The Merthyr Express

Y GOLOfN GYMREIG Y Farddoniaeth. Llyfrau Cymraeg hadolygu, &c., danfon i'r cyfeiriad canlynol: —Mr. E. T. John (Ieuan Dyfed). "Glantaf." 33. Bronheulog, Penydarren. Meithyr. Y DRYW.—Cuddio dan y geulan oedd y llanc. Daeth allan yn oi urddas y boreu yma. Ie, dyna fe i'r dim. Y GWLADGABWR.—Nid ydym yn hoffi y gair "twrle" am "dwr" a "Ie." Gwyddom ar yr un pryd mai y gynghanedd, yn nghyd a rhediad y meddylddrych, sydd yn ei erchi. Y mae yr englyn, er hyn oil, yn un cadarn ar y cyfan. Y PF.GWN GOGLEDDOL. — Y mae "dadl y Pegwn" yn ddigon i beri i ddyn braidd i ddweyd yn ngeiriau Bardd y Nant, "Well bell- ach o'r werin, pa ddewin eill wirio, pwy sydd ar gelwydd, a phwy ellir gcelio." Mae'n ddigon er ameu dan y rhod, a oes "Pegwn" yn bod neu peidio! Posibl fod Cook yn enill mwy o gvdymdeimlad y werin am fod y lleill yn myned ailan o'u llwybr i'w drin mor erwin. Yr awen, bid sicr, fyn y gair diweddaf ar y cwestiwn yn y diwedd. Diolch am eich gair caredif*. Gwyddem am y tro&edd—trosedd ar hawliau'r llygad yn fwy nag eiddo'r glust yr ystyriem ef. Sut bynag, meddyliem v buasai newid yn andwyo llinell gampus mewn englyn rhagorol. YR AWR BRUDD A'R AWR LON.-Barddon01. hwylus, a pher8illlol, fel arfer. Diolch fod mwy o oriau "Ilon" nag. sydd o rai "prudd" wedi'r cyfan. Da genym ddeall each bod wedi dechreu ar gwrs o efrydiaeth yn y Brif-Athrofa. Fel un o blant y "Golofn." dymunwn i chwi yrfa lwyddianus yno. Hyderwn y gwireddir y brophwydoliaeth a draethasom am danoch ers amryw flynvddau bellach. Nid ewch byth yn uwch na'n dymuniad. ODLIG BRIODASOL.—Odlig ragorol iawn. Cyd- ddymunwn lwyddiartt y par ieuanc. Y DAn. YN SYRTHIO.—Prydferth, cryno, a thymhoraidd. -0:- Y DRYW Aderyn y drain yw y Dryw,—gwna'i bias 0 gain. blu'. digyfryw lidn bitw bach, bach. a. byw, Ac unawdydd cun ydyw. Abercwmboi. ALAW SLLEN. —■ o — Y PEGWN GOGLEDDOL. Rhyfedd Ogleddol "bolyn,"—yn denu Ein dynion i'th goryn Y gwylaidd "Cook" a'i gwelodd cyn I ddwylaw Pearv ei ddilyn. Dowlais. TALOW. o YR SABBOTHOL. Yr YSlrol S;» -hol ddengys olau Gwiw, eirian. -das i'r Gwirioneddau CvsegTedig: hi g-ais agoriadau Rhyddid hynoJol-rhyddhad eneidiau, Yn bur o hyd gwna barhau—'n dragwyddol I'n Hiesu grasol, hi ddysg yr oesau. Penheolgerrig. TELOB TAT. Y CYNHAUAF. lor rydd in' wir ddaioni, A hulio wna'n hael i ni. E' roes y gwlaw, gwres, a gwlith- Gwymon fu'r meusydd gwenith; Gwedi hau caed cynauaf Eto, bu pob bro yn braf; Y deg a thorch tanerch lawn Yn hidlo fu yn rhadlawn: Cnau, peranau Fel y diliau, A'r afalau Yn eurfelyn; Canai'r coedydd Ar y meusydd I'n Creawdydd, Cywir ydymr Duw rydd ar yd i fyd faetn, Gleiniawg yw gwaith Rhagluniaeth. Dowlais. W. H. D. -:0:- ODLIG BRIODASOL I Mr. Thomas Daniel Morgan, Gwernllwyn Uchaf, Dowlais, a Miss Annie Mary Thomas, Bryntirion, Bedlinog. Addfed Fedi, fis v cnydau, Ffyddlawn ydwyt drwy'r blynyddau, Hapus yw dy ddigwyddiadau A'th haelioni derch, Ac eleni, yn galonog, Daethost yn dy ddawn doreithiog, Llonaist Dowlais a Bedlinog, Unaist fab a merch; Thomas Daniel Morgan, Serchog fel yr huan, A Miss Thomas addas sydd Fel haner dvdd ei hunan; Chwareu yn awelon cariad, Hir ac unol bu eu bwriad, Tynu, tynu at eu huniad Pur, yn nghwlwm serch. Megis corneint rhwng ? bryniau, Yo arianu'r gwryddion lwybrau, Ac yn gweini cymwynasau Gludir gan y gwynt; Felly ddau fywyd hygar, Yn prydf«rthii Uwybrau'r ddaear Ac yn elusengar. Yn v dyddiau gynt; Mwy fel afon syber, Heibio ant o'r Aber. 1 Gan ymledu rhag eu b!aen I daenu doniau'n dyner; ffiu gweithredoedd ffrwythloni, A'u holl lwybrau yn adloni, 0 dan olion eu haelioni Ar eu hunol hynt. Hidlwn heddyw odlau'n addas, I bar hudol y briodas, llwyddiant wnawn heb luddias, Gan ddymuno'u ffawd; Ceisier iddynt bob cysuron, Gwylied drostynt glaer angylion, Gwened Duw a gweined dynion Iddynt ar eu rhawd; Nwyfre laswen hyfryd, Bywiol chwaon bywyd, Rhwydd i'w rhan o bob rhyw fan Boed llonder byd a llawndid; Canodd clych y'nt beraidd odlau, Gyrodd siroedd y'nt drysorau, Hedodd atynt gyfarchiadau Bonead byd a thlawd. Teulu'r Gwernllwyn yn eu haniaa Sydd am gofio'r mab a'i rian, Tystio hyn wna'r llestri arian Am wasanaeth maith; Onid teg yw rhoi anrhegion I fytholi dau mor ffyddlon, Cynes, cywir eu hamcanion, i bob gwaith? 'I Hir bu T. D. Morgan Eurgwr ar yr "organ," Sul a gwyl, gan sel y gwaith, Yn toddi iaith a chynghan, Eto hwylied ati'n helaeth, Swyned ni a'i hoff wasanaeth, Gan roi'i oreu i beroriaeth Hyd at ben ei daith. Merthyr. o: Y DAIL YN SYRTHIO. Heddyw, dail y coed sy'n syrthio O'u gorseddau'n fach a maw: Eto'n hardd mewn euraidd amdo, Oil yn gorwedd ar y llawr. Nid oes ond ycbydig ddyddiau Er y gwelwyd y rhai hyn, Ar y coed mewn arall liwiau, Yn prydferthu bro a. bryn. Byr eu tymhor, ond prydferthweh Welwyd ynddo ar ei hyd: Gwyrddlas gwelir yr anialwch A'r diffaethweh maitb i gyd; Dan eu cysgod ca'dd y truan Le i orphwys lawer gwaith, A derbyniodd blin ac egwan Nerth i gyraedd pen eu taith. Ond daeth Hydref hin i'w symud Un ac oil oddiar eu sedd Gogledd wynt yn elorgerbyd, I'w dwyn ymaith tua'r bedd; Er gwasanaeth yn eu bywyd, Fe ddaeth diwedd iddynt hwy, Heb y gobaitb na'r addewid Am un adgyfodiad mwy. Ond i ddyn y mae addewid, oJ. Er ei fyned Jawr i'r bedd: Ca ryw adeg ei gyfnewid, A bod byth yn hardd ei wedd; Boed' ein hoes fod o wasanaeth, Yn y gobaith, d'od i'r lan O'r fro dawel—tir marwolaeth— A chael nefoedd byth yn rhan. Tredegar. W. LL. o: "YR AWR BRUDD." Eisteddai yng ngliwmni'r tywyllwch, Heb freuddwyd, heb hyder—ar lawr, Yn gaeth dan gymylau o dristwch, Heb obaith nag argoel am wawr. Anghofiaf lawenydd blaenorol, A chofiaf am flinder a loes: Amheuai fod engyl rhagorol A'u bryd ax weddnewid fy oes, Pruddglwyfni yw brenin fy mywyd, Gormesa'n ddirdynol o hyd A than ei deyrnasiad anhyfryd, Mor ddu a digysur fy myd! Caerdydd. D. W. EDWARDS. -:0: YR AWR LON. Tlws yw fy myd fel breuddwyd mun Gan ddwyfol ragolygon Mae mwyniant megys duwies gun Ar orsedd aur fy nghalon. Mae awel fwyn a gwybren las Mewn cydweithrediad hyfryd, A gwenau engyl-sanctaidd dras Yn glwys brydferthu'm bywyd. Mor hardd fy rhan' mor wyn fy myd! Wyf gaethwas i ddryiwyddwch; o arc:, gwnei di o hyd Baradwys o'r anialwch. Caerdydd. D. W. EDWARDS.

To MOTHERS.—Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup has been used over fifty years by millions of mothers for their children while teething, with perfect success. It will relieve the poor sufferer immediately. It is pleasing to laste: it produces natural quiet sleep, by relieveing the child from pain, and the little cherub awaket "as brijrht aa a butt«a, Of all chemists. U, LID, SEC botllfc f WHATI 0-MO DOES While it washes it bleaches. I While it bleaches it purifies. I It does three things at one time S and does them well, 1<t":0", II OMO is made by Hudson's—a | name famous in every home. I It represents all the skill and | I experience of years of soap- J | making, and is sold in Id. & I I 3d. packets. V-f 11 OMO washes White /i^\ J things white. tWif O.S. 14- „ Ifniwil ■ Ml '!■! "'WWBWWWMWIWWWIIWWIM n.iw ——————W EORGE'S GRAVEL PILLS Marvellous Remedy For Piles and Gravel, And. all the Commop Disorders of the Stomach. Bowels, Liver and Kidneys, Such as Piles, Gravel, Pain in the Back and Loins, Constipation, Suppression and Retention of Urine, Irritation of the Bladder, Sluggishness of the Liver and Kidneys, Biliousness, Flatulence, Palpitation, Nervousness, Sleeplessness, Dimness of Vision, Depression of Spirits, all Pains arising from Indigestion, &c. THEIR FAME IS AS WIDE AS CIVILIZATION. They have stood the test of Forty years. 1 + i THE xHREE FORMS OF THIS REMEDY: No. 1.—GEORGE'S PILE AND GRAVEL PILLS, No. 2.—GEORGE'S GRAVEL PILLS. No. 3.—GEORGE'S PILLS FOR THE PILES. SOLD EVERYWHERE in Boxes, 1/1 jr and 2/9 each. By Poet, 1/2 and 2/1(1. I Proprietor: J. E. GEORGE, M.R.P.S., Hirwain, Aberdare — I I id I 11 A to 1 BAGKW*!st> H S^EUES! B -40 1 THERE'S MZLNY- A LITTLE ONE LOST Who would be here to-day if their Mothers had not neglected them. Their pitiful screams and restless- ness by day and night denote pain which can be stopped and the danger removed by JONES' RED DROPS The Famous Specific for Wind, Gripee, Convulsions, etc. They are invaluable as a soother and health.. giver. Where there's a baby there should be Jonee Red Drops to SAVE PAIN AND SORROW. l/ljd. Per Bottle from the following Agents :— || Merthyr, Mr. V. A. WILLS, Chemist, 3a, Victoria Street. ■ Dowlais, Mr. EVANS, Chemist, Union stree). I Troedyrhiw. Messrs. J. D. JONES & SON. Cantorl ■ I Bea a fort Mr. Price, Post-office. Treharris Mr. Lloyd, Chemist. Bargood Mr. Pritchard, Chemist. Caerau Maesteg Mr. Howells, Chemist. Pontypridd From all Chemists. Tonypandy — Mr. Emrys Richards, Chemist. Llwynypia — Mr. J. W. Richards, Chemist. Pentre Ystrad. Mr. S. S. James, Royal Stores. Treorchy .Mr. Prothero. Chemrst. Treorchy— .Mr. Davics! Cuemist. Treherbert.Mr. Evaus, Chemist. M Bargood Mr. Pritchard, Chemist. SB Caerau Maesteg Mr. Howells, Chemist. Pontypridd From all Chemists. Tonypandy — Mr. Emrys Richards, Chemist. Llwynypia — Mr. J. W. Richards, Chemist. B Pentre Ystrad. Mr. S. S. James, Royal Stores. N Treorchy .Mr. Prothero. Chemrst. H Treorchy .A,ir. Davics, Cuemist. aM Treherbert.Mr. Evaus, Chemist. lerndale Mr. Burgess, Chemist. n Ynyshir Mr. Lewis, Chemist. Qa Tylorstown. Mr. W. R. Williams, Chemist. ■ Abercynon.. Mt. W. C. Williams, Chemist. B Aberdare. Mr. Harris, Chemist. ■ Aberamari Mr. 1. E. Thomas, Chemist. I Mountain Ash.Mr. Williams, Chemist. B Mountain Ash Mr. Jones, Chemist. B Penrhiwceiber. Mr. A. M. Jones, Chemist. B Porth From all Chemists. K Bargoed.Mr. W. Parry-Williams, Chemist. B !6 JONES & SONS, Manufacturing Chemists, LLANIDLOES t* »\5 —tA (gkeoma. Makes dainty cakes. CAKEOMA is a perfect cake-flour. It contains all the. dry ingredients re- quired when making cakes, mixed ready for use. I It makes beautiful cakes- ) light and dainty-and is very easy to use. Many useful and econom- ical household recipes in each packet. And it makes equally nice puddings. CAKEOMA <n 3id. packets from groctrs and CAKEOMA <n 3}d. packets from groctrs and stares everywhere. 4 LATHAM & CO. LTD., LIVERPOOL. p go- I a I I I v I I Pa2 (P M )) Dry Powdot which etm t)e mtde)) M J] A Dry Powdw which oan be made fl /v. I| Into a splendid {gSjia} DISTEMPER PAINT IT. I by addition of Water only. I I I rOFt I So simple—a child can get good fD £ COffAT £ I if f I results. Dries hard as a rock. Will I SMALL I V JKJ J n?' Covers umiersurface V annm J V?' .^perfectly. 24 beautiful art shades. Of al>NC ~lJX Ironmongers,Colormon.etc. Free Color Card J] and name of nearest agent from manufacturer— || IT. I by addition of Water only. I I V?' .^perfectly. 24 beautiful art shades. Of al>NC ~lJX Ironmongers,Colormon.etc. Free Color Card J] and name of nearest a^ent from manufacturer— || II James Rudman, Cambrian Colf>r Works. Bristol. || CABINET MINISTERS are very necessary in order 'to ensure the good government of a great ooyntry, and to indicate such alterations in the law that may from time to time be found needful. If the political con- stitution requires attention and occasional patching up, so does the physical system oi every one of our readers. Change of season of of climate invariably produces more or less temporary illnesses which may be promptly put right by a little rest and a dose or two o £ EERNICK'S VEGETABLE PILLS Headaches, pains in the back and under that shoulder blades, biliousness, indigestion, &c.< are some of the symptoms. If you suffer, try a box of Kernick's Vegetable Pills, costing' you "id., Is. lo., or 2s. 9d each at any chemist or store with full directions. THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR THE "MANNINA" HERBAL OINTMENT Trade Mark, Cure for Cancer, Ac. The Mannina" Oiutment is sold by the follow pen^K Chemists, via..—Messrs. V. At Wills, 3a, Vicioria-sireet, Merthyr; T. Davies. Porth D. E. Davies, Treorchy Emrys Evans, Aberdare; Oliver Davies, Mill-street, Ponty. pridd; Mr. D. George, Dispensing Chemist, 153, Bute-street, Treherbert; Mr. T. Thomas, M. R P. 8-1 Consulting Chemist, Cash Drug Stores Co., Treharris Mr. D. Williams, M P.S., Dispensing Chamiat, Commercial-street, Mountain Ash, &c. i or can be obtained direct from the Sole Proprietor. Sole Proprietors, The "Mannina Co* Main Street, FISHGUARD. 7N& Y c 4IRe WlIrN. 0 w& hu f a^V WOOS/M/0S ItoothVacre jfS pa Alio M aSfefr. NEURALGIA i Of <411 CMIM/STS K IPQWDERS^SI SERVANTS can easily be obtained W the use of a small Want Ad. in the** columns. State your requirement*! you. will be wt:. to get suited at onco.

-=. will we speak of lum after to-day. I have had an understanding with him, he was not to blame as you think. The affair is ended. Tell me* dear. about yourself and all that is happen- ing. What sort of man is this Lord Hamer- sham ?" "I am afraid of him, Rene. Yes, it is true, he follows me with his eyes, there is something magnetic about him, yet I do not like him, in- deed sometimes I think I hate him. I wish he would leave Old Hall or take to watchina some- one else," answered Mab, giving a little shud-' der. "lIe has bought the old place, you know that, Mab," said her sister with meaning. "1 know." "Does he admire you, Mab? Supposing, oh, just supposing he were to ask you to be mis- tress of Old Hall. Oh, my dear, if we could be back there once again, and had the right to be there, it was so much to us, wasn't it, Mab, and when I think of the shooting season com- ing on, and the hunting—and that I shall never shoot or hunt again—life looks its darkest." Irene's voice sank to almost a whisper .of despair. "Would you wish me to marry a man I hated and feared in order to get back the old home?" asked Mab, and then she slid down on to the floor and hiding her face in her sister's lap burst into a passIOn of crying. "Mab, little Mab, what is it, dear?" cried Rene, stroking the golden brown head with caressing hand, her whole manner and voice breathing tender !iympathy. "Nothing," whispered Mab, brushing back the tears and struggling with her sobs. "It is seeing you again, Rene, but Lord Hamersham has uet ':Ie, nd n.ow-now you hint at my becoming his wife, wife to a man I detest." "But I did not mean it, darling. Oh, don't think it for a moment, it wa.s just an idea, that was all. Discourage his attèntions Mab at once; don't let him think that because ycu are poor you would accept him and his money and dear Old Hall. Only let him sere that you mean it, for it strikes me that he is the kind of mail who once you are in his power would keep his hold over you, so repulse him at once, dear," said Irene, "and now tell me about Mr. Have- lock, if he is in the least like his sister then I should not care to have much to do with him. I don't like her at all." "It is hardly likely that you would, but Maestro—I mean Mr. Havelock—is quite differ- ent from his sister. You would like him, Rene, you couldn't help it." "Is that what you call him—Maestro?" "Only when we are alone." Her voice fell to a whisper, the gentle sweet- ness of the tone told a story, and Irene began to understand the meaning of the burst of tears, and Mab's horror at the thought of marrying Lord Hamersham Were they both to love—and love in vain? "He is a bachelor, isn't he?" asked Irene. "Why, of course, and blind, as you know." A silence followed, and Mab rose presently from her knees and stood by the open window looking down into the busy street, Piccadilly in the afternoon with its incessant whirl of tr¡{ffic its cabs, hansoms, motor cars, and carriages. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and her sister's voice murmuring in her ear. "Mab. is there danger to you in staying on at Old Hall?" The girl turned round, and faced Rene with crimson cheeks and blazing eyes. "Danger or no, I am going to stay with him as long as he wants me. He told me that I was light in his darkness, then am I to take away the light and leave him in black 10nelinçs;' There are things you have asked me not to speak of to you, well there are also things that you, my sister, must not speak of to me'. I shall not leave Old Hall whilst Gilbert Have- lock continues to live there, unless he himself sends me away. Now, Rene, we will drop the subject." Swiftly did the younger girl change it immediately, talking of other and trivial things, asking to be shown over the club, enter- ing into Irene's interests and her life among club women, many of them country members, and but few workers amonst them, therefore the name of "The Idlers." "I see myself living on here indefinitely, growing old and grey, and becoming a very respectable and esteemed old maid," laughed Irene. "It sounds very dull and prosaic," said Mab, with a sigh. "But not unhappy," said her sister. "But we are so young to give up happiness." "My happiness went out like the snuff of a, candle when we left Old Hall," murmured Irene. "And if I chose I believe I could give it her back," reflected Mab with a cold clutob of horror at her heart. Win the favour of Lord Hamersham and have Old Hall for her own again, for Rene's sake, possibly, but never for her own. Then again, the girl reflected, was it true that Lord Hamersham thought of her seriously and in that way? Why should she think so? An in- stinctive feeling, and that was all, perhaps when she returned to Old Hall she would find him gone, or she might find him changed and indifferent to her. Well, she hoped that either of these things might happen yes, indeed, she did. even though Old Hall should never be theirs again Once she dared to aslc Rene if she ever saw Willoughby, and her sister was that she could think she would meet woman's fiance. "He has not come back to Old Hall, and I wondered," said Mab; "forgive me, Rene, for doubting you. I know Miss Havelock wants to hurry on the marriage before his ship sails, but whether she will succeed I do not know." Finding that Rene would be busy on the Monday morning, Mab resolved to return to Riverston on the Sunday nigh. She had no luggage, only her hand bag, and that she could carry so that she could walk the distance .to Old Hall and enjoy it in the quiet of the late August evening. She was hankering to get back, though she tried to hide it from Rene, but this absence from Gilbert Havelock, even though she was with her sister, filled her with longing to be by his side again, and always she was wondering how he was getting on without her, whether he missed her, and unconsciously the girl hoped that he did. London, especially in August, seemed stifling and horrid, and the relief of finding herself back in the pure country air under branching trees once again was delightful, though Mab felt sorry enough to leave Rene behind. As she approached the gates of the park, and saw the old house peeping through the trees, her heart beat fast. Once again she passed through the Apple Tree Walk that was scented now with the green fruit slowly ripening on the boughs, but tiny at present. She had not let anyone know that she was coming, and childlike was smiling at the thought of the sur- I prise she would give, just a little bit of fun. She had met no one at present, and how still it seemed after the noise of London and mur- mur of Piccadilly. I The birds were singing, the sun sinking low down in the western sky. There was just "one long line of fire," and there was a Sunday peace in the quiet air, a restfulness that sure- ly can never be felt save in the heart of the I country Already there was a touch of autumn in the gold and brown of many of the leaves that mingled with the green, and the days were shortening. Mr. Havelock would be in the li- brary, his favourite room, unless he was at the piano] but she would hear soon if that were so, and at the end of the walk Mab stopped to listen, but all was quiet; there was no .sound of music stealing through open window across lawn and garden to where she stood rapt in the sweet silence. She would go on to the verandah, and step into the room through the open glass door, and tell him that she had come back. or would he recognise her step before she could speak? she wondered, and so with thumping heart the girl crept nearer. Suddenly, however, she drew back, and instinctively hid behind a clump of laurels, for she had seen Lord Hamersham come out from the hall and cross the lawn. So he was here still. She felt that he was the last person she wished to meet just now, and waited in her hiding place until he had disap- peared down the winding avenue. Now—now she would go in. Gilbert—uncon- sciously she thought of him by his Christian na.me-would be alone Geraldine would not have returned yet from church—he seldom went in the evening. And now she was running softly over the green grass, and reaching the wide- open doors of the library, stood breathless on the threshold Yes he was there alone, and there was an unutterably sad expression on his face. What could he be thinking of to lQok like that? Her breath came faster; she was trembling as she crept nearer inside the room now. "Child, is that you?" he cried, hoarsely, and she answered him, "Maestro Their hands met. He could hear her quick breath, could feel her trembling, and in that sudden delight of having her back, forgot all else, and drew her closer to him. I have been lost without you, little girl. It is like the sunlight come back after days of gloom." "Maestro!" she whispered again, and he heard the love in her voice, and a scorching sense of shame swept over him, for he knew that there could be no such thing as love be- tween himself and this girl. He dropped her hands as Lord Hamersham turned away from the alcove window, having watched the meeting with a curious vengeful look upon his hard mocking face. (To be continued.) -+

In a letter on the rejection of the London Elections Bill by the Peers, Dr. Clifford says ths Lords are determined to keep London dumb, for "its acres are in their despotic grip, its increasing wealth has filled their bursting coffers, and they know they have not earned it." At Deptford on Monday, an inquest was held on Charles Constable, aged 38, a labourer, of 72, Mill-road, Lewisham.—The widow stated that six years ago, while riding on top of a pantechicon under a railway bridge near Thurs- ton-road, Lewisham. deceased was struck by the woodwork of a, loft, built into the arch. De- ceased knew he could not get under the arch II while he was on top of the van, and was pro- ceeding to fet down when the horses started, and jammed him against the woodwork, his ftiinal column be;ng smashed. He died on Fri- day last from exhaustion following a frpol'iiod spins.—The jury i«turned a verdict of Accl- fcaul Df

FOR MATRON AND MAID. IDEAS IN SMALL FURNISHINGS. Cretonne covers for all sorts or purposes are made with a border of plain coloured linen. generally green. Striped cotton material is also used in this way. These plain borders must be mitred at the corners. Plain coloured, heavy linens are much used for cushion covers. The covers arc made in the plainest fashion, with welted edges and buttons and a flap, so they can be easily remov- ed for washing An exceedingly smart decor- ation is tho initials of the owner in heavily padded white embroidered letters, worked in the lower left-hand corner. An effective cushion-cover, made with very little trouble, has a 12 inch circle of shadow cretonne set on a. square of plain material. Three rows of white cotton soutache are carried round the edge of the circle. At three equi-distant points the braid of the outer row is coiled around to make either a solid circle or a clover leaf, which should lie partly inside and partly out-side the circle. The back of the cushion is of the plain material, and it is edged with a white cord. A pair of white curtain cords, their tassels knotted at opposite corners of the pillow, are a good finish. SOME HOME JOYS. To have three or four exuberant youngsters cooped up in the dining-room on a rainy day when a hundred glinting puddles on the pave- ment invite them to forbidden antics is delib- erately putting your nerves to the torture. Young blood doesn't always take on the dole- fulness of outdoor weather like grown-up?, who have headaches and rheumatism, and of- ten confess themselves a perfect thermometer, able to scent a coming storm by the feeling of their limbs and too*. The mother who is in a whirl of household day, rain or shine, can least tolerate bo-1 icr and annoyance of repeatedly saying: now don't scrape that chair," or "Jo; do by down those scissors, and get story b<v;k," or "Good- ness me, Willie. did you yourself?" as Willie turns a gallant from a little mountain of chairs that is to r>resent an au- tomobile, and which he has up himself without permission. There are many orderly ne ■ in which she may permit them to aiid which will least ruffle her temper, if sh- \<1 only lead the way, and show them what to do instead of al- lowinsr them to depend on the; own resources. She must provide something that is interest- ing and jolly enough to appeal to the most restless and unruly, and which will at the same time require only the minimum of shuff- ling about and wrangling. MIRTH AND LAUGHTER TONICS. The anxious mother who has just piloted her youngest darling through a. siege of measles or whooping-cough should reaiiet the common- sense of that ancient bit of advice, "Laugh and grow fat." A noted apoetle of the Xia'turi cure" fer- vently declarre-s that mirth And laughter, and the content that goes lYtna, are tonics beside which artificial blcca-baJdero and elixirs 'all into the shade. "Even in children pleasure and delight eliminate the 'tlocray tendencies that go with low vitality," lie .assorts, "Amuse your convalescecio.says he. T^ndo'-hearted mothers, in their nervous alacrity to do the right thing, not only make the mistake of too promptly resorting to the I medicine chest when baby shows unmistakable symptoms of something or other, but they often unnecessarily, and sometimes harmfully, pro- long the medicine treatment when the child is convalescent. DISCONTENT KILLS BEAUTY. The mouth is perhaps the most expressive feature of the face, and the one that indicates the character of the possessor. It is quite pos- sible to determine at once the prominent frail- ties and strength of a new acquaintance by a study of the mouth alone, and it is, therefore, most desirable that this feature should be al- lowed to assume a relaxed expression. The indications of character cannot, of course, be controlled save by self-government, but a cross and eet look may be controlled, and this is perhaps the most important point. A mouth may have every line of weakness, and yet possess a certain beauty. It may have every line of strength, and yet be pretty. But no mouth can have a chronic discontent and sullenness, and yet retain the slightest claim to good looks. HINTS FOR THE HOME. When any kind of dish is tco salt, it can be remedied by adding a teaspoonful of vinegar and another of brown sugar. When cleaning brick or tile floors much trou- ble would be saved if they are rubbed over with a little flour size after washing them; besides being easy to clean, it gives them a nice gloss. To Keep a Kitchen Table Nice.—Very, often stains cannot be removed by being scrubbed with soap and water, but if you squeeze a lemon all over it and then scrub you will find that it comes beautifully white. Mint Pickle.—Boil 1 pint of vinegar, have lb. of chopped mint, pour the boiling vinegar on to it. Add lib. of loaf sugar, stir with wooden spoon. Bottle when cold. Cork for winter use. This keeps well, and is a nice substitute for mint sauce. To Make Brown Shoes Black rub them thor- oughly with strong soda water. When they are dry, cover them well with black ink; let dry, and clean in the usual way with boot polish. I do this when the children's shoes begin to look shabby; it makes the old brown shoes look like new black ones. A Quick and Easy Way to Clean Silver.— Place' the articles in strong hot soda water, then take a piece of aluminium—any small ar- ticle will do—and with it well stir the water for about 15 seconds, at the end of which time the silver, no matter how black, will have be- come as clean and bright as new. An Excellent Floor Stain.—The chief advan- tage of this stain is its cheapness and dura- bility. Take a jarful of common linseed oil and a pan of soot, dip the cloth first in the oil, then into the soot, and rub well into the boards. The more that is rubbed in the darker the boards will become. Polish when well dry with ordinary turpentine and bee's-wax. CAKES AND PUDDINGS.-No. 1. Every week some good and inexpensive Cake and Pudding recipes will be published in this column. Each recipe has. beep selected be- cause of the excellence of the Cake or Pudding that it makes, and also because of the inexpen- siveness of the ingredients, and the conveni- ence with which they can be obtained. The recipes are published by the Proprietors of. Cakeoma, who respectfully wish to bring the economy, convenience, and fine quality of their Cake Flour before the notice of those ladies" who 'may not yet have used it. CURRANT CAKE. 1 packet of Cakeoma.. 4 oz. Butter or Butter and Lard iqized. 2 Eggs. Ib Currants. 2 oz. Candied Peel. A third to half a glass of Milk. This is sufficient for a 2 lb. Cake. METHOD. Empty the contens of the packet into a large basin or mixing bowl, rub the shortening (softened by warmth if necessary, but not melt- ed) into the Cakeoma until it is as fine as bread-crumbs. Beat the eggs # and. with the milk, add them to the previous ingredients. Mix well for five minutes, then add the fruit, etc.. and again mix lightly until they are well amalgamated, and bake in a moderately hot oven. A Currant Pudding recipe next week. Cakeoma is sold only in 3!d, packets by all Grocers and Stores. +

FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS, THE PINK-EYED MOTH. AT dusk the window, open wide, Let in the air all cool with dew, When, dazzled by the lamp inside, A great brown moth caftie fluttering through. And like all foolish moths, alas, Straight to the light he blindly made; And would burned, but in a glass We caught and watched him there afraid. Bxad wings, body of great size, And furry head that monstrous seemed; And two bright pink and shining eyes Like two strange coloured lanters gleamed The great brown moth had hurt a wing, And could not fly. His eyes grew dim; Ttf pink died out. Poor luckless thing, the tre)s we carried him. Next day he was not there. To go H;, might have managed, hurt and sore; Or some fat bird had snatched him; so The pink-eyed moth we saw no more. —GERALD BULL. A MOST PQLIAR MAN. In SX once there lived a man, Who was XCdin YYs, So fond of Eting 2 E was U scarce could C his Ils. E had no wife, i nd so U C Ed no 1 else 2 please, So E the whole day long did 0 But take his bliurul EEs. But one day he iame home 2 dinQ It would have made U grin 2 C how E looked at his food 134 he did Bgiv* So when from liting he R-osc His face was fi'led with creCCs, But, «&d to from what ho Ale

It pas you to bake at home with raisley Flour- -the sure raising powder — The cost is less than shop made, [It pays you and you know that all the in- gredients are sound and good. By mixing i part Paisley Flour with 8 parts ordinary flour you have a perfect baking flour, much more economical than cake mixtures.

POET'S CORNER. THE NIGHT OF SORROW. JThe dusk of grief around me deeper grew, And, one by one, dear voices at my side Were hushed and borne away upon the tide Of Sorrow's sea, then Night her curtain drew. JBhadow and solitude, and somewhere blew A little whisper mournfully, then died Silence—the stars-then slumber, heavy-eved; How long the darkness, yet the hours how few! !And when dawn came it was not like the old Daybreak of silver grass and jeweled leaf. Of sunshine scattering its airy gold, Of sudden wings and lyric voices brief; ,The very sunlight on the rose looked cold, "And on its cheeks there glistened tears of grief- —By FKAJTX DEMPSTER SHERMAN, in "Century Magazine."

TTTBUSHKD BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. Facing the World BY FLORENCE HOPE, ^Ufehor of "The Trials of Madge Moberley," /•f'Paying the Penalty," "Against the ■ MTorld," "A Merciless Woman," etc. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER X. (Continued.)-A MEETING AND A PARTING. Irene thanked heaven Willoughby had not had the audacity to follow her there. But how he kept from doing so he did not know. The longing to be by her side, even jthough she was angry with him, was well-nigh iinbearable; but Geraldine's eyes were upon him, and also he wanted to hear all that Lady Clenworth was saying about her meeting with Bene "Yes; it was just a chance, you know, that ran across the poor girl this morning coming but of Madame d'Albret's agency. I knew her poor father so well, a charming man-and there are so few nowadays—ah I beg your pardon, Captain Willoughby, but present com- ipany is always excepted-so I just insisted that she should come. and dine quietly with me this evening, and tell me all about herself. Do you know, I believe I can get her the place of sec- retary to our club, Miss Havelock. Our pre- sent lady is going to give it up and be mar- ried. It is such a nice post-jus the thing, I ehould say, for this poor girl. I must get you t,o second my proposal. I have sounded Irene, and she thinks she could manage to do the work quite well. So you knew her before the Krash, Captain Willoughby. Ah! my dear Irene, come in; your coffee wiil be cold. I was saying bow nice for you and Captain Wil- loughby to meet again, isn t it, dear?" said the fussy lady, who was renowned for the many faux pas that she was in the habit of making. "It was a great surprise," answered Rene, stirring her coffee "Which has evidently upset her," said Ger- aldine to herself.' What was there between these two? An in- trigue of some sort, surely, to make them so .■constrained in each other's society. Fate was determined to give Willoughby his chance with Irene, for presently Geraldine moved away to speak to someone she knew, and Lady Glen- worth following her example, these two were left virtually alone. "I cannot speak to you here-yet you must hear me. Come out on to the balcony. I be- seech you," said Willoughby in a rapid whis- P "Why should I?" answered the girl, with pale compressed lips. "Come, I entreat of you. At least, I can ex- iplain a little of what must appear to you to be dastardly conduct," was the answer, and Wil- loughby rose resolutely, drawing back to allow 5her to pass out.. Involuntarily she did so, driven by his forci- ,ble manner, and the next moment she was lis- tening to his rapid utterance, telling her of jthe mistake that had been made, and all be- ipause of a passing little joke. Yes—she understood it all now; she could Hot fail to do so with his passionate words in her ear, his miserable gaze upon her face, and jthose words that burst from his lips. "And I love you !-I ehall always lovo you! X3od help me!" "Hush! Oh! hush!" she cried, under her ibreath, but her heart was gladdened by the .'confession, and a weight lifted from her mind, ior he cared for her and had not played her Jfalse with intention. She clasped her little Jhands tightly together that rested on the balus- trade of the balcony as she listened to still fur- ther explanation, for Jack told her of the read- ing of the letter, of how it had come into his hands, and how he now wished to place it in ihers. "I have it here; I have never parted with it, for I dared not give it to your sister. She Shates me, I think. Will you take it now?" She hesitated. Any moment somebody might ome out. It would not do for it to be seen that tetters were passing between them. "Let me keep it, then, my one comfort, ttrene, for after to-night he paused, and Said one hand over her clasped ones. "After to-night we must never speak of this Again. We know each other's hearts now-and i—and I am glad you have told me—it makes things less hard for me. Keep it, Jack, if you ,care to "Oh! here you are!" said a voice at her el- jbow, and Wilioughby's hand slipped from over Jihers. but not before Geraldine Havelock had '^perceived it and heard that last phase of ;I..rene's. So she called him "Jack" when they wera alone, yet was frigidly cold before others. There was something to be explained here. HWhat was her fiance to this Lorrimer girl? "Come and have a game of billiards, Jack, il fancy I am your match, for I pride myself on jlplaying rather a decent game," and Geraldine ssed her hand through Willoughby's arm, taking possession of him in that way that is so iirritating to many an engaged man. "I may not see you again, Miss Lorrimer; jM I will say good-bye," he said, holding out his right hand to Rene. She gave him hers and 'they clasped—and parted. She was left alone in the fragrant darkness, the scent of the balcony flowers around her, jfche hum of life below in the street, the murmur of voices in the lighted rooms behind the open I ■,mndow. It was like a dream—a dream of bit- terness and sweetness intermingled, for he loved her and her alone, even though he should give his name to another woman, and 1 so the gall in her cup was sweetened, and Rene felt that she could bear all things now with that thought to uplift her heart. CHAPTER XI.-THE PASSING OF SUMMER. The billiard room was deserted, for there was attractive music going on in another room, where the members and their guests were thronging. Willoughby felt that the air was filled with explanations, and that another was due to his fiance "Geraldine!" he called her name as she turned from him to select her cue. "No conversation, please; I am a serious player, and I mean to beat you," she answered. "But I think I ought to explain "I hate explanations, they invariably make things worse. I quite understand you think I am jealous of your little flirtation with that Lorrimer girl. Well, of course I saw you had hold of her band, but the darkness and the surroundings tempted you to that sort of thing, I suppose, and please understand that I am not going to be an exacting wife or you an exacting husband. We shall suit one another admirably if we each go our own way up to a certain point. I give you permission to have your mild flirtations as I shall certainly have mine, so"—with a shrug of her shapely should- ers-"I think we shall get on-eh, Jack, dear?" She flung him a mocking glance over one shoulder, and flattered herself that she had been too clever for words, for Willoughby was stun- ned by her audacity and her absolute heartless- ness. He was to marry this woman who already calmly contemplated their going their own ways. It was to be a marriage of convenience and nothing more. Well, he was glad of that at any rate; only it revolted him that a woman should be able to look upon the sanctity of mar- riage so lightly. They played their game, he almost in silence, she speaking occasionally, with a cigarette be- tween her lips, and she beat him. "You are too nervous a player, Jack," she said, as they left the billiard room. "It is true I have not your nerve." he re- plied. "1 suppose I ought to be going?" he added. She yawned, putting her jewelled fingers be- fore her lips. "It is rather deadly here to-night; we must arrange something better for to-morrow. Tele- phone to me in the morning what you have" taken tickets for, and I will be ready to dine somewhere and go to a play. I am staying here, you know. Good night. I am awfully sleepy; pleasant dreams, rnon ami." And so she'dismissed him, and dropping into an easy chair laughed softly as she lighted an- other cigarette. "I congratulate you, Miss Havelock, on your engagement," said a woman, sinking into a lounge near by, "the man is deliciously good looking. Naval men are so fascinating, I think. "Captain Willoughby is a devoted lover, but it was getting late, so I had to dismiss him. less convenances, you kro\7, Miss Lambton," said Geraldine, lazily. Miss Lambton decided in her own mind hat it had not struck her that Willoughby was such a devoted lover, rather the reverse, but she only smiled and said nothing, and Geraldine resolved that the sooner she and Jack were married the better, for once his wife it would not matter if he treated her coolly. People would not notice it, but now—well, she did not particularly care about. remarks being made, nor did she like that smile of Miss Lamb- ton's. What a nuisance men were! The next evening these supposed lovers drift ed still further apart, and indeed were on the verge of quarrelling, for Geraldine was in an ir- ritable mood, and nothing pleased her. The restaurant where Willoughby took her to dine was too noisy, she (iL-clared, the music so loud one could not hear oneself speak, and the play was absolutely an impossible one, the situa- tions unnatural, though Jack found it patheti- cally human and very clever, and at the end of the evening they found they were both reliev- ed to part. "I go back to Old Hall to-morrow morning. I suppose we may expect to see you down when this pressing business is done," said Ger- aldine, as they bade good night. "Thanks, very much. The fact is I believe I shall have to start sooner than I expected. My ship sails in six weeks, so that there is a lot to do just now, what with one thing and another," said Willoughby. vaguely. "I see; well, Jack, what do you think about our getting married before you go? I might just manage to get a sort of trousseau ready in a month, and that would give us a brief hon- eymoon. It is the fashion to have them as short as possible nowadays, and so sensible. 1 think I'd rather be Mrs. John Willoughby be- fore you leave than remain Miss Havelock. I could still stay with my brother, so you need not bother about a house." Geraldine spoke as carelessly as if she were arranging a picnic, and Willoughby smothering the exclamation that rose to his lips of "I'm hanged if I will," suggested that it would be weighing still heavier on his mind. Irene's eyes haunted him, the touch of her rather a rush. "Do you think so? Well, come down at the end of the week and talk it over," she said, and he left, her with the burden of his trouble weighing still heavier on his mind. Irene's eyes haunted him, the touch of her hand, and the longing for her grew to be an actual pain, a hunger that he strove in vain to smother, and he was to take to wife another woman. Even if he told Geraldine the truth that he could never care for her as a man should the woman he marries, she would re- fuse to release him, for she had no knowledge of what love meant. Marriage was what she desired and nothing more, and he was to be the victim through his own impetuous folly. How he cursed the day that he had gone down to Old Hall smarting with jealousy to be entangled in this hopeless mesh. But marry in six weeks time? No, a thousand times no. Why should he? Geraldine must wait until he returned from his next voyage, which would, after all, not be a long one, eighteen months, perhaps- well, wha, of that-time for all sorts of things to happen. Geraldine herself might meet with someone else, and change her mind. Great Scott! If only she would! But meanwhile Irene might be wooed and won by some other man, for why should she remain unwedded when she knew that he was bound to another? And then. foolishly perhaps, he 'drew out from his breast her letter to Mab, and read again those sweet words that told of her love for him- self. He had spoilt her life as well as his own. The cruel hardness of it all, and the only amends he could make to her would be to avoid her, to trust that ere long she would forget him and-console herself with some other man. Willoughby clenched his hands at the thought, and swore under, his breath at the cursedness of fate that nothing he could do would alter. Meantime Irene was being interviewed and written to about the post of secretary to "The Idlers' Club," a position that would be in some ways a pleasant one for her, and suitable cer- tainly for a lady of birth and education. Through the influence of Lady Glenworth she obtained the situation, and wrote to Mab the good news, begging her to come up to town for a day or two and talk things over with her. She would have rooms at the Club, a certain amount of time at her disposal just now, as so many members were away for August, and the place was almost empty Mab readily responded to her sister's call, for things were growing difficult to her at Old Hall. Lord Hamersham was stiil there, an uninvited guest, and his watchfulness of her was getting on the girl's nerves. She hardly knew how to bear it, so getting permission to leave for a week-end she arrived in town on the Friday, and the sisters met, glad indeed to see each other again after their first absence from oAe another. "Mab, you look older and—prettier, and somehow altered," said Irene, and the other girl replied. "And you have changed, too; you are thin- ner, Rene, paler; what have you been doing to yourself?" "I've not been very happy, Mab. I h&e gone through worry and trouble, but now things will be better, you know Wasn't it good of Lady Glenworth? She has arranged the whole -thing, you know. I feel in luxury here after that horrid boarding-house, and then lodgings that were anything but comfortable," and IreAe looked round her present pretty rooms with sat- isfaction. She p6ssessed two, opening into one another, which Mab was allowed to share for the short visit she was making. "Poor Rene!" said Mab, tenderly stroking her sister's hand that rested on the arm of her chair. "Don't pity me, and—and Mab, you are not to blame Captain Willoughby any more, nor