Barry Herald

WITHOUT BLEMISH. TO.DAY'S' PROBLEM. BY MRS. J. H. WALWORTH, AUTHOR OF The Bar-Sinister," A Mississippi Martyr," "Heavy Yokes," &c., &c. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.} CHAPTER IV. MRS. G. WARING TROWBRIDGE. THE plantation bell on the Bendemma place filled an official position of three-fold importance, per- forming its various functions with an impertur- bable impartiality that would have been creditable to officials of freer agency and higher grade.. Of mornings, between the breaking of the dawn and the rising of the sun, it issued a clamorously im- parative summons to all whom it might concern, to take up the burden of another day, casting be- hind them, as temptations of the evil one, the desire for a little more slumber, a little more sleep. When the day's work was over, and the soft evening air was redolent of frying bacon from a hundred cabins, it rang decorously, coaxingly. and prolongedly, inviting the faithful to praters, in the long many windowed meetin"' house, that was the pride of glory of the place. And yet agaIn, when the angel of death hovered over the spot, and the untutored soul of any one of their number was called upon to answer the summons so full of dread mystery to those who stayed behind, the "Passing Hell" was rung solemnly, slowly, dolorously, in a lugubrious fashion that set every tortured cur within sound of it to yelping in dismal harmony and made pause in each labourer's task, as with bated breath and frightened hearts, they spoke of the passing soul. It was the morning summons alone that held any significance for the mistress of the Bendemma place and without precisely knowing why, it had come to be a point of honour with her to rise in prompt obediehce to its first clang, whether she felt like it or not. 0 On this particular morning, she was ahead of the sun as she unlocked the door that gave on the back gallery and stood within the opening gazing out over the big, unbeautiful yard, where was the wood-pile, the logs heaped in jack-straw confusion upon each other, and the large white ash wood chips strewn thickly as they had flown from the shining axe-blade of the wood-cutter; where was an unsightly heap of empty meal and pork barrels, pitched into the yard from the last spas- modic store-room cleaning, and destined eventu- ally and gradually to disappear in form of dry- wood kindling for the green wood logs of the jack- straw wood-pile where- was the doorless stable. which 'furnished only partial shelter for the master s riding-horse, a noble bay, that stood now arching his neck over the plank fence and gazing longingly toward the strip of pasture land whose jovs he never tasted unless by open rebellion where were three or four imprisoned calves. chewing the mossy bark from the green wood waiting dumbly for the sweet by and bye when they would enjoy a brief reunion with their mothers. The unlocking of the door was always the signal for the appearance of Gyp, the mis- tress's one pet, the shaggy yellow shepherd dog whose local habitation was in a turned-down bar= el on the side of the kitchen, to come frisking and waltzing and giving every manifestation possible to tho canine race of extravagant joy at this diurnal resurrection of the idol of his life. Mrs. G. Waring Trowbridge, as Gyp's mistress was somewhat sententiously called by Mr. G. Waring Trowbridge, Gyp's master, never failed to respond by laying a long white hand caressingly on his shaggy head for a moment in acknowledgment of his joyous morning salute, which was generally given in three very crisp barks. Mrs. Trowbridge held in her hands a key basket weighted down with big clumsy keys, badges of office and unrest. Notwithstanding it was very early morning, there was none of that freshly awakened activity about her that suggested a vivid interest in her surroundings or her occupa- tions. Apparently she was waiting for some one, and apparently that some one was in even less of a hurry than herself, about start- ing the domestic machinery a whirring once more. Perhaps it was because of the dead mono- tony of those duties, the absolute flavourlessness of those days, that Mrs. Trowbridge found it easy to be patient. She had been waiting for things that came not all her life. There was a pathetic suggestiveness about this woman, that perhaps no one was more unconscious of than herself. She had begun the process of repression so long ago. so far back among the sombre-tinted days she reckoned as her life, that she had almost lost sight of the flickering fancies and ambitious hopes of her girlhood. Her husband declared her the best wife in the I world. And if it had been the custom of the land to enter one's wife at competitive exhibitions, no doubt Mr. G. Waring Trowbridge would have entered his, glibly cataloguing and demonstrating her superiority to all other contestants, and would have carried off the first prize with that self- laudatory aspect one assumes who considers him- self directly and indirectly responsible for the super-excellence of his exhibit. Every one declared that if it had not been for this wife of his Mr. Trowbridge would have gone by the board long ago, for although every one was ready to admit that the master of Bendemma was the soul of honour, he certainly was phenomenal in his ability to mismanage his own affairs. Perhaps this woman, standing there with the heavy key-basket, looking so preternaturally. patient, was not devoid, at the outset, of every womanly woman's preference for leaning on some- thing stronger than herself, but she had never consciously admitted, even to herself, that her married life had been anything but a shining success. As she stood there gazing out over the dewy fields, she was not indulging in any unwhole- some retrospection, nor reviewing the sombre battalions of her disappointments and blighted hopes she was simply wondering in the most matter-of-fact fashion possible why it was that she could not insure promptness on the part of her house-servants, when she set, them such an unimpeachable example in early rising. True, when she came to think of it, there was no especial reason why any one should be in a hurry in that sphere of life to which it had pleased (od to doom her. For, after all was done, the days were so very much too long for her desires. Nevertheless there was an under current of energy about Mrs, Trowbridge which perforce of circum- stances she expended in the dull routine of plan- tation life, that under happier auspices and more favourable conditions might have enabled her to carry some of her many strangled ambitions to a triumphant culmination. As it was, she was applying the steam power that would have pro- pelled a heavily laden tow of barges up stream, to the task of sending an insignificant dredging-boat through the mud Moreover, somewhere within her warped mental apparatus, was implanted a deathless conviction that as ye sow, so shall ye reap She was aware that things were at a pretty low financial ebb on the Bendemma place and fool- ishly holding that pluck and perseverance were all that were necessary for the final betterment of matters, she persisted in being very brisk and systematic at her household spigot, hoping that the good results thereof would eventually tell upon the larger and more important bung hole of the plantation. So, wisely or unwisely. Mrs. Trowbridge was pretty sure to be astir in time to catch the first glimpse of the sun as he rose over the dark line of the tree-tops that defined the eastern boundary of the estate, and shot great golden shafts earth- ward. illuminating the ragged water-willows that fringed the slough to the left of the house, lending fictitious and transitory brightness to the sluggish water at their feet. She loved the plantation best with this halo of morning glory resting upon it. The stubble of last year's imperfectly gleaned corn-crop rose thickly about the fields, wrapped from root to apex with the graceful tendrils of the tie-vine, whose tiny blue and white bells were gemmed with irridescent dew-drops the sun's first caress glorified them, later on his hot breath would shrivel the fragile flowerets into ugly insignificance. The dust from the passing teams would blot out the beauty of the crimson trumpet flower that flaunted so gaily now from every cross ditch an d elder bush. The trampling of a hundred hoofs would trouble the waters of the little slough presently, and when the mules had slaked their thirst it would be scarcely more than a mud-hole. But Mrs. Trowbridge had long since come to be a strict utilitarian. The useless was never the beauti- ful in her eyes. She conld not afford to indulge in such luxuries, she would tell you. That longing for stir and activity which was not dead, but only sleeping in her breast, made her take a dull sort of satisfaction in watching the plantation awake to its modicum of energy. The big bronze gobbler fluttered clumsily down from the tall turkey roost under the eaves of the corn-crib, and spreading his tail pompously, strutted slowly to and fro; sending a sententious gobble roostward, in token that he was ready to, resume his official duties as chief of staff. Gyp never failed to condemn this matutinal gobbling with a sharply reproving bark, which Mrs. Trow- bridge speedily repressed as inimical to Mr. G. Waring Trowbridge's morning repose. One by one the turkeys dropped earthward and joined the sedate procession that took its way to the corn- crib to forage among the mules. Mrs. Trowbridge \ook undue pride in her turkeys. She abhorred failure. The turkeys were the exponents of one of her few successes, so she regarded them with a feeling akin to gratitude for being so many and so sleek and so prosperous. The cocks were crowing and fighting alternately yonder in the hen house that had to be guarded so jealously against minks and coons, und the hens were clucking restlessly for liberty to be out and doing. l Iii,,tti would come presently and mix the feed for them, then Mrs. Trowbridge would slip up the little wooden slab and stand patiently waiting for the last one to step mincingiy down the small ladder. There was no special reason for counting them every morning, only it killed another five or ten of the moments of which she had such a dreadful super- fluity. Then she would go to the milk-room and skim last night's setting of cream, and start the morning's churning from there to the garden to see if the okra and beet seed were breaking ground yet; then she would stir the batter for the corn griddle cakes for breakfast, (somehow Kiah could never be trusted to get the batter just of the proper consistency, and if the cakes were not just right Mr. Trowbridge's entire breakfast would be spoiled), and then she would read until the hands of the clock pointed to a certain place, when she would wake George up. Sometimes her reading matter consisted of a magazine a month old or a New Orleans paper a week old. She would have given her preference to sewing in the fresh morn- ing hours (one can always muster energy for read- ing), but her sewing machine was one cf Grovcr and Baker's earliest and noisest make, and in moments of irritability Mr. Trowbridge had been known to call it that d d old grist mill," since when Mrs. Trowbridge carefully avoided using her ancient sewing machine until Mr. Trowbridge was fairly out of sight and hearing, which was one of the ten thousand minute acts of self-sacrifice which went toward preserving the harmony of Mrs. ;Trowbridge's home, without any recog- nition from the unconscious beneficiary of them all. Finally 'Riah comes. tying on her bandanna as she walks, bringing into clinking contact a tin pail that is swung over one arm and a tin coffee- pot held in one hand. Mrs. Trowbridge had never disputed the legality of pail or pot, although she is well aware, and 'Riah is aware that she is aware, of the fact, that when 'Riah goes home at night the pail will be full of provisions and the pot of coffee for home consumption by 'Riah's old man, presumably an independent bread-winner. Mrs. Trowbridge is too genuine a lover of peace to stand upon her exact rights with'Kiah or any other privileged depredator. It wouldn't pay upon any consideration. So as 'Riah comes through the gate Mrs. Trowbridge's gaze is fastened upon the spotted calf, the youngest of the imprisoned off- spring, whose head is held patiently close to the fence that the mother's tongue may caress it. You are late, 'Riah," this is the mistress's for- mula. 'Riah looks up at the sun, her only acknow- ledged monitor and stands convicted "Myoid man done had a pow'ful tussle wid de collick las night! Heeat too much cold colluds for supper, an' I didn't git no sleep tell de chickens was a-crowin' fur day." Mrs. Trowbridge was aware, and 'Riah was aware that she was aware, of the purely imagina- tive nature of the apology but as'liiah was called upon to manufacture three hundred and sixty-five excuses for tardiness in the course of a year, it was no small tax upon her powers of invention, and if the stamp of slovenly haste was somewhat too apparent upon her manufacture, who can blame her ? On this particular occasion Mrs. Trowbridge's objurgations to haste in the preparation for break- fast were unusually impressive. Mr. Trowbridge has some very important business to attend to this morning, 'Riah, which will take him up to Hardlines you really must hurry a little." All right, Miss Nannie, I'll have dat breakfas' on de table befo' de cock crow trice." 'Riah was given to scriptural quotations which she was never known by any accident to get right or place appropriately. Having thus set the domestic machinery smoothly running and oiled all the joints and made sure that things were in comfortable trim for an early breakfast, Mrs. Trowbridge ventured to break in upon Mr. Trowbridge's repose. He had a business appointment to keep! Mr. Trowbridge was the soul of honour, and punctu- ality was one of his theoretical strong points CHAPTER V. MR. G. WAKING TROWBRIDGE. MR. G. WARING TROWBRIDGE'S emergence from his chamber was like the breaking of another day, or the rising of another sun, so far as a fresh accession of activity was concerned, though the day that began with his uprising was sometimes r, cloud beset, and the effulgence he cast off apt to be a trifle lurid. The rhythmic sound of his boot heels, as he slowly paced the gallery that overlooked the yard premises, paring his shapely nails, was always the signal for Sandy, the hostler, to apply the curry- brush and comb in a perfect frenzy of determina- tion to make the bay's glossy hide glossier yet, if possible, and for Riah's pots and pans to give forth uproarious manifestations of industry and for Gyp to repeat his Waltz Delight with mode- rated raptures and some mental reservations, for Gyp had never learned to predicate with any degree of exactness the probabilities of his receiving a kick or a caress from the master, who, in his canine judgment, i-anked as a vastly inferior production to the mistress. But then Gyp's opportunities for judging were very limited, you know. Mrs. Trowbridge laid down the mature maga- zine that had filled up a serene half hour for her, and joined her husband in his circumscribed pro- menade. They were a pleasing couple to look ..t. They had been called a very handsome couple by the wedding guests that had gathered at the big country wedding supper, and Mr. Trowbridge was still entitled to be so considered. He was a typical Southerner in appearance. Tall, somewhat angular, easy and graceful in his movements, a long face covered with an abundant growth of black silky beard, a pair of luminous dark eyes, and a heavy suit of waving black hair. There was, however, a suggestion of chronic ennui about the man, which may have been tfje result of insufficient occupation for mind or body, but it left the impression with one, that on the whole Mr. G. Waring Trowbridge found life rather an unsatisfactory experiment. Time had dealt more leniently with him than it had with his wife, about whose gentle eyes unmis- takable crow's feet were discernible, and about the corner of whose mouth was a settled down- ward droop that was pathetic in the extreme. You will be gone all day I suppose, George ?' she said, linking her arm in his as he clasped his pen-knife and returned it to his pocket. Yes. All day certainly, and perhaps I shall not return before bed-time. If I'm not back by nine o'clock, don't sit up for me." (Which was exactly what he knew she would do.) What shall you do with yourself ?" he asked, not that he felt any very thrilling interest in the reply. Oh I shall do well enough. I've some sheets to hem, and I think four or five of my Plymouth rock hens will be coming off with broods to-day, and I want to direct Sandy about preparing the ground for the sweet potatoes and- Mr. Trowbridge smiled in his superior way. What a blessing it is you women find these small industries so soul-satisfying It had never occurred to Mrs. Trowbridge that they were soul-satisfying, but she had found out long ago that the only substitute for the unattainable joys of which she still sometimes dreamed wist- fully, was to crowd the hours to their utmost capacity with whatever her hands found to do. Another fixed rule of her life was, never to con tradict her husband on a slight provocation. Mr. Trowbridge was argumentative, and would rush into controversy on the slimmest pretext. Mrs. Trowbridge was careful never to offer that pretext. "By the way, Nannie, this is ration day. I shall have to get you to attend to it for me. Iandy can weigh the meat and measure the meal, if you will just keep an account of who gets it." Mrs. Trowbridge was so used to supplementing her own duties with those of her husband, that she simply said, Yes, George," as they turned indoors in answer to the breakfast bell. Later on Mr. Trowbridge stood with his horse's bridle in his hand, impatiently tapping his boot with his whip, while Sandy readjusted the saddle. Sandy had been trying for a great many yea. s now to learn how to locate that saddle precisely to the master's liking. Either Sandy was very obtuse, or the master very exacting. Each had his own private opinion on the subject. But the saddle had always to be readjusted. "Isn't this rather a strange time of the year for Mrs. Stanhope to come over to the swamp ?" Mrs. Trowbridge asked, standing waiting tor her lord's delibei ate departure. "A little unusual, but hardly strange She writes me word that there s some snarl alJod that money of Eustis's that she loathed old Dennison, thinking it would be such a good investment. Then she wants advice about new gin-stands, and a few more cabins. In short, you know what Mrs. Stanhope's friendly consultations mean." Poor woman! I'm sure I'm glad she has you for an adviser, George. Everybody else, the agent, and the commission merchant, and her manager, have interested views. Besides, so long as you are Eustis's legal guardian, I suppose it is your duty to see that this property is well taken care of. You will have a lovely day for your ride." Mr. Trowbridge vaulted lightly into the saddle, arranged his stirrups and said: "Yes, it is pleasant. By the way, Nannie, there is no good reason why you should not have gone with me. You would have enjoyed a talk with Mrs. Stan- hope. I am sorry I did not think of it sooner. But it is late now, and the buggy wheels need greasing, and Oh never mind me I shall do very well," Mrs. Trowbridge answered with customary self- abnegation, and smiled pleasantly at her handsome husband. By-by then Amuse yourself until I get back." Thus airily casting off all responsibility for his wife's day, Mr. Trowbridge cantered briskly away through the fresh spring air. His horse was a delightful riding animal. Mr. Trowbridge was always well mounted. His route, the most of the way, lay through pleasant woodland, where the fragrance of the sweet gum heavily scented the atmosphere where myriad birds twittered and fussed over the location and architectural details of their new nests where grey and black squirrels chased each other fearlessly from tree to tree, enjoying that immunity from terror that ploughing time, by giving other occupation to the freedmen, alone secured them where the delicate patterns of the half-grown foliage were retraced in shifting shadows on the sun-lit path. Not a bad outlook Irs. Trowbridge watched man and horse until an abrupt curve in the road suddenly deprived her of that mild recreation. Then she turned in-doors rather listlessly. The day was so lovely and so tempting. She wished George had thought of the buggy in due season She would have loved so to ride through the woods on this bright spring morning. She saw in fancy the dew-drops still lingering on the long sprays of the blackberry bushes in the corners of the fences! She was in accord with the anxious lit le feathered architects of the woods too, and loved to catch the saucy bright eye of the frisky squirrels. Then too, as it had been months since she had enjoyed the privi- lege of talking with a woman of her own colour, she would have gladly ridden that eight miles to to have said "howdy" to Mrs. Stanhope. She looked at the clock Only nine! Twelve hours of dismal solitude to be gotten through with as best she might! She turned resolutely toward the noisy old sewing machine. She would hem all those sheets to-day. There was no one to be annoyed by the clatter. She smiled a trifle bitterly at the re- collection of her husband's injunction to amuse herself." How and with what, she wondered She could always work! It was her solace. Her nerve restorer. So, with the pile of unhemmed sheets in a chair by her side she set the machine in motion, and as it rattled a tuneless accompaniment, 'Riah. in the kitchen, uncomfortably close at hand, lifted up her voice in melodious assertion that "Theres restin' by-and-bye." 'Riah was always songful when Mr. Trowbridge rode away. And thus Mrs. Trowbridge amused herself. (To be continued.)

MODERN RIP VAN WINKLE. A singular case of mistaken identity has occurred at Pontlottyn, a village on the borders of the counties of Glamorgan and Monmouth. A stonemason named Aaron Jones, who had been mourned as dead by his wife and family, has unex- pectedly turned up in the flesh, and demonstrated beyond all reasonable doubt that an egregious blunder has been made. The mistake arose in this way. On December 14 an elderly man was found dead on the roadside at Pont- lottyn. The inhabitants of the village believed it was Aaron Jones, who had frequently visited them as a pedlar rather than as a mason. His wife, who is proprietress of the George Inn at Cefn, a village just outside Merthyr Tydvil, was communicated with, and she, too, identified the body. Her son and several friends did the same. An inquest was held the cause of death was attributed to rupture of a blood vessel, and the coroner's jury arrived at a verdict that Aaron Jones had lost his life in this way. The corpse was removed to Cefn, and accorded decent burial, and Mrs. Jones and her children mourned in the customary way. A few days ago, however, Aaron Jones turned up in the flesh at Pont- lottyn and disabused all notions of his decease. What is more, he told a Daily Mail representative that he had known from a newspaper paragraph of his reported death from the very day it occurred, but, he added, I thought they would never trouble about me, as I had been away so long, and I did not send to say anything to them." He was in the Rhondda valley at the time, staying at a lodging-house. His story was that he had often gone away on tramp, leaving his wife and family, first for a fortnight or three weeks at a time, and finally leaving them altogether, without knowledge of his whereabouts, for 12 or 15 years, travelling throughout England, Wales, and Ireland, without any fixed place of abode. But after you found that they did trouble about you-or the man that was supposed to be you-did you not communicate with them?" "Yes, I sent them a letter last Saturday, saying I might call on them in a day or two, or they could write to me at Pontlottyn. I never had a cross word with my wife in my life, but when you ask me why I stayed away from them you are asking too much. I went back there, and I was drinking in the George about three or four years ago, but I did not stay in the house." Who the man was who was found dead by the road- side and buried as Aaron Jones remain 's a mystery. Meanwhile, Mrs. Jones has been confronted by her truant husband in the flesh, although, in the full belief that she was a widow, she had drawn the in- surance money due in respect of his death.

MORE STRANGE BETS. Curious contests for bets have always been a favourite form of amusement with English people. Everybody is acquainted with the bet of the harum- scarum Marquis of Waterford, who undertook to sell a certain number of golden guineas, at a penny apiece, within a given period. In more recent times, we have had champions opening a certain number of dozens of oysters in a given number of minutes; champion barbers, smoothly scraping an allotted number of chins in such-and-such a time; a varia- tion of the same kind of event," in which the artist was a baby girl-barber of four years old, lathering, shaving, wiping, and powdering bristly faces with astounding rapidity and precocity; and we have witnessed, also, diving feats from the London bridges, the doings of fasting-men," Channel swims, and crack brained Niagara exploits, seldom edifying, and in some Cases fatal. Then, from time to time, people are revolted by news- paper accounts of how this or that sportsman undertook for a wager to eat a certain number of pork pies or to drink a given quantity of beer. In the last century, and early in the present one, our ancestors contrived to arrange wagers of a very in- genious and frequently of an amusing character. Just over 100 years ago (in 1788) Mr. Whaley, a young Irish gentleman, set out from Dublin to walk to Constantinople (barring the Irish Sea and the English Channel, of course) and back again in one year. The wager laid on the performance of the ex- pedition was the enormous sum of £ 20,000. He set out on the 22nd of September and won his bet with ease, for he was back again in the Irish capital, none the worse for hia adventure—in fact, E20,000 better —about the beginning of June in the following year, although he extended his journey as far as.the Holv Land. I — V

KLINX.—New white inorganic Cement for Pottery Porcelain. &c., 6d. and Is. postage, Id. Of Chemists. BILLY BLINK (boxing instructor): "Great Scot! That was an outer' you gave me. But wot's that in your glove, I say ?" Amateur (just learning) Oh, that's a horseshoe—I put it there for luck." "LINSEED COMPOUND" for Coughs, Cold, Asthma and Bronchitis. Of Chemists only. DEACON HAMBY: We're going to have a reformed prize-fighter talk at the temperance meeting Thursday night." The Deacon's Son How is it possible that he can be reformed if he still talks ?" "LINSEED COMPOUND" (Trade Mark) for Coughs and Colds, 9§d., 13!d. Sold by Chemists only. 2 2 SOMETIMES," said Uncle Eben, dar wouldn't be so much objection to a man habbin' his own opinion ef he didn't persist in goin' aroun' an' tryin' ter gib eberybody else a clear title to it." "LINSEED COIPOUNJ)" (Trade Mark) for Cought and Colds, 9d., 13!d. Sold by Chemists only. '■ I ASKED the young woman in front of me to re- move her big hat so I could see the stage." Did she do it?" No she said if she held her hat in her lap she couldn't see the stage herself." LINSEED COMPOUND," an anodyne expectorant for Coughs and Colds, O'd.. 13d. Of Chemists. 2 WILLIS: "Parker's salary was doubled a short time ago, so I hear." Wallace Yes, it was but it got him in lots of trouble." Willis How's that?* Wallace: His wife found it out."

A MODERN MIRACLE. So far it had been a back door courtship, for Maggie Maloney's mistress did not allow her help's company" to visit the house, and life without i beau was bread without yeast to Maggie. Her mother had died when she was quite young, and her father didn't know much about gals, anyhow," so the child was allowed to follow her own inclinations. As she grew into womanhood she developed a decided taste for coquetry, and no man ever crossed her path who failed to bring forth the smiles and dimple that were ever at her disposal. As soon as she succeeded in capturing a suitor's affections, she either gave him the cold shoulder or took the greatest pleasure in playing the tyrant. Notwithstanding the attraction the sex had for her she was in no hurry to marry, and when the lover in favour became suspiciously sentimental and talked of the beauties of married life, she would tell him at once that Mrs. Hill did not allow her to have fol- lowers any more. If this did not quench his ardour he was notified that his room was better than his company," and the next evening the back porch had a new occupant. Just now one, Mitch Mitchel, of Celtic origin, was the favoured admirer of Miss Maggie Maloney. He was of medium height, red-haired and freckled, and possessed of an unlimited vein of humour that won him many friends. He had a way of making his associates believe that he was a walking encyclopedia and knew everything. logical or illogical, that was worth knowing. He also had wonderful boasting faculties, and many were the tales he told of his marvellous hairbreadth escapes during his trip across the conthenant (he had come from a small town twenty miles away), and the wonderful exploits he had performed with that wonderful insthru- ment, the rafolver." When he beheld one, the cold shivers ran through his whole body. For, three months Mitch had held his own with the fickle Maggie. Guess Mitch Mitchel knows how ter manage the gur'al's," he said. If he don't, it's very queer, when there was ten gurrls busted their hearts over me dead dad, an' I'm the 'zact picture of 'um. Just flatter 'em up a little an' make 'em believe yer dyin' fer 'em, an' ye'11 come out of the big end of the horn." The summer days were in their full glory, and so was Mitch. About a quarter to seven every evening he appeared at the back porch of the house where Maggie lived. He would first gently touch the door with the tips of his fingers. If this did not bring her (it seldom did), he bent his fingers and used his knuckles. What's yer hurry?" asked Maggie one evening in response to his knock. Notliin', me sweet Maggie flower, but ter see yer lovely face." Oh, g'long wid ye, Mitch Mitchel 1 One might know 'twas ye, comin' before me mess of dishes are half done up! Now ye can sthay there till I come out, an' if ye dare to show yer head in here, I'll break it, shure "Oh, me darlent Maggie, ye wouldn't do that to yer lovin' Mitch ?" Wouldn't I though ? Just thry mean' see!" But Mitch decided it would not be policy to run the risk of having his head damaged, so subsided into a corner to await the coming of his sweetheart. Soon after the door was opened and Maggie stepped out as fresh as a pink. Mitch started up. "Why, me charmin' Maggie, How lovely ye do seem If another fellow gets ye, From envy III turn green." See here, Mitch Mitchel, if ye don't stop that poetry makin* on short notice I'll go inter the house an' let ye blink at the sthars the rest of the evenin' But how ken I help it when yer beantiful presence insphires-" Whist, ye blockhead!" Mag, what makes ye so cross, darlent? I haven't vexed ye, have I ?" Maggie glanced at his rueful countenance and burst into a merry laugh. Oh, yer a brave one, Mitch, ye are! But how's the rumatics ? Did that last linamenth chase 'em out ?" Daden it didn't, Mag. I believe I'nl bound ter have 'em, just like me dead dad, who got 'em in the revelushen battle. He was a great general was me father." "Why, ye poor lad! Perhaps it's me alway scholdin' of ye that makes 'em." Guess perhaps 'tis, Mag," said Mitcb., I've got somethin' now I'll bet'ill cure ye," said Maggie. She flew into the hduse, returning in a minute. "Here's some of masther's owil linanient)i, don't ye ever tell The docther hisself subscribed it ter him. an' I heared him tell masther ter put some copper wire around his ankle. I got ye a piece, an' don't ye take a wink of sleep afore ye have used both." 11 Tiq just. like ye to be so free. An' good to a sinner like me, Maggie." "There, Mitch Mitchel, when Maggie Maloney sez a thing she means it! Ye ken go sthar gazin' now, with yer I)oet.ry I And with this Maggie vanished for the night, leaving Mitch to vent his indignation oA the empty air. 1 11 He limped away very slowly, soliloquising as he Went: Girrls is harder ter manage than a feller'd think. Here I've been wastin' me time an' spandin' me hard earnt money on this wan fer over three months, an' I don't, believe she likes me now as well as she did be- fore she knew me An' there's Sallie Pickles or Mary Sumpkins—I could marry either of 'em ter-inarrcr by a schnap of me finger. But I swear I'll marry Maggie Maloney er I'll be a bachelor the rest of me days!" Mitch was now approaching a dark alley, and his thoughts took a turn. He looked up and down the street but could discover no one. Putting his hand in his jacket pocket, he drew forth the bottle and wire that Maggie had taken so much trouble to get for him. He fastened the wire around the bottle and flung the articles far into the darkness, hastening away afterward as if fearful of being discovered. Shure an' there's an' ind of that," he muttered. I wondher what she'd say if she knew ? Ye'll have to be careful, Mitch, me b'y, or ye'll be left yet!" A month more passed over the heads of the young people. Mitch had made great progress with his suit, He had written a poem on How the Birds Nest in the Spring, Maggie," and after reading it to her, had suggested that they should' follow the example of the birds. Maggie at first. laughed at him, but finding he wrs not to be disposed of in that way she ashd for a week to think his proposal over. She found it hard to give Mitch the cold shoulder. Twice she ha<J been on the point of bidding him a final farewell; but a small voice whispering, "You'll repent it, Maggie" had re- strained her.. ) The week soon flew by, and the important day arrived. Mitch hurried home from work in the utmost excitement and attired himself in his best toggery, having bought a new neckcloth and collar and borrowed a white vest for the occasion. When he stood before the glass he was greatly impressed by his personal appearance, and as he surveyed his re- flection he muttered that it was a mighty particular girrl that wouldn't be. He walked rapidly toward the Hill mansion, his heart making great jumps into his throat all the way. To-night he did not knock at the door, but softly purred Maggie, Maggie, yer Mitch is here," ;and took his station in the corner of the porch.. Maggie had finished her work and seated herself at the window to watch the sun get, she said. She heard Mitch open the gate and heard the soft invi- tation that followed; but she had strong opinions as to the best methods of managing men, so she did not appear until he began to show signs of uneasi- ness. She made a charming picture in her white gown set off with bright ribbons, and when her lover beheld her he was completely overcome. Jumping up from his seat he cried Come ter me arms, me own darlint Maggie, fer it's me own I know ye be!" But Maggie was on her dignity. ")Ce'cl betther waite awhile, Mitch," she said. I've got a few questions ter ax ye before the time fer huggin' comes." The cold drops of perspiration stood on Mitch's forehead. Shure, Mag, no one's bin tellin' ye of anythin about me he cried. Pooh! Ye don't suppose I'd believe 'em if they did, do ye ?" I Mitch was evidently relieved. Well, thjn," began Maggie, counting her fingers as skp spoke, Onely—I wanter know who's goin' ter be boss in the house, if ye an' me gets married ?" Oh, is that all that troubles yer. s%s-e,etlieart?" criee. Mitch. jumping up with outstretched arms. Why, you. of course, Maggie!" It 'tain't time yet; sit down again I tell ye! Twoly," she continued, bending down her second finger, I wanter know who's goin' ter carry the money if you an' me gets married." Wily, you, of course," came faintly from the corner. Then, Mitch. I'm yer own, an the time fer huggin's arrived." But not a move did the young man make. Just then the moon cast its pale light on the back porch. and Maggie saw Mitch, white as a sheet, pulling at the leg that was afflicted with rheumatism. Does it hurt ye ? I'll run for the docther?" "FerHivin's sake, Maggie, sthay where ye are! It's only me—me—me leg'is comin off Yer leg comin' off! Ye must be crazy I'm goin' this minit ter get. some one!" Mitch jumped up from, his seat and caught Maggie's dmes u ehe was hastening to the house. As he did so, something fell to the floor with a dull thud. Maggie looked around and saw a dark object with a shoe at the end of it. Glancing at, Mitch, she beheld an empty trouser's leg dangling from his body. Howley Moses!" she cried. "What does this mean ?" Shu, shu!" whispered Mitch. It's only me wooden leg that's got loose!" "Mitch Mitchel!" cried Maggie. "An' I have been givin' ye stuff all the time fer yer rumatics Ye desateful wretch! Get right away from this, an' never show yer red head here again She disappeared within, slamming the door after her, and Mitch, strapping on his wooden leg, went sulkily home. He passed a sleepless night, and many were the minutes he spent in thinking of some way to recover the lost Maggie. Suddenly he began to chuckle, and then to laugh. It's all right!" he cried, in the highest glee. Early next morning he dispatched a note to Maggie, saying that he must see her in the evening for a few minutes on a matter of life and death. During the day he visited a hardware store, telling the clerk that the cats had been kinder botherin' him of late, an' he wanted somethin' ter scare 'em wid. Maby ye've got a kind of rafolver that don't kill when ye shoot, fer they'd be a terrible fuss around the counthry if any of the cats died," he explained. The clerk brought out a revolver and loaded it with a blank cartridge, saying that it would do the desired work. So away went Mitch with his revolver in his pocket, and so supremely happy over his little ruse that he laughed every time he thought of it. In the evening the new tie and collar and white vest were again brought into requisition. The not had done its work, for immediately after Mitch's low knock sounded on the door Maggie thrust out her head. If ye've got anything ter say, ye'd betther say it an' be quick about it, fer I don't mean ter waste me time on ye!" she exclaimed. Maggie," said Mich, solemnly, I've come ter ax yer forgiveness before I die. Just say ye bear nc ill will agin' me fer desavin' ye an' I'll be as liapyy a corpse as ever lived." "Auh, bosh, Mitch, Mitch! Ye hain't got the courage to die!" Then, Maggie, if yell not forgive me till I'm gone, the sooner I die the betther." Saying this Mitch drew out his revolver, and pointing it at his heart fired, falling to the floor as if dead. In a second Maggie was kneeling at his side. It's me that's drove him ter kill hisself May the saints forgive me!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Mitch! oh, Mitch, come back ter life! Only come back ter life an' I'll do anything ye want me ter." Will ye marry me ?" came from the lifeless bedy on the floor; and the eyes opened and life and energy seemed to return. The Lord be praised cried the unsuspecting Maggie. May I never ferget ter thank Him night an' mornin' fer this wonderful miracal! Oh. Mitch, are ye really alive agin ? We'll git married ter- marrer if ye want ter!" The time for huggin' had indeed arrived, and for the rest of that evening and numberless more Mitch made the most of the position his stratagem had won for him.

THROUGH DARKEST AFRICA. A LOlÇG WAY HOUND TO TIIE WOKKIIOUSE. When Darkest Africa comes to be opened up to civilisation it is likely that the maps will show an important trading centre called Bonny, standing on a river called the Bonny River. Both the town and the river will be so called in commemoration of William Bonny, the famous African traveller and explorer, the friend and lieutenant to whose able services H. III. Stanley owed much of the success of the Emin Relief Expedi- tion. Now, this is a story that can best be told in the plainest and simplest of words. That same Mr. William Bonny is at present an inmate of the in- firmary of the St. George's Union Workhouse, in the Fulham-road. There a Daily Mail representa- tive called the other day. He was taken into the consumptive ward, where a kind and gentle nurse led the way to one of a long row of beds, upon which, propped up with pillows, lay an old man with sunken cheeks, a grizzled moustache, and a thin, white, almost •transparent hand nervously fingering the counterpane. It was the great African traveller. William Bonny. "Phthisis" is the official description' of his ail- ment. But it is Darkest Africa" from which he is really suffering. Malarial fever on the top of malarial fever has been his share of the gains of African adventure, and malarial fever has developed at last into consumption. "I got it first of all in 1887," he said, in a painful, jerky whisper, when I was with Stanley. The boat grounded on a sand- bank in the river; it took three days to get her off I got fever: fever afterwards on and' off for 10 years fought against it, but—it has broken me down at last; I'm quite broken up now; left lung—very far gone, they say." The Daily Mail representative was going on to speak with him of his travels and achievements. But he looked apprehensively round and lifted the thin white hand from the bedclothes in deprecation. I haven't said anything—here," he said very simply and quietly I didn't want to say anything about it- here "—and he looked down the ward, where rows of broken-down explorers of the Dark Continent of London vere lying plucking at the bedclbthes. That was so, the visitor found. The sympathetic sister and the kind nurses had no idea of who the quiet gentleman lying there was. The medical superintendent knew all about William Bonny's exploits, and when the patient was admitted a week or so ago was struck by the name, and put a question or two with a view to discover whether William Bonny was the" Bonny. But he got only evasive answers. The Bonny was in no mind to acknowledge that it was he who had come to that last ex'remity of adversity, and the good doctor went away, thinking that he had been deceived by a curious identity of names. Mr. Bonny is not exactly cheerful, but quite philosophic in his misfortunes, I wanted to go to the Brompton Hospital." he said, but they would not take me there. I was too far gone for them. But I am comfortable I here. They are very kind. I have been able to eat a little since I came." He came from a lodging in the Vanxhall-bridge- road, having no other resource. His funds were all gone. Throughout last year he was living in a lodging at Torquay, but he got worse and worse, and at last he had not the means of paying any longer the 8s. a week which lie paid for the rent of his room. Mr. Stanley sent him occasionally small sums of j money, amounting altogether to about 4:20, but that bounty stopped in November, and it was no longer possible to stop in Torquay. The question naturally arises: What has become of all the money ? African exploration is notoriously a profitable occupation. Stanley is said to have made £ 40,000 out of the book describing his own and Bonny's adventures. Explorers get goild and ivory and concessions, all of which are valuable afterwards. What has Bonny done with his share of the plunder ? The answer is simple. He never had any plunder. He was three years with Stanley, and his saiary was £ 100 a year, making £ 300. In addition to this he got an honorarium of £ 300, making £ 600 in all. But when the expedition came out. into the daylight at Zanzibar, there were complete outfits to buy, and there was the expense of living during several months of convalescence, so that, when William Bonny got back to England he had very little left. He was prohibited by contract from publishing any narrative of his adventures which would interfere with the success of his leader's book. He had to be content with what was left of the ECOO and Mr. Stanley's published praise. I imagine, then, Mr. Bonny." the Dally Mail representative said, that you would hardly recom- mend African exploration to a young man about to choose a career." It would not have been surprising if the feeble, broken man lying there had burst out with bitter regrets and complaints. But no a sad smile came into his eyes, and he gently shook his head. Well," he said reflectively, I don't know. You see Africa is very fascinating."

IT WAS VERY YKXfNG but if he had used one tt KEATINGS LOZENGES he would have stopped I his cough in a minute and obtained a good night's rest. KEATING'S LOZENGES are simply un- rivalled and the most delicate can take them. Sold by all chemists, a tin for LHd. THE smallest flower known to the botanist is said to be that of the yeast plant. It is microscopic in size, and is said to be only one-hnndredth of a milli- metre in diameter. LINUM CATIIAKTICUM PILLS, digestive, corrective, and agreeably aperient. 9^d., 13Jd. Of all Chemists. 2 2 I GET tired writing jokes day after day." said the amateur humorist. Don't you care," replied his friend consolingly. "Think how tired the people are who read them." COAGULINE,-Cement for broken articles. 6d. and Is.' postage, Id. Sold everywhere. Home, and abroad. BOSTONIAN: Is this friend that you wish to bring to dinner much of a raconteur?" Chicago Man; Blamed if I know but, say, you'll die laughin' if we get him to tellin' storieq." "LINSEED COMPOUND" (Trade Mark) gives Expec- toration without strain. 9^ 13^d. Sold by Chemists, 2 MR. FIGG Happy is the country that has no history'—do you understand that, Tommy ?' Tommy: I guess it means the kids are happy, 'cause they don't have to study it." .J

GARDENING GOSSIP.. (From "Cottage Gardening.") FLOWER GARDEN. A ,(,od collection of lierba(-eoiis plants requires as much care in winter as in summer, especially in diffi- cult soils. Slugs and snails have a habit of working down to the collars of delicate plants, and feeding on the young succulent crowns. 1 have no doubt many plants, especially those recently transplanted, are lost from this cause and some other reason assigned for it. Any plants the slugs favour may be easily pro- tected by placing a few sifted coal-ashes round the crowns. They can be removed, if necessary, when the growths are through the soil. The surface cannot be too often stirred among flowers, provided it is done when it is fairly dry and always, after frost, look round and fasten anything which may have been disturbed by the lifting power of the frost. It is im- portant. in planting anything new or rare, that a little fresh compost should be worked in round the roots. Very often the newly-purchased plants come to hand in a small, weak state, and, if not well cared for at first, may die. There is always a demand for anything new and choice, and small plants are the rule when purchased. In our own case, when we buy anything new. we have a special bed for it for the first season, where the soil has been specially pre- pared. and when the plants are strong they can be moved elsewhere. Then, again, certain things require special treatment. Lilies, for instance, like old vege- table matter to root in and to form a mulch over the crowns in winter. The same treatment will suit the Hellebores of the nigra or Christmas Rose section. It is rarer than it should be to find a really good bed of these, and vet how valuable the flowers are at Christmas and later. All kinds of deciduous trees and shrubs may be planted in open weather, but it will be as well to leave the evergreens now till nearer the spring. FRUIT GARDEN. If there is a bit of south wall vacant, plant a Peach tree on it. Peaches are not difficult to manage if the right means are adopted, especially in dealing with insects and thinning the young wood. Tobacco-powder is the best remedy for green and black fly, and it should be used the moment the first fly is seen. If the attack is delayed till the leaves- are curled, the work is increased tenfold. Peaches and Apricots do best in a firm border. Digging among the roots of fruit-trees is a ruinous plan it compels them not only to run down deeper, but to send up a forest of suckers. Hale's early Stirling Castle, Dymond, and Sea Eagle are good varieties for planting outside. If any desire to make a little profit from fruit-growing Peaches provided one can give the necessary attention—offer the best clmnce. It is often a good plan to transplant, young trees when some progress has been made. especially if there is a ten- dency to make wood too fast. Transplanting, some four years after the trees have been planted, gives an opportunity to place the roots in a right position, and then, if the roots are not sent down too deeply by dig- ging over them, they will soon come into bearing and continue fertile a long time. This refers to the fruit- trees, especially those submitted to training. The best system of training for Apples and Pears is the espalier. Strained wires are cheaper than any system of wood trellis, and more lasting. Wood, in contact with soil, perishes in'a short, time. but iron i& indestruc- tible. The following are really good Plums to plant now Belgian Purple, Pond's Seedling. Cox's Emperor. Prince Englebert, Golden Gage, Victoria, Rivers' Early Prolific. and Monarch. VEGETABLE GARDEN. Remove dead leaves from Brussels Sprouts, but do not cut off the tops yet. There are plenty of greens of all kinds now. Savoys are very fine, and inclined to burst. But the best Savoys for family use are the small varieties, such as Tom Thumb. The large- hearted kinds are good for cattle, but the small hearts arc better flavoured, and, if planted about lOin. apart, there is not much loss of crop in com- parison with the Drumhead. Some effort should be made to get Rhubarb forward. Apples are scarce this season, and early Rhubarb will be wanted for tarts. I always think Rhubarb is best forced in the dark, and, besides, it grows faster. But in forcing, if warm manure is the agent, be careful to ferment the manure a little before using it, or the Rhubarb may have an earthy flavour. Rhubarb and Seakale may be forced uurler tubs or boxes surrounded bywarro materials. Even a covering of long litter over the crowns will hasten the growth. Everybody should have two varieties—early and late. Paragon has a high reputation as an early variety. I have seen it stated that Y-210 has been made of an acre of this variety. Myatt's Victoria is the best late Rhubarb. All land may be manured now, and deeply dug to let in the air. Plant early Peas and Beans, if there is a warm spot in the garden. Autumn-planted Peas are up. and looking well. If it comes cold, some shelter will be desirable. Aridgeof earth drawn up on each side, and the sticks placed in the rows, will be serviceable. GREENHOUSE. Get the Grape Vines pruned and washed with Gis- hurst compound. If it is intended to plant Vines under glass in new houses, get the border prepared by digging out the site 2ift. deep. Place 9in. of broken bricks in the bottom, covering with lime, watering in, and ramming down hard. Fill up with good loam, enriched with bone-meal. The growth can always be regulated by giving or withholding stimulants. The best time to plant Grape Vines is in March, just as the buds are bursting, as Vines do not make roots till the foliage is bursting out. If there are the means of growing Tomatoes under glass, a few seeds may be sown now, but. unless a tem- perature of 60deg. can be had, it will be better to wait a month. Every person who is fond of a garden may have his bit of glass now, without practising any severe self-denial. There will be plenty of bulbs in flower now. It is a good plan where many bulbs, such as Daffodils and Tulips, are required for the rooms, to start them in boxes, and. as they come into bloom, to lift them up carefully and plant them in gardenettcs or vases, in Moss or earth, or fibre. Bulbs are being forced in Jadoo-fibre, but it is rather too expensive t.o use on a large scale. Bulbs are different from most flowering plants; the flowers are in the bulbs, and it is not difficult to bring them out. THE USE OF IIOT-BEDS. Many gardeners have good cause to regret the in- troduction of brick pits into the garden to take the place of the old-fashioned hot-beds and frames. He may like the tidier appearance of the pits and the convenience which they offer, but he is aware that they will not furnish the same quantity and quality of good manure in the winter that a hot-bed of the old-fashioned type used to do, and therefore the garden suffers more or less, and none more so than the Vines and fruit-trees, to say nothing of such vegetable crops as Peas, Cauliflowers, and Onions. Nor does the loss end here, because it must be understood that I am not writing of pits heated by hot water, but of those that are supposed to be a substitute for the older plan of raising early crops on hot-beds and in frames placed on them. Gardeners have long since found out that they can- not raise Cucumbers and Melons in the ordinary pits so early as before they were introduced, and this is where the plain, ordinary form of pit fails to meet the wants of the gardener. I shall experience no difficulty in making the practical reader under- stand in what way these pits are not so serviceable as the old-fashioned hot-beds, setting aside the question of the manure altogether; but inexperienced people may not be able to follow me so well. A hot-bed made up in a brick pit is useless as regards furnishing bottom heat after.it has been made three or four weeks. Supposing the pit is filled with manure on the 1st of February, and Cucumbers or Melons are planted upon it, the heat will be quite exhausted by the beginning of March or soon after, and in consequence the plants suffer. They may not die, but for the want of warmth they make but little or no progress, as the natural temperature at that time is not high enough to keep the growth active, and at the same time the cultivator has no means of making up the deficiency in the heat. With, however, the old-fashioned hot-bed he can place a lining of fresh manure all round -it, and by this means supply the warmth so much needed: This he does from time to time, adding fresh manure as the heat declines but if he has made a hot-bed and enclosed it between brick walls, he must be content to see his plants stopped in growth for the want of the warmth he is unable to supply. Of course I am referring to the raising of early crops, as we used to do on hot-beds in days gone by, when Cucumbers were expected from the middle to the end of March, and Melons early in June. A hot-bed made up in a pit at the beginning of April is a very different thing from one made two months earlier, because at that late date the natural temperature will in an average season supply any deficiency. Many a young gardener has found these pits hinder the work of raising early crops, because they did not understand the difference between them and an ordi- nary hot-bed. Brick pits that are intended to fur- nish bottom heat for the subjects I have mentioned should be placed 2ft. below the surrounding level, and all the earth removed 2ft. in width and the same in depth beyond the dimensions of the pit itself. 'The brick wall which forms the pit should be pigeon- holed up to the level of the ground, which will leave a space or trench beyond the wall, to be filled up with hot manure from time to time, according as the heat inside the pit declines. With a pit constructed in this way the gardener has better command of the temperature inside, and can act accordingly. But I must mention that in this case, as well as in that of an ordinary hot-bed, there must be a plentiful supply of fresh stable manure for the purpose of renewing the bottom heat, or success cannot be secured. 1