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THE FOUNDLING. I
THE FOUNDLING. I [BY THE Rsv. ELIJAH Off, M.A.] I am indebted for the leading inoidents of the following story to a lady peooliarly rich in the folk- lore of the Island of Anglesey, and one who retainB a warm and appreciative interest in the manners and oustoms, sports and pastimes, ot its people in days goue by. The tale may be remembered by some of those still living wbo had tbe privie of the acquaintance of an old lady universally revered by all who knew her, and who was the centre of the social life of Beaumaris for very many years. Its strange coincidences, and the balo of romance sur- rounding it bad snota a charm that whenever reoi- tation borderei on the marvellous and incredible, she could nevtr resist the desire of overshadowing all soenes, stirring and fetched from abroad, by what happened close to the place where shs was born. The grand-daughter of this venerable old lady bas also told me that she remembers the stump of the mouldering hollow tree which was still standing, when she was a girl, where the story begins, and which sheltered the tender little Foundling. But as the tale has never yet appeared in print, I think it worth preserving, by presenting it to your readers, among other things in the Christmas issue of the North Wales Chronicle, if not that its simple "ftote are stranger than fiotion," for, at least, the larfil interest that may be attaohed to them. I. -.1 No slumber seals theeye ot i-roviaeuw Present to every action we commence. Very many vesrs ago, on a cold winter's night, as a man and his wife, on their way from Llangefni Christmas market, were passive a clomp of trees skirting the road in the direction of Pentraeth, they were stnitled, and not a little frightened either, at hearing, what sounded among the creaking branches,and the moan of the storm over head, like the fretful wail of a child that could not be quieted for pain. Bot then, they thought, what could any- one be doing with a child out there, and on each a night I The good people were trudging home under the weight of their baskets loaded with the pur- chases made in the town and they were about to buiry on as the storm was rapidly rising, when the sound was repeated. They stood and listened, and they distinctly beard it again and again. By this time they had oome opposite an old hollow oak which bad been spared, not so much as an adornment to the landsoape as on aocouot of the '&] ? O down when the more trouble it would be to out it down when the more sturdy trees cf the far-stretching woods had been felled as timber for ship-building, whioh was then briskly oarried on. Wewereatwarwitb the French at the time, and the wooden waUa of England exten- dedas a barritr to tbeoommeroe of that people, and their allies, over every sea. The wind whistled through the gnarled branches, and set them beating fitful time to the blast. The din was deafening but every now and again during its lulls, and the intervals of quiet among the boughs, the cry would be faintly heard. And as they stcod undetermined, and straining to catoh better evidence, or, to be satisfied, as the man suggested, that it was not the rushing of the wind th:'?cb the ho!low trunks that caused tbe sound, his wife laid down her burden to scramble into the field. The cry that echoed in her breast, and a mother's instinct, impelled her, and she determined to try and find whether the mystery could not be better solved on the other side of the bedge. No sooner, however, did the husband perosive her intention than he hastened over himself, and commenced searohing in the dry ditoh, and among the witberad fern and goise bnsbes ronnd. The sound came now at longer intervale, and weaker-more faint and feeble. But as tas farmer stood baffled, and almost giving up all bops, in front of a cavity, he distinctly beard again- inside the tree, the same fretful wail ot the baby voice. He called to his wife, and going on his taauds and knees groped his way in. He had not been gone a eeoond, though, before he orawled out again, with a bundle of clothes in his arms. All doubts were now removed, and his anxious wife eagerly snatched the child from him, and strained it to her breast. The frest anxiety of the 'kind people was'now to reioh their home as soon as possible. The woman's basket was taken up by her husband, while she burried along by his side with her more precious burden, now orooning her mother's sympathy to qniet it, and again waving it to rest. They had already deoided on the road to adopt the child, and as their own little ones had all died in childhood, it seemed as if Providence intendd to restore the loss I by directing them to the little Foundling they were taking to their empty home to fill their places. The baby was a strong, healthy boy of but a few months' old. There wIn no mark on the flannels, nor on any ot the other olotbing which swsddled him. by which be conld be identiflfd. It was con- jectured, though, from the difference in the sound -the loud wail as they came up to the place, and the muffled cry which was fosroely heard while they ttood in tbe road-that, at ftr3t. the child was held in the arms; and, after arresting attention, those who brought him there had laid him inside the tree, and then stood off to watch the result. The nigbt was too dark to distinguish objects at any distance and the farmer and his wife known to all the oount-y round for their gentle and kind difpositione-tbeir warm-hearted and tender sympathy with any form or shape of distress. They never once took the least trouble to try and fiud out to whom be belonged; and he wag brought up as their own obild. But it was remarked that tbe material of his garments was fine, and of superior quality; and tbat the olothing was abun- dant and warm. As the child grew he more than repaid the care of his kind foster parents with all the ardour of a warm and affectionate disposition. He wps the light of their home, as well as the object of general interest to all that district. But, as time wore on, producing changes among the qaiot folk of Llan- ddyfnan as in the turmoil of the mora busy oentres ot life, the boy was no longer regarded as an objeot of wonder. The story ot his introduction into the little oomuinnity bad been told so often, and the every-day familiarity with the little fellow, that at first lent a cbarm to its rooital, helped, in time, to tone down the mystery with which he was invested, so that in the end be was regarded as any other ordinary ohild. He lire" to be a sturdy boy, rollioking and strong, and fond of everything in the shape of adventure wbioh the scope of his quiet enrroundings afforded. He became the hero among his young companions, as he was always the first to suggest, and, when decided upon, to lead them in their sports-thtiir frolio and fun-and their mors daring exploits and expeditions, as time wore on, and their more otuldish games were laid aside. His chief delight was to stroll along the shore- "On Neptune's yellow sands, Marking the embarked;traders on the flood," and watch the vessels as they glided over too waters, some borne out to meet, perhaps, with adventure and danger, which lay between the pries that waited the brave beyond, and others returning with their freights to make rich those who bad ventured abroad to secure them. lie could scarcely think of anytbn. than the wild adventures and stirring scenes of a seafaring life and so great was the fasoination that be determined to beoome a sailor. And this desire he was able to gratify sooner than be expeoted, but not before be bad experienced a great Md crushing wrrow, and tbe dreary bittemM') of feeling that be was alone in the world-no one to tare for him, and nothing to lean upon. When he was about twelve years of age the kind farmer and bis wife died, soon after one another. And direetty after that the boy turaed his back 08 his desertsd home and the scenes of bis childhood for ever. lie obtained a passage on board a small coast-r to Liverpool, and, through the osptain, was fortunate enough to ?< introduoed to the mate of a lar" makbaotTvessel that Wtn on!y waiting for the fu1\ co ement of hands to proceed on her voyage. His = w,,ra readily acepted, and he was duly entered as oabin boy. Poring the paafage bis merry disposition, and willingness to assist anyone who wanted help, won for him the goodwill of his messmates, and be llooame" general favourite while his readiness, and the handy way he set about his work, raised him at once in the estimation of the officers. He was not, long on board before he was considered a nsafol sailor, as those whose whole lives bad been fptai at sea were never tired in showing him the I'wt way to do things, and otherwise training so very apt a plapil II. 4 suffloo it to say That the whole of that day, And the next, and the next, they were scudding away Quite out of their course, propelled by the force Of those flatulent folks known In classical story as JLqalJo, libs, NotoB, A aster, and Boreas, Driven quite at their meapy, twixt Guernsey and Jersey Till at Isagth they came bump on the rooks aDd the shallows la we& longitude, one, fifty-seven, noar St. Maloe's; there you will not be surprised That the vessel capsized." -The Inqotdshy Legends. Our yonng hero had weathered nmny a storm and had seen his full share ofdanger and rough adventnre. He had visited sunny lands within the tropics, and bad sailed along the skirts of the frigid zones- narth and south-bot he had never been nearer Anglesey than the course of his ship on her way out ot Liverpool, or into that port; and he was now a young man. He bad remained on the same vessel ever sines he bad Joined the servioe. The old oaptain was dead, and tbe next ia command bad taken bis place; and the Anglesey boy had, step by step, advanced to the position ot first mate. They were returuiog from a long voyage, and were already within theObannel, beating up for the Thames, when a dreadful storm, beaiiog down from the north, caught the ship as she entered the trough ot the Straits, and oarried her back like a chip on the surface of the troubled waters. Her sails were torn to shreds, tbs captain bad been swept overboard, sad some of tbe men bad taken to the boats. Others met with the same fate as their gallant captain; and no oue was left on the dismantled wreck exoepting the mate. He had refused to deBert the vessel from a sense of duty, and be now resigned himself to what- ever the hary ot the tempest might bring about. His mina had caught from the turmoil around the wild buoyanov of desperation, while familiarity freed him ot "that enthralment which the first ereat danger oreates and he began to think from the broad belt ot snrt and foaming breakers, that he must be near land. In a rent made by a mighty gosh of wind he saw too, a rugged pile of rocks tawer above the broken spray beyond. He was off St. Malo, and Lerving himself for the vsntnre be sprang into the ssa, and swam for the shore. He struck ont boldly, and as he was borne on the creet of the waves he thought be could see men waving bim directions where to make for. But the distanoe was greatsr than be calculated, and in his efforts to follow his strength gave way, and all beoame a blank. He did not know how long the delirium lasted but in his ravings be thought he was again in the home of his obildhood, and watched over by his loving and kind foster parents. He expressed his wants in Welsh, and bis fears, and pleaded not tD be left alone by them. He spoke of the companions be had played with, and spoke to them. And he named the places where they had been together. This jumblt of people, plaoes, and events, reoalled from the happy days of his boyhood, was sucoeeded by a listless stupor from which he awoke to the quiet feeling that the dangers were all past and gona; and that be was then lying in bed in a large and airy room. u. He felt at first a vitality nneqnai to any monou. His eyelids wera too heavy to be rsised, and languor prostrated his whole body. But as the flow of reason retarned, he saw that a lady of middle age mt by his bed. The needlework she bad been ocoupied with lay on her lap, and her bands were opon it. Her body was bent forward, and with a fixed bnd anxious stare, she seemed to be trying to unravel a mystery whioh partial comprehension rendered more mysterious still. As she gathered her work together a deep-drawn sigh e-caped ber, with an audible appeal-in Wellh-to the God of her fathers far help. At the sound of his own language'life seemed to rebound again his blood ooursed more rapidly through his veins and from a feeling which the words created in his breast, out of the fulness of a thankful heart, he wept fer very joy. The dreadful scene of the wreck, and his straggles among tbe rush of the waves, and the quiet rast his awakened sanses took in, were so very different I And the lady, too, wes equally affected. For a time,neither of them uttered a word. At last she spoke again -in Walsh, expressing the pleasure sbe folt that her obarge appeared so muoh better. And this evoked the outpourings of a grateful heart on the part ot the yonng sailor-tbeir natural thankful- ness and joy being intensified by the soothing sounds familiar to both when, in tbe spring-time ot life, they had lived careless and happy among frhmdô who used no other language. While raving with fever, it was plain that he was here in that far off mountainons little corner of England where Welsh is spoken, And stronger ties still seemed to draw them closer together when be spoke of Angle- sey— Môo, mam Cymru "-the home of her child- hood, too, and tbe scene of her joy, as well as the one great Borrow of her life. Bot when he cried for her triends as his friends, calling tbem by name, and, in fanov, be walked among the cottages of ber Dative village, and through the fislds, she felt as one rolled baok into the past, and experienced feel- iugs tbat had long been lost-crowded out of msmory by incidents that had since intervened. Tbe next day saw the yonng man stronger still, and in a very short time he vote able to leave his room and walk abroad, As bis waited frame filled out, and features which the fever had soared away crept back again, he seemed to his kind and anxious nursa as a shade assuming parts and consistency. His eyas were those she bad long ago looked iuto the same firmly set mouth round whioh, every now and again, played the old sweet smile even the same tone of voiae, and tbe same owing of the body, of one whom she had loved too fondly,an.1 for whom she had saorifioed everything. And she knew tbat the ohild she had deserted, to fly from disgrace to the home of its father, was the same equally help- less, that had been washed on to the shore by lhe storm, and whom.ae if to make amends fo; he wit of a mother's cars and love then towards ner child, she was so providentially allowed to watch over now.
Abergele Local Board.
Abergele Local Board. A monthly meeting of this Board was held on Monday under the presidency of Mr J.P.Earwaker (chairman). The Surveyor, in his report, complained that they Rhyl Water Committee had neglected to repair the fottdB after laying pipes. Along discussion ensued-on the matter,Mr Copping stating that he had counted 16 boles in Chapel-street, and there wae ao metal at all inthe street. The Water Committee was throwing away the rate tayer l' money.—The Chairman said they did not care about the Rhyl ratepayers' money. It was a matter of the proper repair of the roads. The clerk- (Mr Wallis Davies) advised that,the Board pass a resolution that no roads be excavated unless under the supervision of the surveyor, a nd a resolution to this effect waslinarried.Vr Cop. ping brought forward the questioa of the condi- tion of a shed in the Bee Hotel yard, which he said was dangerous. He bad as a man and a Christian been compelled to bring ,the matter forward in the interest of the safety ofthe childreu attending the National Schools and the public in general. It was decided to write to the agent for the owner of the property requesting that the shed be at once put in proper repair.—The Clerk said that some time ago £ 110 wft reoeived from the Denbighshire County Council on a-count of current expenditure towards the maintenance and repair of the main roads in tbe Board's dis- trict. He had recently received an iutimation that the Government auditor had 4ieallow«d the amount and had considered it a double payment, notwithstanding that he (the clerk) had repeat- edly been in oorrsapondence with the Council. The County Council desired the return of the amount, and in the event of the Board not com- plying with this desire it was feared that a special meeting of the Council would have ta he called to consider the whole question. He advised the Board to invit them to have a special meeting to consider whether they would proceed against the Board for a refund vf £110, and if the worst came to the worstand they summoned the Board they would have first of all some diffi- culty to prove a wrong payment, and even if they satisfied a court of justice that they were justi- fied in asking for the refund, then the Board would be able to recover more than the S110. —A motion was carried in accordance with the advice of the clerk.
[No title]
The Editor ot the Madieal Annual' speaks in t h highest terms of" CADwsys COCOA as a beverage and food for invalid. on so?ant of its absolute purit high quality and great adability ? and counsels the Ldical Profession to remember, in recommending Cocoa, that the name CABBUBT on any packet is a guarantee of purity. Burma Cuamp.-S. J. Bberman, Hernia Special- ist, 64, Cbanoery-iane, London, sends bia book on rupture post free. Branah Chambers, 26, King- Bireet, Manchester. 855g 1ST Bead your Printing to the North Wales Obroniole" and Gwalia Offioss Bangor. The largest Staff in Bangor, and one of tho Largtai Printing FirmL- in North Wales. DON'T us NSBVODS OB Iiow-sprarTBD.—Peeper Quinine and Iron Tonio overcomes it entirely,
(Copyright.) ONE CHRISTMAS…
(Copyright.) ONE CHRISTMAS DINNER. BY JUSTIN HUNTLY M'CARTHY. Many Londoners and more strangers know and apprecmoo Fleury's restaurant. The Londoners who like it are, for the most part, travelled Lon- doners—Londoners who have seen men and cities, like the shifty Odysseus, and who are pleased to be reminded of experiences. The strangers love it because it renews for them habits of body and habits of mind to which they are accustomed, that union of the mental and the physical which is associated with country, with home. To find that union in exile is as the shadow of the rock in the land of sorrow, and many a Frenchman has re- visited the Maison d'Or many a German toasted his ideal Uhl beneath the Lindens and many an American consented to half forget New York, be- neath the roof of Fleury's. -For if Fleury's is foreign, almost as much a portion of alien earth asaoonsulate is technically taken to be,it is foreign in an expansive fashion. It resembles, thus, not so much a single consulate as one of those houses in small continental and dingy Levantine towns which wear above their doors the armorial bearings of three or four nationalities, and are tenanted by the solitary, dusty gentleman who does duty for the majesty of so many Powers. Flouiy's has an apostolic affability in being all things to all nun. It is French to the Frenchman, Prussian to the Prussian, Italian to the Italian, even at a pinch Spanish to the Spaniard and Russian to the Buss. The American who comes there, being cosmopoli- tan, finds himself at home at any of its tables. The one thing that Fleury's never is for a single moment is British to the Briton. The Englishman who frequents Fleury's does so with no thought in his mind save to escape from the national fashion of feeding. It is, perhaps, this universality in exoticism which causes the crowning charm of Floury's-its tranquillity. Restaurants which are exclusively this, or exclusively that, are wont to be noisy, de- monstrative, temples of gesticulation,of exaggerated foreign speech. Such calm as might; come from the dreamt-of brotherhood of nations broods over Fleury's, lulling it to a repose which is never drowsiness. The waiters move, obey, and serve with an air of sequestration. They seem like the disciples of a cult schooled in serenity. They speak most languages, but they speak them with gentle- ness, and the rapidity with which they divine a visitor's nationality and the suavity with which they fulfil his desires are a marvel to the neophyte and a delight to the hierophant. Nobody in London was fonder of Fleury's than Philo Ames. It was, time and again, a pleasure to him to slip from the torrent of Regent-street be- tween its blue door-posts, and to find himself in an atmosphere that belonged to Paris, or to Florence, or to Vienna, or to Madrid, but that did not seem to belong to London. So when, owing to a series of mischances,he found himself stranded in London during Christmas week, and his mind protested against the prospect of dinner in the solitude of Vis rooms, his thoughts turned to Fleury's as towards a haven. The reasons which had retained him in town at a time when he had expected to be elsewhere, and to have solitude thrust upon him when he expected society, were not agreeable reasons, aud he believed that he would be more likely to escape from thinking about them if he went into the haunts of men and took his Christmas meal within sound and sight of fellow- ship. No doubt there were plenty of people in London who would have welcomed him gladly if tItey had known of his case, but even the most popular and the least timid of men hesitates before he invades the friendliest household on a day like Christmas Day. So Philo Ames decided that he would dine at Fleury's, and put off deciding whether he would join the African expedition to look for Talbot, the traveller, or no. After an idle day over a novel, he put on his fur coat and walked out into the clear cold of the night, just as the clock of the neighbouring church chimed half-past seven. London at Christmas time is scarcely a paradise to the solitary. With all places of public enter- tainment closed, with all shops tightly shuttered, with the majority of hostelries blankly inhospitable, it offers scant cheer and scanter gaiety to anyone whom chance, rather than necessity, compels to be alone and to desire society. As Philo Ames walked through the chilly streets he was troubled by a vague tear that he might find all dark at Fleury's, that its cosmopolitanism might for once have yielded to the influences of English puri- tanism. It was, therefore, with a very real sense of gratification that he found that Fleury's lamps were burning brightly, that Fleury's door swung loosely on its hinges ready to respond to the push of any palm that, in a word, Fleury was at home to all the world, and most of all to him. Philo Ames found that the saving clause war especially truthful as, after following the dim corridor, he entered the brightly-lit room in which, like Oriental Jamshid, he had so often "gloried and drunk deep." For it was obvious at the tirst glance that though Fleury's was ready and willing to receive guests upon the Christmas evening, Fleury's did not buoy itself up with any extravagant hopes that any extravagint numuei vi mems » respond to its attitude of willingness. When Plulo Ames entered the great square dining-room he found that he was almost the only ocrupant of the room. In one corner sat a solitary diner at another two men, who looked foreign and whose speech soon proved them to be German, ate slowly and talked sententiously. For the rest tho neat tables were tenantless. Two or three waiters stood at attention by the doorway that, led to the kitchen, with the same quiet airof performing an acceptable duty which characterised the Fleury waiters. Philo Ames smiled approval of them. Busy or idle, their demeanour was always the same it seemed to make no difference to them whether company came or came not on this day of holiday. To the solicary guest as to the crowded tables they observed the same courtesy, the same inscrutable caliii, the same reposeful dexterity. At the desk at the further end of the room sat one of the brothers who now owned Floury s, the brother who bred bull-dogs. The original Fleury, whoever he was, had long passed out of existence. Legend had it that he was an emigrant noble, of ancient French stock, whom the Revolution drove to England, and whose intelligence suggested the establishment of an excellent eating-house and the adoption of the nom de cuisine of Fleury. It was said that he made a fortune it was said that lie returned to Paris after the Restoration to tind that Parisian restaurants had degenerated since 1789 there were many legends circling round the founda- tion of Fleury's. The present owners were two brothers, Italian-Swiss, named Ponti. One, the one who bred bull-dogs, was married to a Viennese woman, who brought him a small fortune and a large knowledge of Austrian dishes the other, who was bingle, afluctcd Anglomania, and collected large paper editions of English authors of repute. Both were affable, simple-minded, honest little gentle- men. Philo Ames nodded to dog-breeding Ponti, sm down at his favourite table, which fringed the hitl: wall, and conferred with the waiter who best unde stood his tastes and wants. When he had decided .exactly what he would have to eat and drink, and the waiter had left him to give the order, Philo Ames looked around him, and seeing nothing specially worthy of occupying his attention in the solitary diner or the two controversialists, he drew a hook from his pocket and began to rend. The diniuer he had ordered would take some little time to prepare and, indeed, hie wished to spend as long time as might be within the warm atmos- phere of Fleury's. So, though Philo Aines preferred companionship to any book, in the present instance he preferred a book to no com- panionship at all. The book lie had with him was a little copy of the Vita tfuova, which he had bought m Florence years ago, which he almost always earned with him, which he dearly loved,and which was the link that still bound him to his former scholarship. He was just reading softly tc himself the passage in which Love appears to the Master in a cloud of flame, bearing a beautiful woman in a blood-ooloured robe in his arms, and saying "Ego Dominus Tuus," when a sound at the end of the room distracted his attention, and be lifted bil eyes from his book. A woman had come in through the swinging door, and was standing in front of it, looking round the room with an eager, em barrassed glance. Philo saw that she was in evening dress, for the long cloak of dove-coloured stuff, edged with a fur that was also dove-colour, parted in front, and showed that she wore a dress of soft. dull-toned black silk. Round her head she wore a mantilla of black lace, through which her hair shewed, of that exquisite fairness which the wise call gold-in-ashes. The mantilla framed a faec which made the blood come to Philo Ames's cheek and his eyes brighten. He had seen many beautiful women in his wandering life, women of all climates, all colours, all morali- ties, but it seemed to him at that moment that he had never seen any woman more beautiful than the newcomer. She looked very young. At a guess Ames, whose guesses were shrewd, would have said tluee-and-twenty her face, which was full and rounded, had the warm whites and reds, the irre- coverable smoothness and softness, of youth and health. Quick to see in a second what slower men would decipher bit by "bit, Ames noted that her lips, parted in a kind of mute questioning, were full and warmly red, that her teeth were line and white, and not too small; that her eyes were of the line he loved the best, the Venus hue, grey and bright, and quick in turning. He gave a little half sigli as he found himself watching the woman wist- fully, and wishing that such an one were seated opposite to him at his lonely table. But he did not lower his eyes to his book again. He kept them lixed on the woman. The presence of a woman by herself at Fleury's WitS a wonder most of all a wonder on such a night. The Ponti who was at the desk was also locking up in surprise A waiter, at a signal from him, had advanced, and was addressing the stranger. Ames could not hear the colloquy, but he divined that the woman was explaining that she had come to meet someone who had not as yet arrived. The waiter conducted her to a table in a quiet corner of the room and left her and she sat down, still keeping her cloak about her body,and her lace upon her head. Philo turned his face upon his book again, and pretended to read, but in reality he kept watching the woman and wondering. There was nothing surprising, it was true, in the fact of a 1\'IJ!Ulln coming by appointment to dine at Fleury's, but the idea of a woman ever by any possibility being too early for an appointment was surprising even to the experienced Ames. She sat in her place very still, with her eyes fixed upon her plate, but though she tried to keep her face rigid Ames saw that her lips quivered, and that her lowered eyelids trembled slightly. The more he observed her the more beautiful he thought her. The first instalment of his dinner arrived. He ate slowly, still glancing at the woman, who never I oked up. He was drinking champagne in honour of the festal he was so queerly celebrating, and ItS he lifted his glass he mentally pledged the beauty of the silent, solitary creature who sat so near to liini, and who interested him so strangely. She did not appear to interest the other occn- oauts of the room. The man who was dining by •limself had dropped asleep,and was sitting propped igainst the table with vacant face. The two Ger- ,¡rs continued their discussion as phlegmatieally before, and every now and then Ames could e.tch the names of the mastersof modern philosophy M( ivn across the room. The minutes crept on, and till the woman sat there alone-unmoved, waiting. Ames glanced at the desk he saw that Ponti was looking uncomfortable. He was staring at the table where the woman sat and whispering with his head waiter. He felt sure that they were discussing her that Ponti was vexed and per- piexed by her presence; the solitary female was not recognised, not tolerated at Fleury's. Ames foresaw that Ponti would soon !lsk expI:mati"m. from bia guest, and he again glanced curiously at her. This time he shivered a little, for he saw that tears were coming through her half closed lids, and as she felt their moisture upon her cheeks she hurriedly put up her hand and brushed them away, and blushed and grew pale again. Philo took a sudden resolve. He saw that Ponti was about to leave his desk, but he forestalled him by rising and moving rapidly towards the desk himself before Ponti could quit it. "What are you going to do?" he asked. You are concerned about that lady 1' Little Ponti shrugged his shoulders. "What can I do ? We do not receive ladies here alone. It is the rule of Fleury's. She says she meets a gentle- man, but the time marches and there is no gentle- man. It will not do it will not do at all, Mr. Allies. And Ponti made a movo to rise from his chair, but Ames restrained him with a gesture. "Stop a moment, Ponti," he said. "I know who the h-dy is. I knew her once, slightly, some time ago, though she has quite forgotten i tie. It must be all right: there has been some mistake about the hour of l1ledillg, I will go and speak to her my- self. Ames looked at Ponti with an unmoved coun. tenance while he thus calmly drew upon his imagination Ponti seemed to be much relieved by Ames's statement. "Oh, if you know the lady, Mr. Ames, that is all right-quite right. I should be sorry indeed, butt.iie rules of Fleury are the rules of Fleury. But if you know the lady you can explain to her she can explain to you it will be all right—quite right." Ames rapidly crossed the room to the table where the 1I'0man till sat with downcllst eyes, and seated himself opposite to her, with his back to Ponti. The woman looked up with a start, and Ames saw that her great grey eyes were wet with tears. "Ynll scelll to have quite forgotten mo," Ames said, distinctly. "It is some little time since we met. Then rapidly dropping his voice, lie added, looking full into her startled face, in a low, clear whisper that could only reach her ears "Pretend to recognise me; it will save you much annoyance, much pain. Believothit I aiii acting in your interest, and do as I say." :,pmcthing slightly imperious in Ames's manner, something sincere in his voice and look, seemed to reassure and to dominate the girl. If it had been her first impulse to repudiate him angrily, the illl- pulse had momentarily changed. I don't understand you," she said. -"What is it 1" Though she spoke quietly, the tone of her voice was frightened. It was a very sweet voice, and tlw sound of it thrilled Ames strangely. Listen," he said. Your presence here alone is entirely against the rules of the place. I have only presumed to speak to you because I saw that the people here were getting uneasy, and would trouble you with quest ions-perhaps ask you to leave. In what I have dared to do I have only sought to shield you from needless annoyance. 1 have pretended that I knew you slightly, in order to justify me in speaking to you. If I can he of service to you in any way pray command me, *nd bdieve that I shall do exactly as you wish." lie could see in an instant that in spite of her surprise she did not resent his friendly address, j and that the sound of his voice was grateful. 8h,) seemed to be oil the point of bursting into a passion of tears, but she restrained herself with an effort, clasping her fingers nervously together on the table in froritof her. "You are very good," she said. "I don't quite understand." Philo Ames leaned across the table, and spoke wirer. Yoli seem to be in trouble. Forgive a man who has seen and known much sorrow if he offers you honest sympathy. Why have you come here alt)ne I The thing is not permitted here. Why are your eyes wet f That is unusual here." The gentleness of his manner, the sincerity of his tones, seemed to win her confidence. I am very unhappy," she whispered, 11 very. But I did not think I should be here alone." "Believe," said Philo Ames, "that I have no wish to know anything that you do not wish to tell me. I have guessed that you are here to meet someone, some friend. At the word "friend "tha tears came into the girl's eyes again, but she said nothing, and Ames went on. "The friend has not come—there may be » thousand reasons why not, without the absence causing you alarm or regret. I know nothing of the tiroumetences, I ask to know nothing of them. But I do know, very well, that it is neither wise nor fitting for one so young as you are, and, if you will let me say it, so beautiful, to be sitting here alone." A flush came to the girl's cheeks at Ames's deferential homage to her beauty, and as for a moment her eyes brightened Philo thought with a sudden ache of how exquisite she must be in her happy moods. The freshness of her face, the frank- ness of her eyes, shewed that she was best made for happy moods and most used to them. "I suppose I was foolish," she said. I did not think. If you only knew- May I ask a favour 1" said Philo Ames, as tho girl paused and sighed. I have affected acquain- tance with you will you so far iustifv mn .-i« to agree to what 1 am about to propose, We arc both alone it is supposed to be a day of clicer shall we join our forces and dine together ? I had only just begun." The girl suddenly looked up at him with a kind of suspicion, which Ames, quickly guessing, exorcised. You cannot remain here alone. If your friend comos-as nodoubt your friend will conic-it will be better to find you hero in my company than alone, the object of a suspicion that might become im- pertinence. But if you would prefer to go away, command me I will escort you to a cab, and wish you good-night." For the life of him Philo could not prevent a note of regret from coming into his voice as he said the last words. Possibly the girl noticed it possibly, being young and healthy, she WitS hungry in spite of her grief. She studied the table-cloth dubiously for a few seconds, and then, lifting her eyes to Ames's anxious face, she said with a sad little smile: It is very courteous of you to give me your company, and I think I had better stay here." Philo immediately signalled to the waiter, WHO was watching discreetly from a distance told him to shift his dinner to the new table, and to bring it for two, as the lady would dine with him pending the arrival of his friend, who was unavoidably delayed. Whatever the waiter's thoughts may have been his face remained unfathomable, and in a very few seconds Ames and the unknown young lady were dining, almost cheerily, together. Little 1 onti s interest in the matter had subsided. He knew Ames very well; if the lady was a friend of Ames's it was all right. As for the other occupiers of tho room, the sleeper and the disputants, they had shewn no interest in the matter from the beginning, and they shewed none now. To the one his dreams, to the other their discussion of the relative pes- simisms of Hartmann and Xictzche, were infinitely more attractive than an accidental meeting between an unknown man and an unknown woman. So Philo Ames and the beautiful girl sat opposite to olie another, and were left in peace to dine. It was the most whimsical situation in the world. Fifteen minutes earlier Philip Ames had llCyer rd eyes upon tlic, ten minnte) earlier lie had seen her for the tirst time, admired and sighed with no hope, no thought, of ever exchanging a word with her. Now he was seated opposite to her under conditions of the most curious companionship, talking to her as if he had known her all his life. He could never afterwards remember exactly what he said, what she said. He believed that he talked, as sometimes great orators titlk-tliroii,ii)g bridges of mere words across yawning chasms of emptiness while the thoughts were taking shape in the background. But he did talk, with vivacity, with tact, dexterously deferential, as an old friend would be, but with a pungent freshness more stimulating than the speech of tested friendship always proves. She liked his talk and she liked him, and her eyes shewed it, for they laughed and brightened. And she talked, too, with an idle grace, with a curious mixture of youth and experi- ence, of sweetness and of disdain for the passing day, which tantalised Philo like a fugitive dream. The hands crawled round the clock the sleeper still slumbered the disputants still argued Ponti of the bulldogs had left his desk and been suc- ceeded by Ponti of the Large Papers and still Philo Ames and the fair unknown sat together, dafiing the world aside and letting it pass in a wonder of the unexpected and the entertaining. Philo Ames had scarcely realised how long that delightful dinner had lasted when the girl suddenly saw the clock, and travelled swifter than the wind from fancy to fact. It is getting late," she said. "I need wait no longer. "Have you given up your friend?'- Ames asked. "I am sorry. The night is very young. "Old enough for my purpose," she answered, and the melancholy ruled her voice. "I have stayed my stay, aud played my play, and must vanish. Fleury's shall know me no more." May we not meet again ?" Ames asked, with a voice that pleaded more than his words. And then, as she shook her head and said, "1 think not," he went oil Life is such a little thing, such a poor thing, except sometimes-except at times like these, when the shuffle of chance brings together two who might be friends, that it seems a pity to let it end where it does." Where could it end?" she said sadly; and then she hllghed. "No, let it end here, and believe that I tiii grateful." May I not know your name ?" Ames asked, and she answered quickly 'H "JNo and 1 shall not ask yours. Ji,acn ot us Will go his ways with a pleasant memory, and whether we ever meet again, or never, must be left to Kismet. She had slipped her hand into her pocket and taken out a purse of sil ver net, in whoso meshes a great many gold pieces glittered. "Will you pay from this for my share of the feast?" And she pushed the purse towards him. Please me in this little thing," said Philo let me be the host of this Arabian adventure If we are never to meet again it need not prick your pride to have dined once with an unknown wanderer. She smiled gravely. and took back the purse, and sat silently while Philo paid the bill, looking down at the table-cloth in the same attitude she had worn when she first came in. When the busi- ness was over, she suddenly looked up and spoke abruptly- Should you like to know why I came here to-night 1" "If you wish to tell me," Ames answered. You owe me no confidence." She was silent for a few seconds, looking steadfastly at Ames, who, looking back at her, still thought her the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. "I came here to-night," she said, "to meet a man-a man whom I loved, whom I love. It is possible that I should not have loved him it seems certain that I ought not to love him. We -dine(I here together, he and I, a year ago. We had both been happy and unhappy. He was going away. I was remaining behind. We agreed together that for a whole year there should be silence between us but we made in mockery this tryst, that if at the year's end either could say honestly in his heart that he had been true to the memory of his love, that his love still lived as warm, as commanding as of old, that loyal lover should come here at eight of the clock on the following Christmas Day and renew the troth." Her voice had quavered a little as she spoke the last words. She gave a little sob, and was silent. Well said Philo. He hardly knew what to say the was so very beautiful and he was so much interested. Well," she answered, and made a little wave of her hand at him, as if to remind him where he was sitting. You see the tryst has only been kept by one, and that one the woman." Are you very unhappy ?" Ames asked, gently. She shook her head, as if to stay her tears, but she looked him full in the face. I suppose I am anhappy, very unhappy. I am certainly very ouch disappointed." What will you do 1" He leaned forward, and spoke almost in a whisper. Strange hopes were spurring his heart. "I do not know. Get over it, I suppose. People do get over everything sooner or later, and iromen have lost lovers before and lived down the IORS. I shll not kill myself, if you mean that." "I mean this," said Philo. stIUspoaking with bated breath: "I have seen you for but an hour—known you for lei- I would give my life to serve you, though it is not saying much, for I do not prize it dearly, and I have often risked it for little cause. But you who are unhappy, I who am not happy, may we not be friends { I can be a good friend and a loyal friend, if you will let me serve you, for the sake of the beauty that I know and the brave heart that I believe in." The earnestness of his own voice amazed him even as he spoke. All his nature seemed to be stirred by a storm of passion long strange to him, and the romance of youth rekindled. She rested her chin on her closed hands, and looked at him for some seconds very gravely. His heart beat as he looked hack into the depths of those melan- choly grey eyes. "While you talk like that," she said, softly, "you make me wish that we had met before. You almost make we widi that we might meet again. Listen! I will change my mind a little, olllva little. You slulH "ot, know wh.. I t. I shall know who you are. If after a w.n,e, when I have faced my life, I find room in it for friend- ship, then I will let you know. Do you accept my terms ?" "Of course," lie answered. "My name i3 Philo Ames, and I live in the Albany. She rose and drew her cloak about her, and lie rose too, and helped her to adjust the lace about her face and hair. Will you see me to a cab ?" she asked. I alll very grateful to you. Perhaps we may meet again." I hope we may, with all my heart and with Jill my soul," he said. They walked down the almost deserted room. The two. disputants had carried their dispute elsewhere some time before. The sleeper had just. awakened, and was looking wonderingly ahout him and yawning drearily. Ames and his companion passed out into the street and the ciear air, in which every light seemed to beam with a keener radiance. Above them the stars blamed with a frosty brightness. There was a hausulll at the door, and Ames conducted the girl to it. She leaned over the door and held out her hand to him, and by the light of the lamp he saw again her beautiful face, with the bright eyes and the warm lips and the crown of golden hair. j Good-night," she said. "Good-night; perhaps good-bye. 1 will tell him where to drive to." Ames pressed her hand and murmured good- night then he lifted his hat and drew back to the doorway. He saw her turn and tell the man where to drive to; then,as the cab began to move ,she looked again in his direction and waved her hand to him. The cab drove away, and Ames stood staring after it and noting how the yellow points of its lamp- light gleamed like the eyes of some great cat. Then he walked slowly back to the Albany through the freezing streets, with fire in his heart and brain. On the morning of New Year's Eve Philo Ames found among his letters one in a woman's script, an unfamiliar handwriting. It was sealed with a seal which bore in Arabic characters the one word isis- met." Philo opened the letter. It was written on a plain sheet of paper, without address or date, and it bore these words He has come back. I am," she had written "happy," but had drawn her pen through the word and added "I am content. Good-bye." There was no signature. Philo Ames gave a deep groan. Then he laughed a mirthless laugh. Good-bye," he said to himself, and then" I wonder." He crossed over to Paris that night. A short time later he was at Zanzibar, where he joined the expedition that was setting out to look for Talbot.
How a Lot of Money Leaks out.
How a Lot of Money Leaks out. What does a man do when he finds a hole in the pocket where he carries his money ? Anybody can answer that question. He has it sewed np, of couree, directly, and good and strong, too. I sappoFe it is with you just as it is with me. When I spend money, even foolishly, I can tell where it went, and maybe I've had some sort of pleasure out of it. But I do mortally bate to loee money; lor-e it out anil Out, you know, and have no satis. faci ion froln it, or know bow or when it left my p:1Fse..sion. Wei! DOl", let me show you the warct and biggest hole any man ever had in his pocket; a hole tbat let-i the cash leak away like watgr through a sieve, a hole that is tbe hardest in the world t) sew up. A shoit stry will show it best. Duumore South Cottage, Musselburgh, nor Edinburgh, "September 16th, 1891. '• Gentlemen,—Up to 1885 I was always strong and btalthy. About this time I began to feel bad. I was tired, languid, dull, and listless, and every- thing was a burden to me. I had no desire for company, and what had come over me Ioonld not make out. My tongue and mouth were dry, and I had a deal of phlegm on my stomach. The whites of mv eyes next became discoloured and my skin was ytilow. I bad no appetite, end after eating I bad grr at pain at my chest and sides, aho aoross my stomach. After a time the pain settled in my left shit), and my heart would beat and jump in a man- ner that alarmed me. By-acd-by I got so wi-ak that I was not able to go about the house and I felt that I ongK to te in bed. The pains at my side aod stomach became F-0 bad that I had to re- move my clothing (everything seemed 10 tight), and I used to press my stomach and hold my sides to try and ease the pain. Getting worse I saw a doctor at Mn-'selbnrgh and was nnder him for three months, but his medicine Rave me no relief. After this I went tO A clever dootor at Preston Pans who said I was suffering from indigestion and dyspepsia. Hg fent to London for some celebrated medicine which was parked in small pbials. This medicine seemed to dissolve m, food, and I felt easier for a time but I t'ained no s-trength or real benefit, and after per- severing with his treatment for six months, I gave it up and fell into my old stats. I next went to a ciocti r at ftfneselbor/h, but all his medicines did me no Rood. After this I saw another dnctoi (that ia a fourth dootor), bot with the tame resnlt; none of them save me anything that reaohed my complaint. I now lost all faith in physio, for I bad spent a deal of money and taken ro much medioine that I lost all my teeth throngh it' and was no better for it. In great misery I lincered on month after m"ntb, always ailing, when in August of last year (1890), my husband called at Mr Jack's Drag Stores, High Street, Fisherrow, and told bim what my condition was. Mr Jack gave him au account of the wonderful oures he beard from many of his contowert that bad taken a medioine called Ssigsl's Syrup, and atronely recom- mended him to bring me a bottle. lIe did so. and I commenoed taking the Ryrup, and 1 found some relief from the first bottle, and by the time I had takpn four bottles I wai 83 wall and strong as ever I was in my life, and have since kept in good health. I tell every one what Seigel's Syrup has done to me. I never thought to get better again,' and I consider it hap Paved my life. I wish others to know this, and if by publishing this statement it will be the means of helping others, ai it helped me, you can use this letter IS vou like. YOUN truly, (Signed) Jemima Watson. #,L,,ok back to about the middle of the above letter and again read what tbe writter says: I had spent :Ideal of money for medicine." Yes. and money she ould poorlv afford to spare. HtceM and the expeme of illness is the great hole in the pocket tbat I alluded to. Tt costs so much, and what does it give us in return ? Pain, weariness, and misery. There is another consideration besides. When we are ill we not only have to bear the inoreaeed outgo, but muriaje to meet larger demands out of a dfcr aned inoome. Our oandle is burning at both ends. "Yes," you sov. "bat how can we keep from falling ill 1" You oannot always, but in view of the fact that moat illness arises from indigestion and dyspepsia, a timely use of Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup will prevent it. A few shillings thus invested will save pounds in money and perhaps months of wretokedness. Think over the striking points of Mrs Watson's excellent letter and you will think the same,
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Llandudno Petty Sessions.
Llandudno Petty Sessions. These sessions were held on Monday, before Mr H. Kneeshaw (chairman), Mr Elias Jones' and Mr Morris Jones. CENSING APPLICATIONS. A special licence was granted to Mr Moblevj Harrington Hotel,for a ball at the Masonic Hall, on December 26th, from 9 p.m. to 3 a.m.; also to the Queen's Hotel an extension to twelve o'clock on another date. NO NUllS ON CARTS. Ellen Owen, Gogarth, and Hugh Roberts, 3 Adelphi-street, were each fined Is and costs for not having their names painted on carts used by them. John Erans, coal merchant, was similarly fined. POllY AST BAT, William Brookes, Back Madoc-strèet, was summoned for allowing his pony to stray on the highway. There was a previous conviction, and the defendant was fined 2s and coats.—John Hobson, junr., was fined] s and costs for allow. ing his donkey to stray. COAl. MERCHANTS AND THE NEW BYE-LAWS. fierce Jones, Aaeiphi-street, coal merchant' was summoned for not carrying a weighing in strument with his cart in accordance with the new bye-laws of the County Council. Sergeant ROWLAND said that on the ijth ult., be saw the defendant's cart in charge of a man named William Hughes. The cart con- tained several sacks of about half a cwt. of coal Saw a sack of coal delivered at the Tourists Hotel. He then went through Trinity-street, where witness stopped the driver and explained the matter to him. Defendant said he bad had no copy of the bve-law sent to him. The coal was weighed before leaving the yard and delivered to order. He had not received any notice of any descrip. tion in the bvelaw attached. Sergeant ROWLAND said the notices were distributed to all the coal merchants. Superintendent WILLIAMS said if there were bye-laws they should be enforced in Llandudno as well as other places, where the tare weight was put in the cart and a small weighing instru- ment was taken with the cart.-Defendant was fined os and costs. JOHN EVANS, coal merchant, who pleaded guilty to a similar offence waal fined 5s and costs. Charles Hodson, coal merchant, Neville-cres- cent was summoned for not having the tare weight oil the cart in which coal was being delivered. Sergeant ROWLAND having given formal eri. dence, Mr CHAMBRRLAIN, who defended, said the case was under a new enactment recently put into force, and should be technically provsd as to what the method was that the County Coun- cil approved for the marking of carts. It should be proved that this information was brought to the knowledged ot people trading in th district. The CHAIRMAN Do you think that has not been done ? Mr CHAMBKBLAIN: I do not know. Mr Hodson does not keep horses and carts. He em- ploys people to deliver the coal. The CHAIRMAN said he could not comprehend a person in business being in ignorance of the regulations. Mr CHAMBERLAIN I venture to say that no. body but the police can tell what is the method that the County Council approved. Superintendent WILLIAMS said the bye-laws had been published in the local papers. Since then the County Council, though not compelled to do so, had distributed copies of the bye-laws to all the coal dealers known to them. DEFK\DANT: I never had one. Mr CHAMBERLAIN said he would withdrnw his claim that the police prove the case technically, but would suggest that it would be much more satisfactory if the police could say that copies of the bye-laws had been left to each dealer. The CHAIRMAN: It is a matter of courtesy to distribute the notices at all. Technically we are obliged to fine if these regulations are not carried out. Fined 5s and costs. Richard David Owen, coal merchant, Madoc- street, was summoned for a similar offence. DEFENDANT said it was a shandry, aud they could lot weigh it without taking the horse out. The pet ple were in a hurry for the coal. They were afraid of th influenza, and thought the coal would keep it off (laughter). He had been doing the same thing for thirty.yeur.i.—Fined 5s and costs. Richard Jones, coal merchant, and Owen William Roberts, coal merchant, for whom Mr J. J. Marks app-ared, were summoned for simi- lar offences, and each fined 5s and costs. Superintendent WILLIAMS wished to call at- tention to what he considered the unsatisfactory way in which coal was weighed and delivered from Llandudno station, and made certain suggestions as to the future. EXCISE CASIi. Edward Evans, P'nrhynside, was summoned for keeping a dog witho It a licence. Defendant's wife said the dog was under six months old, and the ease was adjourned at her request to prove that contention. NAUGHTY BOYS. Three boys named William Owen Williams, Daniel John Rober. s, and William Jones, were summened by G. A Humphreys, local agent for the Mostyn Estate, for damaging machinery at the windmill, Oil November 13th. P.C. JAMES proved seeing the buys thers. They were unscrewing some nuts from the bolts. Mr HUMPHRRYS said the damage done amoun- ted to 5s. The proceedings were taken to stop boys from repeatedly doing damage. William Owen Williams, who had been pM? ously convicted for a s milar o&enec was fin 10s and costs, and told that if sununoned ag:llIl he would be sent to prison. Tlieotliertvvoboy8 were each fined Is and the costs, and cautione* as to future conduct.
ConwayI Board of Guardians.I
Conway I Board of Guardians. I LLYSPAEN "A DISGRACE." I The usutI meeting was held on Fridaj-, Mr John j Davies (?cc-obMrmM) presiding. TheM weM si# EresentMisars )ams Davi l Jon?. JcM iftler, John Porter (vic-cbsirman), A. BattbwiA W. F. Jones. G. O. Jones, R. Evans, It Lloyd; I Jones, with the clerk (Mr T, E. Prry). Mr A. BOBTHWICK oalled attention to tfia extr»" ordinary state of things in Llysfaen parish, wnicn was a hot-bed of pauperism and a disgrace to civil'" sation. No onion in Wales oould show each a dil, Rraoefnl state of affairs. His words were not in the slightest decree exm gernted. Tbere was a popnl' tion of 1200 and 122 wen panpers. There were 240 bouses, and if the relieving officer were < per. ambulating officer he woold visit 60 of those bouses. Tbe rateable value of the parish was B5600, and last year that parish cost the Board D relief C700. Thero were a lot of yoong women In Llysfasn who worked a' Cilwyn Bay two or three months in tbe summer, anl lived on their Isrents, all the rest of the year. They did not want to go tG service, bot preferred idling; and the pauperill, was on the increase. Ten per cent, of the popula. tion were panpers. It raad like an old-world .t3ry, and they ougbt to tike atnps to stop it Mr J. ROBKBTS, in fafrplay to Llysfa.en, thooS. it should b; meLtiun (I that of tea rehof bad Go granted beoanse of aoo;<!Mla in the quarriso. rdr J. LITTLGR said the relieving officer sbou oall attention to cai". where the relief stopped. The CIJAIBMAN The Gasrdian for Llysfaen hat not been here for moths. Mr JEspx JONES: There should be a vestry not, ing on the snbj->et. fhe CLBKK They would raoommena lDore relief daughter). Mr J. R BEBTS said a gco 1 deal of the tr JBDie was drink. Mr BoBTHWKK: In Ene'o.d drink is ''<'?'; mitted a? a re"90n f. r lelid'. Pe had st&tl8UC: pr ving that Dyt?en w?. head and shoulders ovt all the othir parishes fjr pauperism. /¡a't. E?ntuaUy. on the saggestion of the rhair- man, it wa? agreed t, carefully revise the paupers at Llysraeu at I'IS Liexl, meeting.