Pontypool Free Press and Herald of the Hills

FROM WEYMOUTH TO ST. IIELIERS (JERSEY) AT NIGHT. It's 12 p.m. at Weymouth, it's dark and dull o'er head, The busy town is silent, the weary are in bed But what's this noise and bustle by strangers to and fro? They are passing to the steamer, which lies ensconced below,— They are bent on going to Jersey across the dark blue wave, For a day or so of sunshine, which for weeks they've had to crave. They've been toiling in old England-for toilers there must be, But now they seek for pleasure across the troubled sea. They hasten to the vessel's side, send luggage to the h ld, O'er s and blocks they hurry, and in their arms enfold Some ticles too precious to be stowed amongst the ass, Tb, .,Id them tight for safety, or they would go like ^lass. Tlies- inexperienced landsmen are now jolly, stout, and brave, The pood ship's still at present-she has not disturbed a wave; p." steam is up, the anchor's weighed, we gently glide from shore, P.d dangerous points and sunken rocks-the tidal wave is o'er. But !J upon the water, what glittering stars we sight, While dark o'erhead as dungeon—'tis phosphorescent light; It shine and glistens in the gloom with radiance known to few, 'Ti, :,ot .) those who plough the deep such sights are h, ugh t to view. Anon, the breeze is stronger-the waves begin to rise And battle with the proud bold ship as o'er their crest she flies. But. that's going on below the deck? Shall I the scene descry ? Or. rather, shall I pity those who thought they then must die ? The brave's cast down, the stout heart quails, the jolly, too, are mute. Oh, steward, what's that vessel for ? For me? Ah yes, 'twill suit. Lut o'er this scene I draw a veil, 'tis now the dawn of 'lay, I to the deck ascend some steps and see a grand display; The wind had died away, and from mid channel to the shore There stretched a scene of beauty I ne'er had dreamt before. Far away in the east, in a line with the sea- Where cloudlets and mists are all scattered and free- The bright orb of day, now rising so bright, Taks* away from my thoughts the scenes of the night. What glorious light now rises o'erhead, Whilst laggard and sluggard are resting in bed Wi at a scene for a painter-the man of fine art- If he to his canvas its charms could impart. But Nature's supreme, and art is but faint, And the artist's best efforts would fail him to paint- The vast fiery globe come from Neptune's deep grave, To lighten the land and the deep rolling wave The sea-bird now rising aloft in the air, With white spreading pinions its glories to share, Now of our good ship keeping close to the trail To pick up the crumbs which on the waves sail. My silver-winged friend, where do you reside ? On the wave-crested rock, or the wide flowing tide ? No cry have you uttered nor do you complain, But pick up the morsels that float on the main The wind is against you, yet still you succeed To pick up sufficient to satisfy need \ou ve no discontent nor thought of the morrow, No forebodings of gloom or halfway-met sorrow. Now. may I from you a lesson retain, T re patient and thankful and never complain, But receive what is sent from the Hands that sustain, And practice the wisdom of birds of the main. Now Guernsey and Sark we descry far ahead, « eli giidcd with rocks from ocean's deep bed- But fertile withiv with air bracing and free- A landmark for th"se far away on the sea. Again we pass onward for thirty miles more, And enjoy the land breeze while reviewing the shore. AN hat huge blocks of granite here cover the strand Sure a battle of giants was fought hand to hand have rounded the point, St. Auben's in view, And farther down south see Fort Regent, too. But what is that sound-that concussion of air- That splash in the water-wha.t's going on there? 'Tis a shell from Fort Regent, high towering rock, That caused the concussion and gave such a shock. Elizabeth Castle,—the Hermitage—past. And hurrah for St. Helier's, we've found thee at last' Pontypool. J. II.

[ALL BIGHTS RESERVED.! 'TWIXT CUP AND LIP. BY NANNIE LAMBERT, Authoress of "Spring Leaves" « Thoughts on the ife. CHAPTER XIII. (continued.) He uttors a digressed exelaaufion, as I ttirn fr-r, his carcase?, holds my hand imp'oringly in hi; shaking gra.). The light 11M began; the confl: has commence. with unexpected fury but it cannot be more severe than that of the morning, in which I have fought with my own heart, and have come off blooding victor. I cannot look at Derrick; I feel that to do so will unnerve me; and so, I droop, my head, and say- We must part Sly eyes are turned from him, but I can hear his heavy breathing, and feel the sudden chilling of the hand which has been holding mine in a burning pressure. Then," he says, are the sins of youth, long since repented of, and forgiven by my earthly father, as I believe thev are by my Father in heaven —arc they to find no pardon in your eyes I am struggling for words to answer him he mis Wres my silence, a.nd goes on: "When I told you, with honest candour, the faults of my early life, I did so in the belief, that, although they might never have come to your knowledge, it would nevertheless be mean and unworthy of me to hide anything from the eyes of the woman, who was to be my honoured wife: but I never thought—oh, never, never—that there I was one spot of hardness in the heart, which I so adoringly sought to win." lie rises to his feet, and walks to the table where he sits down, and leans his face upon his hands. The battle is going on, in terrible earnest. We ire each so rounded by the other, that neither of us is capable oi uttering a word. At length I recover sufficiently to say-" You havc entirely mistaken me. Surely no former act of yours calls for forgiveness from me: yet, if you desire it, you have the fullest pardon, the deepest affection, and the tenderost sym- pathy, which it is in a woman's nature to bestow. Nevertheless, I say again—we must part. "And why?" he asks, rousing himself, and once more falling upon his knees beside mp. "if what pou say is true, that the past does not weigh with rou, and that your love is mine, we shall never part igain You are now free my father is waiting to receive you you shall come to him, for his health. is :oo broksn to- enable him to come to yon he will welcome you as his own child and there, in that beautiful land where the sunshine never soems to fade, we will begin the world anew, and spend our unite l iives in joyous contentment, and in the blessedness )f doing good. We shall have the riches of this world, and the still greater riches of the heart; you jhall be shielded by loving arms from every sorrow: we shall never be apart—never be separated for one little hour; my steps shall be yours also, and your thoughts and wishes shall be mine. Look up, Maude, and tell me that it shall be so." His tone is one of rapture; his poor worn face is radiant; in spite of my resistance, he c'a3p3 me to him, and covers my cheeks and lips with frenzied Kisses. But the battle is not so soon to end! between me and the dazzling picture which his glowing words bave conjured up, there stands a hideous phantom- the shadow of the miserable being, who has exercised 10 deadly an influence over this man's chequorod life -and withdrawing myself from his arms, I lay my hand upon his wealth of golden hair, and say sadly Derrick, if you lovo me a.* you sav yoa do. and II. I believe, you will not pain me by prolonging a scene which I cannot, in my weakness, endure much longer. I am less strong than I thought, both ir body and in mind. I cannot be your wife. Derrick. Oh, my dear dear love, do not agonize me with thai look you have an honest and a chivalrous heart: it will tell you, when I have spoken, that [ am acting rightly, and that between you and me there is a barrier, which cannot be removed. Now listen to me. There is a woman, who has loved you with a love well-nigh as deep as mine, and which has been tested by years of trial. You have only given her the affection of a son, but her whole being has hung upon your lightest look. In short, she and I have been rivals for your love and I, suspecting this, although certainly not actuated by it, have steadily and determinedly tracked her footsteps in the path of crime, and have delivered her up to the justice which must, in a very few days, overtake and over- whelm her. If knowing this, I could, in sight of her agonies, enjoy with you the sweets of a world which her separation from you has made bitter fo: her, would I be worthy of your love ? Would there not come moments in which contempt might jostle with affection \Vould there not come years, in which you might say I have no pleasure in them?' I pause, with dry eyes, and stony utterance, but with a heart whoso tears arc wruno- out in blood. ° Derrick does not speak for a moment; then he saYiI: "You are as ever the noblest and best of wotnen la you [ have learned to respect a sex, which I have hitherto known but to despise. You are right, Maude, but I cannot give you up. 1 will see-will see-lier. You and she shall pardon one another You have done your duty: she will see that it was for-" "No, no," I interrupt-" never shall I look upon her again she is as dead to me, but her deeds remain." "And suppose," he cries hastily, "that it could be proved to you that you were not altogether in- strumental in bringing her to justice that other agencies than yours have been secretly at work tc ensnare her: what then ? what then, my darling Maude ?" When this is proved to me," I say with a cleadl3 pang—" when I know it, and believe it-then com< to me for an answer." Do you not think it at least possible ?" I think, and believe, that whatever she may have hp"n guilty of—with whatever motive others may be actuated in following on her track—I, and I only, have been instrumental in separating her from you, and in giving her over to her husband. When you can convince me that this is not the case, I shall listen to you again; until theu, and that is for ever- farewell I stand up to go, but he holds me powerless. Yot cannot leave me," he cries in an agony—" I cannot part from you. Let 11 be friends, if nothing more I will try to be contented-God knows I will-even though it break my heart "Do you think it is possible," I say, "for two persons, who have met and associated as lovers, v> meet and associate as friends? 0, no the tie whicb bound them, loosened, but not broken, would cause a rankling wound in the breast of each, always kept open—never healed bi,t the final, breaking of that tie, however agonizing, would be at least complete, I and the wounds might in time be healed; at all events, they would not hiurly bleed afresh, in sight of former happiness. No, Derrick! the mariner cannot look daily upon the rock on which his shij has been wrecked gazing upon it would only mad- den him, or would in time k:rl hi:n; when he loses light of it, the remembrance is less bitter,—and he may, perhaps, begin to bui.d itgain I do not ask you to forget me, Derrick, but I aøl: you to leave me I and in the time to come, you may find a wife who has never been mixed up in this painful drama, and who will be worthy of being brought as a daughter to the father who is ready to receive my unhappy self as such. If she Is worthy of you, she will be indeed an honoured and an honourable woman. And now, good-bye I trust to your love, and pity, to leave me in my loneliness." I hold out my hand. lie takes it for a moment in his-gazes at me with an expression which I do not dare to meet and then, completely breaking down, throws himself upon the couch, where he lies in an agony of bitter weeping. There is something so terrible in a strong man's grief, seldom indulged in, that even the coldest cannot look upon it unmoved what, then, must it be to me to witness his ? I, to whom his every tear is as a drop of gall upon my burning wounds Oh, the battle is raging now; the fight is so fierce within me, that my strength all but gives way yes, all but, -yet not entirely. I go to him—I stoop down-I kiss the fingers which arc clasped over his face-I ask God to bless him, and to guide and comfort him—and then, I take my bonnet from the table, and wait softly towards the door. He springs up, and arrests ny steps. You are not going to leave me, Maude?" "Yes, Derrick. I cannot indueo you, even by headings, to leave me and so I have no choice: I nust go!" Where are you going?" "I do not know." W hat are you going to do ?" I do not know." Have you no plan3 for tho futuro ?" "I have none." May I not come to see you once again "No; no remember what I said to you about ;he shipwrecked mariner—try to build again." Would you insult me, Maude ?" No; I mean what I say, and I mean it in kind. aess." In other words, ycu think I can love again." "I hope you may, dear Derrick." My God he cries, with a laugh which is more painful than tho bitterest weeping—"how parson» inock us, when they say that human nature is alike in us all' You hope that I may love again and I iolcmnly declare, that if I thought another would share your affection, I would rather a thousand-fold see you dead at my feet." Nobody ever shall!" I say with deep solemnity. "Liten to me," he cries, seizing my wrist in a grasp of iron, and dragging me to the window, the light from which falls full upon his passionate face- you and I may never meet again therefore, what [ now say, must be final. If you marry me, Maude, you can save me-you can mould me as you will, and lead me here to a happy hereafter if you reject me, you send me, as you know, body and soul-to perdi- tion Now, make your choice." He holds out his strong arms, inviting me to enter them, and the fierceness of the battle is so great that it threatenes to overwhelm me but the armour in which I have that morning encased myself, stands to me like tried steel, and I turn away, repeating my resolve, and praying him, for my sake, for the sake of his glorious manhood, and of the God in whose image he has been created, to lead a new life, and to endeavour to meet me in that future sphere, in which weeping and parting are alike unknown. i cannot tell if he heeds my words, for he has turned to the mantelpiece, and, leaning his arms upon it, has buried his face in his hands. The battle is raging so furiously now, that I know if I speak again—if I wait another moment-I shall be con- quered and so, whilst Derrick does not see me, I lift my hands for an instant in prayer for him, and glide noiselessly out. My landlady parses me in the hall, and falls back, horrified, crying out that I am ill. I do not answer her-I do not look at her. Throwing on my bon- net, I open the hall-door, tifl rush into the street. For hours and hours I wander about, not knowing whither I am going, feeling no fatigue, nor any desire for food or rest. People stare at me, as I hurry by, and coachmen shout to me, as I escape miracu- lously from under the feet of prancing horses. At length I grow dizzy, and sink down upon the earth, and then I am conscious of such utter prostration, that I am unable to rise. It is a lonely place. Only a solitary lady and gentleman are passing; they assist me, and the gen- tleman, after some delay, procures a cab. He asks whither he shall direct the driver, and on hearing, says—"That is a very long distance from this," and I see him put money into the man's hand. Then, he and the lady speak kindly and sympathizingly to me, and the gentleman lifts his hat, and they go off, looking pityingly at me, whilst I drive away in an opposite direction. I gaze dreamily from the window of the cab, as we roll along. We are passing green fields, and hedge- rows, and scattered cottages. Then we come to pic- turesque villas, dotted here and there, and more green fields; and then to a few brick houses, stretching gradually into terraces. Then shops appear, and life is seen stirring every where, and people are putting up their shutters, and lighting the gas in their business places and houses. Right through the great city we drive, and out; into another suburb, which I at length recognise and then we draw up before the door, from which I fled hours before. My landlady meets me, with scared looks, and anxious enquiries. She evidently thinks my brain is turned. I ask for a light, and go into the room in which I have last seen Derrick. It is empty, and dark, and cold. The fire has long since died out, and only the discoloured ashes hang in the grate. Then I pass into my bedroom, which is less gloomy, and in which I bid my hostess good-night, declining all her offers of food and assistance, by saying that I am quite well, and that I have had all I wished for, or required. That night-on the verge of morning—whilst I am sleeping the dull leaden sleep of exhaustion—there is, or I fancy there is, a cold hand laid upon my forehead, and Derrick, with a death-like face, stands by my side. NVith a cry of terror, I spring up, and gaze wildly about me—only to find that the room is desolate and empty, and that the rain is splashing, in miniature waterspouts, against the dripping window.

CHAPTER XIV. Ten days after. I am stretched upon my bed, from which I have not risen since the day upon which I parted from Derrick. I am not ill—not attacked by any actual malady: yet from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot, there is no soundness in me, and my mind, even more than my body, is one great sore. To lie listlessly through the weary hours, to watch the sunshine playing upon the walls, to listen to the monotonous twittering of the sparrows upon the housetops, and to wish when it is morning, that the night were come, and when it is night, that it were again morning—these have been my sole occupations. I have seen nobody—have heard no news of any sort—the world and all pertaining to it, might be dead, for all I know or think about it. My meals are brought to me by my landlady, or by the maid-of-all-work, and I eat and drink, as in a dream, and lay aside my plate, without knowing what I have eaten. Sometil11" s I have tried to think —to reason with myself, as to how all this is to end, and how I am to live when all my money shall be exhausted-but the exertion of thinking has been too much for me, and I have turned round upon my pil- low, and again gazed listlessly at the sunbeams upon the wall. On this particular day, however, I have been en- deavouring to rouse myself, with the reflection that this state of things cannot go on for ever, that this prolonged inactivity, must, if indulged in, prove ruinous to mind and body-and have just crept from my bed with a mighty effort, and am wondering how it is that I cannot stand upright without the aid of the foot-rail, when a knock comes to my door, and a telegram is brought in. The sight of it makes me grow dizzy I feel so certain that it is from Derrick but no-it is from the housekeeper at Beech Hill, stating that my uncle, Stephen Ashton, has arrived, and begging of me to go down without delay. She does not say at wnat time he has come, nor if he is ill, nor why I am to go to him, in place of his coming to me: I am left to surmise these things, and to wonder at the strangeness of the message. I am surprised at the small amount of energy there is left in me; how little this important news affects me; how slowly and apathetically I prepare to obey the summons. As I proceed to dress myself, my strength seems in a measure to return, and to my amazement I am able to get into a cab without assistance, and am whirled away to the station. It is a burning day in early summer: a contrast to the bitter weather which nipped my fingers and per- ished my frame, during my first well-remembered journey along the same route. At the station, the housekeeper, Mrs. Hall, is waiting to receive me. She looks in my face, and passes me by-and I then know how changed I must 1'0 When I speak to her, she is evidently shocked out is too good-natured to make any comment upon my altered looks. She only asks me a few brief questions, which I answer as briefly, and then offers me her arm, which I am glad to accept. As we walk from the station, she says- "Your uncle came yesterday. He asked for you, and seemed much disappointed when I told him your address he evidentlyjcounted upon finding you here and had himself, come down from town. I pressed him to remain for rest and refreshment, but he would not enter the house at all. He was on foot-had left his luggage in the city, and had come down by train. So ill and broken did he appear, that I myself ac- companied him to the gate. When opposite the lodge, and as he was thanking me and saying good- bye, he fell down motionless, and appeared to be suffering great agony. I fancy he is labouring under a disease of the heart, and that the unusual fatigue overcame him. Mrs. Johns, the woman who keeps the lodge, was away, but her husband and I carried him in, and did all we could to make him comfortable. I went for the doctor, but when he came, your uncle would not see him, and was furious with me for doing so. He makes little of his illness, but I fancy it is more serious than lie believes, for, despite his anxiety to return to town, he was quite unable to do so, or even to leave the lodge. Johns and I sat up with him all night. He would not allow us out of his presence, for fear we should telegraph for you, which he said was unnecessary, as he would bo able to go to you early in the morning. To-day, however, found him more prostrate than before, and he at length reluctantly consented that you should be sent for, and now seems anxious for your arrival. I commis- sioned Johns, when leaving, to send again for Dr. Marston, and to bring him into the patient's presence whether he were welcomed or otherwise. I have nothing more to tell you, Miss Ashton." I listen attentively to her recital—utter a few words, in commendation of her conduct—and then, walk on silently by hcr sde, until Beech Hill is reached. When we enter too lodge, I see three persons Johns, the gardener, who rises respectfully as we go in my uncle, Stephen Ashton, lean and miserable but evidently quite conscious, lying upon a bed in an inner room, the door of which is open; 'and a third I person, a man whom I take to be the doctor, stooping over the patient, and conversing with him. His back is toward me, but as he turns on our entrance, I see ¡ with untold amazement, that it is the tall stranger who haunted me upon the night of Mrs. Daring's flight, and whom I have since seen and recognised in Scotland Yard. He looks at us as we come In, but without any apparent curiosity, bows slightly, confers again for a moment with the sick man, and goes out, his exam- ple being followed by Johns, and also by Mrs. Hall, who first leads me up to the couch, and says-" This, sir, is your neice.' My uncle stretches out his lean hand, draws me forward into the full light, looks keenly at me with his penetrating eyes, and says- So, this is my niece. Child, how frail you look Are you ilL-" No, uncle." "Have you been ailing "No, indeed, uncle." "Well, well," he says, "you look as if you had. i'hey have been scaring you with stories about me: that is it: you are frightened. What a shame it is "No, uncle; you mistake. I am quite composed, and am not at all ill." He lays the tips of his ten fingers together, looks at me, half smiling, and says-" I don't believe it." His manner is so kind, that I cannot take offence at the words. I tell him that where he is so ill, himself, enquiries for me are quite superfluous, and ask if I can do anything to contribute to his comfort. He takes my hand, and says-" You are a good child, but I want for nothing. I am not in any paiu —only,'at times"—and he lays his hand upon his heart-" it gives me a blow that is all. I shall be up to-morrow—up and about! I cxild go to town this evening, I fancy, only they won't allow me. 0, wait awhile: I shall be quite strong to-morrow." His tone is hearty and cbcerful, but Death shakes hia hour-glass in the sick man's face, and belies his words. I throw off my bonnet, and sit calmly down by his lide, to await the next change. All my feelings are so numbed by suffering, that I am in no way dis- turbed. He locks my hand in his, and falls into a deep sleep. Through many long hours, I never move. I watch his thin worn face, sunk in its quiet repose, and stroke the emaciated fingers, lying so quietly within my own. Poor, poor heart, beating irregularly on sometimes almost audibly marching like a tired soldier, to its last well-earned rest. Poor heart full, as I come to know, of generous impulses, warm attentions, honour and steadfastness, and pure, guileless, unparaded re- ligion-wronged, and tortured, and wrung, by those who were ever its first care--bcating its funeral march as it nears the ghostly goal--throbbing its last throbs in a land of strangers. Poor, :poor heart! I could weep, if I had tears,—but the source of mine is dried. (To be concluded in our next).

CAPTAIN CAREY. A London contemporary says There is a point of view from which the persistent silencc of Horse-Guards officialism with reference to Captain Carey remains yet to be considered. That officer has a mother in England, whose anxiety concern- ing the fate of her son may possibly equal that of the ex-Empress who lost hers in that wretched South African skirmish. Has she been kept in suspense all this time ? Or have the findings of the Court-martial and the results of its revision .1'. at home been secretly whispered to her, whether from Madeira or Pall-mall P In any ease a gross cruelty has been wreaked upon this unfortunate lady. When the meanest and vilest culprit who stands in the felon's dock is condemned his friends know his sentence from the instant it is pro- nounced, and, should a commutation be granted, it is made known at once, to the convict n and to his relatives, and to the public generally, without the slightest avoidable delay. Military law re- cognises no such humanity. Its judgments arc given in secret, and not published until, perhaps, all opportunity for their effectual discussion by the outside world has gone by. What the mother of Captain Carey may have endured is past imagining, while the fate of her son depended upon a scratch of the pen at Whitehall. And it may be that there are others to whom lie is no less near and dear than to herself—no less near and dear than was the young French Prince to the French ex-Empress—and who, to this mo- ment, are agonised between hope and fear. Not that any cause for the worst alarm can be said to exist, because, whatever the desires existing in particular quarters, no Government would dare to execute Captain Carey. Yet there are militarv and social punishments which, in the sight of many, are almost worse than death; and not a few human hearts, possibly, are throbbing with anxiety to know what has been the alternative resolved upon to blot-out the memory of a fool- hardy and self-seeking adventure, and a blunder on the part of Captain Carey's official superiors. Whoever else must be kept. "waiting for the verdict," ought their especial agony to be pro- longed?"

KILLING WOUNDED ZULUS. The following is an extract from a letter by a private soldier, graphically describing the battle of Gingilhovo 11 We could not get the native contingent out for some time, but when they did get out they killed the wounded properly' with their assegais, sticking them into their stomachs and turning them round like 1 have seen you, dear mother, cut tho crnst out of a steak pudding. This is war carried on by a pre-eminently Christian nation ostensibly seeking to evangelise the poor bemgbtcd Zvilus other saveR of South Africa "When a cry tf horjlbr echoed through the country at the inhuman butcheries of the Bashi Bazouks. it was said that the Turkish. Government had not the control over tl eir irregular troops which they should have had. What can we say of them now ? Let him that is without sin first cast the stone." It is no real excuse for us to say they were irregular troops—we have no right to employ them if we cannot have a decent control over their conduct. There are plenty of our own soldiers to carry on a little war like this-in fact, Sir Garnet Wolseley thought there were too many of them at the seat of war, for he has sent some of them home.

'J lllan can ever tell just how much money a widow is worth until he marries her for it. It it one of those cases where you have to take your chances. QUERY.—Is there a scientific man in the country who can tell, after a sock gets a hole in it, whal becomes of the material that once took place of the aperture ? A BACHELOR observed that he would marry if certain of a wife perfectly good. A bystandex begged him to bespeak one, as few such were to be had ready made. < ToTop, I feel sig all over, und de pebles dell me I better take your fissicks.' Chemist: All right sir. Will you take a dose of salts or of some pills ?' Veil, vat it costs for saulds?' Threepenco, sir.' 'And how mooch for dem fi-sicking pills?' I I'll give you a dooe for the same price.' Toctor, you dond got no second-hand fi-sicking pills, ain't you A old gentleman, without tact, on meeting some ladies whom he had known as girls in his boyhood, cordially remarked, 'Bless me! How time flies! It is fifty-two years come next July since we used tc go to school together in the old red schoolhouse. I was a little chap then, you remember, and you were fine young women.' The old man could never under- stand the reason why his cordial greeting was received so coldly. THEY are so precocious in thq neighbourhood oi Worcester, Massachusetts « My little seven-year-old girl,' writes a friend, was in the sitting-room alone with her uncle, and dreamily looking from the window without turning her head she Said, 'Uncle Horace, eight and seven make fifteen, don't they ?' He re plied that she was right. < Then,' said she, in haH soliloquy, it is only eight vears befoFe I shall have a beau, and, oh, 1 ctreaa lj.r

CAPTAIN CAREY'S CAREER. Capt. Carey is the son of the Rev. Adolphus Carey, vicar of Brixham, in South Devon, but his family, we believe, came from Jersey. His maternal grandfather was Admiral Sir Jahlecl Brenton, who greatly distin- guished himself in the naval warfare under Nelson and others at the beginning of this century, being first lieutenant of his Majesty's ship Caesar, and afterwards the commander of the Spartan frigate. Jahleel Brenton Carey, the subject of this notice, was educa- ted at a French Lycee Imperiale, and at the Military Staff College, Sandhurst, where he obtained a free commission. He entered the service in 18G5, in the late 3rd West Indian (negro) Regiment, and was placed in command of the fort at Accra, on the Gold Coast. Having returned with his regiment to Jamaica, he served in the expedition on the Mosquito Coast, or in Honduras, and was favourably mentioned in despatches. When his regiment was disbanded he came to England on half pay, and went through the Hythe course of musketry instruction, for which he gained a first-class certificate. He volunteered in 1870 to serve with the English ambulauce in the war he- tween France and Germany, and received special thanks, with a cross and ribbon, for his conduct in the relief of the French wounded. He afterwards studied in the Staff College, which he left with high testi- monials, and volunteered this year for the Zulu war. j He was appointed to a lieutenancy in the 98th, or Prince of Wales's Regiment of Infantry, and went out in the transport Clyde, which was wrecked in Simon's Bay. Lieutenant Carey was specially commended for his conduct on board that vessel, which conveyed mils- tary reinforcements. Having arrived in Natal, he was employed in surveying the route for the troops, and in the selection of camping grounds, all the way up the country. He was placed on Lord Chelmsford's staff with the appointment of Deputy Assistant Quarter- master-General, and rendered much useful service.— Illustrated London News.

INEXHAUSTIBLE FUEL. The following is an extract from a letter of Miss M. Bentham Edwards "I send you the following particulars of a recent scientific invention, just pa- tented, and destined, without doubt, to play a very important part in our economic history. I think it must be regarded as a solution for once and for all of the great coal question, or rather fuel question, not only among ourselves, but abroad. M. Bour- bonnel, of Dijon, the celebrated lion and panther slayer, lighted upon the following discovery by hazard, and after six years' persistent investigation brought it to entire workable perfection. He discovered, by means of two natural substances, inexhaustible in nature, the means of lighting and maintaining a fire without wood or coal; a fire in- stantaneously lighted and extinguished; a fire -Y I,- I- causing no dust, smoke or trouble; a. nre costing one-tenth at least of ordinary fuel; and, what is more wonderful still, a fire the portion of which answering to our fuel is everlasting, that is to say, would last a lifetime. M. Bourbonnel's invention comprehends both stove and iuel. The fires could be on the minutest scale or on the largest. They would be used for beating a baby's food or for roasting an ox. Being lighted instantaneously, they will be a great economy of time.. M. Bour- bonnel at once patented his invention, and a body of engineers and savants from Paris visited him, and pronounced his discovery one of the most remark- able of the age. He has had several offers for the purchase of the patent in France, but wa,nts to sell it in England, his own occupation being in another it in England, his own occupation being in another line. Any English gentleman or firm wishing to see his fires or stoves could do sc> by writing to him a day or two beforehand. His address is M. Bour- bonnel, Dijon. I have seen these fires and stoves. There is no mistake about the matter. It is as clear as possible that here we have a per- petual and economical source of fuel. Two hun- dred years ago the discoverer would surely have been burnt as a witch.—Ath £ tg$tUn.

AN old lady said she never a WLIERS all til the Smith's come from, until a large si.-n, Smith manufacturing Compaiiii ° A CALIFOUXIAN politician says that the path of roc- titude has been travelled so little In that State of late years that it has all run to grass. As old lady, being at a loss for a pincushion, made one of an onion. On the following morning she found that all the needles had tears in tleir eyes. No man can ever tell just how nuch money a widow is worth until he carries her fjr it. it js 0I10 0f those cases whore you have to tale your chances. A Ygl-7NG Lady, gazing on her portrait just finished by a rising young Ettist, remarked, I took like a canvas-back duck.' He felt like eating her. ° A FAsmox Writer tells us that it is stylish to fnar a knot of ribbon on theshoulder of evening Srpsses. Then such a dresf is knot stylish, we presume. A RAILWAY SIGNAL TORCH-Some experiments with a new railway signal todh have recently been ,n made on the South-Eastern lhe. The torch, which is the invention of Mr R. Varey, contains a chemi- cal preparation that burns wth intense brilliancy, and throws such a light overthe line that it can- not fail to attract the attention of a driver. It was demonstrated at the tials that the signal, when attached to an elevate( post, could be seen for a mile and a-half, and asthe torches are port- able, they can be readily carried in numbers by guards and others engaged <n the line. A CHASE AFTER ELEPHAN's.-An exciting chase took place on Monday eveniig at Warrington after two elephants, belonging o Myers's American Circus, which arrived in thetown in the morning. The elephants were frightered by a dog barking at them, and ran out of the field, where the tent was pitched, into the street A crowd of people immediately gave chase, shouting at them, which still further excited the elepiants, causing them to rush through most of the pincipal streets. In the market-place they knocked down two men, who, however, were not much njured. The animals were ultimately captured, bit not before the keeper had been crushed against he wall and seriously hurt.

REV. J. P. BELLINGHAM ON PRIMITIVE METHODISM. On Monday, amidst hundreds of spectators, the foundation stone of a new Primitive Methodist Chapel for Hereford was laid by Mr J. Rankin, of Bryngwyn, the Conservative candidate for Leo- minster. Mr Hankin said that although a staunch adherent, of the Church of England, he was a warm supporter of those who believed in the faith taught by the Bible, no matter by what name they were called.-The Rev J. P. Bellingliam, Cardiff, de- livered an able address, in which he said he was glad of the opportunity to say a few words in con- nection with the great work which had been com- menced that day under such favourable circum- stances. That building was being erected as an evidence of their faith in the truth of the Gospel. For more than 50 years Primitive Methodists had propounded the truths of the Gospel in the city of Hereford. When first introduced it was done under pain of prosecution, persecution, and im- prisonment; but when time passed on and people got better acquainted with their doctrines, they got more favourable to them, and hundreds of souls had been converted, and many a Christian had left evidence behind that they had hope of immortality in the faith. The grandest of all credentials was the erection of this place of wor- ship, which showed a desire on the part of society to bring Gospel truth more prominently before the world. He did not. "believe in their stopping in back streets and lanes," but their places of wor- ship should be prominently brought out. Board schools, halls of science, and me«hanics' institutes, each secured prominent places for their homes, and so should all places of worship. (Hear, hear.) They preached nothing new, the grand old Gospel truth-one faith, one hope, one baptism, one bible, one cross, one Saviour, and one way to the Kingdom of God, and happiness in Heaven. Some churches believed in many sacraments, but they only believed in two; and Ritualism they did not agree with. The advance of Primitive Methodism had been so great that they would be surprised when he told them that in 10 years last past they had erected two chapels per week, at an average cost of XI,000 each. His great desire when he resided at Hereford had been accomplished, that they should have a better place of worship. The result might have been brought about by the aid of horny hands, but a sovereign was a sovereign whether held by the hand of a giant or a child. The Gospel truth was the Gospel truth, whether it was laid down by a working man or a college-educated clergyman. (Hear, hear.) The rev. gentleman then detailed his Sunday minis- trations in the streets of Cardiff, which had borne much fruit, and concluded by wishing that the Primitive Methodists of Hereford would largely extend their influence for good.

A CWMBRAN CASE AT NEWPORT COUNTY COUNTY. MONDAY.—Before J. M. HERBERT, Esq., Judge. ACTION AGAINST THE EXECUTOKS OF AN ESTATE. King v. John Jenkins and Thomas J. Jones, as executors of the estate of David Games, deceased. —Mr Jeffries (instructed by Messrs Morgan and Spott, solicitors, Cardiff) appeared for plaintiff, and Mr A. Lawrence, Oxford Circuit) instructed by Messrs Pain & Son, Newport), for the defend- ants. The claim was for X14 4s 3d, for goods sup- plied by plaintiff, a publican at Cwmbran, to David Games, who lived with the plaintiff for some years, and who died at plaintiff's house. The de- fendants acted as the executors of his estate, and they made a counter claim for the value of the contents of a box which had been left in the room occupied by deceased. Mr Jeffries stated the facts. He said the late David Games lived for many years in the house of James King, at Cwmbran, and died in August, 1878, at the advanced age of 80 years. During the years that the deceased lived at the plaintiff's house he found all he required except his Sunday dinners. Plaintiff now claimed five years' lodging at 2s per week. Deceased was taken ill in June, 1878, and he was more or less ill until his death in the month of August. Mr and Mrs King nursed him during his illness, and provided him with all he needed for his comfort, Mrs King keeping an account of all that was supplied. They charged .£44s for the nursing, and there were sundry fune- ral expenses. In deceased's bedroom was a box, and a few days before he died he gave Mrs King the key, and said the box and its contents were to be hers, to do what she liked with. Deccaseclleff. a will, dated September 1st, 1877, by which lie (ii- rected his executors (the defendants in this action) to get in the sum of X400, which he lent on mort- gage at Abertillery, but no mention was made in the will of the box and its contents. Emma King, the plaintiff's wife, was called, and she proved tlu.,1 Juiing the ye.i r.; dcccaaed 1<404, lodged with them he had his own bedroom. They j found him only his Sunday dinners. He paid no money for his lodging, and they now charged 2s a week for the five years. Deceased was taken ill in June last year, and she produced a book containing an account of the articles which she purchased for him during his illness. On the 11th of August, in the presence of two women, deceased gave her the key of the box in his room, and said she was to take the contents of the box and do what she liked with them. On the 13th, when one of the women named Brown was present, witness spoke to him about the box, and he again said she was to do what she liked with the contents-she might devour them if she liked. He died on the 15th. On that day Mr Jenkins, one of the defendants, came to the house and asked witness about the box, and she told him what the deceased had said. Mr Jenkins replied, As he gave them to you, it is all right." The box contained > £ 59, two watches, and wearing apparel. Mr Jenkins never asked her for the money. The corpse was kept from the Thursday to the follow- ing Wednesday, and in consequence a feather bed had to be burnt, for which they charged X5. Plaintiff also charged X5 for loss of custom, because during the time the corpse was in the house (a public-house) they lost a good deal of trade. His Honour said he could not allow for the loss of trade. After consultation, it was decided to withdraw the counter claim, and accepet judgment for de- fendants, the judge intimating that he always presumed, in cases where a dying man made a gift, unless particular reasons were given, that it was in payment for services rendered. Plaintiff therefore retains the box and its con- tents in satisfaction of his claim, and defendants undertook not to proceed further in the matter, unless they were compelled to do so by next of kin.

REPRESENTATION OF MONMOUTHSHIRE. Mr Crompton Roberts, of Drybridge, has been selected as the Conservative candidate for Mon- mouthshire. This choice is made with the full concurrence of Mr Crawshay Bailey, of Llanfoist, whose name has also been mentioned, and whose late father represented the county for a quarter of a century.-Echo.

CHEAP- JACK OUTWITTED.—A. singular occur- ence took place the other day at Fraserburgh. A travelling Cheap Jack had taken possession of the centre of the Market-place, and refused to make way for the caravans of Wombwell's Menagerie, which arrived on the ground soon after. The police were there too, and the magistrates; but the JcUik" seems to have had the law on his side, and refused to budge. -He was, thereforf, enclosed by the caravans, and had to expatiate on the merits of his wares to a mixed audience of lions, zebras, monkeys, and crocodiles. ENGUSH STEEL RAILS FOR AMERICA.—Several large orders for American railway rails have recently been received in this country, the terms at which they are taken being less than those which rival houses in America can offer. One of the orders for 15,000 tons has been secured by a Sheffield house, one for a simi- lar amount has gone into the North, and a third will also be secured by a Sheffield firm. IRON VERSUS STEEL RAILS.-A correspondent of Tlte Times writes A reaction has lately been going on in the United States in favour of iron rails, which the iron trade of South Wales has already begun to feel in the shape of some wel- come American orders. This partly arises from the fact that, though the life of a steel rail is longer than that of an iron one, the latter can be converted when worn out, and thus commences a new life. But it is doubtful, after all, whether, assuming each kind of rail to be of the very best, there is so much difference in the wearing quali- ties. An iron rail has been lately exhibited at the American Institute of Mining Engineers which was made in 1870, and has since carried 67,000,000 gross tons of freight, carriages, and engines. With all this immense strain during nine years, the rail was only worn at the top of the head for three- sixteenths of an inch. Perhaps, after all, the iron age is not so near its extinction as has been pro- phesied." HOLLOWAY'S PILLS.-The stomach and its troubles cause more discomfort and bring more unhappiness than is commonly supposed. The thousand ills that settle there may be prevented or dislodged by the judi- cious use of these purifying pills, which act as a sure, gentle anti-acid aperient, without annoying the nerves w of the most susceptible or irritating the most delicate organisation. Holloway's pills will bestow comfort and confer relief on every headachy, dyspeptic, and sickly sufferer, whose tortures make him a burden to himself and a bugbear to his friends. These pills have long been the popular remedy for a weak stomach, for a dis- ordered liver, or a paralysed digestion, which yield with- out difficulty to their regulating, purifying, and tonic qualities.

THE WEST OF ENGLAND BANK. GOVERNMENT PROSECUTION OF DIRECTORS. On Tuesday afternoon there was a stir among com- mercial circles in Bristol, as it had been whispered about that an application was to be made to the ma- gistrates for summonses against the directors and managers of the late West of England and South Wales District Bank that afternoon. The rumour proved correct, as Mr Hare, of the firm of Hare and Fell, solicitors to the Treasury, had arrived in Bristol in the morning, and arranged to make the application at one o'clock. The Justices present were Mr W. K. Wait, M.P. for Gloucester; Mr Elisha Smith Robin- son, and Mr William Pethick. The only other occu- pants of the room were Mr T. 11. Gore (clerk to the justices), and Mr Ilare. Mr Hare made the appli- cation for summonses on a statement of Mr Smart, accountant, who had been employed to go through the books of the bank. The magistrates asked fre- quent questions in the course of the proceedings, and ultimately directed that summonses should be issued against Mr Jerom Murch (chairman), Mr Geo. Hare Leonard, Mr Joseph Coates, Mr Alexander Allen, the Rev Hereford Brooke George, Mr Clement Lucas, and Mr J. H. Selwyn Payne (directors), and Mr John Pomeroy Gilbert (manager). It was directed to serve the summonses on the solicitors of the defendants. The cases will be heard on Tuesday, August 26th, at 11 o'clock, at the Guildhall. Mr Collins, Q.C., and Mr McKellar prosecute for the Treasury Mr Day, Q.C., is retained for Mr Murch; Sir Henry James, Q.C., M.P., and Mr A. R. Pool for Mr Leonard the Solicitor-General (Sir Hardinge Giffard) for Mr Allen; and Mr Charles, Q.C., and Mr Norris for Mr Gilbert. Mr Herschell, Q.C., has also it is said re- ceived a retainer for the defence. The charges against the defendants are for conspiracy and misdemeanour in publishing false balance sheets relating to the af- fairs of the said bank in the years 1872, 1873, 1874, 1875, 1876, and 1877. It will thus be seen that the two directors who joined the bank just before the sus- pension are not included in the list of those proceed- ed against, neither i$r the manager nor the sub-mana- ger at the time of the stoppage amongst the defend- ants. Mr Gilbert was general manager during some of the years mentioned, but, retiring from the post in the summer of 1878, he was elected on the directo- rate. Mr Jerom Murch, of Cranwell, Bath, is a ma- gistrate, & three times has filled the position of mayor of that city. Mr Leonard is one of the proprietors of a colliery on the Gloucestershire side of Bristol, and was sitting on the Bench in his capacity as magistrate in one court while the application was being made in another apartment of the Council House. Mr Coates is a barrister. Mr Allen, who is stated to have been the largest shareholder of the bank, his holding reach- ing nearly 700 shares, is living upon an independent income at Clifton. Captain Selwyn Payne has his residence at Portishead, a watering place at the mouth of the Avon. The Rev Hereford Brooke George is a Church of England Clergyman, of Oxford. Mr Lucas had been manager of the importantj branch of the bank at Cardiff.

ALBERT MEDALS FOR WELSH COLLIERS. The London Gazette contains the following announcements Whitehall, August 1Gth The Queen has been graciously pleased to confer the Albert Medal of the first class on Henry Davies, collier, Abercarne, and Juo. Harris, mason, Aber- carne and Albert Medals of the second class on Win. Simmons, pumpman Thos. Herbert, pumpman Miles Moseley, ovorinan Charles Preen, collier William Walters, collier; and Lewis Harris, overman, all of Aborcarne. The services for which the decoration has been con- ferred are as follows :-On September 11, 1878, an explosion of firedamp occurred in the Aber- carne Colliery, Monmouthshire, whereby 260 persons perished, and on that occasion the greatest possible gallantry was exhibited in saving about 90 lives. The force of the explo- sion was terrific, doing great damage to the roadways, and to the bottom of the shaft, and setting the coal and timber on fire in several places. Into this state of confusion and appa- rent danger to life these men, without hesita- tion, descended, and, although they discovered that fires were raging in the mine, and that consequently the chances of another explosion were considerable, they remained at their gal- lant and humane work of rescue, not re-ascend- ing the shaft until they had satisfied themselves that no one was left alivo below. Henry Davies, after being down Abercarne pit all the after- noon with those recommended for the second- class medal, volunteered to descend tho Cwm- carnQ pit, two miles distant, with the view of convoying to the explorers who had attempted to enter tho workings frojii that side, an order to come out, as in consequence of tho firf-, underground continuing to burn fiercely, and large quantities of gas po'iringout of the work- iugs, a second explosion was deemed inevitable, which, had it occurred, wonid assuredly have killed every man below ground. Henry Davies, after being deserted by two men, who refused to accompany him further, and when he must have felt that there was little or no chance of his coming alive out of the pit, pursued his course alone for 500 or 600 yards, and heroically accomplished the object of his mission. John Harris went down the pit with those recom- mended for the second-class medal. Having descended about 295 yards the progress of the cage was stayed by the damaged state of the shaft. John Harris got off the cage, and, slid- ing down a guide rope, reached the bottom, where, although he knew well that any moment might be his last, he remained for many hours, until all who were alive (some of whom were badly burnt and otherwise injured), reached the cage by his assistance, and were taken to the surface in safety.

THE following is copied from an old Sampler," dated 1793 Swift as the winged arrow flies, my time is hastening on; Quick as the lightning from the skies the wafting moments run My follies past, Oh Lord, forgive, my every sin subdue, And teach me henceforth how to live with Glory in my view. 'Twcre bettor far I'd ne'er been born than have my portion here, For they arc wretched and forlorn who live without Thy fear. Oh let Thy goodness lead me still along the happy road, Conform me to Thy holy will, my Father and my God. nii Another year of life is past, my heart to 1 hee incline, That, if this year should be my last, it may be wholly Thine. Let mercy crown my following days, and lead me gently on, So shall my tongue pronounce Thy praise, and make Thy goodness known. Weston-super-Mare, August 16th,

= GERMAN COAL IN LONDON. A German paper states that through the agency of the Westphaliau Coal Export Association in Bachum, a short time ago, a cargo of coal from the Hibernia Colliery had been shipped, via Rotterdam, and sold in London at good profit. This coal, which has been introduced at Bremen for a number of years, has stood its trial well against English coal. Epic's GF-YRERINP. XTJUBES.-CAUTION!-These effective and agreeahleonfectious are sold by most Chemists by others,.how eTtSr, attempts are often made at substitution. We therefore deem it necessary to caution the public that they can only be obtained in boxes, 6d. and Is.; labelled JAMES Epps and Co., Homoeopathic Chemists, 48, Threadneedle Street, and 170, Piccadilly, London. It is now stated that those charged with the pro- secution of the West of England bank directors will not be prepared to proceed on the 25th inst. as had been intended, and that summonses will not be applied for until September. The bank prem- ises at Bristol have been sold by official liquidators to the New Bristol and West of England Bank for lien- Isaac Lilicnfeld, a member of the Jewish community at Gotha, expressed a wish in his will that his body should be burnt after death His last wishes were scrupulously fuIfiIled Md the cremation has been effected in the presence of a lanre number of persons of various religious deno- minations. The Kentish Observer says that the reports to hand from correspondents m East Kent, In respect to the growing hop crop, are of a uniformly unsatis- laetory character. Ihe variable weather has brought nSts and ™fr°VCmontindeed> owinS to cold and m null vermm are more numerous, extent aSSert8 ltself to a ver^ alarn"ng he cargo of the steamer Burgos, wrecked last week at Mariner s Gove, Gull island, near St. Mary was plundered by people living near the scene of the dis- aster. The St. John's Newfoundlander of the 22nd ult., states that a police force has been despatched trom St. Mary to recover the property and arrest the wreckers. the wreckers. On Friday night, a London and North Western passenger train was run into at the ticket platform, "N-alsall, by a light engine belonging to the Midland Company, the driver running by signals which had been set, not for his guidance but for the passenger train. The guard's van and some third-class com- partments in the same coach were smashed and twelve passengers were more or less injured. One was taken to the hospital, but the others were able to continue their journey.

CONTINUOUS CORN-GEOtTOO- Mr. Mechi writes to the Times as follows On the 9th inst., a fine day, I had the pleasure to visit for the first time Mr. Prout's farm at Sawbridgeworth, in company with Sir Daldwyn Leighton, M.P., Mr. Fowler, ex-M.P. for Cambridge, Mr. Finlay Dun, Drs. Voelcker and Gilbert, a gentleman each from America, Germany, Denmark, and France, and a member of Messrs. Fowler's firm at Leeds. Mr. Prout and his son, with their usual kindness, accompanied i s over the farm and entertained us in the old original farmhouse, clean and neat, but unaltered; the barns and outbuildings are also unchanged. There was no live stock but one black cow for milking and a few farm horses. On this farm there were no signs of agricultural depression, but a wide expanse and un- broken view of cornfields on some 450 acres, with an occasional crop of clover, sainfoin, and a few mangolds. 'n'' ttrley> aiJd oats were all a good crop, es- y such a season, and I calculate they may h realize the usual £10. per acre if sold standing, as has been hit erto the practice. Here we have another practical evidence of how the people of this country conld be amply fed. with, home-grown' food. Two wretchedly farmed occupations, encumbered with 26 miles of fences, have been superseded by an unbroken expanse of cornfields, grown year after year by artificial manures alone, on land that was thoroughly drained and deeply cultivated by steam power. The undertaking is evidently a profitable one. The land was purchased at about £ 40. per acre; a large area for cropping has been gained by the removal of 26 miles of bank and the fences. The annual expenses are, I am informed :-Artificial manures, £2 IDs.; other charges and expenses, £ 3 5s.; rent, £ 2 per acre, about 18. The annual sales average about zElO per acre. Some amusement was afroided by the one black cow as the only live stock on so large a farm The absence of dung heaps is equally remarkable, but the question is fairly settled that on this particular farm the use of artificial manures alone has been for several years effective and profitable. Mr. Prout only binds himself to his present system so long as he finds it remunerative. Here we have another proof that a competition in corn growing, a&^agcunat foreign imports can be suc- cessfully sustained. We have also in this case con- vincing evidence of the great national and individual advantage resulting from the concurrent action of landowner and tenant-the latter freed from anti- quarian restrictions as to cropping and the manage- ment of his business and secured in tenure. My own opinion is that this farm could be as profitably, or even more advantageously, managed by meat-making and corn-growing combined; but, of course, a larger tenant capital would be required, and some additional outlay by the landowner in covered yards, &c., and an increased anxiety in the management of live stock. The farm is remarkably cloaii for such a season, pro- bably in part owing to the exclusive use of artificial manures, principally superphosphate of lime and finely ground bones, which occupy the whole area of an old but large barn.

THE MAD KING OF BURMAH. A Times correspondent, telegraphing from Calcutta* under date of the 17th inst., says that if any change is brought about in the Burmese situation it will be due to the growing ascendency of the Government party at Mandalay. This party, long distinguished W its arrogance, is getting more and more indepen- dent of the moderate party led by Elders and Minis- ters belonging to the preceding reign. The ascen- dency of the court party is shown by the increasing attempts to isolate the British Resident, whose inter- course with every one is jealously watched, and who is now rarely allowed to communicate even with the inferior Ministers. He lives in the outskirts of the capital, in a bad house, surrounded by spies, is treated with none of the ordinary diplomatic courtesy, and, with his duties closely restricted to routine business, it is very questionable whether the Indian Govern- ment will long care to keep an 6fficer of high politi- cal rank at Mandalay upon such terms. Despite the genuine desire of the Indian Government to keep things quiet, the King and the court party seem likely again to try our patience. Their present policy, indeed, is carefully to evade open aggression or insult, though gradually reducing to a nonentity by studied neglect, and by carefully cutting off all communications with him. The King, however, is. mad through blood and brandy. Executions and drinking bouts continue, and if Colonel Browne leaves Mandalay, the King and court party may be rash enough to exceed the carefully-defined limits within which they have, so far, restrained their insolence.

I 1, THE EUSTON SQUARE MYSTERY. A summary has been issued of a statement made by Mrs. Bastendorff, in reply to that recently made by Hannah Dobbs. Mrs Bastendorff, it is stated, asserts in the most positive manner that she never sent Hannah Dobbs to Mrs. Pearce's, nor did she know anything of the sale of Miss Hacker's clothes. She considers that the statement made is calculated to throw a cruel stigma on her and her family. She points out that, according to the statement of Mrs cuice, the wardrobe dealer, and also, according to Hannah Dobbs's own admission, a great quantity clothing was sold which undoubtedly belonged to. Miss Hacker. Dobbs, who all along waited upon Miss Hacker, would be the one above everyone elsfe who would be likely to recognise her clothing. If they (the Bastendorffs) had taken Miss Hacker's things, would they have been likely to allow Hannah Dobbs to see it and be a witness of the sale 'i 1 urther, as, according to the admission now made, Dobbs was during the whole of the trial aware of this, why did she not make the assertion when she was on her trial for her life, and say then that her mistress sent her to sell some old clothing which perhaps, might have belonged to Miss Hacker ? In- stead of that, Mrs. Bastendorff asserts that Dobbs kept tho secret to herself, and said nothing about it till Mrs. Pearee herself came forward.—Mr. Basten- dorff states that from a certain memorandum he has found he has ascertained that it was in August, and not on October 15, when Hannah Dobbs went to Hampstead with his -children- and had their pho- tographs taken, so that on the day when she asserted the mur-,I,-r might have been committed while she was with her children at Hrrmpstead it ie not at all likely that she was out of t_tiiOlll&

A convention of delegates oi the Fenian brother- hood was opened at Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania, on the 8th inst., and was expected to last for ten days, There were 200 delegates present, and they included the names of Fenian ex-prisoners Edward O'Meagher Condon, Thomas Francis Bourke, and others. The business of the convention was understood to be in. connection with the reorganisation of the Fenian brotherhood, now practically defunct. The foot and mouth disease has broken out among. the sheep upon the farms in Cambridgshire, and so extensive is it that in regard to Bottisham a special order has been issued. The marriage in a Biscayan village of a man of 96 with a woman who has attained the age of 98 years is announced. Admiral Popoff, the designer of the celebrated circular ironclads, is engaged in the construction of a steamer of novel design for the Russian navy, which is expected to attain a speed of thirty knots an hour. A special vote of 75,000 roubles has been presented to him for experiments in perfecting his plans. b A man, forty years of age, clad in professional raggedness, has been charged at the Marylebone Police Court, London, with begging from house to house, for money to procure a night's lodging. On being searched £ 1 Os. 4d. were found in his posses- hard labour sentenced him to fourteen days' The death is announced, in the eightieth year of her age, of the widow of John Barney Crome the cidcst son of "Old Crome," of Norwich. Her husband, who exhibited on the walls of the Rovt1 ^cademy from 1811 until 1843, and who was well- known for his river and moonlight scenes, died 15th September, 1842, in his forty-ninth year. PONTYPOOL Printed by HUGHES & SON, at their General Printing Offices, for the Proprietor and Publisher, HENHY HUGHES, Junior, of Penygarn, in the parish of Trcvethin, and published at the FREE l'libss Office, Market St.—August 2o, 1879. 0