Papurau Newydd Cymru
Chwiliwch 15 miliwn o erthyglau papurau newydd Cymru
18 erthygl ar y dudalen hon
OUIDA'S NEW TALE.3 .
OUIDA'S NEW TALE.3 OTHMAR. CHAPTER XXXVIII.—(CONTIKOBD.) The one great love of his life had been ao lony his only pre-occupation, his only idolatry, that it hurt him with a sense of loss and of insult to think that to others it would seem as though HE had been faithless to it. Even the sense which was present to his own heart and mind, that such infidelity might perchance become possible to him, humiliated him in his own eyes and made him feel a weak, irresolute, mutable fool. Perhaps she is right enough to disdain me 1" he thought with impatience of himself. His thoughts were far more with her than with Damaris; and yet the poor child's welcome of him sunk into his heart with a sense of warmth and of sympathy to which he had long been a stranger. Her very personal beauty, too, seemed to retain in it the glow of her own suns, and to give to those who looked on it a vivifying warmth and radiance. He felt as though, in leaving the presence of his wife for her's, he had come out of the cool, pale luminance of moonlight, shining on the classic limbs of a marble goddess, into a sun- lit and fragrant garden, with birda at play mongst boughs of wild roses. Absorbed in his own meditations, his words hwere dreamy and spoken with effort, his abstrac- tion affected the sensitive nerves of his com- panion and cast a chill upon her buoyant and ardent nature. She grew silent, and watched him with eyes passionate with gratitude and dim with tears. She saw in him the saviour of her life, the lord of all her thoughts, her only friend; she longed to throw herself at his feet and strive to tell him all she felt. But she could not, she dared not; there was something in his voice, in his gaze, in the mere fact of his presence, which daunted and held her dumb. In his absence she had repeated to herself a thousand times the eloquent words with which she would tell him all she felt; but now that he was there before her she was mute. The colour came and went in her expres- Bive face, the veins in her throat swelled with emotion; she could find nothing to say which was worth saying; when she spoke in the words of the poets she was eloquent, but when she could only look in her own heart and long to speak, how poor the seemed to herself, how dull and dumb! The intensity of the happiness hi9 presence brought with it in itself bewildered and alarmed her with a vague fear to which she could have given no name had she tried. She had been happy in her childhood upon Bonaventure, with the happiness of youth and health and vigour; the happiness of the fawn in the fern brake, of the swallow on the wing; unconscious, delightful, in- stinctive happiness in the mere sense of sentient life. But this happiness which she felt now was new to her, and closely allied to pain, and nervous as its twin sister, sorrow; she was afraid of it and mute. At last she broke the silence timidly: There was something I thought I would write to tell you because be is one of your friends, but then I thought it did not matter. It was only that M. de Bethune has been here twice or three tiD10S." I36thane!" echoed Othmar with astonishment and some displeasure. How came he here She told him, and added, He has come back on different days. Ho brought me a jewel once; it woe very handsome. It was because I attended to his horse's sprain; I asked him to take it back again and he did so. Since that he has brought me flowers. Those flowers are some of his." He looked where she looked and saw a group of hothouse blossoms of value and rarity. He felt an annoyance which he did not dissimulate. Do he and his flowers please you?" he asked, not wisely as he knew. I But the perfect candour of her eyes remained nnclouded. I do not think about him," she replied in that tone which was an echo of her free and fearless life upon the island. He is kind, and M. Rosse- lin says he is good. He is a great friend of her's, is he not ?" Of my wife's ?" said Othmar with irritation. Yes. She likes him; he is often with her; he is one of those persons whom groat ladies care to chain to their thrones." He had himself always had a vague jealousy of Gui de Bethune; the intimacy which his wife allowed him although, only, he knew, in accor- dance with the habits and usages of a woman of the world, yet was always more intimate than he cared to see. He knew the solidity and nobility of Bethune's character, and the hopeless devotion which had so long absorbed his heart, but some- times he thought that his wife might have found better ways of rewarding the one and of curing the other than the constant attendance on her which she permitted to a man who had adored her before the death of N^praxine and had offered her his hand after it. He had said little against it, because he had known how absurd and vulgar a passion jealousy had always seemed in her sight, but there had never been any cordiality of inter- course between himself and Bothune, and it irri- tated him to hear that Bethune of all men should; by an accident of sport, have found his way to Les Hameaux. The idea had caused him uneasiness, and, asso- ciated with the remembrance of Blanche de Laohj made him conscious that the secret of the Vale of Chevreuse had been very rashly and consciously kept by him from his wife. The Due was a, man of chivalrous honour and fastidious delicacy he would in all likelihood feel bound to respect a secret which he had accidentally suppressed, but the influence of Nadege was unbounded with him; and if by any chance through the malice of ;Blanchette, or any other means, her suspicions Should be in any way aroused, she would turn the mind of Bethune inside out as easilyas a child can empty a bird's nest; He knew her great power over men, and the tenacity with which she would at times follow out an idea if it were one which appeared to elude her, or which others thought to conceal from her. Does he know your story?" he asked with embarrassment: Have you mentioned me to him ?" Oh no!"—The colour flushed into her face, ihere was indignation in her denial. Do you ihink that I would talk of—of—of that time and :>f you ?" Her voice trembled a little over the last word: She added after a moment: He speaks of her sometimes—of vou never;" Ah j Othmar understood the meaning of that. though his companion did not: The admiration and loyalty with which her Visitor had spoken of a lady who was nothing to him had seemed even to her unworldly ignorance Something which Othmar would not like: She, WHO had only seen the homely lives of the toilers of the sea and soil, with their primitive passions and their single-minded ideas, did not dream, of the easy relations and the elastic opinions which exist in the great world. of the friendships which have all the grace of love without its fatigue and its bondage, of the influence which brilliant women can exercise over the minds and lives of ttien, without giving in return one iota of their Own freedom or feeling one pulse of tenderness; All those intricate motives, and half dissolute, half delicate, liberties which prevail in society were to her unknown, unimaginable. She could nder- stand that a man or a woman should die for Jove. or should in an hour of hatred slay what they ere jealous of or what had robbed them of their JOVE. All the simple, deep, undivided emotions of life were intelligible to her and aroused response in her nature, but the refinements of caprice and of fancy, the subtleties of cultured minds playing with passions which they were too languid and too hypocritical to share, these were altogether Unintelligible to her. In her short life she bad not lived with the rude labouring folk who had been her sole companions without knowing that men could be faithless and women also, But in the only people she had ever known fidelity had had a rude and literal inter- pretation, and infidelity had often been roughly chastised by a blow of the knife or the scourge of rope's end. All the refined gradations of incon- stancy in the great world were wholly unimagina- ble by her. You will have to live ten years more before you can play in Sardou's pieces," Rosselin had laid one day to her; as yet you must remain with the poets, with the eternal children, with the fcternal Naturkinder." Perhaps," Rosselin had added to himself," she Will never be able to play Dora, or Frouf rou, only J.drienne Lecouvreur, or Marie Stuart. She has a character cast on broad, bold antique lines; simple nd profound feelings alone are natural to her. The Intricacies of complex emotion, and the contempt born of analysis, are not intelligible to her. She Would understand why the Duchesse de Septments throws the cup down so violently in k'Etran- •ere,' but she would not understand why Froufrou Vacillates so helplessly between her family and ber lover." She looked wistfully now at Othmar, afraid that had displeased him, yet urged on by the un- conquerable attraction which the character of his "lfe exercised over her: Why has she so much power over people ?" asked in a low voice. My wife ?" asked Othmar, who was absorbed his own thoughts. How can I tell you, my AEAR? Perhaps she has it because she does not about it; perhaps bacause all men seem to e1' to be fools; perhaps because nature has mad. cleverer than we are; how can I tell you? 'HERE are persons born into this world ^JTH A magnetic power over the minds of others: is one of them. You have seen it yourself; Was an utter stranger to you, yet she said but words to you, and you followed her, and all pieceful, and innocent, and happy life went tb Ðie like a child's sand city before the tide of sea. She can always do that. She has done it Million times. She has done it with this man *°N speak of; she looked at him once years and OI*8 aS°i AND he has never been free any more. «IER women hardly exist for him. He would rrefer to bo wretched following her shadow than BE happv where she was not. There are others "^9 him——" T face of Damaris grew troubled and embar- d there was a sound of indignation in her oce AS she said: But since she is your wife ?" ,YTHNIAR laughed a little bitterly. AH, MY dear child!—you belong to another JJ^LD THAN ours. You have seen amongst your °F and your fruit-sellers a kind of union FTIAT UR' WHICH IS called marriage, and which ^ER I?8 *^0 woman toil all day for her children and house, and grow grey on one hearthstone, a.nd live out her life with the sun shining on one narrow field. You do not understand that when a great lady does a man the honour to accept his hand in marriage she retains her own complete immunity from all obligations whatever; she only remains beside him on the tacit condition that he shall submit to all her terms; she makes his houses brilliant, she amuses herself, and he can do the same if nature have not made him too dull; she has a number of friendships and interests with which he has nothing to do; and if his heart remain unsatisfied, that is nothing to her-he can take it elsewhere." There was the bitterness of personal feeling in the words spoken, as if in impersonal generalisation His hearer did not penetrate all their meanings but she felt the personal offence and dissatisfaction which were in them, and they filled her with a wistful and sympathetic sorrow. She did not understand. How could people be so rich, so great, so beautiful, have so much power in their hands, and so much love at their command, and yet be for ever so restless, so weary, so dissatisfied) Her heart hardened itself more utterly than erer against this woman who had such empire, and used it with such cruelty who was so beloved, and so contemptuous of love; who bore his name, dwelt in his heuses, could see him when she would, and yet seemed to give him no more rest or kind- ness than she gave a stranger passing in the street. The reasons of it were all too intricate and too subtle for her mind to be able to guess one half of them. In her own simplicity of phrase she would have said only that he was unhappy, which would not have covered one half or one tithe of the truth; but that scanty knowledge was enough to make all her own intensity of gratitude and devotion to him yearn with longing to console him, and sink heartsick before its own impotency to do so. All through the months in which he had been absent she had thought of him with wistful memories, vague, troubled thoughts, of which 1161 was the centre and ideal. The remembrance of his light, grave kiss upon her brow had thrilled through her with a magical force, banishing child- hood. All her warm and passionate heart, rich aa the fruits of her native land, was given to him unasked, unconscious of all it gave. Never in any hour of her empire over him had the woman to whom he had given up all he possessed, his past, his present, and his future, known one single pulse of such love for him as filled the whole nerve and soul and nature of Damaris Herarde. She would have gone blindfold wherever he had led. She would have died happy if gathered one moment to his breast. But as yet she knew it not. As yet her own heart was a sealed book to her. To him it was open he could read on it what he would; but he was unwilling to read. Have we not done her harm enough," he asked himself, "that I should do her this last, this greatest ? Shall I bind her to me in her youth and her ignorance when I can but give her, what ?—an hour of my time, a fragment of my thoughts, th" cold hospitality of a heart which has been swept empty by another woman ?" He looked at her where she stood, with the grey light of the pale day powerless to dull or take away the warmth and depth of colour, the strength and grace of outlinu from the form and face. The shining curls, the luminous eyes, the mouth like the bud of the pomegranate, the warm, soft cheeks with the bright blood pulsing in them, they were just what they had been in the sea wind and the sun of the south; the pallor and cold of the north had had no dominion over them. She had the triple beauty of youth, of health, of genius. There was the lavish glory of the spring- time in her, as in the April fields when Nature flings down flowers at every step. She should have been Heliodora to be crowned with white violets and blue hyacinths by the singer of Gadara, and he—if he had loved her, he might have opened his arms to her; but he looked in his own soul, and no love of any kind was there. Should he dare to offer her pale pity, mere ten- derness, the fatigue of passions tired and chilled by another ? What more unfair than for one weary and world-worn to lay his head upon the warm, white breast of youth when he no more could dream there any of the dreams youth loves and love begets.' Damaris was perplexed and pained because he stayed so brief a time with her, for the low winter sun, already when he came so near to its last hour above the grey and purple of the plains, was still sinking red and dim in a western sky of smoke- like vapour when he rose to leave her and return to Paris. She vaguely felt that there was some reserve between them, that all he thought was not expressed, that all he desired was not said. In her ignorance of the waywardness and con- tradictions of the hearts of men she could only think that he was angered with her for her persis- tency in a career which he had told her was not a happy or & wise one. To her it seemed that he had every right over her life, since without him she must have perished miserably amongst the un- noticed misery of the great city in which he had found her. "You are not vexed that I was reciting the speeches of Dona Sol?" she asked him timidly, trying to find out what he wished. II Vexed ? Surely not," he answered her, I un- derstand that you still cling to this one thought; and since the ambition of it is so strong in you, it is, no doubt, best that you should give it an undi- vided devotion. We do nothing well that we do half-heartedly." Does he tell you what he thinks of me?" she asked, still timidly. Rosselin said Othmar, M Yes, he thinks greatly of your natural gifts; You content him, which is a rare thing, for he is hard to please. He believes you may move that dull, stupid, imitative mass which calls itself the worldi I have never heard him say otherwise or say less. But neither Rosselin or I are gods, my child we can push open the gates for you, but we cannot control what you may find beyond the gates;" You mean ■?" I mean that his experience and influence will enable you to face the world with every advantage, will enable you to begin where others only arrive after long years of toil and of probation i but when he has done that he will have done all that he can do. The rest will lie with all the blind forces which govern human fates." There was something in the words, gently as they were spoken, which chilled her eager faiths and sanguine hopes, and brought back to her that fear of the future* that dread of the imprisonment of the art world, which had moved her after the recital of the Conservatoire. T T I begin to understand! she said, with an im- petuous sigh; "It will be a slavery where I thought it a conquest. But—but-^could notl have one triumph and then tome back to the country and the quiet of it if I wished? Could I not make Paris crown me once, even if I gave the crown back to them ? Whv not ?-—=" Because, drinking once, everyone drinks as long as a drop is left of that amari aliquid (bitter somothing) called Fame. If you once taste triumph you will never return to obscurity; Did I not tell you so in the summer ? Besides, why should you wish to triumph at all unless it be to give over your life to art ? I do not The face of Damaris grew red anc overcast. I want her to know that I need not be despised, she said in a very low voice, through which there ran the thrill of a deep and sombre meaning: Othmar started, and himself coloured, at the menace which there was in the sound of her voice. "You mean Naddge?" he said abruptly: Damaris gave a gesture of assent. >, She was ashamed of what she had said, but it had escaped her almost involuntarily; He was silent; He was uncertain what to say: There was a sense of reluctance in him to speak at all of his wife to her; Commonplace words could have been said in plenty; but these he did not chose to em- ploy; He understood that the whole strong and ardent soul of this child was on her lips; it was not a time for trivial platitudes, for empty phrases, whieh in moments of great emotions seem more unkind than blows: If I be your friend, my dear, you must not think of her as your enemy," he said at length. She admires enius-ib is the one thing which commands her respects; if you show her you pos- sess it she will be a better friend to you than I can ever be." I do not want her friendship;" Damaris had grown pale she spoke with impe- tuous and almost fierce meaning; the darker in- stincts which were in the hot blood of the Berardes were aroused; she did not pause to consider her own words. It grew dark without: the sun had how sunk below the horizon the red light of the fire on the hearth reached bet' and shone in her auburn curls, on her shining, sombre eyes, on her lips shut close with scorn. She looked at him from under her level brows. You care for her very much ?'* she said sud- denly. Othmar was silent some moments. How much or how little should he show of his real thoughts to this child, who loved him, and whom he could not love in any way as she deserved ? He thought she had merited candour at the least from him; Yes, dear, I care for her very much, to use your words. She has been all the world to me; in a sense she will be so always. Every great passion has a certain immortal element in it; at least I think so. She has been the one woman for which I would have sinned any sin, have done any folly, have given up place, and name, and honour, and all I had, if she had wished. No one loves twice like that. Many never love so Once. I do not pretend that life with her has been all I hoped for those exquisite dreams are never realised i human nature does not hold the possibility of their reali- tion. I disappoint her, perhaps, as much as she chills me; it is inevitable, and is no one's fault that I know of the fault lies with human nature." He paused. Damaris stood where she had been before, but the light had died down from the wood fire, and the shadows of the twilight were upon her face. Her open-air, bird.like, flower-like life upon the island had made all life seem very simple to her, a thing regulated like the coming and going of the boats between the shores, broad and plain as the smooth sea sand of the mainland. All sud- denly she saw that it was a thing of intricate mysteries, of cruel perplexities, of fathomless emotions, with whose disquietude and disillusion the learned played as with knotted threads which it amused them to disentangle, but before whose impenetrable secret the simple broke their heart. Othmar continued with an effort, leaning against the side of the shut casement grown dark with the descending gloom of coming night. I cannot make you comprehend, my dear, with how great a passion I have loved her. You may haveheILrd of one who bore my name before her, one who died on your own shores. She was lovely in body and soul, and had no fault that ever I saw and would have died for me—did die for me, per- chance—and to her I was without any love, always because my whole soul was set upon another woman. And that other is now my wife. And her, I tell you, I have loved in such wise that I believe no other love worthy the name will ever arise in me again. I do not say that it is impos- sible, for no man knows but so I think. She has disdained the place she took, and has left it empty, but no other can fill it after her. She hasmado that impoRsible-" The tears rose to his eyes as he spoke. He could not think of the woman be had worshipped, and whose heart he thought had never had one pulse of actual love for him, without a pain which over- mastered him. He had never spoken of all he felt for her to any living being throughout the years in which her influence had reigned over his life. Damaris looked at him in the deepening shadows which hid her own face, A passionate pain com- municated itself to her as she listened. Is it she who does not care, then ?" she asked. Her voice was h irried and had a tremor in it. God knows!" said Othmar. No; I think she does not." He sighed wearily; his reserve once broken through, it was a kind of solace to him to speak out aloud the disappointment mute for so long, for so long unconfessed even to himsslf. "It is not her fault," he continued "nature made her so. We all seem to her weak and sensual fools. Her own'mind is so cultured and so hypercritical that men far greater than I am would seem to her poor creatures. She needed a Ciesar to share his empire with her, and she would have laughed even at him because his laurels would not have covered his scanty locks! She would have always seen his baldness, never his greatness. She is made like that. She does not care; why should she ? We care for her. But that is no reason. Perhaps she would regret it if the children she has had by me died, but if I died to-morrow I doubt if the world would look dark to her. It certainly would not look empty!" He spoke bitterly, with truth and irony so inter- mingled in his unconsidered words that it was far beyond the powers of his inexperienced hearer to distinguish between them all she felt was that he was unhappy, yet that his soul was set irrevoca- bly upon this woman who had wedded him only to torment, to elude, to disappoint, to humiliate him. She did not know enough of men and women and their passions to understand all that he meant in all its fulness of mortification, but she could understand that he suffered with a kind of suffering for which it was impossible for anyone to console him, and which severed him from her- self by a vast and cruel distance of which she became suddenly sensible as she had never been before. His presence was sweet to her with a sweetness which was akin to anguish; the sound of his voice thrilled through all her being; the touch of his hand was a magnetism over her, charming her to a sense of ecstacy in which she all power of will; but she was powerless to banish for an hour the remembrance of this other woman, she had no sorcery which could undo and re-place the magic of the past; she did not think this or feel this because her thoughts and her feel- ings were all confused and inarticulate, but it was so, and an immense consciousness of loneliness and impotency weighed like lead upon the warmth and buoyancy of her soul. She was nothing to him. They were alike silent, standing in the dusky windows with the cold, dark country in its wintry silences stretched without. It is best she should know he thought with a sense of cruelty and ingratitude. It seemed to him terrible that she should waste all the treasures of her lovely youth, of her fresh emotions, of her original thoughts, of her awakening passions, upon one who could not give her even one single heart's beat of love in answer. He stooped and kissed her on her shining curls. Good night, my child," he said with pitying tenderness. Good night. Think of me as your friend, always your friend, and if you see me seldom believe that it is not due to want of sym- pathy, but only because—because He paused, seeking for words which could render his meaning clear to her without wounding her by too plain and blunt a warning against her own heart." Because I meet you TOO late to be ftble TO pare for you," he thought; II BECAUSE have OATHING TA give you worth your qrealQfI "pq youp YPSJTH I because I would give YON more if I popld, BUT cannot; BECAUSE my heart j§ J||I§ A giay§, H is too full of its own dead to be able TO let in the living!" But he could not say this, wmJg fcayg been too harsh; sq h said SQTLIIRG; He hf HFXCFT more on her Qfh THICK HAJP HJy PPJDJY, left hep, WHILE 4g DARKNESS OF pjg|>| GAUIPFEFI around hep, AND pyep the a);ent, Mdq snow of the winr began TO FOIL, DRIFTING pøisø lessiy before a NORTHERN wind,
CHAPTER XXXIX,
CHAPTER XXXIX, That night ha received a Mter from Melville, written M FTOSWEV to the pQa in which HE had tola him the story of DAMARLS: Melville was fIn away in Asia at a Jesuit MISSIOP STATION IN tho IUlQWf mountains, and his reply had taken many months to cross the Chinese plains and seas, "What you tell me," he wrote, "of A qhlld whom I knew so happy on her little Island has startled and does distress me greatly, Was it any other than yourself who were her friend I should be not only distressed but very apprehensive. She is of that ardent, impetuous, imaginative tempera- ment which can be led to any madness if misled by its dreams or by its affections. I shall for ever blame myself that I did not see her before my de- parture for Asia, But I left the South of France for Rome very hurriedly, and thence came at once to these strange lands to examine and report op the state of all the Catholic missions of the Far East to the Vatican, I had not a moment for any personal memories or personal farewells. I would that I were in Europe, but it wiU be impossible for me tq execute my ecrand under another year: You will do, I know, all that is chivalrous and generous by her, but what I fear is that thus doing it you will inevitably become the angel and ideal of her poetic fancy. Let (ne urge on you to see her yourself as little as is consistent with necessity and pommon kindness, and to have her as much all possible occupied by intellectual pursuits and interests. You will not be offended with we that I say thus much. The vulgar suc- cesses of such easy seduction will have no attrac- tion fop you, and I am sure that the share which your wife ORIGINALLY HAD in thus bpingipg about her misfortunes will make this child altogether sacred to you. 14 The dramatic act may be the only pareer, as you say, which is open to her I remember that she was for ever reading plays and poems, and could Pecite her favourite passages with pathos and with nre. It is not what one would phoose fop her, but if she enter ppon it may occupy her and save her from herself. I have po Churchman's prejudice against that or any art. My time, when in Paris, has been largely spent amongst great artistes, and I have found in them many great qualities of the mind and heart which might go tar to balance before any judge the freedom AND the passions of their unconventional lives. I believe the character of Damaris to be in every way that of an artiste. That resistance to all in. herited destiny, and to all habitual surroundings, always marks out the one who is born to separate himself or herself from the common herd, and she had this very strongly. Hardy, and loving all country things and seafaring ways, as she did, there was yet always in her something which was unlike her destiny, something restless, daring, and dreamful, something which, wherever it is found, presages woe or fame. She has at all times attracted me greatly, for from her earliest years she has had that about her which suggests the possession of genius, and there is in her that union of the peasant and the patrician which has before now made the most original and most psychologically interesting characters on the earth. Tell me more and at once of what you ox* pectfrcm her future, if she bo not indeed as yet too young for its horoscope to be securely casti I will write to her direct. Meantime, receive my thanks for all that you have already done to save this poor sea-gull astray in a cityi and believe in my respect and esteem. Of course you have told Madame Nadèga: what does she say P" Othmar read the letter sitting in the solitude of his library in the small hours of the waning night; and a pang, which was almost that of conscience; smote him as he did thus read. He had done nothing indeed to forfeit the esteem of the writer; nothing which made him unworthy of the writer's confidence; yet a vague sense that he had been unwise in all which he had meant for kindness, and wrong in the reticence which had sprung from his own selfish sensitiveness, oppressed him with a useless self-reproach; How could he tell Melville that his wife knew nothing of the presence of Damaris Bdrarde at Chevreuse without appearing to him to have become that mere vul- gar seducer which Melville would have thought it the grossest of insults to suppose him P (To be continued.)
THE BEATRICE COMPANY AT THE…
THE BEATRICE COMPANY AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, CARDIFF; This company made their re-appearance iast evening in one of their best-known pieces; The Wages of Sin." This drama is already a favourite with the Cardiff public, and deservedly so; It was written by Mr; Frank Harvey expressly for the Beatrice "combination, and, knowing the capabilities of his troupe, he has provided them with a piece suited to show off their varied powers to the best advantage. Mr: Frank Harvey repeats his tine impersonation of the clergy- man, George Bland, and his performance is strong and manly, as heretofore. Mr. Carter Edwards again presents his realistic and forcible portrait of the villain, Steven Marler, and Mr. T. W; Benson contributes a well-executed sketch of comic rascality as his accomplice, Ned Drumirwnd. Miss L. Baldwin's Ruth has the true ring of pathos, and she thoroughly enlisted the sympathies of the house. Miss Jane Coveney makes much of the garrulous old lady, Jemima Blogfls, and the amusing scenes between her and her stage-struck daughter, Juliana, were appreciated to the fullest extent. The smaller parts were excellently filled, and the scenery left nothing to be desired: On Friday evening Mr. Frank Harvey takes his benefit, when the powerful drama, The Mad Marriage." will be played with an afterpiece entitled A Cure for a Mother-in-law," and on Saturday the original domestic play, A Ring of Iron," wili bring the week to a conclusion. The Beatrice Company are unequalled in the art of realistic acting, and we shall be astonished if their efforts do not meet with the success they tnerit.
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BY SEVERN SEA, A. HISTORY…
BY SEVERN SEA, A. HISTORY OF TWO GENERATIONS. lSPECIALLY WRITTEN FOR THE" WEEKLY MAIL."] 3y RALPH GARSTOCK CHAPTER XXXV. A NINE DAYS' WONDER. What is happier than to have hoped not in vain ? OWEN MKRKDITH. The family triumvirate at Brandleigh Rectory held a long and somewhat animated discussion after Beatrice left the room. Their final decision was that her contumacy should be ignored, and that the squire should write to Lord Lutterworth himself on the subject of his son, requesting that the young man be dis- couraged as much as possible from coming to Brandleigh. The first proposition emanated from the squire, the last from Mrs. Mowbray, and Frank seconded them both. So, to Bee's astonishment, and slightly to her discomfiture, when she returned from the holly walk and her interyiew with Bruton, eager for the fray and prepared to fight for her love to the death, she was received both by mother and brother as though nothing had occurred to break the ordinary routine of family life. This calm looked very suspicious, and although, of course, she was glad enough to escape a wordy war with those nearest to her she would rather have encountered black looks than the smiling, confi- dent face with' which her mother greeted her. Circumstances, too, were against the girl, for when she and Charlie bowed to Mrs. Mowbray and fate in the first instance, promising not to communicate, she had never inquired what his address would be. She knew, indeed, that he pur- posed going to London, but that was all so that now war was declared and the old pact broken she was unable to communicate with him. Her first idea was to write a full account of the whole business to Lord Lutterworth, but, on second thoughts, that seemed impossible. Then she remembered Hugh Bruton. Of course, he knew Charlie's address, and, after the advice he had given, would have no pretence for withholding it. In this, however, she proved wrong, for when she appealed to him for aid on the following day after church he was inexorable. He would com- municate with Charles Tregwynt himself, and let her know the result; in case a letter was enclosed he would give It her, but be would neither forward a letter for her nor yet give hor the address. With this she had to be content, for the curate was inexorable. He had vowed to himself that ho would give Charlie's address to DO one, and felt bound by this and a. Quixotio sense of honour to Mrs, Tregwynt. Waiting for this answer TO THE curate LATTEF was weary work to PEER BAATRIEE, Mowyvap, THE answef came AT last, AND in an UUESPGIED fashion, Six days had paaged IiItn Bagh wrote \0 telliRi him el reset'l Ang the deei§i@a ef his jkmm, and inquiring what hg ÎA; leaded 10 fake, No answep had To SftfttiFiee those si* days seeded mantha: All ef fftRQied teppeya distressed hep, the gbief ef thtm being that Charlies )oy§ raighf» uadep THE OPPQSIFCIM, TTEI NOW hg ffligiifc DISGUSTED with ftw §E§FT|RG him WIWHLE to HEW the AAIFIETY ANY L*MGEP, SHE DETERMINED 6R the ffispnmg of th§'si#t»ii day kJ ssefc awfe the curate J even if ha had RI) sews'SHE WPWLD ba ABLE TE TALK t him of HW lave, THAFE wfml4 hg iH\ Inexpressible relief, With this ebjaeb ia view she started aprosa the PAVFOI The bright spring SUR WM ghfttUBg tough "h tender young leaves, and theirs were ehantmf theirH Te Oeum fvam every beugh H Nftlui'i Beamed te bid one rejeiee ana fladi Jfe was bul a mockery to Beatrioa, for hep wtw It.41 iagly sarrowful, Having gcroe SOWE HTTLE way fehraugh the avenue towards THE BALL, she NOPIEED in the dis» tanoe a man, and, curiously enough, there was a something in his gait thftt reminded her of Charlie, but this MAN WAS clvd fn BLAOU; besides, he wove a tall hat, a form of headgear which was patronised by her admirer on two occasions only—when he attended Divine worship and when he rode to hounds. But, for all that, this stranger did look very like Charles Tregwynt, and as they ap- proached each other SO did the beatipg of Bee's heart quicken; so laud, indeed, were its strokes that they drowned the approaching footsteps, and, as a something forbade HER to look up, there was no affectation in the stast of surprise she gave when a voice said, Bep, darling! DQR I yq know meP" Oh, Chadie So you have answered his letter h person ?" Answer-ea ltis letter? WhQse Mtø I m, indeed, here IN person, and have come to claim you, but have had no letter." "1 thought perhaps )fQ\4 might have HEARD from Mr. Bruton." Np, dear. But why WAS be to write to meP" H To tell you all about it." All about what ?" Oh, Charlie, I Clumot tell you myself." "Cannot tell me he pried, Iftokipg serious for the fir-st time, while his arm GRADUALLY slipped down from THE TINY waist it HAD so lovingly encircled. "Cannpt tell me! Have you, then, changed ynur mind ?" f' No, no, deadest, I am yours now whenever you chose TO claim me." "Pardon, Rve, that I <I?STFUSTED YAH for P, MOMENT. Let the other matter he WHat it MAY, it cannot hurt us. But, tell me, what is this secret of yours Bee looked down, Qd. a.t last, with a blush, Whispered, They think that they have found out who your father is." » Do they, DEAREST ?" iIjd LIE IWGHIBGR A ff PO DO 1: But tell me whom have THEY satected for my Ion "UQole Lutterworth:" „ » Bcavo t For onoe in A way W8 are all of ONE mind." "Then 16 is wQa, AS SHE GPOFCE,Beatrioe put her round Tpegwynt'S neck. As true all you are." »• OB, my darling, I am WRY SQM-" Are you, Bee ? I must admit I don't Qqite see what for." M Have yoQ. not been put In a falso pasitiQQ, my dearest, ever sinoe you were born ?" Yes, to a certain extent, But, after all, WAS only done out of an emv.1i1 f Honourable' tacked to my name, and it is all right now." "Not quite right, I fear. FOR instance, my people will never see me again after J am your wife; they gave me clearly to understand so, But my answer is, If your father and mother have wronged vau, then your wife Bhali make amends," I cannot pretend not to understand you, my own true-hearted darling; but the slur on my name that you would overlook does not oxistL My poor mother, alas! is no more 5 and though it would be difficult for anyone to feel more unaf* fected grief for bar death than I do, still, I believe that my father's sorrow for his wife ID at least as poignant as mine is for my pother." Wife ?" Yes, wifei" If she was his. wife why was she hot Lady Lutterworth instead of Mrs; 'iregwynt? Why did she not live with him ?" It was a secret marriage before he came to the title: They quarrelled ana separated before I was born; Botn were in fault, but I think she was most to blamej 1),8, when he subsequently made overtures for a reconciliation, she remained im- placable; and would have nothing from blm. hot even the title when it came to him." Ob, Charlie, I am so glad! I told them that I would marry you be you whom you might. and now you turn out to be my own oousini" Then* like two children, they laUghed until the woods rang AGAIN; Let us go up to the house and see tay father," he said at last; but don't say a word of these suspicions} for he ie grieving bitterly for his lost wife; any mention of the matter would be almost death to him; I suppose Frank brought this story here ?" Yes, he told my mother;" We met him in London the other day; and I was at a loss to understand his behaviour, as I was then in ignorance that my companion was either your uncle or my father; When I learned these two facts Frank's queer ways were, of course, ex- plained." By this time they had reached the Hall; The blinds were drawn and the house hushed as though a corpse lay in it. Charlie led the way into the library, and there they found Lord Lutterworth. When Bee saw bim last he had been ailing, and had afterwards suffered severely from bronchitis, so that she had not expected to see him look strong; But the man before her was but a wreck of his former self. First, the bronchial attack; then the long illness brought on by the ruffians' violence at Blackheath; and last, but not least, the bitter sorrow he had endured for the last week; These three combined had indeed broken Lord Lutter- worth; he was a very different man to the uncle whom Bee parted with in January. Father, I have brought you another child." Beatrice, my child," said the old man, rising and kissing her, I have long wished you were indeed my daughter. Yes, long, my dear; before I knew this my son, for until the last six weeks I knew nothing at all of him, my own sinful, shame- ful neglect being the cause. But although* my dear, I have known him but six weeks* I have searched him through and through, and tried bim as few fathers could try their sons; Beatrice, my dear* you may marry him without fear. He is what his mother's son might well be, an honourable* Christian gantleman. I trust, my dear; that your wedded years may be happier than mine have been through my own fault, though* you must understand; However, there are other people we must consult; What will mamma say, Bee? And there is the squire, too; Ob. dear! Oh, dear! I wish the explanations were over;" Leave it all to me, father," said Charlie. Trust me, I will manage everything while you and Bee cultivate your new relationship." Without waiting for a reply he left the room and walked back through the avenue td the Rectory; It was a bright spring morning. and Mrs. Mow- bray was busy in her garden superintending the removal of certain bulbs that had done flowering. As her back was turned towards Tregwynt he ap- proached within a very Short distance before she saw him. Mrs4 MOWBRAY- The lady looked up at hint with a perfectly uu. moved countenance, and bowed slightly, showing not the slightest surprise, May I have a word with you ?" "When you have taken up the remainder of the crocus roots, Thomas, dig up the bed roughly. It is, I fear, too late to da anything more with it until our bedding plants come out." Then, turning, she walked by Tregwynt's side towards a little summer-house and motioned him to be seated. For a while neither spoke. At length Charlie, perceiving that the wily dame intended to throw the onus of opening fire on him, said— Mrs. Mowbray, the last time we met I asked you to give me your daughter, and you were good enough to say that you had no personal objection to me, but very naturally expressed a wish to know who was my father, and what position in society he held. When I admitted that, strange to say, I could not tell, you declined further commu- nication with me until such time as I should be in a position to satisfy you on the subject. I am happy to say, Mrs. Mowbray, that the time has arrived. I am here to answer any question you may think fit to put to me." His assurance was equal to her own, and she eyed him in silence, wondering the while what he intended doing. Did he propose to deny the whole affair, or, perhaps, trusting to her brother's influence, boldly admit their relationship ? At any rate, she must speak. Sir, I have obtained all the information I re- quired from another source; and if you are as well informed on the subject you must see at once that it is absolutely impossible that Miss Mowbray should ever be your wife Excuse me, madam. [ believe my information to be at least as authentic as your own, and I can- not admit your deduction." He looked so earnest that her woman's heart pitied him. Mr. Tregwynt, why battlo against the inevi- table i' Better yield to circumstances. The sin, indeed, was not yours; but,alas! some of the shame will cling to you. Your parents eat of the wild grapes, and your teeth are set on edge." Madam, I cannot pretend to misunderstand you. However, you are totally in error. My mother (and I say it with all respect) was as honourable a lady as you are yourself." Then, pray, sir, end this farce. Whom have I the honour of addressing ?" "I am Charles Tregwynt, only son of your brother, Lord Lutterworth, and the late Lady Lutterworth, his wife." His wife! My brother was never married." Ah, there you are wrong, aunt. On the —th of 18—, he married Helen Lee, only daughter of Jojin Lee, a captain in the Royal Navy, at the Church of St. Umbra-in-Urbe. Allow me to hand you a copy of the certificate." Is this story true or are you trying to impose upon me ?" Supposing I was wicked and foolish enough to do so, do you think your brother would abet me in the attempt? Besides, you can verify my state- ments for yourself. Send to the church and have the register examined. Question the clergyman— the same man still holds the living, and, curiously enough, he remembers the ceremony. There are, as you see, two witnesses; one is allvo, and will answer any questions on the matter; the other, unfortunately, is dead, but I can very easily prove his signature." If your story b@ true my brother ha* behaved infamously to us all, but mere espeeially te ItI)" son," Aunt, I believe am fs m? thai he admits and deplores this. |3eiiev§ m, ifi hijU Pt* my endeaveur to malie amends & fêij f 0F any inponvenieng^ my advent may have §&9§§el pu but 1 eouid not well helD H, pernio if" ha with suph a Qgmioaiiy eontrite if thai Mr§: bray stfeiied in spiie'ef heF$e}f: ttt this tihariia teok advantage, fondly ageing— M Please, way | haye gpe ti"' Secal}ecj t9 a fHH gangg of Hi@ øMif,f of tile lady asked, » Whepa i f Twothttf, ¡H'9 kut),ef.vypL-tl1 ?<! At q@ PalJ with geg, & £ f89:" seems *0 ffig yOH ?8? filFPftdy taken, flfayrjvw jftng pas m? daugHfcfH- been$sgnisat}t pf H 8F im c !iaiqng eut his watpl* he >! AheuttHff#? yriH pRffig Bim f- f m\\ wh if flfMegti p {will seqd mv W 89 »§ ilii aunt.*? ti Is he »« « ¥es: fflfi faq site went, and thus fjpdM aH (W 6|fis mmm was ml ?s=y in pttfnf wmd, the servants a £ frWfil 1^8 m villagers, whet spread the pews f31' ann wife Is was, in truth, t nma Rp1 WPRa Mat reached ff beyond the í1P9f Af Wlmklwdshipp, ifc eonpepped, net eaia* a IiInuR family, hut the Peepr age itself, Almosi everybody made the same remark, fchewgh couched in aecerdanoe with their wonted phraseo- logy, Mrs. Ferrum said that it was ? most unfair thing to society, gqppQse, fup instance, that anyone's daughter had married that PAP Mr, Mawbray f Why, it would have been as bad as getting mariey under false pretences, Mr. Silex, a queer, shrivelled pld lawyer, to whom this observation was made, answered, "Soarpely money, madam; say goods—yes, gopdsj ppd Jeadi white lead, fcuiwaf* hair, stseli p^ding, and a- per- tain baggage ftfuRfenown ¥IHHf1.1' The Misses Ferrum It made up" very well ef as evening, At Oxford tliey all priø. with one accord,»' Hard lines on poor Mowbray. "By Geqrge, what a chance he has mtiicd," added Mr. Milvus Glead. How ?" Why, think of the postrobits he might have got done on his uncle." And little Ikey Moss, pf Bromptpn; Je, top, thanked Beelzebub that this great danger was past, remembering it was put one short week since he posted a little circular to Mr. F. Melton Mow- bray, in which he offered him any mojiey he might require on his note of hand. bf pprsh, we should have got sbumshtog more, my dear; but that generally draws 'em nishly." Frank ftiqiself took j ilH very philosophically when the old squire explained to him how matters stopd. Wei}. I bjame UfleleL^ttecwgrth, since he always fold mg I should P.8 iphsrtt; and, perhaps, now all is plain, he will casso bothering me to go into the Church, and, m/loype. give me a commis- sion in ft cavalry rpgiment: J see it all now. He knew I should never have the Hall, and so he wished to giV8 me what he could—the Rectory. Trpgvvynt has always been too many for me; he rode me down the f1¡:¡¡t day we met." "Frank," said pid Mowbray, •'•you are a good plucked 'up, more than I thought, and you shan't go into the Church." There was one map whose mind dwelt neither on Frank nor Charlie, for aU his sympathies were absorbed by a woman. Hugh Brpton bewailed the love of his youth; Long years past he had known She could never be his, perhaps had almost peased to wish it, and of jate he had heard cruel slurs oast on her pame j bufc, for ftl) hgt, flna was stiH to him the only woman in the world, and she never had a successor. It was determined that Charles Tregwynt should return to Oxford for a twelvemonth, by which time he would be able to take his degree. He became a wonderful favourite with the dons, Whether this was 611 account of his diligence or from spme other cause (say. that one day he would be Lord Lutterworth) it is impossible to tell. However, be that as it may, diligent he was. Nor was Mr. Blatherwybe forgotten, When the year Was over he came put with an Honorary Fourth, muoh to his own and kord Lutterworth's delight. Vary soon after Charlie had taken his degree there was ft grand wedding at Brandleigh. The bride Wore a little snowdrop brooch we wot of, and tho knot was tied by Hugh Bruton, Squh'e Mowbray gave away the bride, Tom Phillips was best man, and Pr, Honald MINab attended in order to bestow his blessing, Delhi ornaments, cashmere Shawls, and all sortB of Indian treasures, One wedding makes Jnprø, Tom Phillips met Miss Long at the baU in the evening and several times afterwards j the result was he fell a victim to her charms, Now, although Tom was a brazen youth, he could not summon up courage to ask a wealthy man like Mr* Long to give his daughter to a penniless student, so poor Phillips suffered from a fit of the blues. Lord Lutterworth noticed hi guest's unwonted depression* and, having learned the cause, said— My dear Phillips, will you let me be your n.m. bassador ? I do not, of course, mean to the lady, but to her father. May I tell him that you are most anxious to pay your addresses to his daughter ?" As may be upposd; Phillips was only too thankful for his host's interposition I and, strange to say, Mr. Long promised that Tom should marry the lady so soon as he had passed his examination. It was generally supposed that Lord Lutterworth had stooped to some corrupt practices in this affair. However; it was never proved. Frank got his commission, and was formally announced to be the old squire's heir, For," said the latter, "he took the news of Lutterworthtg wedding like a man and since young Tregwynt has provided for Bee, whom I had intended to make my heiress, there is nothing left for me but to adopt Master Fmnk," Hugh Bruton has been inducted into tho living Of Brandleigh, Mr; Mowbray finding that he could not spare time to attend to his clerical duties. THE END. ^mmmmmm
AN UNREPORTED INCIDENT IN…
AN UNREPORTED INCIDENT IN SIR CHARLKS DILKE'S MEETING: The London correspondent of the Bristol Times and Mirror savs •—A good many jokes are still flying about concerning Sir C; Dilke's meeting at Chelsea the other night; some of them apocryphal, but many of them true. Here is one which was given to me by one who was present, and which I will vouch for; When the speech was over and the heckling'' began Sir Charles Dilke apologised for any defects in his replies on the ground that he had a sore throat a bad cough, and a broken tooth, whereupon a "free and independent" at the back of the hall cried out, "What! Has the old woman been at you already ?" There was a shout of laughter at this; in which no one joinod more heartily than Sir Charles and Ladv Dilke them. selves. The reporters, however* omitted it from the report, as they seem to have done the full effect of the cross questions and crooked answers as to Sir Charles's votes on Royal dowries.
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FEMININE FANCIES, FOIBLES,…
FEMININE FANCIES, FOIBLES, AND FASHIONS. j Br A LADY. [All Rights Reserved.} • With the advance of long, dark evenings fes- tivities change their form, and instead of tønni, and other out-of-door amusements we have dinner and dancing parties and other entertainments of a similar character. There is no occasion on which "woman looks to better advantage than when robed in a becoming ball dress; and I am glad to tell my country readers of anything pretty in this line," as the drapers' assistants say. To- day, however, not as examples, but as a warning, do I describe some dancing dresses recently exhi- bited by a famous house in Regent-street. Usually the most perfect taste characterises all goods sold there; but I will leave my readers to judge it the two gowns I shall presently describe were calcu- lated to sustain the firm's reputation in respect of good taste. The first was a dress of white tulle. So far so well, but over this was spread art over- skirt of coffee brown tulle, looped with butter- cups. At first I thought the over-dress was merely a cover laid over to protect the tulle from injury. But no. I soon saw it was part of the dress itself, its presence giving a dingy look to what otherwise would have been really a tasteful gown. The second dress was undeniably startling. A brilliant scarlet tulle skirt and bodice, with upper skirt of very bright dark blue tulle, corn- flowers and buttercups being used in conjunc- tion. I hope none of my readers feel in- clined to copy either of these models. The thick and dark woollen materials, with their gay stripes, which fill all our shop windows point to a belief in the prophecy that a winter of un- usual severity is at hand. The weight of some of the new fabrics is extreme, and I would caution weak and delicate women against purchasing thess goods until they have ascertained the aggregate weight of a costume made of any of them. Health reformers have been constantly inveighing against the custom of enfolding the body in heavy clothing as being wholly detrimental to health; and the new woollen woven under-wear was especially designed to fulfil two important conditions— warmth and lightness. But where is the use of providing sanitary under-clothing, if we are to frustrate its design and cripple its action by making up in our gowns what weight has been lost otherwhere ? It is acknowledged by under- standing folk that weight and warmth are not synonyms—though many persons fall into the error of thinking them so. I lifted a dress sent home to an acquaintance the other day, and found its woight really appalling. I do not know how auy woman so habited could possibly go through the duties of her day without an added sense of unusual fatigue. As BROWN beAd trimmings point naturally to brown AS the prevailing winter colour, I want to REMIND my readers of the fact that certain shades of RED tone delightfully with certain other shades of brown, and the brighter hue tends to relieve the NmtlbrsneM of the darker one most agreeably, LMk AT our faithful songbird, the robin redbreast, FIDELITY and his winter songs would alwaya him to US, to say nothing of the sacred ntt teniipy legend which is associated with the im, HUT N an oxosnplo of the picturesque wmøh eekmr combinations produce, what better nmpl" Mn wo havo than that which the robin i^tihrtiasc fsupplies ? Without his brilliant waist- HE would be but an insignificant little brown bird, whieh would appeal to the heart but would attraotthe eye, Whilst impressing on my EWESPSNDENTE the obarm of suitable relief for dull I would draw attention to artificial rowan herriag, whieh are so exceedingly decorative and useful for lighting up a winter toilet. Some of I he best makes so nearly resemble natural products that few guepeot thoir artificial character. I think nature points to red as a winter colour. Mark how many winter berries are red; the hollY, the hip, and the haw, the berries of the holly thorn, the rowan berry aforesaid, and many others. I always advocate a few tasteful additions to the general toilet at the olose of a long winter day. It is not always necessary or expedient to remove the dress for a lighter one; but for late dinner, or where, as in many country places, high tea takes the plaoe of that meal, I think the members of the family of both sexes should inva- riably make some change in the dress. It argues respect one for the other it brings about an agree- able sense of personal satisfaction; it is evidence of refinement; in fact, it tends to produce a pleasing impression all round. Take for example the tired ho"se.motbcf, whose day may have been an excep- tionally trying one, No wonder at the close of it she is menially and bodily exhausted, and, feeling incapable of further exertion, is tempted to throw herself on a couch and dose away the interval be- fore dinner or tea time, as maybe. She rises with a sense of utter (angour and sits down to head thu indispensable meal with disordered hair and tum- bled dress, and, if a true woman, feels a sense of shame at so appearing before the eyes of husband and children. Yet, I know that if, instead of yielding to the sense of weariness, N good bathing of hands and face in warm water, in which a littlo toilet vinegar or eau da Cologne has boon dropped, a brisk brushing of the hair, a fresh gown and laces put on, the invigorating effect would have been magical. The operation would last about ten minutes, and do far more to restore ease and comfort than that short siesta on the sofa, disturbed, probably, by frequent questions and intrusions, to say nothingof that goading thought that one must beup and doing long before any real refreshment from sleep has been obtained. I speak from personal knowledge. After A hard day's work at my desk, when the head is sick and the whole heart faint from concentrated thought, I have often felt too weary to dress for dinner; and, since to go to that meal necessitated a change of gowns, I felt it easier to go without my dinner, but I have learned now to cheok the insidious suggestion. If practicable, I take a hot batli; there is no greater refresher after AN exhausting day's labour. If I cannot get a bath I indulge in a good wash, rising to the occasion afterwards, and, so to apeak, a new woman. If any of my READERS are inclined to doubt the efficacy of my preeoription. I only say II Try it," and my confi- dence is thoroughly expressed inthatsimplo formula. By. the-way, I generally buy some of the very best imitation rowaa berries, costing about two and six- pence a spray, for my winter dinner garniture. They contrast admirably with black, navy blue. brown, olive green, and other of the dark shades I am so partial to. A little of the soft cream lace I like showing up the yellowish red of the berries. Car- nations, roses, heliotrope, &C., look somewhat inconsistent at this time of the year, and however well designed, and of tho best French make, are rather too pretentious for ordinary home wear. Rowan berries are never so, and last for an indefinite time. I always keep them handy, and the quaint conceit that it is lucky to wear them adds to their charm for me; not that I believe in their efficacy to avert evil, as the Scotch say rowan trees will, from the home about which they grow. I never found good luck follow respect shown for certain things, animate or inanimate. I have at this moment a huge horse shoe; this cast shoe must have belonged to a giant horse, it is so big, and when I picked ib reverently out of the dust which embedded it in a Kentish lane—A friend offering to carry the treasure home in the tail pocket of his coat—according to popular tradition I expected some extraordinary piece of good luck would at once have befallen me. I performed certain mysterious rites and incantations said to be indispensable, and, throwing the enormous shoe over my left shoulder by way of completing them, it came down with a crash that brought all the household together expecting I know not what. I have great admiration for the politeness of the friend who carried that shoe to town for me, but for obvious reasons I asked no questions as to the conditions of his coat pocket. Of course, I have been daily anticipating a legacy, or for the post to bring me some pleasing intelli- gence, or that all the editors in the United King- dom would TAFE clamouring for contributions from my pen, but for all or any of these proofs of good luck I have waited in vain. Nothing in the shape even of a minor good has happened to me. On the contrary, twice since I owned that symbol of good fortune it has befallen me to have to send for my doctor. So I am getting unbelieving, and begin- ning to parody a certain saying of a certain wise man of old time, and think it highly probable that to put faith either in princes or in horse Sh038 is a certain courting of disappointment. The beautiful berries of the mountain ash are now at their brightest, and though we cannot I preserve them intact, that is without shrivelling, oven in their withered condition they retain their brilliant colour, and make charming garnishing for dinner and supper tables in the dead of winter, when all aids to brighten are much sought after. It is best not to gather the berries until fully ripe, for fruits and berries prematurely gathered always shrivel quickly. Over ripeness must, however, equally be guarded ngainst. When at the riht stage the rowan berries should bo laid in strong brine. The lid of the jar must then be sealed to exclude the air. The pretty dark blue-black fruit of the privet can be preserved in the same way. Some persons seal the main stalk so soon as the berries are picked, and brush the latter over with a strong solution of gum arabic. It is impossible to I keep the leaves of either fruit, so a few real or artificial ones should be placed with the berries on the dish. The leaves of the ice plant make a very nice garnish, but I rarely see this plant culti- vated, either for its natural beauty or for the purpose of garnishing. A pot of it might be kept in the greenhouse for winter use. The plant flourishes vigorously in open borders during the summer. I think 'no cold :diah should be sent to table without a garnish. Its absence or presence may not actually affcct the flavour of the meat, and yet I, and I believe many others, find food more relishable when served with such agreeable addition as the garnish supplies, whilst the presence of a few flowers on the table are really appetising. Some persons object to the employment of parsley gar- nish on the score that it is too expensive in winter for ervery-day use. If servants would throw the parsley into salt and water after it is removed from the dish it would keep fresh and green for many days. I do not think, however, that good housekeepers will have many cold dishes served now that winter is at hand. Cold meats in cold weather do not tempt the appetite, nor are they so easily digested as meat cut from a hot joint or that of a well-prepared rechauffe. Nor is the serving of cold dishes to be commended on the score of economy. With such additions as are at the good cook's disposal a piece of meat that it would be almost ridiculous to set before two hungry people may be made sufficient for a meal for a good-sized family. Health is so greatly dependent on the proper nourishment of the body as supplied by food that the house- keeper, according to her lights and inclination, is in one sense the physician of the family, and to no inconsiderable extent responsible for the health of her household, not to speak of that measure of happiness which is contingent on health. Not long since I attended a lecture on reforms in cer- tain stated directions, and fully coincided with the lecturer when he said, "Every nutritious and healthful meal, neatly spread and partaken of with thankfulness, is a temperance lesson; every-house well-built, with convenience for doing work easily and without waste of force, with bath-room, sunny windows, and good ventilation, is a temperance sermon. Every vegetable garden, rich with nutritious food, and every fruit farm, abound- ing in luscious apples, grapes, peaches, and I pears, is a foe to intemperance. Men and women fly to stimulants, not for the pleasure these give to the palate, but to overcome exhaustion, drive away SOlTOW or anxiety, dulness, and stupidity, and ro on. But would men and women be dull if they were full of animal spirits and overflowing with health ? One-half the cases of drunkenness brought before the magistrates might be traced to that sense of exhaustion which fol- lows insufficient food or food improperly served. Every bad cook who prepares unsavoury, indigestible meals helps to make a demand I for stimulants." The appetite of over- worked men and women is sometimes capricious. They will always turn disgusted away from an ill- I prepared and sometimes from an ordinary dish, how- ever well cooked it may be, while an appetising delicacy would tempt the jaded appetite, and restore equilibrium of temper and spirits to the testiest of individuals. A man is not necessarily a gourmet because he has a relish for delicacies. Tho appetite of delicate persons is nearly always capricious, and they frequently lack that fifth sense which is declared to be the best sauce. Store is no sore," and in country homes, where the shops are not handy, it is wise to keep certain relishes in the store cupboard on which the chate- laine may fall back in time of need. Parmesan cheese, anchovies, pickles (various), tomato sauce, chutney, essence of celery, dried mint, a few tins of soup, condensed milk, potted meats, and tinned meats of good brand-all these are great aids to|'the country iiousewife. whose hospitality is often taxed without previous notice being given of raids to be made on her larder. Here is a most tempting little dish. It might, as has: been said of a certain salad, u Tempt a dying anchorite to eat." Take the joints of a chicken or turkey, cooked or uncooked, split them in half, and flatten with a cutlet bat. The ingre- dients required in the preparation are: One table- spoonful of salad oil, one table-spoonful of vinegar; one table-spoonful of chutney, one table- spoonful of tomato sauce, two shallots, cayenne pepper, salt and pepper, and one dessert-spoonful of lemon juice. Pour the salad oil on a plate, and dip each piece of meat in it; sprinkle both sides with about a tea-spoonful of pepper and salt mixed. Grill the chicken over a clear fire for twenty minutes, if not cooked before; seven cr tfln minutes will suffice if it be a rechauffe. Peel the shallots and chop finely; put them in a stew-pan with the vinegar, let it reduce for ten minutes, then add the chutney, tomato sauce, and lemon juice, five grains of cayenne pepper, and a salt-spoonful of salt; stir well, and boil five minutes. Place the joints of chicken or turkey on a hot dish, and pour the sauce through a drainer over them. (Most delicious, as the writer can personally affirm.)
JOTTINGS FROM THE AMERICAN…
JOTTINGS FROM THE AMERICAN PAPERS. [BY MOHIKN.] My friend "Llwydwedd," Smarden, Kent, has the following interesting sketch in the Welsh- American Wasg for September 26:—" In the parish of Llangenech, Caermarthenshire," he says, and near a farmhouse named Glanmwrwg, situatfe near the highway running from the ancient village of Llangenech to Dafen and Felinfoel, Llanelly, there is a whitewashed cottage, covered by a thatched roof. I am well acquainted with it. Formerly it was occupied by one of the labourers on Glan- mwrwg Farm. This humble-looking cottage is the favourite residence of the beloved daughter of the late General Grant (ex-President of the American Republic), whose loss the civilised and the uncivilised world alike has lately mourned. She is Mrs. Sartoris. A word in reference to her husband. About the beginning of the present century a wealthy gentleman, whose name I do not now recolleet, resided in Hamp- shire on his own estate. He was the owner of Llangenech. Being childless, he adopted a lad named Sartoris, who, as his name indicates, was of Roman extraction. The whole of the Hampshire gentleman's estates were left to this adopted child. After he had reached maturity Sartoris married Miss Kemble, the daughter of Mr. John Kimble, the celebrated Sliakspearian actor. This lady inherited the talents of the Kembles, and her name is also known in the literary world as an authoress. The present Mr. Sartoris is the son of that lady and ber husband, and he is the husband of the daughter of General Grant. In the general election in Britain in 1868 Mr. Sartoris became a Parliamentary candidate for Caermarthen- shire in the Liberal interest, and he and Mr. John Jones, Blaenos, Llandovery, were elected members for the county. One of Mr. Sartoris's principal supporters was the Rev. Dr. Morgan ('Lleurwg'), Llanelly, who stumped the county in every direction on his behalf. Immense amusement was caused by Lleurwg's' seeking to prove that Mr. Sartoris was a Welshman. 'That he is a he said, 'is as clear as noonday, for Sartoris means" Saer- y-Tories" (The Carpenter of the Tories), and be has come to make the coffin of Toryism and to invite you all to the funeral on" the day of the election.' So great was 'Lleurwg's' influence that he actually placed the candidate quite in the shade, many ignorant people believing that he himself was the candidate. On the day of election Mr. Sartoris lost, in consequence of this error, many votes. Some voted for • Lleurwg,' others for Sartoris, and others again for • Mr. Morgan, Capal Seion,' which is non- poetical and everyday name." It seems Mr. Sartoris is fond of fishing. Llan- genech and the neighbourhood are highly favour- able to tho indulgence of this sport. But why he prefers this thatched and white-limed cottage as a residence rather than one of the fine houses in the district, the property of bis father, I am unable to state. The Drych Americanaidd, just to hand, utters a lament over Jumbo dead. After describing the accident from the effects of which the poor beast perished, the Drych, in a leading article, goes on as follows:—"This will be sad news to millions on this side, as well as on tho other side, of the sea— Jumbo no more! Many in England, besides the Royal Family, loved the now departed Jumbo. Hundreds of thousands of the children of the Old World, as well as of the New World, rode on his back in their happier days and they, in return, fed him with tons of apples, cakes, and candy. He was fond of small children. He, doubtless, re- membered when he himself was a small child basking in the sunshine and the liberty of African forests. It is believed the departed was about a quarter of a century old. He was a native of Africa, and was descended from the Big Bugs, chiefs of the Dark Continent. While he was yet but a baby he was caught by a troop of Arabs, who convevad him to Zanzibar^ where he was sold cheap to some French- men, who sent him to the Jardin des Plantes in Paris. His next home was the Zoo, London. Here he attained proportions beyond those of any ele- phant seen there before. He was lift, in height, and weighed seven tons and a half. When he lifted up his nose on high its tip was 26ft. from the ground. History does not record any nose of pride before Jumbo's as having attained to such an elevation. This alone will show Jumbo to have been truly great! His great- ness did not diminish as one approached him, as happens with some creatures deemed great. Near- ness did not dwarf his proportions. Like all truly great ones, he was gentle to everyone, and generous to his brethren according to the flesh. Some of them would occasionally envy him, and now and then turn up their noses when they met him but he never revenged himself upon them. He could afford to be magnanimous. He was patriotic and friendly. The only blot on his cha- racter was his fondness for whisky. Notwithstand- ing his greatnesshe could not withstand the tempta- tion of a drop of mountain dew. After emptying a glass of the Scotch mixture into his capacious stomach he would wink and roar for more!' How melancholy and unusual is the saying the late Jumbo! He was never before late' any- where. He was hitherto always timely; but his place knows him no more, great as he was. Like millions of others with less to show than he, he has ceased to appear! His fate will not differ from the fato of others. He wttl be regretted for a moment, and then his friends will turn away to admire other elephants. Farewell, Jumbo Peace to thy ashes lying in Canada, to thy skin in Tuft's College of Curiosities, and thy bones in the Smith- sonian Institution at Washington."
ENSILAGE IN RUSSIA.I
ENSILAGE IN RUSSIA. A Russian landowner, writing to the Times, says :—Having read your article about the ensilage process, I think it would be of some interest to your readers to know that this system of storing green food for the cattle has met with » great success in several parts of my country (Russia). I know landowners who have tried to make ensilage and were perfectly satisfied with the result. The ensilage I saw made was prepared in the following way:—A deep, oblong excavation being made in a solid clay ground, 7ft. to 8ft. deep, stems of maize, leaves, and stems of cabbages, weeds, &c., were cut and put into it in rows of Sin. to lOin. thick. Between each row some salt was spread. When it was done, boards were put on the ensilage, and then all the earth which was dug out was put on them. This was made in the beginning of October, and in March and February the cattle enjoyed a very good food.
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SPIRIT OF THE WELSH PRESS.I
SPIRIT OF THE WELSH PRESS. By GWYLIKDYDD.J The near approach of the general election and expected severity of the contest have produced a sobering influence on the conductors of the Welsh newspapers. The jubilant tone of two and t hree months ago has given place to serious reflection. It is becoming evident that the Conservatives are likely to prove more powerful antagonists than was at first anticipated. The breach between the Whigs and Radicals, as represented by the Mar- quess of Hartington and Mr. Chamberlain, has not only been widened, but laid bare and open to the public gaxe. Neither has Mr. Gladstone's attempt to blow hot and cold with the same breath mended matters. All the papers, with the exception of the Bancr, are in a state of uncertainty. The JJaner has cast its lot with Mr. Chamberlain. Upwards of two columns are devoted to him. Mr. Chamberlain is the man to whom the Liberals are to look for the healing of their wounds in the coming years. Should Providence please to preserve his life the farmers and workmen of the kingdom may expect more just and useful measures from him and his associates in the course of a few years than they have obtained from the Tories during a whole century." The orthodox Methodist and the heterodox Unitarian have sworn eternal friendship. The verities of the Christian faith, t" which the early Calvinistic Methodists attached so much importance, are to be sacrificed on the altar of party politics. The Goleuad, in an article on The Farmers and the General Election," charges the Conservatives with being untruthful and unprincipled. The chief work of the Conservatives during the last few months has been to throw dust in the eyes of the farmer and farm labourers. The Liberals, on the other hand, do all in their power to enlighten the agriculturists, to put the question plainly before them, and allow them to judge for themselves." How can a Birmingham manufac- turer be .a better friend of the farmer than the landowner whose income depends upon hie tenants' success and prosperity ? And where is the honesty of offering labourers" four acres of lard and a cow "at the public expense ? It is a sad state of mental depravity when a religious editor attributes bad motives to those who differ from him in politics. The Genedl says:—*• The next two months will be a period of the greatest moment to this kingdom, and the new electors ought to feel that upon them depends what the future of Great Britain and Ireland will be. Let no voter be blinded by the measures that the Conservatives have passed since they have come into power. They were all Liberal measures, and liberality is insepa- rable from the immortal William Ewart Gbd. stone." The Gtcyliedydd, as if it had received a hint from head-quarters, says:—"We should like to see all the Wesleyans of the Principality voting for the Liberal candidates, but would be infinitely more grieved if we lost faith in a religious brother who voted the other way." The Tyst uses the following extraordinary statement in a leading article on the Conservative demonstration at New- port :—J'The workmen of Monmouthshire have not forgotten the affair of the Westgate Hotel. The spirit of that movement wili rise on the day of election and sweep the Tory banquet, the con- ference, and Lord Salisbury before it. Does the reverend editor recommend another edition of the Newport riots? A cause must be despen.udy bad when recourse is had to such language in support of it. The Genedl continues the agitation in favour of the formation of a. Welsh party. A correspondent, profiting by the prominence given to the subject by the editor, improves the occasion in this wisa —" The birds that we send to St. Stephen's never sing their voices are not heard on matters that specially affect us. There is not ome among thorn possessing the moral courage and independence necessary for the leadership of the Welsh party, They are like india-rubber men, dressed in velvet, ready and willing to be used for every PURPOSE, Mr. Henry Richard says that we ought to be satisfied; that we are governed by the same laws and enjoy the same privileges as Englishmen. We are not Englishmen. Supposing they were offered monoglot Frenchmen or Welshmen for their judges, would they accept them? Well; why should we not have Welsh judges in Wales like English judges in England? We must have a Welsh party—of Welsh blood, who can speak oar language. We have been too long in a state of sleepiness and indifferenot! Closely allied to the cry for a Welsh party in the House of Commons is that for teaching Welsh in Elementary Schools. The two schemes are pro. moted by the same persons and for the same end, namely, personal advantage. The inhabitants of the Principality would suffer by the adoption of either or both. The effect of the first may be seen in Ireland—in the check given to enterprise and the with^r.iwal of English capital from the island. The advocates of teaching Welsh itvfilementary Schools have discovered that their object can only be obtained by degrees. The first proposal was found to be too bold it is now withdrawn, and "the utilisation of Welsh in teaching English" has been substituted for it. This, in itself, is not only unobjectionable, but has been acted upon for many years by schoolmasters in rural districts where English is not understood. The real object is the formation of a Welsh party similar to that of the Home Rulers of Ireland. The following extract fl'OU1 a leading article 011 the subject in the Tarian bears out the theory :— "Our forefathers were timid people. They bore every treatment of the English without complaint ing. The consequence was that everything became English—English schools, Enrrlish courts of justice, and English services of religion. We had English bishops and English judges. The managers of estates were Englishmen, and the Government offices were held by Englishmen. The nation has now been aroused from its slumbers and demands its rights. We are glad to find that men in whom the nation places confidence have taken the matter up." The Llan contains an interesting article on The Obligation of the Welsh to the Church for their Literature." The editor begins with William Salisbury—who published the first Welsh book IN the year 154-7-and gives a long list of eminent authors down to the end of the eighteenth century. No less than 560 books were published by Church- men between 1700 and 1800. Tho first CYMMROR dorion were the sons of the Church. The chief contributors to the Cylchgrawn, Gwladgarwr, Gwyliedydd, Haul, Cyrnro, &c., were Churchmen, The literary productions about the middle of the present century were rich and numerous; not the least valuable were those of Rice Rees. Archdeacon Williams, Robert Williams,' Brutus,' &c. And from those days to the present the Church can boast of her commentators, antiquarians, bards, historians, grammarians, &0. What Eisteddfod is complete without the assistance of ♦ Ellis Wvn, Llawdden,' Estyn,' Padarn,' Arch- daacon Griffiths, Dyfrig,' John Rees, &C. ? From the earliest period of our history to this day the Church has been a warm paf on of literature. But the cry of the Radicals is the Church down to the dust, and make it a sect poor and without influence. Let cobblers and tailors occupy her pulpits instead of graduates of Oxford, Cambridge, London, Lampeter, Dublin, and Durham.' The future of the Nonconformist Colleges con- tinues to be a subject of discussion, The nev. J. A. Morris, of Aberystwith, deals elaborately, in the Seren, with the Baptist Colleges. Ho advocates the establishment of a Divinity Hall at Cardiff, Bangor, and Aberystwith, with a learned minister of the denomination at the head of it, and recom- mends that the students bhould avail themselves of the secular Colleges for the arts, &c. Ho also shows that that course would be less costly than the present system. The cost of each student is— Pontvpool, JE63 15s. 2d. J Haverfordwest, £4-5 12s. Id.; Llangollen, £64 9s. 2d. Several letters appear in the Goleuad about Trevecca College, and the subject promises to become a burning one. It is remarkable and unaccountable how cortain Nonconformists should parade the failure of the voluntary principle in their religious ministra- tions and at the same time demand the Disendow- ment of the Church. The denominational papers contain pitiable accounts of the struggles of weak Churches and the poverty of many of the ministers. The Goleuad refers to the Calvinistic Methodists— the strongest denomination in Wales—in tho fol. lowing terms:—"The stipend of the minister is so small that, if he has a family, he is in a state of constant anxiety, which necessarily unfits him for the discharge of his duties, and lessens his influence in the neighbourhood in which he LIVOSI We have a large number of Churches which-' owing to the smallness of their numbers and want of means—cannot give their ministers adequate salaries. Tho debt of the Connexion exceeds £300,000. and the travelling expenses of preachers amount to £1,000 a year," It was the eame diffir culty which led the early Churches to obtain en. dowments, so as to enable the ministrations of religion to be performed with efficiency and regu. larity, and the ministers placed beyond the reach of want and anxiety. The interest of religion; as alleged by some, cannot be the motive which animates the advocates of Disestablishment and Disendowment. Several of the papers have bitter articles on tho success of Principal Jayne'S appeal for signatures to the memorial to the Government to restore to St. David's College, Lampeter, the annual grant of £400 taken away some years ago. The BANCR closes a leading article thus :—" We have no objec- tion to Churchmen using their own money to defend and strengthen the old Church. But it is too advanced in the day to expect the Government to contribute towards a Denominational College; Where public money is given the control must be in the hands of the representatives of the people." The Goleuad says:—"It is too far advanced in the day for even 41,000 memorialists, brought together in a fortnight, to apply public money for Chureh purposes in the Principality: Our belief is that the appeal will not be responded to bv the t'on- servative Government; If they make the grant.ib will be of short duration* for it will teerfcainlv he reversed. Who could have been the iiiBeral members and candidatéé who signed the memorial? They will have to give an account Of their conduct at the next election. Let no Candidate be sup- ported WHO does hot promise to oppose ilMgmnt:" The Tyst is U sorry TO understand that Noncon- formists have been induced to sign tJl memorial. It is easy to deceive some persdns: Principal Jayne says that the heart Of Nonconformity is with him. Where is that heart? The Nonconformist denominations ought to protest against the request."
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TO CORRESPONDENTS.
TO CORRESPONDENTS. ENGLISH Pnetry illtenddf;-insertion in he Weekl,5 Mali should be addressed to the Editor, at the Cardlft ottiees of the paper; åll W elsh compositions to Dt!tr. Wyu o Essyllt, Pontypridd. CORi¡¡¡:sPOSDKXT8 who wish their unused YStJ, re turned mut ill all cases cnclose stamps for til*1 purpose.
AT E1N GOHEBWYR.
AT E1N GOHEBWYR. tjST Ymadengys ysgrif ar y terfyniad II aetb." Itc. yn ein rhifyn nesaf. llARDDONIAETH, CYSGODOL GOED Y BWTHYN* Cysgodol gtJed y bwthyn," O fewn eich cangau gwyrdd Mae adar mån y dyffryri ffraw 111 hidlaw olllau fyrdd A'r tyner j n awelon Gerddorallt hob yn &il,- Sefoiaidd bér alawon, o fewii eich cangau gwyrddionj Ar telyn ddail. Cysgodol 9;oed y bwthyn," O dan eich cangau brRf, BLl iiawer mab a morwyn fad Mewn cariad brwd yn glaf Yr, tynu llun calonau Cyivirat fu erioed- Yn euro mewn mynwesau, Rhowd wed'yn mhen blynyddau xe myr.went Dal) y Coed. •i Cngodol goed v bwthyn," DiffrWYt hOddllawcr Haw. Nu'u trwsia gwerld y brigyn good Jhn dr-aed y gwyut a'r gwlaw, Clnvi wclsoch genedlaethau Y bwthyn bob Tn ail, Yn dilyn ewrs yr oesau, A cbanoedd 0 ï n 'hedeg drw g eich dail. If CysgodOl goed y bwthyn," Yn iaith v ddeilen grin I bwth bou blwvddyn chwi Hhoddasoch wersi CUll, Ac hyÎryd loêr arog'au, A ffrwythau gyda ,harch Ac amlitll un 0'1' tLdau, O rhyddyn deh calonan, Gadd goed l'w dderw arch. X. TAWJSKOS YOUTH, O RHOWCH I MI FWTHYN YN NGHYMRU, nhv;ng muriau bytlivnod fy n¡{wlall, Mae cerddgar wyryfon a Uariciau y JJ (iJll !leu fioesgni na hra,,1 Glodjtenkii ein ellwog ,"vndeidiu.u; Traddodiad, achwedi, a chall By'n eadw yn loew trwy'r oesau 0 hyd, Hoff enwaiVr gwrolliaid fu ullwaith eyn hyn xn all¡.:au i'r geh n—yn ddychryn 1'1' hyd. O rhowch imi fwthyn Yll Ngbymru, Yn nghesail y IIghallol y wlad. Yn rhywle yn Nghymru,- Yn Nijiymru fy n^wlad. 1l1:wDg- muriau bwthynod fy ngwlad Mae'r awpn yn dilyn y delyn, Gan gadw y bri :l'r mawrhad Feddianll!ti ein anwyl Lywelyn Tjlywelyn yw ymffrosi ei chän, LJywe!yu, Llywelyji, er mwy yn ei fedd, Mae eaw Llywelyn fel tri sill o dill, Yu tanio pob mynwes ylt barod i'r dedd, O rhoweh i mi fwthyn yn N ¡{h ymru, Ac. Ar furiau bythynod fv ngwll1.d Mae'r bidog 11.'1' cleddyf vn hougiau Yu loew, mewn Bour fawrliad Jr nieddwi 111' im-a y tyrialan Cyrlaf:lII, 11 bidog, a dtledd, C'ytLlfaH fradwrua ineih awen a cha,! Vw'r gejrian s.y'n dilyn y delyn mewn Iwd<1. Ar aeiwyd pol) bwthy!} trwy »e|( Gymru io«4. O rJIOWciI j'lnJi fwihyn YII Wtjiiymru, Ac, Ar tunau tJilll.YPO(! ty IJgwj'll1 Mae her. In<hil IHJ(1l1 !¡,d, 1 augau, nea ludd4ù¡lalthau j AT heq 'MaiUi a folarjt y )IYI4, By'ii ilal i'W jiaceiiu flan npddejJ iH Puyy, A ¡jtrd(ry catieirfardd a:r pencerdd yn' itghyd Ky'n di8gY n fel uarnau u aur ar y piyw, O rhoweh imi fwthyn yn Ngltyfpru, £ 6, f4¡.:kt'-Gall, T. YOB4'fti iiiiDDAlUiHAhf fjeprgd Williams, WiHÜmó9WH: p-aorge Wmjai11 YI) laslanp jeaup, »oew, Qï ta gymefwy,1 ) fysg y meirw } M<)l:'1¡¡Àq alar i'w tam r\ldd-wclw À fu i* herwyild ei siynar farw Dygai Vtaws flfwy ci fyvyd gluew, A'i hawddgar rlnwedd j gnnn I!W i Djhajog y eaed 4e!w,p?b 1I¡:deb, Ar IIi wyheb, ond mwy 111 c4elr hWlI". V* <JKRI4*AW, BOli MOlttllS. (An Old Rhondd* Miner.) Dob Morris was tired of livin in Wales, He thoi¡ghL there were countries mlleb better; Confessed tbey wen pretty, its mountains and VAIN, But, scarcely could be any wetter. Bob Morris was tired of ddving tor coal, And sometimes aboutit would grumble, 4n4 speak with disust of « thut sulphurous bole," While something; of devils would mumble. One evening in vinlur, when taking his tea. He muttered some words about parting; His mother and somec?te could easily see Bob Morris was bent upon starting. For BOQ was a man wllq could make tIP his paind, In tbat he admitted fJO failing (Jqme what will. he is trusting to wave and to wl04 Across the Atlantic he's sailing. Bob Morris was soon in a log cabin seen, Aud with the rea shirts in the canyon Aud soon the bright dust be was panning out clean, A8 rich IlS the river e'er ran on. Bob Morris saw daily bis golden pile grow, His eyes at Ute dust hags were gllstenhHt And sometimes he murmured the words home It ant go." .As if some sweet spirit were listening. Our man was most happy a miper In red, He flourished Ol slapjacks :\114 bacon, Nor did he lose caste PeCllUStl qver bis be4 By his own hands his blankets were shaken, A merry man, quick with II song pr-a jig, +11 his cabin he'd stand Q the mid4le, AM swift on his heel he'd spin Hke A gig, 01' dance to the tunes of II. tiddle. Tiie hunter that roamed throiigh tpe pinu with 41. gun '1'0 bring down the grizzly or øetlr, Would say our man as a shot was A 11 In his eye he could see H never fear." Bob Morris, some sai, was a telegraph wire," The saying was smart, but not llasty For along the whoie line would flash t4e Welah fin. Yet Hob never seemed to be nasty. His friers 6on1øt,Ïmcs Cltled him 1\ Welsh Methodist, Although he ws known s 1\ joker The reason was thishí! would not deal ill wbist, And could not be induoed to play poker. But Morris looked splendid, his skin was welt tanned. Each day his ]jfe flowed liu II. rirar, He seemed solid and true like the metal he panJle4 An:l soul1d throughout heart, lung, and liver. He never confessed too an ache Or a qualm, He shunned all the poisonous fountains But drank to the full of the odorous balm, Of the pines that perfumed the mountains. He loved to Ole core the canyons and pines. T4e bln, the red shirt, and digging; BUL one My he of the fair "fullin.. Of a fine gltlhnt slup and her rigging. Then said, I'm off, 'tis time Q b" home, Tù someone I owe a Igng recloning Besides, I flm sure tlJat someonc si4 Come,' And 1 dreamt thlt 1\ fair face was beckoning." The re shirts came early fhropgh thick blinding snot To bid him God-speed on his journev, The parson was there to see Bob Morris go, The doctor and village attorney. They entered—the table was set oqj, With Kold, Borne letters thumbed over and yellow, J. pltotothe seeret was easily told, The face was tair, pretty, and mello A book, it was open, nd Rob's ollly PRe, The guide tht life's mazes unryels On that he Eat gating n-the journey was done. Dob Morris had gone on his travels, Pontypridd. WILLIAM PARBT.
THIS IJiUNC8 OF WALES AB Â…
THIS IJiUNC8 OF WALES AB Â SPORTSMAN, The first volume of the Badminton SporUnC Litmry on Hunting, of which the Puke of Beau- fort is thQ editor, was published on Saturday by Messrs. l-iongmans, Green, and Co, It is written by the Due of lleaufnr and Mr, Mowbray Morns. wito contributions by the <J.rJ of (Suffolk 6nd Berkshire, tile Rev. E, W. L, Payies, Digby Collins, and Alfred E, T. Watson, with Hl4stra.tion. by J, Sturgess and J, Charlton. The volume 1s dedicated to the Prince of Wales by the nobla edito*, beinl dated Badminton, October, 1885. The dedicatioQ is a.¡¡ follows Having rcceiveq pern1il)s1on to dedicate thAS8 volumes, the Badminton Library of Sports and Pastimes,' tn his Royal Highnoas the Prince of Wales, I do So feeling that J 11m dedí. cating them to one of the best and keenost sportsmen of our tima. I can pay, from personal observation, that thare is"o mar) who can oxtneate himself from a bustling find pushing crowd of horsemen, when a fox breaks covert, more dexterously and quickly than his Royal Highness; and thn,t when hounds run hard over a big country no man can tako a line of hili own and liye with them better. Also, when the wind has been blow- ing hard, often have I seen hiA Royal Highness knocking over driven grouse nnd partridges and high-rocketing pheasant in 1il.øt-mte workmanlike stylo. Ho is heid to he o flood yachtsman, and, al commodore of tho Royal Yacht Squadron, is Jooked up to bV those who love that pleasant and exhila* rating pastime; His encouragement of hieing i? well known, and hi attendance nt the university, public school, and other Important matches tc8ttfier to his being, like most English gentlemen, fond ot all manly sports. I consider it a great prlvilere to be allowed to dedicate these volumes to so eminent R. IiIportsman liS his Royal Highness the Princo of WaleSt and I do!o with shicerefeelings (If re8pect atld cateem anti loyal devotion."
PRINCE GEORGE OF WALESi '---
PRINCE GEORGE OF WALESi The, London Gazette of Tuesday contains an offichÜ announcement of, the appointment as lieutenant in tho, Royal Navy of Sub-Lieutenant Prince George of Wales:
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