes, old fellow, you may be sure it is a case of true love. "In addition to your physician's fee, you put a charge her", for mileage," said the lawyer who was settling up the affairs of the deceased. Yes, sir," said the doctor.—44 What is tbl mileage for ?"—The deceased occupied a room oIl the top floor of a Chicago hotel when I paid vol professional visits to him." A WORD TO THE WISE IS SUFFICIENT.—Diliy daily.ng lever; Look at those two birds, Mart* What a chattel ing they keep up around the doot of that rust c bird-lionse. It is charmingly rura^j isn't it 1" Disheartened Maria (crisply): 44 Ye^ 44 Wiiat can they be saying to each other, dear ?7 I' 44 Saying, Let us get married and keep house.' AGAINST HER CONSCIENCE.—Scene: Highlands. I Sunday.—Tourist Can you sell us threepenny^ worth of milk, missus ?—Mrs M'Job What dId' you say ? Losh me sell miik ou the Saub* day? Na, na I couldna da that; but as 1' seem dacent boys, I'll just gie ye thripence for naei hm', all' ye'll just mak' me a present ot shullin'. Is there a gentleman named Smith in thi' I car ?' shouted an excited passenger, poking hi* head in at the door. '4 I am one," said a maxli rising from his seat. "What is wanted?" "J have here the full and complete history of th' family. Seven volumes. For sale only by suh' senption 1" said the book-hawker. But tb» passenger had leaped from the train. THE TOBACCO HABIT CURED. It is very BARF for an old smoker to give up the habit all at once.. —" I don't know about that. You remember olj Tom Jinkson ?"—44 Yes, he has been smoking ay his life."—44 Well, he has giwen it up."—" D^ he taper off gradually ?"—" No, he gave it up »jj at once. He was in a stone quarry, and a spar* at once. He was in a stone quarry, and a spar* from his pipe fell in a keg of giant powder." THE CAREFUL LOVER. You threw me a kiss last night, said he, With a smile to the maiden fair But the night was dark—it eluded me. Pray have yon another to spare ?" I may have one," said the blushing mistl.. And he answered, approaching near, I won't run the risk of losing this— To make sure, I'll take it here." And he did. A little boy had a jxmy and a dog, and h'* generosity was often tried by visitors asking IIJØ (just to see what he would say) to give them on" or both of his pets. One day he told a in*? present that he might have his pony, reserving the dog, much to the surprise of his mother, wpD asked:—"Why, Jacky, why didn't you him the dog ?" It Say nothing, mother f he goes to get the pony, I'll set the dog all him. I Little Dolly had been very naughty, and J knew it. Seized with remorse, she commenced I cry bitterly, and refused to be comforted. FaP* was very busy, and began to get annoyed' Donaldina, there's a penny now run aW&y* for goodness' sake," he said in an angry to»6* Shortly afterwards Dolly, with tears still in h0' eyes, was seen entering a chemist's shop, and vfi^ a very serious look she asked for" A penDY worf o' doodness 'ake." He bad been going to see her for some tittWj and was now getting down to business, as '#M explained. After telling her of his scanty incotB* and the size of the house he wanted her to !'hat1 he asked, Can yon sew, dearest 1" A little, 44 And cook?" "Oh, yes." He waa delighted. She would be a perfect treasure. Then he asked i airily, In the way of a final argument, Can yf keep house ?" 441 can," she said, looking hi^ I over, on certain conditions." Name tbeØII dearest." I must have a house to keep." Tha soul of a rajah who had been released ieop the cares ot this world and an uncongenial wiij j presented himself,' it is told, at the gates 3 Paradise. 44 Have you been in Purgatory yet l demanded Bpthma. No; but I have beI4 married."—41 Enter then—it is the same thiitjK I At that moment another soul arrived, who 1 Brahma to allow him also to enter.—44 Sofilý, J softly—have you been in Purgatory yet j but neither has that other fellow—he died same day I did."—41 Very true—but he had married."—44 Married indeed Why, I ha** been married three times !"— Away, then, tho lower regions," said Brahma sternly' j Paradise is not made for imbeciiss 1" The influence of dust and water particles 'j| producing coloured effects in the sky is weR known. It is due to dust that the sky is blfl* and the sunset crimson or orange. The particle of volcanic dust which filled the air after I eruption of Krakatao made the sun appeal bluish-green in India and elsewhere. A pretw I experiment in the action of coloured light nw I be performed with a metal tube with glass end*:i connected to an air-pump. Any sudden exps* | sion of the air causes a cloudy condensationJ~| settle, and when the air in tho tube is the light passing through it becomes beautiful'* f coloured. I 1 CATS IN RUSSIA.—It may be a source of co& solation to the British Tom Oat to know th*J whatever his ultimate destiny may be, it cann'? possibly take a worse form than that wbicS; follows in the wake of his Russian brother. AJ' along the banks of the Volga are colonies ot har< hearted men who make a business of toms and tabbies to sell to peddlers at threepeflfv or fourpence each. And not only is pussy 5\1 jocted to this indignity, but also to the furth^*t I and greater one of bsing flayed alive and th^J killed. But, to give him his due. the does not torture his victim in this manner toniy. It. is the outcome of necessity, and faslii'Tl demands the perpetration of these heinout, cruwl ties. The skin is rendered more pliable and soPJ when taken from the body of the living 1 and consequently fetches a higher prioe it* tho &\ ] centres of Russia. j j i A

NEW SHORT STORIES. A Colonial Banshee, I By FERGUS HUME. Author of c, Mystery of a Hanson. Cab," Midame Midas," etc., etc. The average person does not credit the exist- I mce of ghosts. He ps-:ae3 himself on believing nothing but his own eyes, and it theas deceive Dim into beholding a genuine ghost be excuses their so doing on the score of hallucination. You SMiriot convince the average person that there is anything beyond the actualities of this world. Certainly he professes a vague belief in im- mortality, but hid conception is so shadowy, that f. faces it with any degree of confidence. e asses such credulity in the category 01 itiings we ace not meant to under- stand," winch hazy remark to his mind account for all matters in the way of religion. Take away this respectable theological view of the supec- natural, and he scoffs all the idea of a phantom world. I an. an average person, a gross, fleshy, stolid, iisbelieving St. Thomas of the present genera- tion, and in accordance with the fitness of things, .bould subscribe to the comfortable creed above IØt forth. I don't. Certainly I was once as •ratt-riuiist.ic as the average person could desire, but since I saw, and conversed with a bona-fide spectre, I havo modified my views regarding psychology. Shp was so convincing that she left TOe no option, but to believe. There was no getting round her insistauce. It was a. female ghost of the Banshee type. and I met. her under the most prosaic circum- | stances. Priding herself on the verity cf her ghostly being she needed neither moated grange, nor blue lights to compass her appearanoe, in I fact she somewhat scornfully dispensed with such »!d time accessories, and simply convinced me by a short conversa.tion that she was what she pretended to be. The most sceptical would have Attested her authenticity on oath, as I do now, and I was the most sceptical of persons—once. Her name was Bridget. She was an Irish •migrant. I was always under the impression that ghost?, like fairies, could not cross running r water save in an egg-shell, but as L met Bridget I in New Zealand she must have been an exception to this rule. She, however, made use of a ship tn lieu of an egg-shell, and complained bitterly of having been forced to take such a. voyage in the I interests of her profession. it had a good deal to do with, hatred and revenge-she was Irish, you me. As the interview was not without interest, I I hereby set forth a careful report, of the same for ¡ the benefit of the Psychical Society. Unless Bridget was a liar, hev remarks may throw some hgnt on the mysteries of the spiritual world, and those desiring further information had better apply to the nearest ghost-raiser. I don't want to see iter again. One sneh interview j" enough for me. Queenstown was the scene of this remarkable tdventure. I am not referring to the Irish town ?f that name, but indicate thereby the pretty little sanatorium on Lake Wakitipu m New Zealand. It is amusing how very mixed one's Jteographical ideas become in the colonies. Here, for instance, you sail up the Maori christened I take of Wakitipu, stay at Qneenstown, the name I whereof smacks of Cork, and see from the top of an Antim, d eau Ben Lomond, the range of the Southern Alps which have nothing to do with Switzerland. It is a trifle confusing at first, but when one gets used to the oddity cf the thing it is handy to have spots 30 widely apart within bailing distance. It is only in Otago th:>t you aan go from Queens town to Ben Louiond in ten aoinutee. I was staying in Queepstown for the benefit of my health. Something to do with the lungs, 1 believe, but it is so long ago thail quite forget the ttxaot disease from which I then suffered. Besides it is not material to this story. It must have been my lungs, however, because the doctor made me climb the lofty ps?|k of Ben Lomond daily for the benefit of them. There I was accustomed to Bit for hours among the ice and snow, watching the Earnslaw glacier flashing like a mirror in the sunlight, and the SlJOWY range of the Southern Alps standing like fairy lacework against the clear blue of the sky. When not climbing. I wandered about Queens- town, and employed my spare time in dodging the goats. There.wer^a great many goats about the place as the unfinished condition of the town, rather favoured their existence. You walked down the main street and in two .minutes found yourself among the arid goats. You sur veyed a palatial hotel of the most approved Grand" type and turned round to behold a goat- populated section gaping between t red brick chapel and a corrugated iron store. Or you could arrive in five minutes at the outskirts of the town, where the goats abounded among the white pebbles and sparse grass. Sometimes in such a place you met a man, more often a goat. I preferred the former myself, as he sometimes invited me to have a drink, whereas tho goats were all distinctly hostile. They are the most distrustful animals I know. In common with other visitors, I put up at Farmer's Hotel, where I was exceedingly com- fortable. Every evening the steamer from Kings- ton arrived with fresh cargoes of tourists in search of health and scenery. They found both at Queenstown, which is the most romantic and salubrious place I am acquainted with. A trifle wild and lonely, but one must expect that sort of thing in a virgin solitude. I prefer ib myself to an overcrowded play 'ground like Swizerland. At Queenstown there is no promenade, no band, NQ theatre, no casino, no bathing. For this latter the waters of the lake are too cold owing to its being fed by glaciers. Wht-n I was there, the principal amusements were ridirg, driving, climb- ing, and visiting the .cemetery. I didn't care about anticipating my funeral myself, but many people went there, and told me they enjoyed it greatly. It was so restful. I did not contradict that statement. Sometimes we drove to Arrowtown and saw the pack horses in long lines climb the track leading to the Macetown reefs. The sight put me wonder- fully in miud of Ali Baba and the forty thieves, for the distance they looked exactly hke mules laden with booty. Leaving Arrowtown there was some excitement in regaining Queenstown by the Sbotover Bridge. It was a narrow structure with shallow sides which sprang across a tremen- dous abyss in the depths of which swirled a rapid stream. The approach was down an incline, and for the moment it seemed dobtful whether the horses would hit the bull's eye cf the bridge, or Zo ever into the chasm. Our Jehu was a wonder- ful driver, and held his team well together, else I &m afraid I wonld not now be writing this story. I never repeated the experiment. It ia a mistake tempting Providence twice. I conscientiously saw all there was to be seen in company with N >ra and Michael. These two 'young scions of the Maguire family were staying at Farmer's with their ancestral Banshee. I don't think the landlord knew of this addition to his list of guests though Bridget did her best to let him know she was on the premises. She howled, whereon he called *the innocent house dog bad namM. I am afraid Bridget resented the mis- take as a slur on her vocal abilities. Nora told me all about herself and Michael. They had left Ireland some five years back and takcu uu their abode in Sydney ou account of the brother s health. He, poor fellow, was far gone in consumption, and even the tropical climate of Australia could do but little for his disease. Indeed BO much worse did he become, that Nora was advised to try the curative effect of New Zealand air. and for this reason the young people were staying at Queenstown. When I arrived on the scene they had already been there for some weeks, but Michael did not seem to benefit much by the change. On the contrary, he daily grew weaker, and looked more like a shadow than a man. One day I found her seated by his side in front cf the hotel. Ha had fallen asleep in the warm aumsbine, ^JijLJvara was dividing her attention between a iK>$i and the invalid. When she saw me, howiivar, she softly arwe from her seat and joined me in my waJk. "Do vaM think he looks better to-d", Ur- Durham, stoe asked, anxiously. Oh, yes I replied, trying to comfort the poor girl. I see a decided improvement. If anything can cure him it will be this air." I nm afraid the disea-se has gone too far," she answered^ with a sigh, "poor boy—to think of his coming all these miles only to find a grave." "Don't think of such a thing. Miss Maguire." — I cannot help thinking, Mr Durham. Since we have been here, twice have I heard the Ban- shee." The what V The Banshee. Did you not hear it wailing last night?" "I certainly heard a dog howling at the moon." M It was no dog," said Nora, mysteriously, it 4our Banshee. 4our Banshee. My dear Miss Maguire, how can you believe *n such rubbish ?" I remonstrated in a vexed Vme. There are no such things as ghosts." 44 So many people think, but I know there are 4bost3." "Have you ever seen one?" No But I have heard the Banshee cry." "Nonsense, my dear young lady. Your nerves -Ire out of order with ever anxiety. Consult a Joctor at once." "My nerves are not out cf order," she replied, 3cg £ *edly, lam m perfect health and thoroughly A earnest. Why you admit vourself that y- u avard the cry." "I heard a dog howling. Miss Maguire. How can you b« so superstitious. This is the nine- teenth cntury. Ghosts went cut when gws ••34WT>P in. I took no end of trouble to convmoe that girl. I promised to lend her a copy ot Abercronibie's Intellectual Powers, where she would find that ghosts are all humbug. I narrated several in- stances which had coma under my notice of sup- posititious spectres, which had been thoroughly wormed away. A logical person would have been convinced by my arguments, but she was a woman, and therefore not logical. All my talk was on this account so mnch waste of breath. Every old woman in Ireland knows the Maguire Banshee," she said triumphantly; "for generations the death of one of our family has been predicted by its wailiug. My father was killed in the hunting field, and I heard it myself crying round the house on the previous night. When my mother died the Banshee wailed three times, and-" 4' I don't beheve a word of it," I interrupted emphatically, not one word. The Celtic nature is excitable and prone to superstition. The howling of a. dog. the whistling of the wind, the skrieking of a hinge would account for your Banshee. I am a man of sense, M'-s Macuire I laugh at the idea of such folly. Nothing would convince me of the existence of At that moment I swear I felt a cold breath blowing against my cheek. The afternoon was warm and sunny, with little or no wind, but for the moment the unexpected chill struck me dumb. 41 What is the matter, Mr Durham?" asked Nora, alarwed at the expression of my face, are you ill ?" 111! no!" I replied, nervously, "but really you know ha ha I believe you are infecting me with your superstition. I felt a cold breath on my face." It's- "Now don't say the Banshee, Miss Maguire, because I can't and won't believe such nonsense. My liver is probably out of order, and our con- versation about spectres is apt to tell on the nerves. Let us talk of other things.ijYour family, for instance There is not much to talk about there," said Nora, smiling at what she evidently considered a weak explanation. 44 my family at one time were rich and numerous. Now we are the only two left, and I don't think Job was poorer than we are 44 Your estates!" Were all sold long ago. My father ran through all that remained of the property, and when he was killed we had nothing but a tumbled down castle and a few acres of barren bog. We sold this and with the money came out to Sydney. There, through the influence of an old friend, Michael obtained a good Government appoint- ment. Then his health gave way, and we were advised to come out here." And what do you intend to do when you go back ?" I asked, revolving several philanthropic schemes In my mind. "I don't know! It is questionable if we do go back. I feel certain that Michael will die here, and then I shall be left alone here with but a few shillings." "Tut! tut! you must not talk like this," said I, bJowiug my nose to conceal some natural emo. tion evoked by her story the Colonial heart is kind the Colonial hand is open. As to your brother-hope for the best!" Mr Durham Raid the girl, solemnly, "twice have I heard the Banshee cry—the third time will be fatal." It was no use arguing against such obstinacy, so I held my tongue, merely remarking that I hoped the Banshee wouldn't wail. Thtn, as it was growing chilly, Nora took her brother inside and left me to my own reflections. They were anything but pleasant, for I felt certain that this foolish belief in the Banshee would aid in killing Michael, as surely as would his disease. To thmk of such superstition being prevalent nowadays. Here wad a we1!.ed ucated yùl1Ug I lady living among sensible people, yet she be lieved in such rubbish as ghosts. It has been proved over and over again that there are no such things. A heavy meal, a tired body, a fanciful mind, ami 10 a ghost IS created. Dyspepsia and hallucination are the parents of ail goblins, which exist but in the imagination of their victims. People who see ghosts should write novels and thus work off their superfluous imagi- nation. No wondor we need school boards, when sensible men ran tolerate such humbug. Logic and arithmetic will cure such morbidity. No student of the exact sciences ever saw a ghost. The breath of cold air 1 \V,,1J,I own that puzzled me, but it might be ascribed to the nerves. The cause I am convinced was internal not external. It was a stil', sunny day, yet I felt a sensation of cold air on my left cheek. Nerves or liver only I am inclined to put it down to the latter, knowing how I suffer from that organ. A liver will make a man believe anything. Perhaps my ghostly interview was the result of a disordered liver, but no—Bridget was too convincing. You can't explain away actualities, and though Bridget wasn't exactly an actuality 1 certainly can't ex- plain her awa.y. After that eminently unsatisfactory conversation with Miss Maguire I took a sharp walk to shake the cobwebs out of my brain. Ghost-talk does engender cobwebs in a man's brain, and if you leave them there nobody knows what will happen —but I thmk Colnev Hatch has a good deal to do with the future. Nõt caring to tend in that direc- tion I walked those ghostiy figments out of my memory a.nd sat on tt hill-top admiring the scenery. The sun was setting, and the white peaks were very rosy with his light. It was very beautiful, but very chilly, so not anxious to trouble my lungs with inflammation I returned to the hotel and dinner. After the meal I went up to my room to put on warmer clothes, and there took place that re- markable visitation of which I speak. The bed- room was quite dark when I entered, and in place of lighting tho candle I stood at the window staring a.t the wonderful white world without. A stream of moonbeams lay across the floor, and beyond the distant peak flashed the moon her- self, glimmering like a ghost. The comparison put me in mind of Nora's absurd Banshee story, and tba memory mado me laugh. To my surprise the laugh was repeated in a thin starved echo. I turned round at the sound and saw a woman btanding near tha door. I r'lll a modest young man, ami*tbe>mittisk>r*> annoyed me. Madame," I said in a dignified tone, you ha.ve mistaken the room. How did you enter ?' By the keyhole Heavens what a voice. It was as thin as whistle, aud then she alluded to au entrance by the keyhole. I began to feel alarmed a.nd I passed my hand across my eyes to vanish the hallucination. Liver said J, seeing the figure still there. Divil a bit," retorted the lady who seemed a cloudy sort of person. I'm the Maguire Ban- shee." I don't like practical jokes, and thinking Nora was playing one on-mo ventured to remonstrate. Before I could say a word the figure glided, or rather floated into the stream of moonlight which Jay across the floor. Then I saw it was no joke— it was no liver—it was a ghost! A merciful baldness prevented my hair standing on end, but my flesh creeped, and I shook as though I had the ague. This apparition upset alIIry preconceived ideas, and reduced me to a sort of moral pulp. I felt a cowardly inclination to run away. The Banshee was between me and the door, and as the window was twenty feet from the ground I could hardly leave that way without becoming a ghost myself. I was, there- iote,compelled to remain, and didn't like the idea. Why don't ye offer me a sate said the Banshee, in an irritable tone. "Is it insultin' me ye're afther doin'?" I pushed forward a seat in great trepidation, and she settledon it. I can't say shesatjdownon it, for she didn't, but simply subsided thereon, like a cloud on a mountain-top. The cold beams of the moon shone full on her face, and the sight did not tend to steady my nerves. 1 don't want to see another face like it, It was a grey, haggard countenance, framed in wild elf locks of tangled red hair. Her mouth was all drawn to one side, and in her eyes dwelt a look of horror. Round her neck hung a fragment of rough rope, and from shoulders to heels streamed a. cloudy white robe. The whole appearance of the being was vague a.nd indistinct, the face being the only por- tion I could see with any degree of clearness. Sitting there in the chilty light, with her filmy dress unduletinor round her thin form, and her baleful eyes glaring from amid her tangled red hair she was a fearsome object to behold. I shivered and shook and turned away my eyes, but something, i knew not what—ever compelled me to look at her again. I don't think she was a lady Banshee. Her language was too free, and her manners left much to be desired. Still she behaved in a very affable manner for her, and succeeded to a certain extent in dispelling my fear, though I was anything but comfortable during the interview. She spoke throughout in a hoarse broken voice, alternating with a shrill whistling sound. Constant howling had evidently injured her vocal organs. So you don't believe in my existence V she said, eye ng me in a malevolent manner. I liegan to protest, but she cut me short with a whistling snilf and shifted her mouth to the other side of her face. 44 No deceit, av ye plase. Didn't ye say ot was an hallucination, ye brutal Saxon V You may be now for all I know," I replied, resenting her rudeness. She stretched cut her arm which elongated itself like a marine telescope, and, without moving from her seat, clutched me by the wrist with chilly fingers. So cold was her touch that it burnt like tire, and I involuntarily shrieked with pain. <4 Whist ye epalmMtn!" she said, contracting her arm again. YetJl athtracth a.ttinshun, and me reputashun 'ul1 suffer if Oi'm discovered in a jintjeman's slapin' room." "In that case you had better go away," I sug- gested, anxious to rid myself of this nightmare. "Divil a bit," she rejoined, composedly. Oi've a mind to convarse wid ye about thitn Maguires." 41 Why can't you leave them alcne ? It's im- possible for a sick man to get sleep while you howl round the house like an insane hurricane." "Wild ye have me neglect me thrade," said the Banshee, indignantly. "Tis me juty to Wail, worse luck. An' as to slapin' Miek Maguire ull sdape sound enough wan av' tbese days, nivir fear." "Will he die "I" 41 Av' coorse he'll die. Haven't oi criedth twice an' nt-Jl be the third toirne this night. It's act wastin' me breath oi am." 44 Who are you ?" 44 Oi'm Bridget." I laughed at the unsuitability of the name, whereupon the Banshee looked at me fiercely. "Fwhat's the matter wid the name "It's like a servant girl's." "An' why not? Wasn't oi that same, sort. Four huadher years ago oi sarved Ktng Patsey Maguire av' Ulster, the ancister of the prisinfe family no less." But how did you become a Banshee 41 Och whirra whirra willaloo she moaned, rocking herself too and fro, wasn't oi the pride av' Ulster, an didn't King Maguire hang me be- I kase oi'd nivir give up Taddy Donovan." Did he want to marry you himself How shiild ci know Maybe he didn't care about Taddy liftin* thiin Kerry cows. An' as Taddy wasn't to be tnk, he hanged hW, bad luck to him." Did that hanging tum you into a Banshee ?" "Dy'seo this rope, sorr," she said, touching the fragment. Whin oi died oi tuk the bit wid me as a miioory, an' swore to haunt thim Maguire? j for evetlaAtin' till tbey %U died. Tbete's.onfy t\?o for eved.tin: till they %U died. Tbete's.onfy t\?o j now. Whin Mick goes there'ull only be wan. Whin she dies me juty 'ull be ended for iver." "But you can't kill them." A v' coorse not, but I can warn thim of their sorrows. Oi've croied at their wakes for the last four hundher year in Ould Ireland." Why did you come out here ?" Bekaze thim two came. Whin a Banshee's attached to wan family she has to hould on to thim like the divil. Where they go, she goes, so oi had to imigrate wid the Maguires bad cess to thim ?" 4" You don't like the colonies Divil a bit. Oi've not met a single ghost of any consequence here. There's no ruins to haunt an hathens like yoursilf don't belave in us." 44 If you find things so unpleasant why don't you go back to Ireland ?" 44 How shuld oi know. Whin Nora goes back oi'Jl go back, but where she is I am. Mick's dying so oim only reckinin' on Nora. Mayba she'll die too though," added the Banshee, comfortably, and thin I can return to me round tower." 44 What Round Tower ? "County Down no less. Me family sate. Once 'twas King Maguire's, now 'tis mine. Oi sit on it m the cove av' the evenin' an' howl." "Pleasant for your neighbours." "Iviry wan to his juty," replied the Banshee indifferently, 'tis mine to howl an' howl I do." "Yes I've heard you An'sid it was the dog. Oh oi heard your contimptuous spache." Now look here 6; Oi want mine av' your buHyin' av' you plaze. Respict age. Oi'm four hundher year ould. "Yes you look it "An'so'd you if ye'd to pass nights howlin' in the open air. It's sorry o' am that let ye see a rdie live Banshee." "You're hardly alive. However, I apologise for hurting your feelings. I'm not accustomed to entertain Bf\n3hces," Maybe that's true. No Saxon bas a Banshee." "And uo colony either." "Wait a few hundred years, sorr. Ye want ruins an' family eacrats first. Thin the ghosts 'ull come, but not in your toime." I'm not sorry I don't like ghosts "Maybe ye don't belave in thim," said the Banshw, tauntingly. 44 to-morrow ye'll say 4oive bin driunin It's not unlikely "Oi'd like to lave some token av me visit," she went on In a meditative tone, "couldn't I lave five black finger marks on your wrist r' "No, thank you," I replied, shrinking back. 44 Or turn your hair white," she added persua- sively. "Even you couldn't do that. I'm bald "Ah thin I'll lave the mark of a gory band on your cranium." I'm sure you won't. What's the matter 2" For the Banshee had suddenly shot up as high as the roof. Whist i" she said, shrilly. Oi hear his breath failin' Whose breath 44 Michael's. The cowld sweat is on his brow an' the rattle is in his throat—it's not long he'll live anyhow. I must wail—an' wail Whirro" "Let the man die in peace," I urged, anxiously. Fwhat! wan av' thim Maguires. Sorra a bit. Ye'll hear me wailin' soon." Eut-" Whist, oi tell ye whist. Oi's goin'. 'Tis not Banshees' ye'll scoff at agin oi'm thinkin' She spread herself through the room in a cold white mist, and I shrank terrified against the wall. In the white shadow I could see the glaro of her fiery eyes like two danger signals. The fog gradually floated out through the open window, and the eyes vanished. Then I heard a whistle outside, which I presume was Bridget's way of saying good-bye. After that I went for some brandy. The Banshee certainly succeeded in curing my scepticism regarding ghosts. I don't want any further proof that they exist after seeing her. She impressed herself too strongly on my memory. Next time I see an Irish ghost, I would like a dozen or so of my friends to be present at the interview. Now when I hear the average person, scoffing at the idea of spectres, as 1 used to do, I tell him my f-xperience. As a rule he doesn't believe me. Perhaps you who read this story don't believe it either. But it's true for all that. When I had succeeded in pulling myself tOKether-llo easy task —I hurried at once to Michael's bedroom, but was met at the door by Nora, who told me he was asleep. Unwilling to alarm her by a description of the Banshee's visit, I held my peace and went out into the open air. Lighting a cigar, for I thought a smoke would sooth my nerves, I strolled up and down in front of the hote!. In a few minutes a young American who was staying there joined me, and though as a rule I found him a nuisance, yet on this occasion I was not ill-pleased with his company. It was a bright moonlight night, and far in the distance arose the serrated peaks of the mountains. The iron roofs of the houses around glittered like frosted silver in the light, and here and there on the sullen lake glinted a flake cf moontirp, All was wonderfully beautiful and absolutely still. Sud- denly there sounded a long low wail which shivered pitifnlly through the air, and died away among j the mountains. Then a second, closely followed by a third. I knew what that .triple cry meant and stopped short in my walk. e. Dog howling, I guess," said the young American, carelessly. I heard a whistling sniff near me 2nd turned to see the Banshee glaring at tha youug man. To him she was invisible, and her speech inaudible. 44 A dog howiin' she said angrily, an' I nivir wailed so ihgantly before." Is be dead I asked, breathless] v. As a floor hail," replied the Banshee and vanished. 44 Is who dead ?" asked the American, thinking I had spoken .to him, "that young Irish fellow I-Hark, what is that!" Another cry, but this time the utterance of a buman throat. I h3.Stened towards the bote], and arrived at the door to meet Nora. on the threshold. Did you hear it!" she gasped, throwing her- self into my arms. 44 Yes, I heard it!" I told you the third time. Michael is dead." After that she fainted clean away, which action caused me but little surprise. I was pretty near collapsing myself. Poor Michael was duly buried in the little cemetery under the shadow of the mighty hill. I attended the funeral, did my best to comfort Nora, and in the end supplied her with money to return to her Sydney friends. I presume the Banshee wont with her, but of this I am not certain. Sometimes I heard from Nora in the months whioh followed her brother's death. When I was at Te Aroha in the North Island last Christmas she wrcte and toJd me that she was married and had settled for good in Sydney. This letter set me thinking about the Banshee, By her own showing she could not leave Nora, until she died, so as Nora had decided to stay in Australia, I presume, Bridget would also have k. remain. From what I heard. Nora is not likely to die for some time, so I am afraid Bridget must be very discontented. Hero she has no ghostly friends, no Round Tower, and yet no reason for wailing, so altogether she must be in a bad way. One consolation she must have. She is the only Banshee in the colonies. None other is genuine. [THE END.] NEXT WKKR— BY STRATAGEM, Br HELEN MATHERS.

LUXURIOUS RAILWAY TRAVELLING, Commencing on Monday, July 3, the Midland Company, in conjuction with the Glasgow and South-Western Company, will place on the Scotch service additional afternoon expresses, which will run between London (St. Banoras) and Glasgow (St. Enoch), starting fnmi each end at 1.30 p.m., and serving Leicester, Nottingham, Sheffield, Leeds, and other towns en route, and givine connections with seme of the principal centres in the West <»f England, Lancashire, &c. To these trains will be attached specially con. structed dining carriages, one of which will be for the use of first-class, and the other for third-class passengers. Luncheons, dinners, teas, and other refreshments will be served en route from 1.30 to 2.30 p.m., first-class luncheon, 2s 6d third-class joint luncheon, 2s (inclusive charges) also a la carte at Midland buffett charges as per daily bill cf fare. From 4.30 to 6 p.m., afternoon teas will be served at &1" to include a pot of tea and roll and butter, other viands being obtainable at the usual buffet tariff. The table d'hote dinner will be served in th- down train on leaving Hellifield, and in the up train on leaving Leeds, as about 6..30 p.m. in each case. at a charge of 3s 6d to first-class and 2s 6d to third-class passeugers.

NEWPORT BOARlT OF GUARDIANS. Tho Weekly meeting of the Newport Bcnra-of Guardians was held at the Workhorse on Satur- Guardians was held at the Workhorse on Satur- day. Mr M. Wheeler, vice-chairman, presided. The inmates of the housfe numbered 322-an increase of seven Ann Collins, 82, Risoa, died daring the week. The outdoor paupers totalled 2,357. There were 111 children—a decrease of 32.—Alderman Grove, chairman of the county council, brought forward the question of giving technical instruction in fruit culture and horti- culture to the boya at Oaerleon Industrial Schools. A draft report on the subject had been prepared by the agricultural sub-committee of the county technical instruction committee, and on the motion of Mr Grove, seconded by Mr E. Davies, the draft report was referred to the Caerleon Schools Committee. — It was stated that Mr Grant, the county technical instructor, under whose supervision the proposed scheme is to worked, will be in attendance at the meeting and explain the scheme to the committee. The clerk laid on the table the return of the election of guardians for the parish of Lacgstone, the Rev. Wm. Henry Williams having been elected without opposition. —It was stated that the Rev. Howell Thomas, who, since March, 1892, bad been an inmate of Abergavenny Asylum, bad reoovered. <—■wmmmmwmm

A PRACTICAL JOKE. The Press Association's Dublin correspondent telegraphed on Saturday No importance what- ever is attached by the police to the finding at the Exchequer's Court of a parcel containing twenty detonators, a toy watch, and some broken matches, and bearing the words, printed with a pen," Re- member Judge Marphy. It is generally believed the paBcel was placed on Friday afternoon where it was afterwards found, and that the object ot so placing it was to have a practical joke.

THE editor of the Medical Annual after a care ftl examination of Cadbuvy"s Cocoa, pronounces it to be both and q**Ut* X41

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] The Mystery of Jasper Janin. BY J. E. MUDDOCK. Author of "A Wingless Angel, As the Shadows Fall," "A World within a World," "The Luck of Logie," It A Wild Beauty," Whip and Scorns," &c. CHAPTER I. AT THE SIGN OF THE SEVEN BELLS. Plnw how the- wind howls, to be sure; I really think this is the dirtiest night we have had for years. There will be mischief done before the morning, or my name is not John Archer." "You are right, John it is fearful weather. God help the folk at sea on such a night as this I would rather be where I am than beating up Channel in the teeth of such a gait," The speaker drew his chair a few inches nearer the fire, and puffed forth a huge volume of smoke from his long pipe, as if he wished these things to be taken as evidence that he was thoroughly in earnest in what he had said. But ot that there was little room to doubt, for the two men were seated in the cosy bar-parlour of the Seven Bells in the village of Pegwell. Pep well is a sea-beaten village, briny and breezy, for it stands on the south-weat coast of Engiand, near the entrance to the English Channel. A picturesque, ouiefc, clean, healthy, and thriving little place is Pegwell, with nearly 7,000 inhabitants, who are orderly, industrious, and well off. The lower classes of Pegwell are represented by fishermen, boatmen, and labourers, but they are hard-working and, as a rule, sober. Pegwell, however, is unfortunately a bit strait- laced. To use a tpetaphor, it might be said that the village carried its head rather high, and turned up its nose at its humbler neighbour. How far this was due to the ministrations of the Rev. James Grayling, who was rector of Pegweil at the time this story opens, it is not for me to say. It is certain, however, that the rev. gentle- man allowed much worldly feeling to mingle with his spiritual teaching, and he did not practise that humility and charity which were taught over eighteen hundred years ago by the Master be professed to serve. But this drawback on the part of its inhabitants notwithstanding, Pegwell was a highly-favoured place, SQ far as its natural beauties were concerned. It was sheltered from the east winds by a range of beautiful hills and downs, and sloped gently to the sea on the south, the land termmating in a bluff range ot bold, dark cliffs, and a stretch of beach about two miles in length, that for yellow- ness and firmness might have challenged the United Kingdom to rival it. I To stand here on a summer's day and drink in rich draughts of the deliciously pure and salt- laden air, when the sea broke in a little line of white foaiu on the hard sand, or rose and fell over the rocks with a low, rhythmical rhaunt, was to enjoy a sense of freedom and exhilaration that was worth travelling many hundreds of miles to experience. On these calm days the ocean was before one like a vast sheet of quiver- ing silver, and the ships sailed on, and on, and on, cnining from or going to far-off land, and afforded endless food for the reflective mind. Landward was the little town, its whitewashed houses gleaming in the sunlight, and the tall spire of its church shooting up straight and stiff into the blue sky. Then further inland was a line of sentinel-like hills, cool and inviting, with the greenest of verdure, and dotted all over with fleecy sheep that browsed on the succulent herbage, and gave a pastoral air to the country, that was charming in the highest degree. From the dark frowning headland on which Pegwell stood, a long reef of rocks ran far out into the .sea. This reef was known as the Barrier, and it afforded a most agreeable promenade when the cruel sea was in a pleasant mood, and the wind came soft and warm from the sunny south. This spot was a favourite resort of visitors and artists, for rare seaweed and good fishing could be obtained, while the views of the surrounding coast were a series of beautiful pictures. And here on the Barrier, too, the jaded invalid could sit, and, while he listened to the murmurings of the 44 many-voiced sea," he could fill his lungs with the purest life-giving ozone. But this is the sunnier side of Pegwell. There is another and a darker side-when the sea storms at the Barrier, rushing at it in mad fury, flinging itself high into the air. to fall again with a hoarse roar or a screech of defiance, and JUJ- mediately renew its attacks; beating, beating, beating upon the impediment; dashing a ship here now and then, grinding it to matchwood, and flinging mangled corpses and tangled wreck- age on the beach. It is winter time when this history opens, the commencement of December, a mouth that is proverbially fatal for ships sailing in and out of the Channel. Then the tierce storms that blow up from the west and the south drive many and many a gallant craft on to the pitiless reeks of this wild coast, and dash the life out of many a hardy mariner, and strew the shore with match- wood. As I introduce the reader to Pegwell on this December night, it is indeed fearful weather, even as John Archer had said. John was the landlord of the Seven Bells, the most comfortable and cosy house for miles around. Old and weather-beaten was the building, and honest and outspoken was its landlord, who rented the property from a younger brother of the rector. The shutters of the Seven Bells were closed and barred, and the outer door was shut also, for the wind was frantic, and was going about like a roaring lion seeking whom it might de- vour. There was not much custom at the Bells on this particular night, for all the good folks of Pegwelfpreferred to remain by their own firesides -that is, all who were not compelled to be out in such weather. John Archer's companion was an old, rugged, weather-beaten man, who seemed, as it were, to reek of the sea. He was tough, bronzed, and shaggy. An old sea-dog, grey, and almost tooth- less. But his eyes were yet bright and glowing, and his rsd face was filled with au ineffable ex- pression of honesty and generosity. His name was Peter 13!andford, but he was more familiarly known as CaptaIn" Blandford. From his earliest childhood he had passed his life on the deep, and served the Honourable East India Company long and well. But the years gathering upon him, he retired from the profession with a hard-won competency, and settled down in his native village within sight and sound of the sea upon which he had been so long rocked, and whose moaning was his earliest cradle song. Everybody in the village and for many miles around—that is, nearly everybody, for even Cap- tain Blandford had his enemies—knew him and respected him. The Seven Bells was firmly built upon a cliff, and commanded an uninterrupted view of the sea. In fact when the sea ran high the waves sent their spray over the roof of the Bells, and enveloped the house in a briny mist. The parlour was as comfortable as it cculd wett be. It unmistakably bore the stamp of the past. The old-fashioned oak furniture was in keeping with the large fire-grate, the dark wainseetting, and the black ceiling that was crossed with pamted beams. There were four deep bay windows inithe room, but now each window was screened by massive red curtains, that muffled the roar of the sea and kept out the ohill draughts. The floor was rendered noiseless and warm by a thick Turkey carpet. A large eight-day clock stood in a recess, and its heavy pendulum ticked off the seconds with solemn regularity, while its polished oaken case reflected the ruddy glow of the blazing fire, and its time-stamed face seemed to smile pleasantly, and say, What a jolly old clock am I." A hundred and fifty years the Seven Bells had stood and had seen generations of men in and out, and Pegwell gradually grew from a fishing hamlet into a thriving populous township, and many a storm, too, and many a terrible wreck, but possibly it bad seen few storms worse than that which lashes its walls on this wild December night. ir ..1 1 Captain Blandford might well Bay he would rather be where he was than beating up channel in such a gale. For outside there are desolation and savage fury, and wind and sea are battling madly. Terrific hail squalls beat in from the ocean every now and then, and go roaring round the old house, shafting the windows and rattling the doors as if trying to batter them in. On the table in the snug parlour there are lemons, sugar, bot water, and whisky, and it would have been plain even to a lisping child that these two men knew how to make themselves comfortable in spite of wind and weather. The captain sat on one side of the fireplace toasting his toes, and opposite him was John Archer. Ever [since the captain had retired from the sea he had been in the habit of going down to the Bells, Sundays excepted, every night to enjoy his glass of grog and smoke his pipe. I should think that ships making the Channel to-nigbfc would either heave-to or run for shel- ter," John Archer observed as he sipped his grcg; and at the same moment a heavy squall. caused the windows to rattle in an alarm- in? manner, 93 that the landlord rose from his seat, and drew back the curtains te see if the bolts of tho sashes were properly fastened. Having satisfied himsolf on the point, be poked the fire and sat down again. ^e3j who are wise will,the captain returned thoughtfully, and answering John's last remark but skippers coming in from the south will be anxious to find out their posi- tions, for it is doubtful if they will have been able to got any information during the past f.w days, owing to tho bad woatber. I should say, therefore, that homeward- bounders who are sure of their reckon- ing will bear up for Plymouth Sound. But evon that will bo danprerons work, for the night is so thick they may miss the Eddystone, in which case they would have to try and fetch Portland. For my own part I should give the land a wide berth in a gftle like this. I should certainly prefer to have two or three hundred fathoms of water under my keel, and then with a good exp ose might 'w. laugh at the wind. A lee shore is bad in such weather, especially when the haze prevents you seeing the lights. Holloa there's a fresh arrival I" Th;s last remark was made as a great blast of wind rushed into the house, banging loose things about and indicating that the main door had been opened to admit of someone entering. I In a few moments the parlour door flew back, and a young man blustered in. His face was red and wet, and his hair was dripping. He was wrapped in a large coat, a cup was buttoned on his head, and a thick scarf was wound round his neck. "By Jove, this is a night," he exclaimed, wiping the drops of water from his moustache, and proceeding to unwind the scarf, to get out of his coat, and free his head from the sodden cap. 44 Here, Archer, my boy, take these things," and he handed the coat, cap, and scarf to the landlord. And look here, old fellow, let me have a glass of toddy, qmck for I am as cold as charity and as damp as a fish." At this remark all three men laughed, and the young one drew his chair up tc the fire, rubbed his hands briskly for a moment, mopped his face with his handkerchief, twisted his moustache into shape, ran his fingers through his hair to puff it up; and having done tbese things he brought his hands down on his knees with a sounding slap and exclaimed 44 Ah I feel a little more comfortable now." Have you come straight from the Parsonage ?" queried the captain, as soon as he saw that the new-comer had settled down andgot "ship-shape" again. Yes, I have ridden Jerry over; but, poor beast, he was quite nervous in the squalls, and turned tail to them. By the way, iook here, Archer"—the landlord had not yet left tho room, but was getting a glass and spoon from the side- board—44 just tell that man of yours to give Jerry a pint of old ale, with a good lump of butter in it;, and then to rub him down well, and put the rug on him." "All right, Master Grayling. You know what the old proverb snys—4 A merciful man is merci- ful to his bea3t.' I think you stick to the proverb very well." Grayling laughed heartily, and replied— "You pay me a good compliment, John; but I don't think I could be unkind to a rat, especially on such a night as this. Just push that tobacco- jar nearer this side, captain. Thank you. Poor old Jerry has carried me too many miles for me to forget or neglect him now." "Ah, if everyone^ was as kind as you, Mr Grayling, we shouldn't have much cause to com- plain," Archer observed, as he laid his hand 011 the door-handle. Grayling laughed again, and cried— "Look here, John, none of your humbug, you know. You have a deuced sight better opinion of me than my own people. They stem to think that I am just about the worst fellow that ever breathed. Nonsense, nonsense chimed the captain they think nothing of the kind. But, you see, yon have been a little wild, though, according to my own way of thmking-but then I don't set myself up as a judge—you are none the worse for that." "Well, I-will go so far as to say tliat a man is all the better for having a touch of the Bohemian in his composition," Archer remarked, turning back into the room, And partly closing the door again. Grayling stop!*e<l suddenly in the act of filling a pIpe, and looked up into the jovial, good- natured face of the speaker and then, after a long pause, he said— 441 say, John, that is a dangerous theory. ?v.1y brother does not bear you much love now, but 1 think if he were to near you propound that doctrine he would love you stin less, and accuse you of rank heresy." Grayling laughed loudly, and proceeded with the filling of his pipe, and, the operation completed, he inserted a spill between the bars of the grate, and the paper having caught light be drew it out, applied it to his tobacco, and in a few moments was enveloped in a thin mist of smoke. I Look here, Master Harold," Archer said, as he leaned over the table and peered through the smoke at the handsome face of his guest." I I have never done anything that I know to otfend your brother. It was my fate to become a publican, and his to become a clergyman but I have yet to learn that I am the greater sinner for my position, or that he is the grfatersaint for his. I don't see, moreover, that he is justified in hating me. According to his way of thinking, my chances of going to heaven may be very slender, but I am bold enough to say that, notwithstand- ing our social positions, I don't think I am much worse than he is. Well, well, don't argue the point;: exolaimed the captain, good-naturedly. "Even Harold himself admits that his brother is a little straight- laced, but we ought to pity him for that. Come, John, go and bring in some more whisky." The landlord went wichont another word, and when he had gone the captain continued—" John is rather too blunt. It is not always good to speak one's mind so freely." Perhaps not," Harold remarked, "but I like John's honesty, for all that." The captain mado no answer to this, and the two men were silent fop some As Harold Grayling sat there in the ruddy glow of the fire, he might have made a capital study for a picture. His face was youthful, for he was barely three-and-twenty. In stature he was tall, and in physique large and massive of limb, with a deep and capacious chest. There was something in his whole bearing which plainly said that he could certainly be a good friend but, on the other hand, he might be a bad foe. He was, in point of fact, a rollicking, careless, reckless fellow—the black sheep of his family. "The Bohemian," that family s^id., H<J w.is generous, manly, strangely ilbpulsivo, Wayward, yet resolute, and possibly without an atom of selfishness in his composition. It was certain that all the Village" loved him in spIte of his faulte. Another thing was also clear —he was fonder of the bar parlour at the Bells than he was of tho drawing-room of the parsonage —his mother's house. Not that he Was a drinker. On the contrary, he was excessively moderate but he liked company. His father had been rector of Pegwell for 45 years, and built tho great white-stone tall-spired church there—entirely at his own cost—a church that was so sttff, prim, and modern that it seemed out of place in the quaint, old-fashioned village. On tho sits there had formerly been an ancient ivy-covered little place, with a square tower and latticed windows, and here the primitive villagers had worshipped for generations. But the growing requirements of Pegwell necessitated a larger house, and so some time previous to his death, the rector had applied for and obtained permission to pull down the anti- quated structure and put up a new one. And whan he had finished his work, and the splendid peal of bells were hung in the steeple, the bishop came down to consecrate the building. There was an imposing ceremony and an impressive sermon, and all tho great magnates for miles around were there. But in spite of the splendid edifice, tho magnificent altar, and the gigantic organ, it is very doubtful if the morals of the people were any better than when the villagers knelt in the humble little building, where there was neither gaud, tinsel, nor gilt to strike the eye, but tho heart and mind were appealed to by eloquence alone. When the old rector died—and ho died beloved and respected in s^ite of some stupid High Church notions he had begun to entertain in his latter days—his eldest son, James, who had been educated for the Church, succeeded him. Between Harold and James there was as much difference as it was possible to exist between brothers. Harold had spent some time at Eton but had never distinguished himself excepting in athletic sports, in which he stood almost without a rival. On the d"a.th of his father he came into possession of about fifteen hundred a year, which was derived from "three per cents.' But ho quickly sold out of these, re-invested his money, and amongst other things purchased a small estate, upon which the Seven Bells stood; the house itself also passed into his hands, so that he was John Archer's landlord. He had travelled a little, returned home with his views broadened and his ideas very much expanded, and he was less inclined than ever to agree with his brother. He divided his time between London and Ct.rn- wall, and had not yet made up his mmdas to what course he was going to take m life. People accused him of being a Bohemian. Perhaps it was true. One thing is certain, he was perfectly indifferent as to what people said in this respect, for, whatever his failings were, he could have, looked any perscn in the face and have said, I have never yet injured any man wittingly. The silence between tho men was broken at last by the Captain, who asked, as he knocked the ashes out of his pI po, on the top bar d the grate— And what has brought you out on suoh a night as this ?" 44 Well, the Parsonage is so confoundedly dull, and my brother has got a lecturing fit on him. I can't stand him when he is like that. My mother and aunt, too, have an attack of the blues, so I thought I would give Jerry a little exercise, for he hasn't been out of his stable fcr two days. But the fact is, I didn't know the weather was so bad until I got out, and then I did not feel dis- posed to turn back so here I aro. Well, I must say, it's a horrid nitfbt" the captain replied, as the windows rattled and a zoreat puff of smoke came swirling down the chim- ney. 441 don't know wbea we had such weather before. I hepe thero will be no casualties on tho coast, for God help tho ship that goss ashore on such a night as this." "Amen to that," Harold said fervently, and shuddering at the very thought of the destruction that would ensue if a ship got into the breakers for living there, on th(1 wild coast, ho was familiar with shipwrecks, and knew what the cruel sea and the iron rocks could do. Just before it got dark," he- continued, "I noticed a large three. masted ship under close-reefed topsatts. Was she hove to 1asked the Captain. No, she appeared to me to be running. Ah, she will have cleared the land by this, then." I hope so. But I fancied, though she was a long way off, that she was deeply laden, and labouring: heavily." How was she steering 1" She was evidently homeward bound, and I should' say, from thø way she wa$heading, that she was running to the Sound for shelter. Come, Archer, Harold cries, as the landlord enters, and as if anxious to change the subject, you have been a long time." Well, ycu sec, I have been looking after Jerry. The storm has frightened him, and he is very nervous. I bav told the ostler to give him a bran mash, and you will have to go home cn my I mare, unless you liko to stay here all night." I 44 No, I can't do that, because I premised my mother I would return, and sho will bo uueasy about me." "Then go back by all means," Arebor answered, as ho resumed his seat by the fire, and proceeded to rc-fill his pipe. "Perhaps tho weather vnll modorate before you leave." Harold busied himself in the preparation cf some toddy, and was in the act of slicing up a lemon, when he suddenly paused, looked up, and listened while a strange flitted across his face. This movement was unnoticed by his companions, for his back was turned to them. 44 Do you hear anything 1" he asked, quickly. "No,1> his companions both answered, in a breath, ceasing to smoke and straining their ears to listen, for on such a night and in such a place they know what a question like that may mean. Umpli my fancy, I suppose," Harold mut- ters, and he goes on peeling his lemon again. In a few minutes he flings the knife and the lemon down on the table and spr/ngs to his feet. "Good God he cried, there is some ship in distress— I cannot be mistaken. That is twice I have heard her gun." "I, too, thought that I heard it then," said Blandford, and he put down his pipe and rose from his seat. 44 There 1" "There!" "There! "is the cry from all three simultane- ously, as the booming of a gun is borne distinctly on the blast, and seems to go crashing round the house. "God save the unhappy souls!" the captain muttered as he followed the landlord out of the room. Harold only waits to put on his coat, wind his scarf round his neck, and batten his hat an his head. He gulps down a draugrht of whiskey, then follows his companions. They waste no time in words. They know too well what the booming gun indicates. They know that while precious moments are wasted human souls may ba hurried into eternity. Archer muffled himself in a huge coat, and took down a coil of thin, but very strong rope which was always kept hanging in the hall in case of emergency. He put this rope over his shoulder, unlocked the doer, which flew back with great force as the wind rushed in aud blew out the gas in the passage, slammed th<" inner door with a great bang and crash, and in consequence of the vibration caused thereby, several tumblers were jarred off a shelf, and falling on the floor were shivered to atoms, adding considerably to the confusion which prevailed. The three men passed out into the darkness, and the whole of Archer's strength was needed to close the door again, for the wind seemed to rush at it and defy him. He succeeded, however, after some difficulty. Then he and his companions, bowing their heads, forced their way against the furious blasts. Neither speaks, for the wind pre- vents the voice from being heard. They go down a narrow pathway that leads to the shore, and as they go rqund a bluff cliff and come in view of the awful breakers, they can dis- tinguish the outlines of a large ship which is being ground to pieces on the cruel Barrier. Her position is indicated by a flaring blue light, which is being burnt on her desks. Down on the shore figures are hurrying about. These are coastgnardsmen, and the brave, noble, devoted tellows who fight the sea. They are getting out the lifeboat and the rocket apparatus. In a few minutes Harold and his companions have joined them. Then the blue light on the doomed ship goes out, and the darkness seems darker after the flare. The wind howls and the sea raves. The mad, crue!, hissing waves fling themselves with awful might against the rocks. No sounds have those of the tempest and the waters can bo heard. No sights seen save the white foam of the breakers. Eut the workers on the shore know that out there on the black waters a strong ship is being ground to pieces; and the angry blast is shrieking Death in the ears of many a poor soul who will be battered out of all semblance of humanity before help can reach them. God pity them It is horrible. CHAPTER II. The Passage of Death. The men on shore did their work with well ordered discipline. They were well versed in their duties, for, unhappily, they had had to per- form them too often. Harold Grayling was known to all the men, not only on account of his being a member of one of the most important families in Pegwell, but because he had assisted at similar scenes-as that they were now engaged in on several previous occasions. He was cool and intrepid in the hour of peril, and, therefore, a valuable ally of the brave fellows who risk their own lives in trying tu save others. An attempt was made to launch the lifeboat, but the attempt proved futile. The surf was fear- ful, and rolled in with such force that it laughed at the efforts of the human giants. The rocket apparatus was next got into position. The line was coiied the port fire flared for a moment; the fiery messenger hissed through the air and shot away far over the black waters, showing by its glare where the hull of the ill-fated ship was. The hull was all that was left, for the masts had gone. She was fixed at the extreme end of the Barrier, and out of the reach of the rocket, which fell far short, dropped into tha water, and there was darkness again. The men handed in the line hand over hand, and charged their apparatus once more, while some cf their mates set fire to tar barrels on tho beach, so as to give hope and encourage those who were face to face with death out there on the roaring waters. Presently the hissing rocket rushed out into the night once more. It flew over the sea, and dropped down apparently on cr near the ship. The men wait breathlessly for a few moments. But they soon know the rocket has not reached its destination, for the line slackens and comes home. They haul in quickly, and something like despair seizes their hearts. It is so awful to know that only a short distance off fellow creatures are being cruelly slam, and yet no help can be rendered. Every minute was precious, for the awful sea was doing its work speedily aNd greedily. Shrieks and cries of agony could, be heard now and again as they were blown m by the wind. Suddenly Harold Grayling, who had not been an idle spectator of what bad passed, palled out at the top of his voice, and even then it was difficult to make himself heard, for the wind was so high— "Men, he shouted, "give me a line; I think I can carry it out to the ship along the Barrier." It is a mad, wild, daring proposition, but the men do nob treat it with contempt. Harold's position and influence are sufficient to command respect, but there is such an amount of daring and forgetfulness of self displayed in the proposition, that had h«s only been 30- nameless pauper they would have listened to him. Both Archer and Blandford seized Harold by the arm and called into his ears— 41 Are you mad ? To go out there on the rocks is certain death." "But I cannot stand here calmly," he answered, "and see those wretciied people perish, without making some effort to save them." He released himself, seized a line, and before any one could stop him he had divested himself of hIS coat and made the line fast round his body. Give me another line, he cried, 441 will go at all hazards." A few of the onlookers try to dissuade him, but he pays no heed to them, and when they see that he is determined some of the men lift up a large tub containing a coil of line. This they carry to the Barrier, and they give the end of the line to Harold, who twists it round his wrist and grasps it firmly. As he is about to start, Captain Blandford seizes his hand, presses it, and in a broken voice falters out— "God protect; and guard you now, my noble fellow! If your life is sacrificed, poor Mary's heart will break." "Tell her I died doing my duty," Harold returned with difficulty, for a name had been mentioned that had made his heart beat faster, and brought a sensation of fulness into his throat. He returned the pressure of the hand, and as the men sent up a ringing cheer to eucourage him, he started upon the passage of death." A passage of death trnly In fine weather the Barrier is pleasant enough, but now it is slippery and treacherous, and the sea shrieks around and sends the breakers clean over it. A perilous passage that the bravest heart might have been pardoned if it had shrunk from daring in the inky darkness and the terrible storm. But there is no faltering on the part of Harold. He knows every inch of the way. Every rock is familiar to him, The distance to be travelled is a liftleover five hundred feet, and if he can but kflep his foothold he may succeed in his awfully dangerous mission. The men on the shora strain thvir eyes, and with bated breath watch him, until the darkness closes around like a shroud, and ho is lost tp sight. Some held the line that is attached to his body, and others the en" that hi. carries in his hand and as thu lines run cut slowly—slowly, they know that ho is safe so far. What awful moments The agony of suspense, what words can depict it Captain Blandford stands firmly and motion- less, his white hair streams in the wind, his *«y>ss are fixed on the lines. Tho rocket apparatus is charged again and fired, and as the blazing messenger hisses on its course it grives the specta- tors a glimee of the dark form of the noble fellow who is daring that awful passage. The rocket falls short again. There is some- thing the matter with the apparatus, and some of the men are despatched to bring down another, which is at the station about half a mile away. Another and desperate attempt was also made to htunchtha Utebaot. but it fails, for the surf beats with such extraordinary violence on this par- ticular part of the coast as to defy the united strength of dozens of men. And no sooner does the bdat touch the water than the enormous rollers throw it back again, and fenrtck the men off their feet so that they have to struggle desperately for their lives. In summer time no mor*> pleasant spot than this Pegwell coast could be found, but ia winter it is a veritable cradle of storms. t While the men on the shore are doing tHeir utmost to render assistance, Harold never falters. He picks his way cautiously sometimes orvered by the tops of the breakers, so that he had to atop and pant for hreath. Still ho perseveres, but the further he goes cut the worse the way bocomes. And once or twico he thinks that h" must turn back, for it seems almost a matter of impossibility to go forward. But he can hear the, shrieks rf the drowning, helpless wretches en the ship quite distinctly new. This encouragfss him, and he vows in his heart that he will succeed or die. Hit can sec, the ship now, for the Barrier is much higher at the seaward end than where it joins th* shore. All around is the hissing white foam. The air is filled with spray. He can discern tho tangled cordage, and can h»-ar the timberfc r.f the whip grinding to pieces and rising on the angty blast the wailing and moaning pf her unhappy people. They are sights and sounds that ire almost enough tc make the human hair suddenly turn snow-whita and the human heart to bef.nsa stone. But there are ir.inents when self-saori- ficing natures s<,>»m to bcecrae endowed with superhuman powers when tho lives of others avo at stake. It was so with Harold Grayling. If ho succeeded scores of lives might be saved; if ho failed all might be lOõt. This knowledge (On- couragcd him. Thf-re was something grand in the thought that on the coolness of his brain and nerves and the intrepidity of his heart so much depended. It was truly a struggle for glory. Not that he had one thought of self then, But if be died his memory would ever be honoured and if be I lived what human language could overrate his bravery As he proceeded he found that it was impos- sible to keep big feet, and so he went down on his hands and knees, but even then every breaker that flew over the Barrier threatened and tried to sweep him off into the boiling surge. Slowly and painfully he made his way along the rocks, and at length was almost over the riven hull. He could not see much, owing to the fury with which the sea broke against tho end of the Barrier, and filled the air with a quivering, blind- ing sheet of spray. He leaned forward and shouted with all his might: those who heard him must have thought it was a voice from the clouds. Look out for a line be cried, with all the strength of his lungs. There there came an answer back. Up from the howling waters, out of the inky I darkness, the voice came. 44 For the love of God, save us it said. It was a man's voice. I Harold drew in the line which he carried in his hand, yard by yard, fathom by fathom, coiling it up as lie drew it in, until the coils were heavy enough to fling, and he had length enough to reach the ship. Then lie shouted again, long and loud— 44 Stand by for the Tine." He stood straight up, got a firm foothold, and then with all his strength and energy hurled the coil towards the ship, dropping down on his knees again immediately and bending his head to catch anything that might be said. In a few moments be heard the joyful cry- We have got the line." Harold uttered a prayer then. It might have been the first he had uttered for years. I don't say that this was so, but it might have been. He said— "Thank God!" Two words only and yet could all the sermons that were ever preached, all the printed prayers that were ever read, be more eloquent, more sincere, more heartfelt than was that one short j expression of thankfulness to the Father of Mercy, I who had enabled this brave man to do so much. That Thank God cam" from his heart, and was recorded where prayers a.re noted not by the hand of man. He had succeeded in his mission. He could do no inorii there or then and so he set his face to- wards the shore. Painfully and slowly he made his way back. The sea seemed to snatch at him. The waves appeared to fight with each other for the privilege of sweeping- him away, for he had defied them-defied the power of the great waters. But the same courage and coolness that had enabled him to go out enabled him to get back and when he reached the shore a dozen amis were outstretched to grasp him, and even above the roaring of the hurricane such a cheer went up as made his heart thrill. He felt then—as what man would not ?—that he had done a noble deed, and his praises would ring in the land, and his name would be honoured. Bohemian he might be, reckless he might be, but who would dare to say henceforth that he was a disgrace to his famiiy ? In a little while those on the shore saw a blue light flare out where the ship was. They took it as a signal to haul in the line. And they did haul, fSlowjy at first. Then quicker and quicker, the united strength of all the men being required for it was weighty. At last the end of the line came ashore, Urging a, hawser with it. It was grasped by willing hands, carried up the shore. and made fast to some rock*. Another line was attached to the hawser. The line had been sent out from the ship, and was to haul the cradle back. In a few minutes the line was made fast to the cradle which travelled by means of a deep grooved pulley in the hawser. The signal was given and the cradle went down over the waves. A frail thing it looked truly, and yet it might save human life. All these things that I have described were but the work of a brief space of time—far shorter than it has taken to chronicle them. But, brief as the time was, the hungry sea had made good use of it. The strcng ship that an hour ago might have defied the hurricane's wrath, had she been on the broad ocean, was now a mastless, riven, shapeless mass of timbers,and even they were parting ripidly, for the cruel waters were not yet satisfied, though they had drowned the life out of many a poor soul. The tar barrels still blazed on the shore, and threw a weird light over the scene—a scene that is unhappily too common on our coast, but which no one can lully realise, excepting those who havo been compelled to witness it. Presently the signal is given from the ship, and the men on shore pull on tho cradle line. They pull very carefully, for they know that it contains a. human burden now. It comes out of the dark- ness. It appears a black, indistinguishable mass as it first touches the radius sf light thrown by the flickering flames. Then it grows more distinct, and the head and shoulders of a human form cau be seen hanging over the side. At this moment some hitch occurs in the working of the lines and the cradle hangs over the breakers which threaten to dash it to pieces. But starting from the crowd that wait in breathless anxiety on the beach, Harold Grayeling rushes into the water, and clutching the machine drags it iorcibly along the hawser. It contains a female, and as soon as the cradle is clear of the surf Harold lifts the figure out tenderly, and hurries with his burden to the fire, where a doctor, who had been hastily summoned on the first signal of distress, stoops down to examine the dripping, insensible form. Anxious women stand round, for they have come down with their husbands to render what assistance they can. The poor thing who has thus been rescued from the fierce sea is motionless. Her eyes are closed and her lips fixed. She is clothed only in a nightdress. A shawl had been thrown over her, but it had fallen off in the cradle. She is sodden with salt water, and her only garment clings to her like the drapery around a statue. She has fair hair, very long and very thick, and it hangs down in a tangled mass drenched with the salt sea. The doctor placed his hand over her heart. She is alive," he says. 44 Thank God bursts from the crowd as if from one voice. The doctor pours a little brandy down her throat, and then tells the' women to get the wet garment off the body, and wrap her in blankets, which are in readiness, for these people of the sea know too well what is required on such an occasion as a wreck. A screen is formed of a blanket, and the drenched garment is torn from the dripping body, which is instantly wrapped up in blankets. Now, one of you be quick and carry her up to the Seven Bells," cries the doctor get a warm bath ready, and give her some more brandy as soon as she can swallow it. I will be up as soon as possible." Before anyone else can do it Harold has raised the woman in his arms and is hurrying up the cliffs, while the doctor turns to wait for the cradle, which has been sent back to the wreck and is travelling on the hawser towards the shore again. When it arrives, it is found to contain a man, who is instantly lifted out and carried to the fire. The man is also insensible, and preparations are made to oonvey him to the inn. Once more the men who are in charge of the cradle send it back, and in a little while it returns with another burden—a young man, who is drenched, and pale, and haggard. He is able to get out cf the cradle with scarcely any assistance, but he totters whqn he reaches the shore, and a dozen kindly people rush forward to support him. Apain the cradle goes on its errand of mercy, but before it reaches its destination the hawser suddenly slackens, then falls into the sea. The onlookers give a cry f pity. for they know by this sign that the ship has gone to oieces. In the meantime the crew at the lifeboat had not been idle. With the help of two powerful horses which have been brought down from a farm, the boat is dragged to a mere sheltered part of the shore; and then, with the energy of despair, the bold crew thrust her out into the boiling surf. It tries to beat her back, but the men tug and strain never a nerve quivers, never a muscle re- laxes. Man and nature are truly wrestling with each other. A pigmy and a giant. But the pigmy conquers. The boat goes away into the darkness, impelled by the brawny sinews of her dauntless crew. They reach the wreck, which is a little moie than a mass of riven timber and rent cordage. They rescue six men who are clinging for dear life to a floating spar. With these exceptions, wind and water have completely done their cruel work. They have battered the ship to matchwood, and washed the lives out of her human freight. The man on shore, the first one rescued, revived a little as some brandy was administered to him. He groaned, turned over, muttered some in- coherent sentences, and then relapsed to insen- sibility again. He was wrapped in blankets, placed on a stretcher, and taken to tha Seven Bells, the second man following soon after, together with the six rescued by the lifeboat. All had been done that could be done. The villagers went back sorrowfully to their homes, The tires died out on shore, and no other sounds wore to be heard but the raging wind and the howling of the maddened waters. (Ta be ccntmucd.)

COST OF A SMILE. On Friday four young men were charged at Cranbrook with misbehaviour in Sandhurst Parish Church during divine service. It appeared that the defendants were sitting behind a man who was asleep and snoring so loudly that a church official had to wake him up. The sleeper, on being aroused, was so startled that the defen- dauts, as they said, could not help laughing. The sexton and parish clerk, who was called as a witness, had to admit that he could not help smiling, and others were guilty of laughing. De- endams were lined 12s each, inclusive of costs. tC. MØ8"lUll"I' -v

Stccdman's Soothing Powders for children cutting their teeth have now been in use over 00 years. They relieve feverish heat, prevent fits, convulsions, etc., and preserve a healthy itate of the constitution during the period of teething. Manufactured only at Walworth, Surrey. Sold everywhere. Please observe the EB in Stecdwan. 15C33

Y NOS. Dawel Nos! dy eang wyhr loew Gan fyrdd o einau ter sy'n caei ei llanw; Aur-lampau 'yut ennymvyd gan angelion I gaufod yn y nos y mil ddirgelion <> Mae'r Dydd yn gadw dan ei fantl-lll ddysglaer, Neu fel yn mhlyg yn rlml 'r hen Fam, y Ddaear. 0! dawel Nos! y mae dy ddwfn dawelwch Yn ymlid ymnith fiinder, aflonyddwch Yn magu bywyd. yn ymneithu'r egwan, A'th wlith iretddiol ddisycheda nUlan Mae'r byd yn gorphwys ar dy fynwes dawel A'i suo'i orysgu mas yr hwyrol awel; Ac. O! mor dawel y inne'ii bwrw'i flino, Heb syflyd, braidd, ncs yw j'n bryd i ddeffro. Y Hoer goruweh y dyfnder sy'n llawenu, Gan ymddarosiwiv.{ fel pe i'w gusanu Ac ytitau yn ei falc'ader yn ymchwyddo, Tra'i donau man ar hyd y lan yn dawnsio: Mor fwyn symuda yn ei gryd tywodlyd, Yn chwareu er adloni'i fam nefolfryd; Ac hithau fry (>'i gorgedd arno'n syllu, Fel marn yn hoff o'i Wel'd yu ymddifyru. Coruwch y gwely lie mae'r dydd yn huno, Mae'r ser cariadus fel yn gwylio drosto, A'i gwenau myg fel llu o engyl nefol Yn toddi'r galon i wres addoiiadol. Yr oil brydferthweh sy'n ein calonogi I ddarilen cyfrol fawr y nos oddeutu, Nes plygu'r dyn i'r liwch yn vmostyngol, 0 flaen amrywiad Anfeidroldeb Dwyfol! Taibach. RICKS LLEIVJSR.LTN.

ADFERIAD MANASSEH. Rhwng pruddaidd furiau curchar Babilonia, Manasseh waedlyd sydd, fel alltud, yma Yn eistedd wrth ei hun, yn ei gadwynau— Cadwynau blethodd gyda'i erch bechodau Ei feddwl gwyllt sydd megys ton aflonydd Yn rholio'n feichiog dros eigionau'r Werydd, Heb draefch na glan i arllwvs ei chynwysiad, Mae yntau heb un dyn i wrando'i brofiad. Mi gof gyfoda'n awr gerbron ei lygaid Weithredoedd anfad, nes y gwrida'i enaid; Mae'n gweFd yr orsedd lie bu yn teyrnasu, A'r eilun-ddnwiau mudion fn'n addoli; Ac, O mae'n gwel'd ygwaed, gwaed y duwiolion, Dy walltoedd dros heolydd dinas Seion Br disychedu gwanc ei falchder bei<ldgar; Ac, O! daw ocheneidiau'r wlad mewn galar I Iwyr drydanu'i enaid i'r gwaelodioii, Tra'n llifo dros ei rudd mae dagrau heilltion. Mewn ymdreoh galed ceisia Jwyr. anghoflo Yr erchyllderau creuion sydd yn rhuthro 0 flaen ei lygaid,—sua'i hun i gysgu. Ond, ha breuddwydion eroh sy'n ei ddadebru, Yn awn y gwynt ir.as'n c!y wed swn wylofain, A syrthia ar ei wyneb megys celain; A chred mai cri y plant ferwina'i glustian, Y rhai, trwy dan. i Moloch roes yn fflamiau! Ac yn eu plith cri plentyn hoff ei hunan Ddychryna'i enaid fel dyrwygol daran! Manasseh waedlyd ba, mae'n wylo'n chwerw, Daw geiriau gweision Dnw o blith y meirw I adsain ar ci glust, try'n welw, gwelw Daw geiriau'i dad, ei ddawiol dad, wrth farw, Mor fyw, mor fyw i'w gof yr adeg yma, Nes ydyw llawr ei gell tfan ddagrau'n foddfa; Mae'i galon galed fel pe'n toddi ynddo Wrth deimlo'i annuwioldeb yn ei wthio I fin y bedd I Ac uffern am ei lyncu YUløfn ei llrd i ddyfnder o drueni! Olygfa syn dan bwysau'r wasgfa yma, Yn nghanol llyn o ddagrau, y penhnia Dyrcnafa'i lef yn wylaidd tuag i fyny Mewn ymbil mae & Duw, ei Dad, mewn gweddi; Esgyna fry, uwch cymy] dnon pechod, Ei ddolef edifeiriol i glyw'r Duwdod. Mae Duw yn g wrando'i wed di yn ddaionns, A thannau'r Nef yn seinio'n orfoleddus Mae cymyl tewion pechod yn diflanu, Daeth gwawr brugaredd Duw a'i dwyf olenni I daflu ei ph el yd ran nefcl, llachar, Nes troi y nos yn ddydd rhwng murian'r carchar. Agorwyd drysau'r carchar gyda'1' borau, Manasseh a oUyngwyd o'i gadwynau Ei galon sy'n dychlaran gan lawenydd, Wrth deithio'n cfcv/im mewn rhyddid trwy'r heolydd. Cyrhaeddodd wlad y gwledydd mewn danteithion, A mangre'i gartref hoff ger Mvnydd Seion. Manasseh—ha! yr enw gynt fu'n ddychryn I bawb trwy'r wlad, sy'n awr yn iloni'r weria Ac, O! yn ymyl Duw mae'n treulio'i ddyddiau, A miwsig yn nghlyw'r nef yw ei weddiau. Esgynodd idd ei orsedd freiniol eto, A gwawl boddlonrwydd Dl1\v yn ymddYlltrleirio 0 gylch ei sedd. Dan heirdd fanerau heddwch Mae ca.riad yn blodeuo mewn brydferthweh Mae'r de.1 wau mudion wedi'u dryllio'n ddarnau, A'u claddu yn erch fedd y gau allorau. Ar allor Duw, Manasseh sy'n aberthu,— Ei ebyrth hedd mewn nioliant sy'n dvrchafu I'r drydedd Ner. nes enyn tannau'r Wynfa I ddybtn eu Anienau, Aleliwia Bechadur! O! dos dithar.'n mlaen mewn heddweh, Penlinia'n I1.Wl' mewn dagrau edifeirweh Gerbron dy Dduw; mae'n galw'r tynyd yma. JVlO drem drwy Jygad ffydd i ben Calfaria Cei hvyr lachad, dy rwymau ant yn rhyddion, Mewn rhyduid pur cei deithio tu., Seion. Ac yno ti get orsedd wen, A choron cariad ar dy ben, A thragwyddoldeb ar ei hyd I foli'th Bryuwr^gwyo dy fyd! < Treboeth. i