Abergavenny Chronicle

i ? ( -,?? -? ??ll- a-a- | A LI RIGHTS RESERVED. ] I L fIAL.' :A:I BY ? ALICE & C2LAe?UDlE ASKEW. I y Aathoft of ?"TT?hh-e -SShh?ddamite." -The Rod of Justice," etc. I .O.C?? I SYNOPSIS. I JACEZ GILMAN and Peter Rawson are mill-owners, wfci have long been riv;il.«, but the former can no longer stand the Undersell ng met hods he has n forced to adopt, and is now On the verge of bankruptcy. At a meeting between the two laen it is aLritv-J to unite the firms, and so give the hands better pay itud treatment, as the competition and consequent bad pay hav; made a strike imminent. But the condition is that the son, Andrew Gilman, should marry Eve Rawson. This Eve re; uses to do, in spite f all her father's pleading's, and at a subsequent interview with Rodney Grieve (who has long been in love with her), confesses that she cannot do so because she has lost her heart to a fascinating actor-a tnatinpe idol. whom she met whilst staying with her god- mother in London, and has gone to America on tour Though the news is a shock, he promises to stand by her as a brother. Andrew Gilman does not take kindly to the thought of Harrying Eve, as his affections are set oa Fancy Felton, a Penniless orphan niece of Peter Raw>o 1. He says nothing, uowever, to his father, mainly because Faucy Felton per- suades him at) eist to propose to Eve, assuring him that he 'Will be refused. She does this, because she herself is desperately in love with Rodney Grieve, and hopes that Eve and Andrew will be obliged to marry, when Rodney may turn to her for consolation. Andrew proposes, but is dismayed to find that Eve does not refuse him, but asks for time to con- sider, which, as far as she is concerned, is done merely to uave a little reprieve from the pressure brought to bear on i er Iinmedi,I ill, y a f tc-rtvatrh ds u ?&sure brought to bear on her. Immediatdy afterwards Rodney brings her the news that the Blue Star. in which the actor sailed, has foundered in 51id-Atlantic. and Conrad de Lille, to. whom Eve has been secretly manied, is among the drowned. The knowledge that her mattnee hero has proved a despicable coward, and altogether a "bad lot," has been a Rteat shock to Eve, but makes her realise that her feeling for vonrad was but girlish infatuation. A interview with a .lqtplrviug wom,,iii froin Yardley, who te 11, ?iv n te rvi* ew with a "YiDg woman from Yardlev, whotellø her howaffairB stand 1ihere, and that a strike is imminent, makes Eve decide to Sacrifice herself for their good, even though she does not love Aiidrew. This decision is still further strengthened by the further particulars of the weak and despicably mean cha- r4cter of Conrad, with which Fancy supnlies her. Eve, there- _*<i, goes to tell her father that she will marry Andrew and o "ave him from ruin. CHAPTER VIII. I A WEDDING PRESENT. I "Eve, I have brought you over a little present, a small offering, which I hope you will accept as a wedding- gift." Rodney addressed Eve in low tones. He had found her sitting at the piano in the drawing room of "The Firs," playing a.d, pathetic Scotch music to herself, for as he entered the large room he had caught the melancholy notes of that saddest of all laments, "The Flowers of the Forest are a' dreed awa' And as he crossed the soft carpeted floor t struck him how painfully sad and pale ¡¡he looked. It was a warm and most perfect summer j afternoon, and a, marvellous sunset had just Cornme need-a, sunset that would dye the fields crimson and bathe the heavens in fire :and the light, striking through the open tndow, cast a glow about Eve's face, and tt seemed as if ehe wore a halo. fA wedding present for me? Oh, how kind of you, Rodney, how very kind." Eve rose from the piano then, as she came ?P to Rodney, whom she had not seen since ),r engagement to Andrew Gilman had been announced, an event which had Occurred about three weeks ago. She looked at him with anxious eyes. ( "Please," she questioned, "do you think the most inconstant woman "that ever l-? athed—the most fickle girl on earth? or, only a little while ago I was telling Y?u of my love for Conrad de Lille, and alTJfW- am, ?gaged to Andrew. Have you anything but ()rn and contempt for me  hpart, Rodney? Do you think me 1110Rt PltJfillly weak?" ,"Eve, )low can ?? °? me such a ques- tion? H"? took her hand in his and raised it a?l) most reverently to hiB lipe. know Irfectly well why you have con- ? ?ted to this engagement, you want to ?ve your father from ruin. You are think- '?g of the poor mill hands, too—you are I'?acrificin- yourself. For I know, onl'v too tb,?t ''your heart- is not in this mar- t??' -i? as I am aware of the motives fA," P??!? you to fall in with Tour fan"?r a wishes and marry his former rival's 8on." /?' well, I am glad that you know the truth, Rodnev-you of all the world." Sac sank somewhat forlornly into the ?cptha of a big armchair, adding, in low rnes, "Oh, you cannot guess how miserable fed, how depressed, and I dread the ?ture so. And I've a sort of idea. that it is luat, the same with Andrew, for oh, when we I alone together such a tragic silence pre- ?va?t 's. Once I said to him, 'The fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children's t"th are ? on edge,' and he laughed b* e ,r.^ I real i se d that he re g ar d s me in th ?' I realised that he regards me in t ltght of sour grapes, and that I set his <? on edge—horribly." 1L '.EYe, how can you say such a thing?" ?ney interrupted. "Do you think there -? ? *^aR on the face of the earth who b. 0111dn't ? proud and delighted to be your hu?t ?d? Don't you realise your wonderful ??—your extraordinary fascination? \y, culy to sit a.nd gaze at you woul d be <0i!'V' only to sit and gaze at you would be :I\h for most people-" "? ??h," she held up a shaking hand. *'Y^r ?ust not say such things to me, f(? ?Y, nor must I listen. It-it is good j f<>r ?'ther of us. And now, won't you if)liovv ^e the wedding present you have br, "?? It will be very dear to me, I t;a Prom ise, beacuse of the giver." j ,0you will like it, Eve." He pro- j, '? a small worn morocco jewel case from pocket, and when he pressed the spring <W Poarls was disclosed, pearls r,tl*n"' fa 1 blue velvet, but the pearls them- e .-eg Were excessively fine, and were fg?tently of great value. tS.ve ea.ught her breath. "Oh, Rodney," I-lillic, "you mustn't think of giving ? anything so beautiful-so loveiv. I r couldn't accept such a present, I really accept such a present, I really  Come, Eve, you won't hurt me by re- y ??ng my offering," he retorted. "These Pbeli)ilged to my mother, they were :Y father's gift to her on her wedding day, L? ? her death they came to me, the only le^» c^she had in her power to bestow, the ihin(, of value that I happen to pcs- a;h, ??? exclaimed, "the one thing of val,. that you possess; that's just what I ?'l?t -"? ?ese pearls, Rodney; that's just ?hat 13 against my accepting them. For you BJ18 think of giving me such a pre- You st 12't think o f giving me sticii a pre- a?rtt-— ?°, must keep these pearls for your dream ?*? shouldn't think, you shouldn't dre?m i offering them to another woman." H? ) at her strangely. "I shall ?cvcr n?? st her strangely. "I shall Ilf'v-r ra rr he 6a'^ quietly. You may ax well Ir ?? this, Eve; 11 shall never have -a wjf? to Present these pearls to. So unless .y?n ,) ?P ?b?m round your own neck they Blush pc? °? back into their case again—poor l^arlsJLf I shall never marry!" :t}¡ Slio flushed painfully. "Oh, Rodney," she »iUr red, "You oughtn't to say eo, for you ?n'tk "? °"??°'? ? say eo. for you y«uL 5' ?°?" he Mtorted, "I knw that li«>u?U?k' ??h," she exclaimed, putting a  hand on his arm. "Please—please otilt say another word, Rodney. 1—1 would ?ther not listen." .? "? laughed a trifle bitterly. "Are you go i n 6. ? deny me the mournful satisfaction ho??°? you for the first and last time ho» deariv? I care for you? Why, Eve, I've aiwa ^f known—I've always realised that ou ys known-I've always realisro th3.t !??o.?'' would never consent to an en- Rao-en, €n t taking place between us—that I ^as f to 0 poor to dream of aspiring to -your and But for all that you have just th,e one person in my life, and it all ^gethe/e"s ago-when we were children tittle gill think. You were such a pretty little Su-t ? those days, Eve, and your ?den cl'rls twined themselves round mv ?art. D? twined themselves round my -hey used \°u remember your 10nŒ curl3? aist." t, ?a?n i? down bcLu? your 1" Al '¿' ,1 't'" 1 'TI ?!ore?' ???y, don't-don't! she i?- I)l ,ored. 'rears ?? ??e to dim her evea, and she ??°?Iy. "Don't spoil things by 'vered r-crvoas, "Don't f;poll things b'v ^akiti"- °Ve uie—by even admitting your ()Ve," she murmured faintlv. Reniem t!' ?OQrr? act-p?r Courad-and also the f:wt Uam about to be married to another ?an t??- So let me think of y,u' ?"R?df??' a brother-just as a sp?n- ?id brother. Let me be able to oome to von fue Wlth any trou b les that I max ? the future with any. troubles that I may ilax, to bear, any anxieties, just as I have ?e to you in the past. For you will ,aY8 be my friend, won't you, Rodney- fr8i- end of my childhood, the friend of r??'girih..d. and now the friend of my ?ohood." '4. He bowed his heaxl. "Yes, you can always count on me. Eve, elwavs." He hesitateel for a second, then he looked straight into her eyes. "Ah," he cried, and there was a touch of passion in his voice, "I don't believe that you care for that man Conrad now—you cannot, Eve,- and I'm convinced that if there had been no need for you to get engaged to Andrew, I might have had a chance. For when a woman trusts a man as you trust me she has come very close to loving him, for there can be no love without trust, and to have perfect trust in anyone you must love them. Eve, you know you must." She shrank back nervously. Then she made a little fluttering motion with her hands as though she would brush him away from her. "Rodney, hush," she entreated. "It's cruel of you to talk to me like this, if you only knew it. Besides, don't you realise that Fancy loves you-that she is breaking her heart over you? Oh, why don't you marry her and make up your mind to forget me? She would make you a splendid wife, I know she would." "My dear Eve, what are you saying, what absurd idea have you got into your head?" He glanced at her in absolute as- tonisment. "Fancy doesn't care for me- we're just friends, nothing more or less." "So you think," Eve interrupted, "but I know better. I am sure that she loves you. I mean this, Rodney." "Then I am very, very sorry," he answered gravely, "for I cannot return her love; it would be a sheer impossibility for any other woman to take your place in my heart. You see I am speaking to you quite frankly, Eve." They were both so engrossed in their con- versation that neither noticed that a door at the extreme end of the drawing-room had opened and that Fancy stood on the thresh- hold, peering sharply into the room, her eyes fixed on Rodney Grieve. "I hope you will change your mind, Rodney. You don't know how devoted Fancy is to you. Oh, make up yofcr mind to forget me-think of her." Rodney shook his head, and the unseen listener paled and drew a little back from the threshold, her lips pressed tightly to- gether. "I could never forget you. Eve, so don't ask impossible things of me; to the end of my days you'll reign supreme in my heart." He paused, then he suddenly took her hand in his. "Ah, dear, I think, I really think, that if it were not for Andrew I could per- suade you into caring for me in time, for I do not believe that you are as indifferent to me as I once fancied. I believe you might learn to love me. But I must not trouble you with my wild talk, you are worried enough as it is, poor child-only promise to kppp the pearls." "I will take the pearle if you really wish me to," she faltered, "but only on the con- dition that if you ever marry I make them over to your wife." "All right, dear," he smiled at her, rather a. sad smile. "I do not think that you will ever be called upon to part with your pearl* He put the case back into her hands, but as he did so Eve started and glanced nervously over her shoulder. "Listen," she cried, "did you not hear a door shut?" "I heard nothing. You mustn't get fanciful. But you've been through a bad time lately, poor little girl. Pray God, Andrew makes you a good husband." "I think he will do his best to be kind," she sighed somewhat wearily—then she sank back listlessly into a chair. "I'm so tired— so utterly worn out. The salt has lost its savour-life hardly seems worth living." "You are too young to talk like that." "Young? Oh, I don't feel young any more, but old-a43 old as the hills. There, Rodney, I do not want to trouble you with my complaints—my morbid repinings—only there are days when one cannot keep tha tears from flowing." "My poor Eve—my poor, poor little girl." He half opened his arms and the look in his eyes made Eve realise what a wealth of love Rodney had it in his power to give a woman, and how tender he would be. And she suddenly felt what a fool she had been in the past. For why had she lost her heart to a man of straw, when there was someone like Rodney Grieve about? And now, when it was all to late, the truth was dawning upon her, and she recognised the mistake she had made. She fluhed-flushed to her forehead—and Rodney, gazing at her, got an inkling of the truth. "Eve," he cried hurriedly, "Eve, is it possible that you are beginning to care for me ? She shook her head. "Do not forget that I am going to mariy Andrew," she whis- pered hoarsely. "I have pledged myself to this. He shivered, then he raised Eve's cold hands to his hot burning lips. "This must be good-bye," he said. "Do you understand me, Eve? Good-bye." "But why?" she faltered, a strange shy- ness coming over her, a joy in his presence mingling with a dangerous excitement. "Because we cannot risk another scene like this. I am afraid of what I might say to you-the promised wife of Andrew Gilman." She looked up at him with moist eyes. "Perhaps you are right, Rodney. I—I fefl sure you are right—so good-bye." He dropped her hands and walked swiftly towards the door, leaving the room without casting even a backward glance at the sofa on which Eve had flung herself face down- wards. She did not move till the door had closed behind him, but at last she drew a deep, sobbing breath, and then laughed pitifully. "I love him," she murmured. "I suppose I have loved him really for years, only I did not understand. I—I was too young. And then Conrad came and robbed my heart of its honey-Conrad, who died struggling and fighting, knocking down women and cliildren-Conrad, whom I had believed to be a hero. Oh, and to read what the pa pers say about him now!" She covered her face with her hands and hot tears trickled through her fingers. "Why, they rain abuse just as much as they used to praise him-- they hint of dark stories that have come to light since his death, ugly stories. They have torn his reputation to shreds and the horrible part of it is that I feel as if all the love I once gave Conrad has vanished and burnt out." She rose from the sofa and stretched her girlish arms high above her head. "He loved so many women," she mur- mured, "I know that now, the Press has not been reticent or kind. And he lied to me about everything. But Rodney is the soul of truth, and I make up his world, he sa ys. She swayed back to the sofa and cast herself down on it again, weeping bitterly. "He might have been my world, too," she Bobbed, "had things been different. But as it is—oh, as it is—there's no help for it, I must marry Andrew. 011, why has every- thing gone wrong in my life—why?" But Fate vouchsafed no answer. CHAPTER IX. THE COURSE OF TRUE LCVE. "Why are you looking 60 glum, Andrew, so very despondent? You are on your way to see Eve, are you not? But you don't look like a bridegroom-elect. You appear to have the cares of all the world upon your shoulders. Fancy addressed Andrew Gilman in slightly mocking tones. She had met him as he was making his way across the lawn to call on his fiancee but, by mutual con- sent—though not a word had been spoken on either side—the two young people had strolled to a more secluded part of the grounds. And now they stood by the side of a fountain, watched over bv a stone Cupid, in which gold-fish ewam about in the wide basin that edged the fountain. "Ah, Fancy, you are pleased to mock me, and I don't blame you. For how weak you must consider me in your heart of hearts— what a coward! Here I am, engaged to be married to Eve Rawson, when I belong- every pulse of me—to you. And yet you are to blame in a way"-lie eyed her sombrely— "for what has happened. You should not have told me that if I proposed to Eve I was bound to get refused, for, after taking a day or two to deliberate over my offer, she didn't refuse inel--sbe accepted me in- stead. "I made a mistake." Fancy smiled, then she dipped her fingers into the basin, hold- ing them up into the sunshine a moment later, and shàking off the beads of moisture. She looked pale, and her face had har- dened since she had played the eavesdropper at the drawing-room door a short half hour ago. But Andrew gazed at her with hope- less and adoring eyes, this strange pixie creature who had his heart in her keeping, for all that he was to be married to another woman in a few weeks' time. "Fancy, what are we to do?" The giant addressed the little creature helplessly. "I cannot see my wv." "And yet it a ppears to be mapped out pretty plainly," she answered. "Everything is settled—arranged. You will have to marry Eve, so you may as well make the best of your bargain—and she's a dear creature." "But I don't love her," he muttered stolidly. "Oh, Fancy, I shall have to make a clean breast of things to my father-tell him the truth." "You dare not!" she laughed harshly. "I know you would never have the courage, and I don't blame you, poor Andrew. Your father isn't a pleasant person to tackle in one of his moods. He has an ungovernable temper at times, and he cannot stand being contradicted. "You're right, Fancy." The young man flushed. "I do stand in awe of my father, and I cannot help it. Ever since I was a little chap I've been afraid of him, and yet, in his way, he has been wonderfully kind to me; and, of coui he thinks that this marriage with Eve will be for my good. But I wonder if I told him the truth—if I con- fessed that I was head over ears in love with another girl-what he would say? "I will tell you what he would say," Fancy interrupted. "He would tell you that he was not going to have a carefully- planned scheme interfered with, a cherished project set at naught. He'd give you a frightful talking to, and then he would come here and make a scene with Uncle Peter and insist on my being turned out of the house. No, no, Andrew, we cannot help our- selves. We must just bow to the inevitable. It was foolish of you ever to have fallen in love with me-a. penniless girl, a poor little orphan—for we might have known from the start that such a marriage would never have pleased your father. But I daresay you will be very happy. Eve possesses a sweet nature, and I'm sure she would make a docile wife. "But I don't want a docile wife," he in- terrupted. "I want just, you, with your strange moods and whimsies, your red hair and your green eyes, your maddening fasci- natior." "Well, you won't have me." She glanced at him mockingly and crossed her arms over her breast, tapping the ground impatiently with her feet. "How (h you know?" he exclaimed, hj 3 young face working, his eyes burning. "Sometimes I'm not too stire in my own mind I shall marry Eve. I have an idea that the marriage may be broken off at the last minute, that something will happen to prevent it. And if so He paused and did not finish the sentence. Fancy clenched her hands together and two little worried lines revealed themselves on her smooth, white forehead. "Oh, that's all nonsense," she cried hastily. "Of course you will lie married to Eve. Why, everything's settled now, and your father and Uncle Peter have arranged that the wedding is to take place quite soon. The marriage settlements are to be drawn up in a week or two's time, and the deed of partnership and arrangements are being made for giving a big banquet to the mill hands in honour of this most happy and auspicious occasion." "Y es, yes, I know all that," he retorted impatiently. "But all the same, I have a very strong presentiment that Eve Rawson will never become my wife, and I want you to give me your promise, Fancy, now, at once, that if by any chance this marriage does not take place that you will marry me. She glanced at him doubtfully. "Why, I never heard anything so absurd," she began. "Here you stand, engaged to be married to my cousin Eve, and yet you want me to make you an absurd promise." She dipped her hand into the fountain again and began splashing the water about; she looked a wilful little person in her dress of fairy green with the sunshine playing on her red hair. "Fancy, don't you love me—have you been fooling me all this time? Don't you care really?" She shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "Oh, certainly I'm fond of you, but of course it's better for me not to care too deeply considering you' re going to marry my cousin, isn't it? Why should you want me to break my heart—to make my eyes red? "I don't want you to do anything of the sort, Fancy"—he looked at her gravely— "but if you cared a little more for me I should be a braver man-a stronger man, perhaps—I might even have the courage to take you by the hand and go and seek out my father and say to him, Look, father, this is the woman I really love. Won't you let me marry her?"' "And he well snubbed for your pains," she laughed bitterly, then she suddenly turned on him a pale, angry face. "Go to Eve, Andrew—she is expecting you this afternoon -—and leave me here alone by the fountain- I—I want to be by myself-my head aches badly." "I'm so sorry, Fancy." He gazed at her anxiously, this complex creature whom he so utterly failed to understand, then he took his slow, somewhat halting way from the fountain, heavy at heart, strangely de- pressed in spirit, looking anything but a l»ridegroom-elect. turn of the Fancy gaxcd after him till a turn of the pathway hid him from her sight, then she drew a dcel), sharp breath. "Thank goodness he's gone," she mut- tered. "What nonsense he talks about this marriage not coming off. Whv, Andrew rrnixt marry Eve—he must." She stamped impatiently on the turf. A little colour had stolen back into her pale cheeks, her eyes gleamed a brighter green than ever. "When they are once married, those two" -hc panted—"why, than it's possible, for all that Rodney said to Eve to-day, that lie may turn to me once he realises that Eve is another man's wife. And ell, I love him, I love him. I—I was born to love Rodney Grieve, I fnncv—either for good or ill-sc I'm only fulfilling my destiny." (To be Continued.)

I WOMAN MUNITION WORKERS. I Mr. Kellaway, for the Ministry cf Muni- tions, stat-es in the Parliamentary Pap°r that an advance in wages for women on munitions work has recently been authorised with "ffeet from the first full pay after Deeei- 15. The amount is 3s. 6d. per -A-c,e I., i women and Is. 9d. per week for girK Xo distinction is made between time and fuvce workers, and the advance will ippl c the same establishments a« pre- vie-t-- :lvincee.

I- FUN AND FANCY. —— —— Actor: "There is such a thing as eating too much." Poet: "So I have heird. I wonder what it ia like?" Ned: "Mornin', Rastus! Yo' coming to de pacifist meetin' to-night?" Rastus: "I doan' think so. I done misplaced my razor." Johnnv: "Why do they say that the pen is mightier than the sword? His Father: "Because you can't sign cheques with a sword." He: "So you are in the habit of talking to yourself? She "Yes. You see, I've got to tell somebody my secrets, and if I tell them to myself I'm sure that they won't get any farther." Wife: "Percy, if a man were to sit on your hat, what would you say?" Husband: "I should call him a confounded silly ass." Wife: "Then don't sit on it any longer, there's a dear." Hostess: "Mr. Jiggers, what can I help you to?" Guest: "I'm going to be like Mary, and have a little lamb." "Now, then, Rawbones," barked the ser- geant to an awkward recruit. "Just pay a little more attention; you're not on the farm now, you know." "No, sir, I was just thinking as 'ow a non-com. was jest loike our dog." "Oh, indeed!" "Yaas; the more stripes you gives 'im the more he yelps." Wife (with determined air); "I want to see that letter." Husband: "What letter?" "That one you just opened. I know by the handwriting that it is from a woman, and you turned pale when you read it. I will see it! Give it to me, sir!" "Here it is. It's your milliner's bill." Aunt: "Johnnie, your mother tells me that you are developing an ear for music?" Johnnie (with a somewhat swollen ear): "Yes, mum; but this ain't it. I got this in a fight." "Any rags? Any old iron?" chanted thE dealer, as he knocked at the suburban villa. The man of the house himself opened the door. "N o, go away," he snapped irritably. "There is nothing for you. My wife is away." The itinerant merchant hesitated a moment, and then inquired, "Any old bottles?" Little Ernest: "I know that lady over there, mamma; she often speaks to me.' Mother: "Yes, darling, and what does she say to you?" Little Ernest: "She—she says, Don't you dare to throw stones at my dog again, you little wretch A professor who had been a little too exacting with a student at an examination in chemistry asked, as a final question: "Can you tell me anything at all about prussic acid?" "Y es," replied the student. "It is a deadly poison. One drop on the end of your tongue would kill a dog!" "Who was the young man here last night?" asked a father of his only daughter. "Why, papa, that was my accepted lover." "Your lover, child? Why, I never saw him before! What does he do?" "Do, papa: Do;" she replied in amazement. "He doesn't do anything; he has a Government posi- tion Bones: "I hear that Jones sends every- thing he shoots to the hospital, instead of to the game dealer." Dones: "How very good of him! Does he send much?" Bones: No, not verv much. Last week he sent three gamekeepers—that's all." "Whatever are you doing to the jam cup- board Teddv?" asked Teddy's aunt. Bird; lirnin" it," replied Teddy. "\» hat tor. asked his aunt. i,W?- said Teddy, to catch that little bird wot?s always tclnn0 muvver when I gees to it. Two women were discussing the war news, when one said knowingly: "Mrs Jonee I know the war'll be over in a fQrtnit. inirs Jones (surprised): "flow do you know.- "Because my Bill's joined, and he never kep' a job more'n a fcrtnit. New Lodger (sarcastically): "Is this all the soap there is in the room?" Landlady (decidedly): Yes, sir—all I can allow you." New Ledger: "Well, I'll take two more rooms. I ve got to wash my face in the morning." "Are you quite sure that this is genuine alligator skin?" she inquired. Positive, madam," quoth the dealer. "I shot that alligator myself." "It looks rather soiled," said the lady. "That, madam, is where it struck the ground when it fell off the tree." Mr. Timid: "I suppose' when you recall what a handsome man your first husband was, you will not contemplate me for a minute." Pretty Widow: "Oh, yes, I would. but I wouldn't contemplate you for a second." A little friend, who had a very warm corner in her heart for a certain Mr. Schmidt, was much exercised in her mind over the alien question. "You see," she ex- plained, "Mr. Schmidt is a German; but I think he will be quite safe, for he has been sterilised." HHuh exclaimed Mr. Rox, after reading his morning letters, "our boy's college edu- cation is making him smart. I wrote to him the other day that I thought it would be kinder for me not to remit the cheque he asked for. Now he writes: Dear Father,— I shall zever forget your unremitting kind- ness.' Private Clark (to the medical officer): "Burnt feet, sir." M.O.: "Burnt feet? .How the deuce did you get your feet burnt?" Private Clark: "Through marching, sir." M.O.: "Through iiiareliiiig. I never heard of such a thing. How did it happen?" Private Clark: "The nails of my boots got red hot, sir."

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I CL03 WINDOW. M. Venizelos, the Prime Minister of Greece, is a Cretan by birth. came into prominence in 1909, when he joined the Greek Military League, which then practi- cally had the dominating of Greek affairs. He immediately became leader of a strong party, and from that day to this he has stood out head and shoulders above his countrymen. » Viscount Gage, of Firle Place, Sussex, was educated at Eton. Prince Henry was his fag, and there is a story that Queen Mary wrote to Lord Gage and expressed a wish that Prince Henry should be treated like any other fag. The wife of Sir John Gage, the first baronet of the line, was Penelope, the third daughter of Earl Rivers. She was a great beauty, and while yet in her teens was courted by three suitors, Sir George Trenchard, Sir John Gage, and Sir William Hervey, who had frequent quarrels concern- ing her. To end their disputes she told them jocularly that she would marry them all. These words were unwittingly prophetic, for she married them all in succession. Mr. Israel Zangwill likes to spend the first night of his plays in the gallery, to "feel the pulse," as he ways, of the audience, and relates an amusing experience on one such occasion. It was the first night of one of his plays at the Adelphi Theatre, and he addressed himself to a typical "god," and solicited his candid opinion. "Well, guv'nor," was the answer, "the leading man aint bad, and the leading lady, she'll do; but, guv'nor —what a play Paderewski was giving a private concert at the home of a young matron who had acquired great wealth, but whose knowledge of music was not equal to her money. "May 1 ask, Mr. Paderewski," she ventured, "who is the composer of the selection that you just played? It is wonderful!" "Beethoven, madam," was the reply. "Oh, yes," she ex- claimed. "And is he composing now?" "No, madam," was the grave response; "he is de- composing." Mr. James O'Grady, the versatile and popular M.P. for East Leeds, has an excel- lent fund of stories. Here is one of them. A sergeant of the "out since Mons" type stepped out of the train at Victoria for ten days' leave in "Blighty." On his way to the nearest buffet he came across a civilian, nnd, in spite of the "no treating order, the following conversation ensued: "Have a whisky? asked the sergeant. "No, thanks," replied the anaemic one. "Well, a brandy, then? uNo. thanks." "Per- haps you would like a Bass or a Worthing- ton? "No, thanks." "Then, for Heaven's sake, have a glass of disinf.,ctant The present Bishop of London was walk- ing one day with Lord Salisbury, the famous Premier of Victorian days, in St. James'- Btreet, when a passing gentleman saluted familiarly. "Who is your red-faced friend inquired Lord Salisbury. "I seem to re- member his face." You ought to," replied the bishop. "He is a member of your Cabinet." It was Walter Long! Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, ex-President of America, made a bright retort, to a man who interrupted him during a luncheon speech. "If America had maintained a large standing army," said Colonel Roosevelt, "perhaps Germany wouldn't have dared to murder our wives and babies by the hundred on the seas." At this point the interruption occurred. "Large standing armies," said the objector, "mean enormous expenditirc,a colossal tax." "Well," replied Colonel Roose- velt, "isn't a tax on our purse better than attacks on our person?" w w < The famous band conductor, John Philip Sousa, was talking about the submarine danger. "A friend of mine, a cornet vir- tuoso," he said, "was submarined m the Mediterranean. The newspaper that reported the affair worded it thus: The famous cor- netist, Mr. Hornblower, though submarined by the Germans in the Mediterranean, was able to appear at Marseilles the following evening in four pieces.' Mr. H. Wickham Stead, the writer and authority on the Balkans, tells an aneodote illustrating the extraordinary rigidity and complexity of Court etiquette in Austria. "A young Archduchess, said Mr. Stead, "was to have married King Humbert of Italy. She was a great cigarette smoker, and one day, while waiting to enter the ball- room at the palace in Vienna, she was smoking in a recess when the Emperor of Austria arrived. She concealed the cigar- ette in the folds of her muslin dress, which caught fire, and she was so badly burnt that she died. No one could help her, because no one had the right to touch her except one particular lady-in-waiting!" 11 The Rev. Thomas Horne, commonly known as the "showman's parson," tells an amusing story concerning the proprietor of a travel- ling menagerie who had trained a lion and a lamb to live together in the same cage. The unusual sight was always well adver- tised beforehand, and invariably proved a big draw. Presently, however, there came a time when the attraction ceased to figure in the show. Mr. Horne inquired the reason why. "Had to separate 'em," replied the showman gloomily. "Indeed! Did he turn savage, then?- I thought he looked such a mild old lion." "Lion interrupted the showman. "Lion be blowed! It was the lamb. When he grew up he started butting like a battering ram. Used to knock the poor lion about something shameful, 'e did A story going the rounds concerning Sir Arthur Yapp's food economy campaign re- lates how an enthusiastic helper came to him and said that Derbyshire and Warwickshire, at all events, were sound on the food ques- tion. "Il{)w's that?" queried Sir Arthur. "Because they have already cut their rations to the lowest" limit." "I must confess I fail to follow you. Kindly explain." "Well, you see, in the former county there is Little Eaton,' and in the latter 'uneaton. < Mr. George Graves, the comedian, is well- known as a teller of good stories, and one evening arrived home so late and so confused that he crawled on to the soft earth of a flower-bed in the middle of the front lawn and placidly went off to sleep. When he awoke in the morning he looked up and saw his wife staring wrathfully down on him from the upper bedroom window. Still rathw confused, and feeling decidedly chilly, the late bird called up to her: "Woman, shut that window at once. Do you want me to catch my death of coldr' Lord Granville tells a good story concern- ing a conversation between two soidiers he chanced to overhear while on a visit to the Salonika Front. They were in the advanced trenches, high up in the mountains, where bullv-beef and biscuits constituted the staple dietarv. Said one: "What wouldn't I give just now for a good feed of fried hsh and ('r?uh 'i washed down with plenty of beN. h r gave his chum an idea. "Look here, he said. "Just to pass away the time, we'll play a game of cards, the loser to stand a supper at the best fried-fish shop in the Mile End-road when we get back to Lon- don." "Done!" was the ready response ot the first speaker. "But what about the beer?" "Well," said the other, the mere anticipation of the feast rendering him extra generous, "if I lose you shall have a glass of beer with each fish." "Riglit-ol" was the reply. "Then we'll have whitebait."

THE DEVIL'S SONATA. I A marvellous circumstance caused Tartini co write the curiously-named "Devil's Sonata:" He dreamed one night he sold him- self to the Evil One, and asked him to play on a violin he used to practise on. His Satanic Majesty complied with the request, and played so wonderfully that Tartini jumped out of bed and began to play the delicious sounds he had just listened to. lie could not exactly coincide with the devil's efforts, but he attained such a resemblanoe that he gave his sonata the curious name we know it by.

The War Office calls upon hosiery manu- facturers not to dispose of any socks until further notioe. Mrs. Murray, Ashley-gardens, Aberdeen, fell from a Scottish express train near Ret- ford, and was killed.

I THINGS THOUGHTFUL, I LOVE. Love is higher than duty, but the reason is that love in reality contains duty in itself Love without a sense of duty is a mere delu- sion. from which we cannot too soon set our- selves free. Love is duty and oomething more.—Frederick Temple. SAVE YOUR WORDS. I Speaking much is a sign of vanity; for he that is lavish in words is a niggard in deed. I SOLITUDE. There is one solitude common to all—one solitude which God alone invades. There is a world which the vulture's eye hath not seen, nor foot of man hath trod. It is the world of a man's own heart. There he is ever solitary. No ear hears the songs sung in its woods; no eye sees the tears which water its fields; none the battles which make tts plains terrible: none the grave-yarda where are buried broken vows, abandoned plans, worn-out hopes, joys blind and deaf, faiths betrayed or g-one astray, lost, lost love, silent spaces where only one mourner ever comes.—Rev. Stopford A. Brooke. I THE WHOLE LAW. Whatsoever is hateful to thyself, that do not to thy neighbour; in this is the whole law; all else only comes out of this.-Rabbi Hillel. I THE CAPTURE. Like a? a huntsman after weary chace, Seeing the gam from him -?scar<i away, Sits down to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguiled of their prey So after long pursuit and vain assay, When I all weary had the chace forsook, The gentle deer returned the self-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook; Then she beholding me- with milder look Sought not to fiv, but fearless still did bide; TiU I in hand her yet half-trembling took, And with her own good-will her firmly tied. Strange thing, me seemed, to see a beast so wild So goodly won, with her own will be. guiled. —Edmund Spenser (1599). I THE POWER TO ACT. God does nothing, or permits nothing to be done, except what you yourself would do if you had the facts in the caee and. had the power to act I THE ROADMAKERS OF LIFE. I have just read this sentence: "We are all roadmakers of one kind or another, making the road rougher or smoother for those who come after us." How true! Road- makers Every one of us! Making roads that other feet will travel. Making easier or harder travelling for all who follow after us. What kind of roads have we made to- day? mat kind of roads will we make to- morrow? Are we growing to be skilful road- makers, and is to-day's road a little smoother than yestrda y'.s ? Do we profit by our paistal,-e. and make easier travelling for tender, weary feet? The dear old lady who gathered up the broken glass from the street lest the bairns should cut their feet was a roadmaker. Kind words, patience, tact, appreciation; how they smooth the rough places in the highway of life.—G. W. Tuttle. f WOULD-BE REFORMERS. -1 We have no gratitude for those reformers who would force upon us a doctrine which has not sweetened their own tempers, or made them better men than their neigh- bours.—William Ellery Channing. THE WORD. And so the Word had breath and wrought, With human hands, the creed of creeds; In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thought, Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, Or those wild eyes that watch the wave, In roarings round the coral reef. -Tenny-son. (In Memoriam.) TO BE EARNED. Liberty will not descend to a people; a people must raise themselves to liberty; it is a blessing that must be earned before it can be enjoyed.—Colton. THE SUPER-SENSITIVE. There is a danger of living in a fool s paradise. But there is an equal danger of living in a fool's purgatory. If we un- erringly pick out all the dark facts of lite, it may lead to mental and moral wreckage. A good deal of insincerity is apparently beyond our control; but in scores of cases it starts in conditions of mind into which we have allowed ourselves to slip. Such people must reverse the natural inclinations of the mind. They must deliberately, for the time, put thoughts of evil out of mind and think only oi good. Face facts, but be sure you face them all. What each one of us calls the universe is that particular bundle of facts to which we have come to pay attent;-oi.-IV. E. Orchard, D.D. BRAVE AND STRONG. To conquer our own fancies, and out own lusts, and our ambition in the sacred name of duty—that it is to be truly brave and truly strong.—Charles Kingsley. LOVE'S ANSWER. I said to Love, "Thou art the sun Of all things glorious here below; Yet thou may'st not thv fair course run Without dispensing grief and woe. "Thv rays all golden, warm our hearts With songs more sweet than e'er were sung; Yet oft some tiny teardrop starts At sight of shadow by thee flung." Love answered me, "Can'st truly say The day is fairer than the night? Has twilight's hour no sweeter sway Than noon with all its glare of light? "Has joy no soft, harmonious strain No minor chord of human woe? Would'st lose thy need of rapturous pain When love, sore taxed, its shadows throw?" OUR MISTAKE. Our mistake is that we make ourselves the centre of our desires and think of what others oug-ht to do for us, not what we should do for others. If everybody thought first of what the other fellow would like. and did that, society would be revolution- ised. THE REEF OF RIGHTEOUSNESS. We may be sure (although we know not why) that we give our lives, like coral in. sects, to build u p insensibility, in the twi- light of the seas of time, the reef of righteousness. And we may be sure (although we see not how) it is a thing worth doing.

CAUGHT IN FLYWHEEL. Misa Mary Louisa Feilding has been Killed under distressing circumstances at Betchworth. Miss Feilding, who was a daughter of Lady Feilding, and. a sister of Major-General Geoffrey Feilding, was in the engine-room of the gas-producing plant at her residence, Broome Park. Betchworth, when her clothes were caught by the fly- wheel, and she was whirled round and rornd and killed.

A fire occurred at St. Barthlomews Hos- pital in the dining-rooms and dormitories, which were seriously damaged. The Spanish Government has .issued a statement denying the German allegation that British hospital ships in the Mediter- ranean have transported troops and war material. r