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=. .> • tolSSiU j CHAPTER XVIII. 1 Peggy Visits Christine. j Mrs Dudvvortk did not see Sie George un her way through London. News had reached him that his mother was not well, and he had gone to the country. From the-re he wrote Constance Lamborough what was passing. Instead of re- turning her the letters she had asked for Sir George had encouraged her to write new ones. True, they were not the same letters as those of former days, there was restraint and conven- tionality in the letters Miss Lamborough wrote now to Sir George Burnstone. Nevertheless, it-flattered, the man's vanity to receive these little letters, andif-he had needed proof to show liim how deep was his hold upon Constance this was forthcoming when a telegram reached him from Miss Lamborough saying that if Lady Burnstone had need of her she would return from the Continent at once. -On the whole Mrs Dudworth was rather glad not to have met Sir George. Until she had Seen Christine, until she had known something of what was passing with the girl, she was, of course, not in a position to advise or to suggest anything. As she travelled down to Hunston she re- alised, however, that the question of a speedy marriage on which Burnstone had been so re- solved had undoubtedly been set aside. It was not curiosity but anxiety which ran in her heart, bat not until she had her arms round Chris tine did &. he realise how IDuchshe had ycarried over the girl, and how much need Christine had of her love and sympathy. Indeed, the coming of Margaret Dudworth was a relief so acute that it almost unnerved Christine, notwithstanding that she knew there would be very much that she would have to explain, much which probably Mrs Dudworth would not understand. My dearest child," the older woman said as she kissed Christine again and again. "Jly dea little Christine, why did you not send for me? You have lost all .the good your travels did you. Thank God Henry is not here to see you as you are looking now I" These words pierced Christine's heart. She -gave a cry and buried her head on Mrs Dud- worth's breast.. Oh! Peggy." she said, 4< I do thank God that he is not hE re It is my one consolation, I my one joy." Mrs Dud worth's apprehension deepened as she listened. Well, now I have come," she said as cheer- fully as she could, let, ue hope, things may be jftade a little better." But Christine clinging to her whispered: ''There is nothing that you can do only loye m.e." And Margaret. Dud-.vorth strained her to her heart auu kissed her again and again. The coming of Mrs Dudworth had provoked a general feeling of pleasure in the house, a Reeling which was not long in being communi- cated to Mrs Dancroft's inaia. From a sheer desire to annoy and to be dis- agreeable the old woman resolved to go down to dinner that night. Mrs Dudworth made a very simple toilette, 6ti! 1 she looked what she was, a weu-born and a handsome, it middles-aged woman. When she went down to the hall just before dinner Mrs Dancroft was there already, sitting in a chair with her back to the fire-place. If she could have had her way she would have cut that portrait of Henry Fielding to ribbons with laiiyes. As it was she never looked at it. but she yet cherished always the intention of having it removed. As Margaret Dudworth glanced at the little bent form in its black garments, as she noticed the ugly mouth, the hard face, the restless burning eyes, her heart sank. What manner of creature was this whom Christine had taken into her home, with whom she was sharing so generously all she had And following naturally cm this train of thought came one which Was more painful. What .-power was lethal; bad brought these people into the.heart\oi Christine's intimate Like George Burnstone at first, Mrs Dud- worth had been half-afraid that the girl had falltminto the hands of schemers, but this went from hep.altogether when she found her- self in the pir^s^nc* of Mrs Da.nei'ftft. For there was purpose written iu clear letters in this old woman's grim face, a. purpose far removed feem mece avavi«iousaess w greed of gain. Dfiiirousocly of helping Christine by such means in her power, Mrs Dudworth did her herself with Mrs Dancroft, very quickly relinquished all attempts Jiieassgt 0ocivgj*ati«ii. It was with relief thatshc turned to greet Aane Dancroft- Here Mrs Dudworth n^st with no difficulty- > Un- doubtedly Anne was common, but she was a creature of. ilesh auii blood, nttt ghoulM-h like her mother, and i^nne Nwas only too ready to 'make friends with ilr» Dudworth. She had heard all about this oharming woman of the world from Mis Conistoa, and had very quickly gathered that Mi's Dudworth was a person of social importance and one whom Mrs Coniston herself was eager to cultivate. Anne had no in- -tehtiou of lettmg the smaBeat chance slip, so she exerted herself now to make a good itn- pression on Mrs Dudworth and she succeeded largely, of course, owing to circumstances,* but not altogether on that account.. Mrs Dudworth was quite sincere when she Was diseussng this girl to Christine later. She is really handsome, you know," she said, and has a certain'attraction of her own. Then she is young, and wants to see life no doubt she is selfish, but after all" that IS so human." And Christine understood thoroughly 'what was lying at the back of these words. She ap • pruciated Margaret Dudworth's delicacy of thought in not speaking of Mrs? Daucroft, in not questioning, and yet paradoxically this very exquisite t^ct probed the wound in her heart. For she knew that this woman Who loved her, this woman who had loved he* father, must have grasp.ed the real signi- ficance of the situation, must have convinced herself that it was power, an inexorable ugly power, which constrained Henry Fielding's daughter to do what she was told. # Mrs Dudworth had resolved not to ask any riuestions. tf 'the child wants me to know, sl^g will tell me," she said to bers«l?. Her eses Q^ke my heart ache I see her looking drea^S wh,a.t I am going to say. I Tgittst try and let her grasp the fact, that I i|#an to femaiii silent till she sp salts. And yet," Sirs Dqdworth mused on uneaaUy,, perhaps it would be "better if f were to go into this matter. Christine is hardly reasonable where her father is concerned. Her love can magnify, can even distort. There must have been many mysteries in the life of a man like Henry. Well as-I knew him, I never really was intimate 'with him- ,< A little later Margaret Dudworth pondered. It is just because she does not "speak I ani afraid f Tf this things did not- touch 'that which she hordpso vital, her father's honour, fr*he would have brought the matter to m^. but I see sow that all the time we were away to- gether, ever since Henry's. cteath m fact, she has been confronted with some trouble greater almost than she c "n bear. And George does not see this He is concerned only with the fear that she has fallen into the hands of unscrupulous people He imagines that she iaL carrier away by sentimental, not hy tragic feelings. Before [ came here I was regretting that th^y \y$rp not jpiarried already, now I am back to my old doubt. The sympathy, the help Christine needs will never be given to her by George Burnstone J This new element in "her life has changed things so entirely that I should almost rejoice to know that the engage- ment was broken. Yet, on this subject, too, Mrs Dudworth rc- solved to hold her peace. As a matter of fact, though she was only down at Hunston for two-op three days, she and Christine were very 'little* together. Anne simply ^suvped Mrs Dudworth. To her great glee Mrs Dudworth proposed going to the Westerham Court garden party, and she offered to chaperone Miss Dancroft. Then purely in a spirit ftf good nature, Mrs Dudworth made the suggestion that when she returned to town, Anne should go with her and stay a week or so in London. When she had accepted Mrs Dudworth's invitation with a warmth that was almost embarrassing, Anne sat down and Wrote the news to her brother. •" I wai n you," her letter said, that you will find mother very set against my going; but this makes no difference to me She hates Mrs "Dudworth. of course, but "Íhó is there, and- what,is there,- thafe mother doesn't- Hate That's what I'd like to know Seems tô me* she has got worse since she came down here than she was before and Bessie doesn't do her any good. I don't know why you let her come, I always did hate Bessie. It mother says anything to you about uae, you can tell her as I've told you already, my life has been made miserable enough all these years. Now I've got the chance to enjoy myself, and I mean to make the most of it." Between Christine and her cousin no expla- nation was given fp" this kindness on Mrs Dud- worth's part to one who might naturally be considered an enemy of Christine's. But the girl did not doubt Margaret Dudworth. She felt that she was doing the best she could in her power. And in this Christine realised the clever tactics of a woman of the world. By associating herself openly with Anne Dancroft at the Westerham Park garden party she had to a great extent silenced gossip, since she de- monstrated to the curious that she knew all that was going on at Hunston, and that there was no cau-:o for mystery." It was Anne herself who put this phase of the situation before Christine. "Your cousin is. a clever woman, and no mistake," sh £ said. Of course, I don't sup- posed it would have rpached your ears, but I have heard tTiat the peopre all round about here have been simply wild with-curiosity about us; and that- all sorts, -of-queer stories have been going mund. but now that I have been taken out by Mrs .Dudworth^ and people see we arc friends, it knocks thesfe queer stories on the Utad. And that is what you want, isn't,it ? You don't want anybody to know the reason of our being here. I must say I think you ou^ht to be very grateful to Dudworth." An- other time Anne said People think 1-ve be- long to one another. I don't deceive them, in fact, when Mrs Coniston asked me straight out if we were cousins-you and I, I just nodded my head, because," said Anne shrewdly, "that makes things easier for people to understand." When yhe had gone down to Hunston Mrs Dudworth had not settled in her raind how long her visit was to be. After she had been theirothree days she felt impelled to go away. A barrier had risen between herself and Chris- tine, and though both would have repudiated the idea hotly, the fact remained that they shunned the society of one another, rather than sought it. It was, indeed, painful in the extreme to Mrs Dudworth to find herself in this old house, where she-Had spent such happv days, penned about by gloom, by a. mental suffering which seemed vmillumined by hope. If she could have liftedt-he burden from Christine, if she could have had the consolation of feeling that she could, by a'single act, transplant the girl from this blighting atmosphere, there was nothing that she would not have done, but each hour that passed showed her more surely that Christine was af.Jaid of what she was going to do. I must go away now," Mrs Dudworth said to herself, restlessly, and I must think the whole thing out. Something must be done, but it must be done with every consideration, done vary carefully, so tenderly, in fact, that Christine will hardly know there are others working with her. If I stay on here I know that I shall have to break this silence, and I dread what I should have to hear. By taking this girl away, perhaps I may help her a little, for the old womiyi keeps in her room so much that Christine corud have the house to herself praciically for a time, and solitude would pro- bably be helpful to her. At any rate I'll make the experiment. Who knows if I am kind to this girl I may do more for Christine than seems apparent at the moment." CHAPTER XIX. Anne Dancroft in London. Sir George wa»- back in London when Mrs Dudworth arrived. The season was now in full awing, and he 'I was as usual very greatly in request, despite the fact that he was now an engaged man. The absence of his fiancee provoked some curi- osity and some disappointment, for most people were eager to see this very rich girl who was to Le Lady Biirnstone. So much had been written about Henry Fielding's wealth at the time of h^s deaththat CLrl^ljpc was, all un- known to herself, a person of the greatest im- portance. and one whose movements were fol- lowed with interest'. It was sinugiarly agreeable to Sir George to pose as the future master of rnillion", and cer- tainly since his last visit to Hunston his mind had been considerably less vexed. Christine's attitude had been so different, she had been so natural, and she had given evidence of submis- sion, all of which tended to gratify himself, he knew very surely that he had never absolutely won this girl's heart. That she could love, and love in an extraorilinary fashion, her devotion to her father alofte proved, but whether, she would ever care for George Burnstone very deeply, the future alone could prove. "Sty dearest child," said the older woman to Cbaistine. She had been assuredly flattered by his atten- tions, attracted by him, and now that she was lonely and very sad his affection was neces- sary to her, but love in the real meaning of the ord, love such as Sir George was convinced Christine could feel, was not as yet forth. coming. He saw Mrs Dud worth on her return from Hunston at the opera. 'She was in a box, and she had a. good-lookiixg girl with her, a girl ex- ceedingly well dressed whom We vaguely recog- nised. When Sir George made l'tis way to the box he stared a little hardly at Anne Dancroft, and as Mrs Dudworth introduced them he knitted his brows. When the girl was: speaking to some i other person he said it in an undertone to Mrs D tid, orth Funny, Peggy you are always breaking out in fresh places One never knows what you are going to do. Why on oarth have you brought this girl to town n To please myself, my dear George," said ,e Mcs Dudworth, quietly, and to please Miss Bancroft. I am rather lonely at times, and I am very fond of having a girl as a companion." I You would have done better to have brought Christine," the man -said a little angrily. Christine would not come, you know that. She is a long way off from this kind of thing," .Mrs Dudworth waved her hand to indicate the .opera audits gay throng pt people. TUe.loxtg'-r she stays in her present "groove the farther Aw, ay she Will, be," 6aid Burnstone, then Ue added-Peggy, I am bitterly disap- pointed. I hoped all sorts of things when you went down- I khow that you had a good deal of power over Christine. 1. expected you to have urged her to do the things she ought to o. do." Then Margaret Dudworth spoke out— "George," she said there is only one power which can .Itft that girl out of her present life, put colour and light into her eyes, and the joyr of life into her heart, and that 'power is not mine to give, nor, I am sadly afraid, is it yours." What do you mean ?" the young man aSked impatiently, 4nd she ailswered- I mean that if Christine really loved you, if yon were really the one creature in the world to her, you would not need me to help you, she would turn to you naturally, she would cling to you, she would tremble at the thought of losing you." Sir George's face flushed. "Thanks he said, in a disagreeable tone. ,4 Now, I know Votff view; I know jowt exactly what to expect." He got up to leave her, but Mrs Dudworth put her hand on his arm. "George, we will not quarrel that would !be so foolish but sometimes I feel I must fepeak the truth, and believe me, it is not only for Chris'tine's Sake that I worry about the future. I am fond of you I don't want you to be miserable." < "You are awfully considerate," said Sir George, with a supercilious smile but I believe I can take care of my future." He removed his arm from her hold, and left the box withqut exchanging a word with Anne Dancroft, who chose to construe this into a slight.. • t) "I am sure I wish any woman joy of him," she said. ""Mrs Coniston was raving about him theothw-day• She said any amount-of women were madly jealous of Christine Field- ing. Well, IxfOri t- £ nvy her. I think she is worth "something better than that." George is a type of man," said Mrs Dud- worth, which ydu will meet very frequently now that you have come into the world. He does not wear his heart on his sleeve, .and he has been brought up to think of himself before anybody else. The majority of men are made selfish by education." Well, I daresay be is very good-looking and all that," Anne answered, and I suppose his education is all right; but I don't like him. He is cold and stuck up. I suppose he'll say all sorts of nasty things about me." Mrs Dudworth laughed. Oh, no, my dear, you are with me that will protect you in any case, although so far there is nothing to be said about you one way or another. It lies in your hands to make friends." I And to this Anne Dancroft nodded her bead, and then she said-- Anyhow, I am enjoying myself. It is all so wonderful to me. I never thought life ^ould I be so beautiful. And she spoke with so much honesty, so much real enthusiasm, that Mrs Dudworth felt pleased with hér. She did not despair of shaping Anne. I The girl was so willing to take hints, so anxious indeed make herself what she I Called w't,hé rea.1 thing," and then she was ambitious, Thwel'orik the future, as far sh<>; was cobcwtohL was hopeful enough. In a-ny caSe it was really pleasant to watch this young creature enjoy herself, to see her nature expand, and the bitterness which now and then had marred it drop away. It was while Anne was in town that Sir George went down again to Hunston. He called to give Mrs Dudworth pei-sonal news of Christine. A glance at him showed her that he was in good spirits. Well," he said, as lie. entered Mrs Dud- worth's charming drawing room and found her arranging some flowers. Well, it is all settled. We are to be married very quietly in either August or September. [ did my best to make it a little earlier, but Christine begged for a little longer time and I gave in. We shall go abroad, and I shall keep her abroad till Christmas, and then we shall go down to my mother, and alter a Hying visit to Monte Carlo in the ea"ly spring, we shall start things going here. I am in treaty now for a house which I think would suit us admirably. They want rather a big price, but Christine can give a big price." Mrs Dudworth paused a moment or two ancLfchen she said ""ilnd— and of course you will sell Henry's town house." Oh of course," said Sir George. Chris- tine is leaving all these matters in my hands," he added. Fortunately, they are very clever hands," Mrs Dudworth remarked with a smile. Sir George set himself on the end of the sofa. Wei)- Peggy," he said, aren't you going to congratulate, me." Certainly, George, you know by this time that I am sincerely, affectionately interested in you." And you are very fond .of Christine," the young man said, therefore you must be pleased now that everything is definitely settled." Mrs Dudworth hid up a bunch of ross, and lookd at thru, admiringly and sniffed them ap- preciatively, then, at; she put them down, she asked How is Christine, how is she looking 7" She says she is quite well, but she looks, well Sir George asked with a return to his old irritability, how do you expect she would look living in such a miserable atmosphere ? I called on Dr Brathmore before I came away and asked him to take her in hand." That was right," Mrs Dudworth said, but she sighed. She was forced to question him although she felt that his answers would be unsatisfactory. Does—does she still seem very unhappy she inquired. "Very answered Sir George, but I am not expecting any change you know", my dear Peggy, till after our marriage then she will be completely uprooted, she will have all sorts of other things to think about; and I tell you frankly, I don't intend to let her sit down and weep and mourn she will have had a full year for tears, that is quite long enough." Yes, too long by many months, according to the world's idea." The question she longed to put faltered on Mrs Dudworth's lips. She jg^roached the subject indirectly. Did you nave the pleasure of meeting Mrs Dancroft she He shook hi, head with a faint smile. Not this time it appears she keeps her rOQID. I advised Christine to get rid of her as s0on-asshe could." And what did she say ?" There was real eagerness in Margaret Dud- worth's voice now. Oh she saw that I was right she told me that she would discuss the matter with Miss Dancroft when she returned. I think I con- vinced her that ii these people have some claim on her father's estate there is no real necessity that she should be bothered with them about her aI' the time. He got up as he spoke. You'll run down soon again, won't you ?" he said and look here. Peggy, vou might try and interest her in clothes. It is time, for instance, that she should have something new, she is wearing the shabbiest black gown, really she is losing her looks. Of course that will all come back again." He had strolled to the window and looked out. A hansom had pulled up, and a man was alighting from it. "Yon entertain, in the morning ?" Sir George asked. Some one has just arrived. I thought I wal; the privileged person, Peggy." It is no one for me," answered Mrs Dud- worth, I expect it will be Anne's brother, she wrote and asked him to call, I know." "Oh said Sir George, and his face clouded, then he said And how is the experiment working I like Anne," Mrs Dudworth said in her decided manner. She Jacks a good deal of what the world calls manner and form, but she is sincere, frank, and truthful." Oh delightful," said Sir Gieorge. And has she told you anything about her mother, and why they should establish themselves IIJ¡ Hunston ?" No." said Mr$s Dudworth, she has told me nothing, neither have I asked any ques- tions. It is Christine who ought to give you this information." WMI, to tell you the truth, I shirked the matter. At first I regarded it seriously, but now I have convinced myself that it is only one of Christine's follies. Possibly in the long, lpng ago this old woman, or her husband, or some one belonging to her. must have lent Henry Fielding money, he began with the pro- verbial half-crown, didn't he and this, of course, would constitute in Christine's opinion, a life-long obligation. Good-bye, Peggy. When the house is bought you must come and give you ideas as to decorating it; your ideas are worth having." He kissed her and went awjiy as he spoke. On the staircase he came face to face with James Dancroft. Sir George stared at the other man in the most disagreeable"manner possible, and Dancroft looked back at him with just as much arrogance. Sir George noticed at that moment that there was a change in the other man's ap- pearance. He resented the improvement, the rough labourer had disappeared. James Dancroft not only looked handsome, but had what society calls a smart air. The two men passed one another with a sense of mutual dislike and contempt. It angered Sir George to realise that it was Chris- tine's money that had worked such a trans- formation. This shall be the first thing I shall take in hand," he said to himself as he passed out of the house. The Dancrofts have had enough, and I mean to keep a strict hand over all the charity claims. If. Peggy hadn't come on the scene and taken this girl up, I should have gone into the matter now, but it is better to ,let everything stand over till we are married." He spent a busy day. There was a yacht on the market which he coveted, a certain hunt- ing stable to be arranged for. Burnstone had never been poor, but he had certainly never been rich life had a very pleasant aspect for him. He grew tenderer in his thoughts for Christine, but he also grew more a.nd more re- solved. She must belong to me completely. I must be master. I will share with no one living or dead," he said to himself decisively. (To be continued.)
•Blow WITH INPIAN CLUB.
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•Blow WITH INPIAN CLUB. An Indian club, weighing about life., was the weapon said have been used fey Mary White, 34, of Whitney-road, Leyton, who was charged on remand at Stratford on Saturday with maliciously wounding her husband by striking him on the head. Just before midnight on February 29th, Constable Rowe, who was called to the house, found the glass panel of the front door broken, and the prosecutor lying in the passage on his back, bleeding from a wound on the temple. The wife coming down the stairs gave the officer an Indian club, ana said, This is what it was done with." When arrested she said, Good goodness I only did it in self-defence. He broke the panel of the door and rushed up- stairs. My little girl handed me the club, and I hit him with it. The husband.with his head bandaged, now attended for the first time, and said he did not want to prosecute his wife. lie gave his ad- dress as Dorrington-road, Clapton Park, de- scribing himself as a fireman. He said he had been living apart from his wife, from whom he had been twice separated. Prisoner said she had been out shopping, and as she was returning home she saw her husband. She and her daurghter were much alarmed, and ran home. As they got into the house her husband sprang after them, and running up the stairs, called out," Now I've got ydu." Just then her little girl ran to her, saying, Here, mum, hit him with this," and gave her the club. She hit her husband with it over the banister. He was often threatening her, and though she had a maintenance order he had given her no money since last July. Her children were all afr&id of him. Mr W W. Glenny (the chairman): The case is dismissed.
ARSON PLOT.
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ARSON PLOT. At Nottingham on Saturday the endl c^me to the amazing Nottingham fire conspiracy, when at the assizes a verdict of Guilty was returned against William Thomson, the local chemist who set fire to his own shop. His assistants, Robert Lee and Ernest Bradbury, were also convicted. The sentences were as follows :— Thomson, seven years' penal servitude. Lee, three years' penal servitude. Bradbury, twelve months' hard labour. It will be remembered that Thomson, who was in financial difficulties, commissioned Lee to fire the shop, promising him £100. A few days before the fire he joined his wife and family in Scotland. Then Lee took Bradbury into his confidence, and the two set fire to the place one Monday morning, using methylated spirits, turpentine, and resin to feed the flames. Both men escaped by jumping from a window. Bradbury, the youngest of the three, turned King's evidenee, and told the story in court.
GHOSTS IN SCOTLAND YARD.
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GHOSTS IN SCOTLAND YARD. A strange ghost story is perturbing the peace of mind of the inhabitants of Great Scotland Yard. From investigations made by a representa- tive on Saturday night it would appear that weird occurrences have been taking place of late at the Reformatory and Industrial Schools Offices, just opposite the old headquarters of the Criminal Investigation Department. In this building, it is said, anyone working late at night, or at any time after office hours, is apt to hear the doors slammed and windows opened, and even see shadowy apparitions. No one has been able to trace these manifesta- tions to any human agency. In a neighbouring house (the Pressman was informed) they have ghosts walking upstairs, but they take no notice of them. notice of them.
[No title]
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Dymunir i'n gohebwyr Oymreig gyfeirio eu gohebiaethau. llyfrau i'w hadolysju, etc., fe! y canlvn:—" It AKO, Cii Hedd, Berth win street, Cardiff."
AT Y BEIRDD.
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AT Y BEIRDD. Ar gais amryw a'i clywsant noswyl Ddewi yng ngwledd Cyml'odorion "Caeirdydd y cy- hoeddir can y Gol. Dyddorol ar lawer cyfrif yw cnglynion an- nerch Asaph Glyn Ebwy i'w frawd-gerddor. Gyda llaw, diolcha'r Gol. am y Greal a'r bregetli, a'r mwyniant a gafwyd yn ei darllen. Pregeth gywrain ac awgrymiadol ydyw, a. doeth oedd ei chyhocddi. Nid rbyfedd ei bod mor boblogaidd. Er cystal svniadaeth Tegfab yn "GydafI awel y dydd," y mac'r mynegiant yn anghelf- ydd, ac o ganlyniad yn anefeithioi. Y mae yma ormod o amneidio a rhy fach o ddweyd. Cynnyg aflwyddiannus arall yw'r eiddoE. H. at wneud englyn j'r Gwirod-ddyn nid oes ond y cyrch yn gywir. Mae'r acen yncroesi yn y paladr- "Y gwiROD-Dnyn, gwr DIDDa, d heb ei hateb yn yr asgell gyntaf— Och o'r Dyn, dibarch yr a a phroest llafarog yn yr olaf- 0 ben iddo barA." Mae'r gystrawen hefyd yn yr esgyll yn ddi- obaith. Rhaid i E. H. fyfyrio yn ddwysach.
BARDDONIAETH.
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BARDDONIAETH. Y BARDD A CHYMRU WYL DDEWI 1908. Fy Nghymru hoff, Brasgamu 'rwyt i ben y bcyn, A'm hawen gloff Yn hercian ar dy ol o'r glyn, I ofyn iti'n fwyn, Wrth fynd yn wysg dy drwyn, A wyti, mewn gwirionedd, wedi deffro? A wyddost ti mai Saesneg carbwl eto ftwrddani yn dy foreu gwyn ? Rhwng cwsg a. deffro, Gochel! pai 1 & chwympo Dros ddibvn llwyddiant I ebargofiant Cymro di-G-ymraeg, ffashyrifel, Y Cymrodorion deloshynol, Beth?—'wyti'n ateb rhvwbeth, ^ywed? Wel, aros funud imi'th ddeall di: 'Nawr, ynte: 'rwyf yn gwrando, ond ynclywed Rhyw swn rhwng hisiansarff a-chwyrniad ci 0, Saesneg yw dy frawl—wel, fire, aicay In English then, tor 'lis St. David's Day- Fm a real little nation, With a living language too, • Andmyptan of education Helps me wonderfully through. See my boys they boss the Empire Strong Sir Sam and Lloyd-George bold, Owen Edwards, too,—my umpire,— Meek and mighty—good a* gold." Gwir. fy Nghymru famtol: MAE Llwyd o Wynedd a Syr Sam Yn glod i ti, aC-:lf1.ith eu mam; Ac iawn eu camol; Ond os na elli eu catnot yo Gymra'g, Wel. T-ig' Ond dyna. mae'n Wyl Ddewi, A rbaid i Gymro dewi J wrando'tli Saesneg di; Ac felly, ffwrdd a hi— ''Listen, Welshman: I'm now 'classy': — Never more bid me to choke; I'm a patriotic lassie: Don't I wear a Ce'tic' floak ? If my language is all Saxon. Mark my accent—there you are And nay hair is black-not flaxen: Wasn't I born at Aberddr ?" Gwir eto, Gymrvi brydferth, ffol, A nawr y rhedeg sy ar dy ol Gan Ddic y dyddiau hyn Ond wedi gwadu'th wlanen, Ti elli wadu'tb acen. A gwr hod dy genhinen, A'th blant, a'tlj lên, a'th delyn, A Uiwio'th wal^t yn felyn Cyn iddo droi Vh-iwyn! A thros y dfbyn Fe all dy glogyn Dy dripio'n sydyn I lynclyn coH PhuMtia syh. Oyw. Gymru 'ngjialon.- Dysg a char Gymraeg— Shafad bkth o'r ¿¡"g- A'th geidw'n Gymru byth Ath gefn gwan yn .^yth Ymysg cenhedloedd cstron. 0 bcb Ctymmeg, er cymaint fydd dy fri, fyddi'th bowa* byth yp PPi*—» f Oh, to me that's ntitfiuig, xneddi di; (Twir. ond mae ynYtaWer jawn i mi— I mi mae'n fwy ui tin dy hunan— T'; Yn well nft'tb Iwydd a'tJ1 aur §'th arian I mi, sy'n Gyraro tlawd A'i galon, fel ei fin, Yn feddw ar hen, hen, felus win Dy feirdd f> r hyd yr oesau, A'i ftydd, a'i flun, a'i ffawd; Yn iaith ei fam a'i inoesau, 1, Mae'th wel'd yn codi'th drwyn Ar fy iaith a'i Hen a'u swyn Y ehwerwaf o'ro holt loesau., Gymru! Depro r mae'n ddydd!" Yw'r gerdd ar lais a, thant; "Deffro: mae'n ddydd Yw adsain bryn a phant; Ddlro; mae'n ddydd Yw cri dy Seisnig blant: "Deffro: mae'n ddydd Medd ysbryd Dewi Sant. Deffro i fod yn rhydd— CYMREIG byth fo Cymru Fydd I Ifano.
CAROL GYNTA'R GWANWYN.
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CAROL GYNTA'R GWANWYN. Ar foreu teg, heulog, daeth canig i'r llwyn, Nes llanw distawrwydd y geedwig a swyn. Ai purdeb yw nodwedd y garol fwyn, fyw ?4 'Gyweiriwyd y tannau gan fysedd fy Nuw? Mewn tymestl auafol pariysir y g&ri— Mae drycin a chanig yn byw ar wahan. 'Rol hirnps o draltod a brwydro'r dpg, DaW penill i'r galon lei angel Ron. f*«i b\}^sai mqlawdtfu dynoli^eth yn bqr. Ai 'I yn Ed^n-.Bariidwys, yn wir, Prysura, pryeuta. i Gi)e&d am falm Dry stfir^ii dy fywyd byth bythol yn salm. Capel Dewi. D. L.
« GYDAG AWEL Y DyDDi"
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« GYDAG AWEL Y DyDDi" (Gen. iii., 8.), Gydag awel y dydd > A'n ddistaw |fel 6d, Yn llais hedd, neu gwyn Y mae Duw yn d°d.. Y mae'r heddyw o hyd I'w dranoeth yn dwyn Ei geryddon o lid, f Neu hpdd, a'i wên fWya. ) ? Fy ffol gynddydd a'i ddfw:g Wna'in heddyw'n brudd \¥e44» Arlem awel a'i gwg Daw adsain ddi-hedd, Ddoe'm gwyllt bleserau gyd, Im'heddyw dry'n ffol; v Mae swn Duw yn ei lid' A'i adlais o'm hoi. ■ I'r meddwyn, neithiwr, mae Heddyw'n foreu cas; Rhydd awel Duw a'i gwae Fustl ar bob bias. Clyw, gablwr Crewr byd, Neges awel friw Sy'n chwim genhades llid,— Ceryddon dy Dduw. Bob borcu ddaw'n ddi-hedd o farnollvs lor, Fel angel deiflol wedd, A'i gledd wrth dy dd6r, Ca'r gwadwr hyf ci iaith, Fel Pedr, goffa'n ngh3.n Rhyw geilipg foreu Jlait^, Wna'i fron yn dah- Gylch pob gwa'rddedig bren Llais Duw sydd yn glir; Aiff pecbod byth daI^- Cuddiedig ddail iv- I Penrhiwfer.
TYSTEB GENEDLAETH OL MJl D.…
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TYSTEB GENEDLAETH OL MJl D. "V EMLYN EVANS ■, Onid amlwg man). E ml yn—E vans Ywhyfawranwylddyn Gwlad y gerdd a'i golud gwyo, Ei mpliant, a'i haur melyn t Teg wyneb pum' cant gini—o dysteb f Niddistadtmewndifrfr Ond gwawl yw o i freiniawl fri A'i geinwych addysg mi. Hefyd amlwg yw fod Bmlyn—yn tôr o fawredd dilychwyn— Mawredd dysg-hyddysg yw hyn 0 ayw Baris i Berwyn- Ei farn fel cerdd -feirniad—a ystyrir Yn 'stdr o ddysg wi wfad Ac ei wych fawrwych fwriad Yw goreu les gwyr e'\ wlad. In teimlad, mae tant Emlyn,—a'\Jelus Foliant yn arobryn, Mai diliau mel y delyn Yn mawr swypo bro a bryn. Cerddor a lienor Uonwych—yw Dewi, Er dued ei entrych, A'i anfwyniant yn fynycli, Foreu a nawn, gan fawr nych. Wrrth y ddesg. yn llesg a Uwyd,—y gweljr E'n cwylio am abwyd; Yn nyfroedd ginn c»p a'i cwyd I hir hwyl ar ei aelwyd. < Wel, yn y gan, lànci gwedJ Ymloned am gan mlynedd A'r nef lan fo'i sejrian sedd Yn da#wel yn y diwedd. • | A»»ph Glyn Ebwy.
0) u k) -..,stI ./
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0) u k) stI The Desirable Marriage. By DOROTHEA GERARD, Author of A Spotless Reputation," "The Rich Miss Riddell," The Impediment," "The Et-ernal Woman," &c., &c. Lady Milrov looked after the two young people with a certain benevolent sgnUlcanccj then across the tea table, no less significantly, at her guest, only to discover that the Countess of Belbrooke's eyes were similarly occupied. Within the same moment the gaze of the two mothers met, and spoke so plainly that for their respective tongues to have kept silence would have been mere affectation. j A penny for your thoughts laughed I Lady Milroy. ■■ 1 To be precise, admitted the countess, 1 was wondering whether the Alps or the Pyre- nees would do best for a honeymoon at this season." I would almost -back Molly to discover a new terrain Manchuria or Iceland, or some- thing, at any rate, that nobody has ever thought of before in ttPvt light. She hates doing things like other people, you know. "Dear girl;" murmured the countess, her eyes still upon the couple receding down a. ¡ gravelled, walk which led, among other places, to the stables' "I wonder how long they will take to inspect that motor ? The pretext was just a trifle gtaring, wasn't it ? But Jack has been ou tenter-hooks all day. I knew he would take the fir, t chance he had of getting put out of pain. I daresay he is out of it by this time. And the two mammas smiled at each other in a perfect exuberance of goodwill, and then fell to speculating as to whether under the circumstances a country or a town wedding would be mope the "thing." Meanwhile the motor was standing peace- fully uninspected under the shed assigned to it from its arrival an hour ago for the gravelled Walk led to other places besides the stableyard —to an extremely inviting rustic seat, for m- stance, in a conveniently secluded spot. There Lord Naughton, commonly known as Jack," was pleading his cause—not quite so victoriously as was being surmised beside the tea table on the lawn. Y'es, Jack. I know all you say, and—and r I'm not pretending that you are nothing to me, but-—" Is there a but ?" asked Jack, reproach- fully.. *> Molly gave an impatient shake to her bright golden head. "If there was a 'but it would all be different." His brown eyes widened. Whatever do you mean? Is there anything wrongVith me ? No, nothing; that's just it." You re al- together too right." Would you mind stooping to the level of my intellect by putting that' into plain Eng- lish ?" It's this way, you see," said Moiiy, with thoughtfully knit brow. I've always ad- mired girls who marry against the wishes of;, their family. It must be so much more stimu- lating thaii the u«ual dutiful thing. In the schoolroom already I used to dream of running away with a music-master or a drawing- master—not with any particular one, you know, but just with some great undesirable in the abstract, and chiefly for the sake of shocking so many stupid opinions. Ai^d then, of course, there would be the excitement of the thing itself; the getting out of a window, per- haps, and a carriage waiting, and possibly a pursuit, and then the coming back and throw- ing oneself at papa's feet, and all that sort of thing. I'm not qui to HO exigeante now in the way of romance, and rye dropped the music- master idea, principadly.becauseI don't like the sort of hair:oil they use but still I had cherished a secret hankering after a little oppo- sition—a small fight at least for my happi- ness—just enough to make me feel that it's real- And you're such an awfully tame ending to •• all this, Jack, don't you see? Instead of having to fight Fllhave to be wept over by mamma, and blest by papa, and patted or theback by dozens of uncles and aunts. I don't feel as if marrying you were my idea, a c all. You know quite well that our papas have virtually settled it between them long ago, and that our mammas are probably exefaangine confidences about us at this very moment. I know what they'll call it—they'll call it it desirable marriage'—just as they did Adas, and. Edith's, and Janie's mai-riages. And \c>,u'i^ ovei&. mtirfo dreaMtxtty ^su'&.Wi! than fherfwj creaturas w«*.rc,'flinch ■you've got more Djoncv and a bigge^handle to vour name just everything that a. proper catch, oilght to have. It's all so frightfully unexciting, uon t you see Here Jack, who had been listenmg open- mouthed, relieved his feelings by a burst of laughter, under whose vigour the rustM: seat tremble?!. Upon inv word, Molly-—- But Molly's brow ruffled. She wasf evidently in no joking humour. Of course, you don't believe I m serious, but I am. I've always needed excitement, you know, and a marriage ought to to be an excit- ing thing, not a deadly flat one, like all those functions one goes to in the season, where everybody smirks and grins and prices the wedding presents and the lace on the bride's gCJwn, I'm just sick of the show. Don't forget that I've married off three sisters already. It will feel like being married for the fourth time —not for the first. And fancy having to smirk back at three hundred people—for, of course, mammawill do the thing in what she calls the proper fashiph.' T, I'm with you there, mused Jack, It is a deuce of a nuisance, but yet not exactly a valid reason for sacrificing our happiness. If one could escape that part,' said Molly, rather waveringly. Let's'escape it." "How?" I'll tell ^Sbu in ? moment. Let me think. He was on his feet now, pacing thoughtfully ahout. Yes—upon my wórd-T dont see why that shouldn't work. Molly, l've got an idea." An exciting one, I hope." Pretty fair. You see, I'm afraid I can't make myself quite as undesirable as you would wiph, because the property is entailed, you feriew, and the handle to my,name don't screw eS. But, though I agree that its a beastly conventional majpriage, 1 dpn, t see why it need come 8ft in a con ventjonal fafihion. Instead Qf waiting to be j atted on the back and given I away" let's cut and run for it. It would he;. better than nothing, anyway." Elope ?" asked Molly, breatblessly. 1 li Exactly. What are private licences for, I should like-to knowt Braytown is quite within reach. You can be back for breakfast without anyone knowing you have been away—if you're game to get up by candle-light; and then you can either keep it dark for a bit, or else we'll throw ourselves at yotir father's feet straight off—according to taste. Ye>u'ce sure of a. soold- mg any way. and the desired end of shacking • all the prudes of ydur acquaintance will like- wise be attained." Molly, rosy with delight, sprang to her feet. Splendid Yes that's much better. How will we do it ?" "With my motor, of course. I am aware that a horse, properly caparisoned, would be ever so much more appropriate from a romantic point of view, but not oulte so practical. Can you put up with anything so prosaic as a motor, do you think 1" I think I can-particularly if you promise I to. go at not less than eighty miles an hour. Oh, Jack, what fun And what long faces all the people will make who expect to be asked t to the wedding But, Jack, I don't think we'll come back at once. It would be more exciting to disappear quite—for a few hours at least. I should like them to be a littlti bit frightened about me; but not too much, of course." What will they imagine has happened to you, I wonder ?" Molly smiled a little wickedly. I know one thing they will imagine—if they get wind of the motor, that's to say. It will make them think directly of Sir Robert." Jack made a face. Has that fellow been here lately ?" Not since the last snub I gave him, about a fortnight, back. But I quite expert him to re- appear, for he takes a, lot oiihiubbing." How contradictious things are to be sure I'm afraid I don't quite föllow-the remark." Sir Roberfc would have-suited me so much better than you do. He. has at least the ad- vantage of a. bad reputation. It is quite pos- sible that papa would have objected, and that would have meant ajscrimmage." "If Sir Robert suits yolfso well, then why on earth don't you take liim ?" Because I happen not to be able to stand r, him whereas you I can stand—at a pinch. That's exactly where's the contradictionsness comes in." At which juncture Jack found it advisable to close Molly's moutth in a certain appropriate and time-honoured fashion. After which practical considerations put in their claim. I shan't be-able to do without one accom- plice," decided Molly, day and hour and various other details being fixed. Have you a maid who is both sharp and sure ?" 1 Yes; Celie is as sharp as a needleand quite sure, I think all the surer for not having mastered the English language in six months." Good. Then just square her. I won't have to square anybody, since, of course, I'll be my own chauffeur. I'll have my man waiting at the church door in order to look after the machine., just in case we want to take? a stroll, don't you know but he'll go in ignorance, though no doubt he'll come aW'ay wise." Is it still the same Frenchman you had in the spring ?—the one who used to flirt with Celie ?" No be"9 pas?edon to the very geutlemrin we've been talking about—with the eiiviably bad reputation." Ah, has Sir Robert got him ? That ct- V ■■ plains Celie's improved spirits, since Feather- hall is five miles nearer than Bromley." "Mademoiselle! L'auto—il estla. Faut faire vite. Mademoiselle Thus Celie, as breathlessly and nervously as though it were her own elopement that was being put into scene instead of that of her mistress. Here, already ? But it's not five yet; it wants twenty minutes to. Are you sure, Celie, that's not the fish cart or the baker ? They would look bigger in this uncertain light." I am certain, Mademoiselle. The carts don't come to the garden door, and they dotft smell like that, either." All right: so much tQe better. Jack is in a fine hurry." 'Hie last Words were for herself alone, accom- panied by a smile, likewise intimate, as, lighted by Celie, and hooded, capped, and goggled beyond all possibility of recognition, she stole down the back stairs. At last The long dreamed-of defiance of conventionality had just enough trepidation about it to flavour the adventure. Her heart beat fast, but never wavered for a moment. All the composure was on her side. all the alarm on that of Celie, in whose hands the dark lantern trembled visibly. Sure enough, close outside the back door of the flower garden, the monster waited, just taking shape in the autumnal dawn. Beside it, a motionless figure in a hairy coat turned up to the ears, and as closely goggled as she was herself. "Good-bye,Celie," whispered Molly. "You ve been very clever, and you shan't be scolded, I promise you. Dear me, what bad nerves you have to be sure Oh, Mademoiselle Never mind now. No time. When next I you see me I shan't be inademoiseye any longer." j In another moment šhe-was being helped to her place by the hairy man—silently and swiftly, as befitted so portentous a deed. An- other yet, and they were speeding down the lane towards the high road. Oh, Jack came Molly's ecstatic whisper Haven't we done it well ?" He pressed lierhand silently with his left, his right being on the guiding wheel. Almost it would seem that the gravity of their action weighed more heavily upon him than upon hpr irresponsible spirit, -keeping him tongue tied. But this was as it should he, and she liked him the better for it. Is my watch slow or yours fast ?" was her next question. "I didn't expect you for an- other quarter of an hour." I couldn't wait," said the voice behind the dust'-mask, maintaining a now super- fluous whisper, and almost inaudible because of the hum of the car, for they had now gained the high road, with no obstacle in view. Then for full fK tinutes Molly gave herself up to the enjoyment "f the situation.-Not only was she actually and really eloping, but never had she known this exact physical sensation, for Jack was handsomely keeping his promise concerning the speed. The dimly seen trees massed into hedges—the hedges into mere strips, being apparently run off a reel, while in the rush of the keen air upon her face it was all she could do to secure the proper comple- rncnt of breaths. No wonder, truly, if Jack held his tongue and his hands seemed glued to his wheel, and his eyes to the road. There was employment and to spare for a) t a man's fac- ulties in keeping a look ahead and his machine in hand. And what a hurry he was in Dear Jack Since taking on himself a flavour of un- lawfulness, Mollyfelt ever so much better able to appreciate his Qualities. Have you got the license ?" she managed at last to ask. He nodded, and also muttered something, apparently not meant for her ears. Another motor out at this hour ?" said Molly in a necessarily staccato voice, as a dis- tant but unmistakable toot penetrated to her hearing. Having glanced back swiftly her companion gave another turn to his wheel. "Whatever—are they—tooting for?" she gasped. We're not in their way yet, and they're not. likely to—catch us up." The motorist said something in wftich the devil distinctly figured. Clutching her head-gear Molly managed to get one look over her shoulder. The second motor was quite visible in the growing day- light; and almost it seemed to be gaining upon them. "Do they think it's a race I wonder?" thought Molly when, unexpectedly, the rush of air in her face relaxed, and the blur of branches beside the road resolved itself once more into individual trees. She had barely yet i realised vtbat; fcHe Space wa*i when, witti afciJBfcultitude of strange dOfwu^puffsi, the mo to* stood, ,r. "What-has Uappe.ned ?" she c^HSed, startled and to herself. I never knew liiat Jack could swear like that" for t.he motorist was muttering now more articulately and far more blasphemously than before. As he leaped to the ground Molly uttered a muffled scream for the violence of his move- ment had displaced the goggles, and the pair of eyes which for the space of a second met her's were not Jack's eyes—of that at least she was sure, though of nothing else, for already he had dived under the car, on the track of the damage. In a momentary paralysis of all her mental and apparently also of her physical faculties, Molly sat rigid. She was as unable to under- stand how this could have happened as though she had been born an idiot; in fact, she had still to grasp what exactly had happened. It was the first moment of real terror she had known in her life. Before anything like a resolution had come to her, the toot sounded again, quite close now, Knd a voice—ah how familiar—shouted her name in frantic accents of distress. That broke the speji. Struggling free of the rug across her knee, she sprang to the ground at the imminent risk of being caught between the two cars, of which the second simultane- ously halted. From it. precipitately. descended another goggled form into whose outstretched arms Molly unhesitatingly flung herself. Where the devil—" spluttered the real Jack, hoarse with dust and shouting, while Holding the trembling girl closfe to his side.8 Here !"• From the further side of the damaged ear the figure of the sham Jack surged up and, raiding a gloved hand, calmly turned down the "hajxy collar, and removed the dust-mask, whereupon the sallow face, the disdainfully pinched hps, a&d coolly-cvnical lightrgrey eyef. of Sir Robert G-rillfln became visible. "Considering that the game is up," he ob- served with a composure which did credit to his self-control if to nothing else—" I may as well allow myself a little more air. Wo'nt I have it out with the firm, though All a ques- tion of insufficient horse- power. In the mean- time, Miss Molly, allow me to hope that you have enjoyed your drive ?" "You confounded blackguard !"began Jack; but Sir Robert suavely interposed. Your expressions a re a trifle vigorous for the occasion. Lord Naughton. Since when does. the humouring pf a lady's whims rank as black- .guardism ? Miss Molly likes excitement as wé an know. and you cannot deny that this little episode has greatly enhanced the flavour of the—ah !—adventure. No need to frown so portentously. I would have to hand out the prize at the church-door, would I not ■I don't believe you meant to growled Jack. Not ? Perhaps you are right. Possibly it might have been beyond me not to make the most of my chances—supposing you hadn't overtaken us. One man in goggles is very like another, after all and at the altar rails it might have been rather late to step back. It is iust conceivable that Miss Molly might have had to make the best of the situation." Jack, speechless, took a -step forward; but Molly dragged at his arm. But how—when did you find out ?" she stammered. Oh, that part is simple enough. When one has a chauffeur who flirts with a compatriot, who likes presents, and is in her mistress's confidence CeHe, the snake said Molly between her teeth. Yes but the snake seems to have had a fit of remorse, else it's ten to one that Lord Naughton would sttll be waiting outside the garden gate." I'll fight you panted, Jack, "on French ground—-whenever you like, but nothing short of pistols, mind << No—no. Jack almost shrieked Molly, growing heavier upon his arm. No fighting oh! please not Sir Roberta spare eyehrows went up. "Dear me, Miss Molly, what a change 1 should have expected so exciting a thing as a duel to stand high in your favour." Thank you—no I have had quite enough excitement for one day—I don't want anymore. Promise me, Jack, that you won't nght If I forgive Sir Robert, then, of course, you've got to. There What has he done after aJl t Only taken me for a drive." ".1 ustj so—and paid for it by the smashing up of his machine," completed Sir Robert, turn- ing back ruefully to his motor. "Give him your hand, Jack pleaded Molly, irresistibly; I shan't be happy, if you don't. It was only a joke, after all." I'm not at all sure that it was a joke," said Jack'to Molly, while, having left the baffled baronet sprawling under his car, they were making up for lost time. If I turned out his pockets I shouldn't be surprised to find a second licence there. I do believe he counted on frightening you into taking him." That would have taken a lot of frighten- ing," declared Molly, as bold as brass now. But, nevertheless, her nerves had had a shake, as was proved when, on step-pingfrom the church after the brief ceremony, Jack asked for her commands. "'Perhaps we had better not keep mamma waiting any longer," she said, after a momen- tary hesitation. Let's go home and make a clean breast of it." 1 Which showed that either the adventure or else perhaps the words just heard within the church walls had had what is called a chas- -tening effect."
TALKS ON HEALTH. --.--
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TALKS ON HEALTH. BY DR. ANDREW WILSON. About Brsathing. It is astonishing to find how little attentiol is paid to the function of breathing, which WE all know is one of the most essential actione we perform in the maintenance of life. \Ve can subsist for varying periods in the absence of food or drink, or when both of these neces- sities are denied us but when the question 01 our air supply falls to be considered, we readily perceive that even a few minutes' stoppage of our breathing function ot necessity implies death by suffocation. We do not pay the amount of attention this important function deserves, in respect-to our demanding a con- tinuous supply of pure air. We are, in fact, con- tent very frequently to breathe in our houses, halls, chapels, and other public places an at- mosphere which may very easily be described as of putrid character. In fact, we are accus- [ tomed to inhale air of thoroughly bad charac- ter, when, on the other hand, we unhesitatingly reject food which shows any signs of decom- position, and water which in any way has been polluted. This fact must appear all the more strange to every thinking person when we further consider the double duty which breathing discharges 'in our history. This duty consists first of ail in getting rid of part of the waste matters of our body. These waste matters are the result of the work the body is continually performing, and the lungs are associated in this work with the skin, kid- neys, and liver. In the second place, however, breathing involves a second duty. If we give out. waste matters, we also, by the opposite action of breathing in, take into our lungs a supply ot air, containing oxygen gas as one of its constituents. This gas passes directly from the lungs into the blood, which last is its des- tination. The oxygen is carried by the blood to all parts of the body, and when we inquire regarding its ultimate history in connection with the body, we find that it may be com- pared very justly to the light we set to a fire, and without which the ccialoodsticks in the grate could not be consumed. Cold Air and Pure Air. Without oxygen no food we consume could be utilised for the purpose of the body in the production of heat, and also the develop- ment in our body of the power of doing work is impossible of attainment without the const at presence of the gas we inhale from the atmosphere. Clearly, then, breathing is a function of the highest importance in all living bodies, animal and plant alike It is not my intention here to dilate upon the necessity for the maintenance of health of our constantly breathing a pure atmosphere, but it should be firmly impressed upon our minds that many of the lung troubles especially from which we suffer, if not actually due to breathing an im- pure atmosphere, are made very much worse thereby. If the breathing of impure air does not actually produce disease, it at least lays us open, through its effects in lowering the system, to the attacks of many troubles. It is a notable fact that a cold atmosphere alone will not of itself give rise to lung disease. Not only do Arctic voyagers tell us that < hey exhibit a remarkable freedom from cold in northern latitudes, but we also find an object-lesson to the same effect in the open-air treatment of consumption. At the present time, in health re-o. ts, consumptive'subjects live in the clear, cold air, and sleep in rooms the windows of which are kept constantly open. So long as the body itself is kept warm, and so long as the skin surface is not subject ted to injurious chill, we can readily under- stand how the typical mode of breathing is that of admitting to the lungs the purest air we can get, and in respect of its temperature the coldness of such air seems to be quite im- material Persons who habituate themselves to breathing a pure, cold atmosphere, like those who can successfully take a cold bath in the winter season without experiencing inju- rious chill, find that they are less subject to cold attacks thsn their neighbours who habi- tually breathe an air which has been contami- nated. and which, in consequence, has its tem- perature raise 1. We may therefore well lay to heart the lessons which experience is calcu- lated to teach us, the chief of these lessons being that purity of the air inhaled is one of the most essential conditions, not merely for preserving health, but for preventing disease. Nose Breathing. In connection with this subject, an impor- tant hint may be given to readers in connec- tion with nose breathing.. As a rule, we do not regard the nostrils as the proper orifices by means of which we should inhale air into and expel air from the lungs. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that the nose is the true breathing channel- The lower animals offer us an apt object-lesson in this respect, Seeing that they habitually use the nose for breathing purposes. We have only to think of the spec- tacle of an over-driven horse to see that in such a case the natural action of the nostrils used as breathing apertures has become largely in- tensified. No doubt in the case of a man, who may .be Refined as, a §Pe«Aking animal, the mimth ugisivKies Jwi iuiportivricc yhich it -lacks m iQwet; life* ifcihajfeEsXregardgyl asr impossible to lay dowy ft,s. should continually breathe, through At the same tituo ,it. would be well if nOse biuathiug were more frequently pvacf lse3,^br the plain reason lhattije nostrils fotm channels which, being well supplied with bjood vessels, warm the air as it passes through rhem on its way to the lungs, a result, which is not attained when we breathe air directly through the mouth- Mr George Catlin, who lived amongst the North American Indians for many years noticed that Indian mothers were careful to close the mouth of their infants when by chance the mouths were open during sleep. These semi-savages had somehow or other learned the advantage of nose breathing, and the author alluded to contrasts in a very effec- tive way the statuesque appearance of a sleep- ing Indian breathing quietly through his nose. and the appearance of his civilised brothei sleeping with mouth open and snoring loudly- It might he well if mothers imitated the North American woman in respect of endeavouring to cultivate nose breathing in children when they are young. Per- sons who are troubled with lung complaints, • and who arc forced to wear respirators, might dispense with the latter appliance altogether if they reflected that the nose itself is an effici- ent natural respirator, and that it. posssessea also the advantage already mentioned which no respirator can exhibit—na^nely, the func- tions of a stove in warming the air which passes through it. Abeut Leeches. The practice of employing leeches for the purpose of reducing inflammation by removing the blood a limited surface of the body, has very largely; been given up. Yet like many old remedies of valuable kmd leeching should not be lost sight at as « viseful method of removing the teasing, of blooa vessels, and of subduing inflammatory? action. The leech is, of course, a peculiaf species of worm. and possesses in its mouth three teeth set in a circle. By the acfcioa of these teeth on the skin" it makes a bitt shaped like the letter Y, each limb of the letter corresponding to -she bite made by a. tooth. As the three bites meet in a common point, we see that this kind of wound is ad- mirably adapted for drawing blood, and ppssesses many advantages over a wound such as might be represented by a simple cut. In applying leeches the skin should bu first carefully washed Or sponged with tepid water, and the leech applied thereafter to the surface. If it does not immediately adhere and begin to draw blood, the skin may he pricked with a needle, so as to afford thn leech, as it were, a taste of the blood jfr desires. Another plan is that of rubbing a little milk on the skin by way of causing the leech to adhere. A leech should never be pulled away from the stin, and should be allowed to drop off. The quantity of blood a leech will extract can never b, regarded in any case as excessive, and if the animal be foolishly and forcibly removed th^ chances arc that the teeth may be left in the skin. When the leech has been removed it h well to place it on a plate and sprinkle a little sdlt over it. This will cause it to disgorge the blood. Thereafter it should be placed in a vessel of clean water, and after a time can be again employed.
PRISON FOR GIRL ACTRESS.
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PRISON FOR GIRL ACTRESS. Lily Clowes, the IS-year-old actress who was recently charged with child stealing, and mads her escape from the home to which she was sent, again appeared at the Middlesex Sessions on Saturday, in company with Frederick Harry Plumb, 23. Mr Birnie, for the prosecution, offered no evidence against Plumb, who was formally found not guilty and discharged. Clowes was then brought into the dock look- ing very worried. Detective Sergeant Trittoh said he fouad her associating .with. woDaen m Oxford-street after her escape from the home. Her mother carried on for gain the business of aspiritualist- The mother's house was respectable. Sir Ralph Littler That is what I wanted to- know. Sir Ralph told the girl he did not believe she had a strong mind, but she knew what she was doing, and she could only be detained in one way. It was a terribly painful thing to do, but she had had one warning when she was bound over at Edgware Police Court for theft. Further, she faithfully promised him to try and retrieve her character, but he believed even then she meant going to the devil as hard as she could go. He sentenced her to 12 month?" in the second division.
£150 FOR FALL FROM TRAIN.
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£150 FOR FALL FROM TRAIN. At Liverpool Assizes on Saturday Williaiv Hilliard, labourer, sued the London and North Western Railway Company for damages in respect of injuries to his son, aged six and a half years. In June, 1906, the child fell from a moving train near Chester, fracturing his thigh and permanently disabling his-, right hand. It was contended for the plaintiff that the carriage door had not been properly closed when the train left Liverpool, and that it new 'open when the boy. in crossing: the car- riage. happened to press against it.The defence was that the accident was caused by the lad playing with the handle of the door.—. A verdict was entered for the. plaintiff,^witlr £ 150.dam»ges,