Papurau Newydd Cymru
Chwiliwch 15 miliwn o erthyglau papurau newydd Cymru
7 erthygl ar y dudalen hon
Cuddio Rhestr Erthyglau
7 erthygl ar y dudalen hon
Y ALL EIGHTS RESERVED. ^
Newyddion
Dyfynnu
Rhannu
Y ALL EIGHTS RESERVED. I The Inn by the Shore, j X •. X BY < I FLORENCE WARDEN$ (Author of "The House on the Marsh," "The Heart of a Girl," &c.). CHAPTER XvLII. A WRECK IN" THE BAY. In the weeks which followed Nell's depar- ture for London the spirits of her uncle declined day by day, until the red-faced, genial innkeeper had become little more than the shadow of his former self. He missed his niece more than he would admit even to himself. And, although it is true that his mind had become tainted with Buspiciom of her truth and honesty, he would have been ready and willing to receive her back, and to forget the uoubts which he could not wholly siiHe. But Keil was eharp- ftighted enough to understand this state of (eeling, as revealed to her unconsciously by feer uncle in hiR letters. So biie made excu& £ >3 for remaining in London, and George Claris "as left lonely. The innkeeper, although he did not share Clifford's entire confidence in Nell, was grate- ful to the young barrister for it. But he said that his niece had forbidden him to divulge her address, and Mr. King must await the girl's own time for ma.king it known to him. Just before Clifford left relucta.ntly for London, on the completion of his recovery, he had another interview with the detective hemming, who, alter having disappeared for a fortnight, had returned to the scene of his investigations. Hemming was reticent, but gave the im- pression that he was more strongly convinced than ever that he was on the right track as to the perpetrator of the murder and of the robberies. "Well, what are you going to do?" asked Clifford impatiently. "Are you going to set another decoy to work?" Hemming looked at him shrewdly. "It won't be any use," answered he dryly, ^until "Until what?" "Well, sir, if I must say it—until Mise Claris Comes back." Clifford controlled the anger he felt, since an exhibition of it would only have closed the detective's lips more tightly. "I should like you to make the experiment, though," said he. "Will you make it, on my account? I want it very well done, no matter what it cost* "You're throwing your money away, sir," replied Hemming civilly. "Still, if you wish it, and choose to pay for it, of course, it oan be done." Clifford found a card, and gave it to the detective. "There is my address." said he. "I rely Upon you to do your best." "And you won't be dissuaded, sir, from a Useless expense?" "No." Before they parted Clifford 'and the detec- tive had arranged between them the details of a little plot. which Clifford thought would certainly suffice to excite the appetite of the astute, but daring1, thief who was at the bottom of all the mischief. In the week following Clifford's departure, therefore, there arrived at the "Blue Lion" a rough-looking person, who gave himself out as a successful emigrant, who had returned to his native land with his pockets full of money. The lean stayed at the inn for several days, boasted openly in the bar of his luck. showed the results of it in Lavish "treating," and in the apparently careless exhibition of liandfuls of gold. But it was all in vain. Hemming had to report to Clifford, not Without secret triumph, that the '"wealthy emigrant" had been allowed, after a pro- longed stay, to leave the inn without having received a visit from the midnight thief. Clifford was much chagrined, although he affected to think that it was only in common prudence that the thief, on whom the Buspi- cion of murder now hung, ihad grown more careful. But when Hemming had left him Clifford began to think out a. new problem which this last occurrence had presented to him: Vfcae Jem Stickels the thief, after all? But, then, it was certainly not Jem Stickels whose hand he had caught under his pillow. And a shiver passed through the young fellow's frame as he remembered the touch of the smooth skin, of the little slender angers. It was not until the first day of March, on a blustering, stormy morning, that Nell Claris, her resolution broken down by a Jiathetic appeal from her uncle, came back to Strotam. George Claris met his niece a.t the station, and each was shocked at the changed appear- ance of the other. Nell seemed to have lost half her beauty; her cheeks had lost their roundness, and her eyes the look of child- like happiness which had been one of her greatest charms. "Oh, uncle," she cried softly, whsn she had received his silent kiss on her forehead, "you don't look the game uncle! What have you! been doing to yourself?" "Oh, we've been pottering along much in the same old way," answered the innkeeper, affecting an indifference which he was far from feeling. "Nothing's happened in parti- cular since Mr. King went back to London. He wanted your address, as I told you in my letters. Why wouldn't you let me give it him?" "Uncle, I like him too much," answered the girl steadily. "If it had been in the old time, now, he should have had it quickly enough. But until this miserable business, that's been the ruin of everything to us all, is cleared up, I'll not let any man. I care about involve himself in my disgrace." > "Disgrace, Nell!" echoed Claris, in^alow voice. "Don't say that, child; <kjSp*say {that." In his tone the girl deteoteaall the ^motions which the story and the rumours about it had set stirring in her uncle's simple, She felt' keenly the affection, the doubt, the anger, which had tortured him during the long weeks of the winter. She gave a little sigh, and, tucking her hand under his aim, whispered: "We won't say disgrace, then, but misfor- tune. "Aye, that's better, dear," agreed the poor fellow mournfully. There was a. silence for a few moments. Nell had some questions to iask before they could put away the hateful subject and affect to forget it. She looked up at the trees which bordered the road on the right. They were swaying and cracking in the wind, lieafless as they were, they formed some pro- tection to the dog-cart and ifo occupants from the snow, which was driving in dense clouds from the grey line of the sea. towards the barren marshes. "Uncle," whispered she at last. "have the police been about much? You've said nothing about them in your letters! Have they been worrying you?" "Well, no, I oant rightly say as they have," answered George Claris, with a look of per- plexity. "That's where the puzzle is. They nods a.nd they winks, and they looks very knowing. But if they know as much as they pretend to, why don't they get to work, and fly round, and clear things up? It looks to me as if they were fair flununuxed themselves, that's what it. does! And as if they'd never be able to do anything buit just let things lie! In spite of himself, he threw at his niece an anxious, curious glance, to see how Sh3 would receive thia suggestion. A nd it cut. him to the heart to see that an expression of great JOY, of mwnixed relief and thankfulness, spread at once over her features.. "Well. at any rate, they il leave us^Jone, then, uncle, won't they?" said she, with a long sigh. "Mayhap thry will, child," responded Claris gloomily, as lie bent his head to the light and tightened his hold of the reins. For at that moment they emerged from the shelter afforded by the trees of Stroan Court. the mansion which stood jusot outside the walls of the old town. They were within flight of the spot where the body of Jem Stickels had been discovered, hut any emotions they might have felt at the recol. lection were overpowered by a sense of actual physical danger. For the wind, wh'Cli had heen boisterous all the morning, was now so strong thfi.t they were afraid the dog-cari would rJ blown over; while at the same time a blindicsr ^now-fall made it almost impos- sible for them to discern the road a yard in front of the horse's head. "It. blow? straight an, to the shore," Mis: George Ch'i' "it'll lie a InCky thing if non< of the ships in the Channel get drove out oi their course to-night! Nell shuddered. Living as she did by th-f seashore, she was accustomed to storms aMt w the horrors attendant upon t.lr:<m to tilw ships at sea. Every gale brought disaster :itid although, the "Elite I,¡Jon" being on tin fibore of n Day. must of the accidents o ■which Nell lu-ard happened F'Ollle few mile: a,f.:iy, yet she and her uncle 'were alvrrv. ar-ong the first to hear of them, from the l;pt of the frequent-?*?. cf the i?n. Both Nell and her uncle thought it, ^mdeit to finish their short journey on foot, vpdin! the horse, and finding their way with sona itfficaity through the snow-st-orm. It was about eight o'clock that nuK-, whea l^rred that ''1 schooner 5"^ gon ismorc in the bay itself, within a. ]1;. ',r th inn. She had lost her stcering-geai in tb storm, and the force, of the wind hfi-: Mrs her apon the Mii-ds <sA adie of tt-s -tarsi I It was thought that she was in danger of breaking up, and th j lifeboat from Court- stairs had been sent for when the news came to the in." But the Bradford was, as usual, stuck in the mud, and some other means of rescue had to be found. Through the snow, which the wind blew straight into their faces, Nell and a score of her neighbours made their way across the marsh, the men carrying ropes and lanterns a nd the women restoratives for the half-frosen crew. It was a long and weary mile. The ground was hard with frost; the snow-drifts were already getting deep; the flares, set burning from time to time by the crew of the wrecked ship, flickered uncannily in the darkness whenever the snow ceased for a short space. But the journey was not a fruitr less one. The men of the party, seafarers themselves for the most part, and all used to the sea, succeeded, up to their waists m water themselves, in launching a boat aaid in bringing the crew safely to land. The men were so benumbed by the cold that they had to be helped along, as they limped a.nd stumbled through the snowto the inn. There, however, they were soon restored through the kindly offices of a host of willing hands. h d Every creature in the neighbourhood had by this time heard of the unusual event of a, ship being wrecked in their own bay, aind quite a. large crowd had assembled round the "Blue Lion" before the orew had been under 'I its hospitable roof half an hour. Even Mrs. Lansdowne, the wife of the most prominent country gentleman of the neigh- bourhood, had heard of the new excitement, aind bad driven over, having picked up the Colonel and Miss Boetal on her way, to see the heroes of the adventure. On hearing that there was little hope of saving the schooner, and that in any case the sailors would lose their kit, Mrs. Lansdowne put into George Cla.ris's hands, for the benefit of the men, a enm of money which at once became the starting-point of a collection, to which most of the crowd contributed some- thing. Even the Colonel, whose poverty was proverbial, gave a shilling, although his daughter watched his hand with anxious eyes as he volunteered the coin. Altogether between five and six pounds was collected, and George Claris tied the money up in a canvas bag and locked it into a till behind the bar. There were whispers in the crowd to the effect that George Claris's house was not the safest place in the world to keep money in, but even the whisperers had no doubt of the honesty of Claris himself, while many were even glad of the opportunity of showing their confidence in a man who had undoubtedly been for some time under a cloud. It was Nell, however, who watched this pro- ceeding with the deepest anxiety. Her agita- tion was so evident, as she stood just within the doorway which led from the bar to the back of the inn, staring at her uncle, that one or two of the crowd looked at each other significantly. Suddenly the girl took a few rapid steps forward, and touched the inn- keeper's arm. "Uncle," said she, in a low voice, "Ttocle George, wouldn't it be better to send the money into Stroan by "—she glanced at the mem who were crowding in, and noticed one of the tradesmen of the town—"by Mr. Panamor ?" Her uncle frowned, and Mr. Paramor shook ihis head, with the kindly intention of show- ing George Claris that his friends were on his side. "No, no, Miss Claris; leave it where it is, where it'll be ready to hand," said he. As Nell drew back, without a word, but with a curious look of constraint and trouble upon her face, a little figure appeared at the door, and in iher prim tones Miss Boetal, whom no emergency could induce to step over the threshold of an inn, called to her: "Nell, Nell, como out here and speak to me." Nell looked at her, hesitated, and was on the point of disappearing into the interior of the house, when Meg, who was passing towards the har-parlotir with a trayful of 'hot drinks, officiously dragged her forward with one strong hand, while she carefully balanced the glasses on the tray with the other. "It's Miss Theodora, don't you see, Misa Nell?" eaiid she in a loud whisper. And Nell, unable any longer to pretend tha.t she neither saw nor heard, went out into the road. "Why, Nell, how is this? Is this the way you trea.t your old friend? I didn't even know you were back again, and I haven't heard a word from you for all these weeks and weeks. What does it mean, my dea.r? Now tell me what it means. I am afraid you are not happy. I .am afraid you bear me malice King?" Nell was cold, shy, awkward; 91 different creature altogether from the girl Miss Boetal ihad known and loved. "Oh, that is all over," she answered quickly. "I don't suppose I shall ever see Mr. King again." Miss Theodora seemed rather distressed to hear this. Now that iher protege, Jem Stickels, was dead, she could afford to with- draw her objection to his rival. "But why not—but why not, m/ dear?" she urged earnestly. "I thought, you were so fond of him?" And the little woman, who hod got oat of the carriage to go in search of her neglectful friend, drew round her mor closely the woolleit shawl whicb was ,hai ;ly sufficient protection against the falling snow. "You had better get into the carriage, Miss Thedora," suggested Nell coldly, ignoring the lady's question. lady's question. I "But I want an answer first, my deaa*. Never mind the snc-w. I ohly shiver because I am not usad to tnf; night air. You know I never go out after sundown, and not often before." But Nell would g've her no answer. And Miss Theodora, when she was at last con- strained to get into the carriage, regretted to Mrs. Lnmdsdow~o th.,t London had spoilt her dear little girl. Even George Claris noticed the change in Nell's manner to b ;r kind old protectress, and taxed her with it. The girl looked up, with her eyes full of tears. "How can I like her as well as I used to. uncle?" sa.id .1Ie. "If she hadn't encouraged Jem Stickels to worry me and teafte me, he would never h i (e met Mr. King thfut day, and —a.nd the wcr t part of the trouble wouldn't have hajipucefJ "But ebe »><ans well, and she meant well then, Neil. Yon shouldn't bear your old friends for fb^ir mistakes, my girl." But Nd, n«. e do reply. It was n", ¡, past closing time a.t the inn, and George Claris, yith grsat difficulty, waa clear- ing hI" house iL, crowd of customers. Thoso ree <f>f the ilorg who had suffered the 111-, jTo*n cold and exposure were to spend th night, finder his roof, while the rest wen t. Il to <$ti<,an by new-found friends who oIT 'od thetfci hospitality. George Claris locked (11, his h<^u >e, b3.;ni.. already sent his niece ami 1J,('.y .p bed, and, thoroughly tired out. we., l up to Jhi» own room. He had had v-ery bard f'^y, and he had finished up w,tji sn extra gla.¡.-s of rum-and- watar. Tfce coftset, jence was tlia-t he fell off to sleep af soon as rtio sat down: on the edge of hi? bed to take hi* Wt* off, and did not wo.lit; up until pome hoars later, when he eat mi fu J'lcaly, rpd r#men.J-;>red at the moment of waking that he hni! -oft.en to take the money, both his own 'aUijigg th* collec- tion for the r iloru, mit of the till in ;he bar. Opening the door of his room softly, in order not, to disturb the sleepers, he we-nt down- stair?. It vrtis half-pa^t five on tl3e Vollowing morn- "V nearest neighbours "were starts..1 by a lW'd k:u.r'nnfe a, their door followed y the abrupt rush of Meg, the in« Q, jskfl^t'3 of fra"D.tic ^xcit^srn&nt1 .1 0h» so-pxe or roe, do c r Therm s been avrf doiifes in )fir lioriao,*> she cried, ( fioarccly articulate >>< her fright and I want of breath; "T1- re s somebody hidinc in the b; ai i. I can out. And Mr Claris i.- no*, rjere t> > ji; Nell's fainted fhe.u I A her, ^<3 oil dea do come!" I The v.x^TMSA.whom uw was. „ The v.x^TMSA.whom uw was. n.dth-<;t;ing was r at first t.o.) I; aJa*rned to coq^ But two men. wh." oi, r • f. the com- > motion, "1 ^fV- BO l.r.ck wi'-n in n- few mi-aat^a the w iok- • arty aJt the 1 inn. ( I Thore waa je<MKbod be! IJ the' ccr- I t*ir on tl., floor^ mQn ■> stood hest tfeifir at tiv doo. rh* sounds f which fo their *ctrs fr a th_ bar were te hke th srUTVt, -e anQ » inir? of p. than. 11 .-> voire < v a- I "If n. man yo, tbere; iv« an ani^r'.l," <\ia pne ->i 1" « u:en. And. f e r.itchf^rk or.-riTing, h* tW; a- a«h -n^ bnildL'^ f But as i.f- er^. a a »ik! figure w ? froiV. Ixh: mi t:> Ix-.r f nd fa «d th^ intrudO", 3 glaring a.nU. rJf&ng. It oji^, of til: B earthenware j»Bs which on a F'helV against the and." braitflialiing it jbovei ♦ it" head, gave<fh r 1 n-nearthly howl. "Wlio ia it? fv't q it?" sereai^cd :Ateg. B "Stand hij-y f ba.-k!" roared tíhe creature. slanr- Jirs a^id .whirling its arm« j about- ■ ik1 ?aok!- 4 won't he robbed. 1'11 e serve you .» 1 v^f ?wWl it—as I've served the It devil—th« deHi ^Vi-d vilr" e And wit.1 ^O-Hiping, more shontin*, » the hv*" tgm jnf, aiirfng «,t l. haul of tfco it w*a into a 4 Y ahook and rattled under the blow. 1 "Why, it's—it's George Claris himself!" faltered the second man, who kept outside, too much alarmed to go beyond the door. "Master?" cried Meg indignantly. "Why, he don't drink! He's as sober a man as there is in the place.' She was sobbing, and trembling, and cling- ing to the man. "He ain't drunk," replied the man shortly. "He's gone 'mad, my girl. Look at his eyes." And as the girl looked fearfully through the window at her unhappy master, she could not doubt the truth of the man'& words. At eleven o'clock on the previous night George Claris had been as sane a. man as any in the county. At six o'clock in the morn- ing he was a, raving madman. CHAPTER XIX. THE POLICE COME FOR NELL. It was about a month after the e hip wreck which brought such strange consequences to the "Blue Lion" and its inmates that Clifford King, much against this will, found himself for the first time that year at a dance. He detested dancing, never accepted an invita- tion to a ball if he could help it, and never turned up if he found himself compelled to accept. But this entertaimment was an excep- tional one, being given in honour of the "coming out" of Otto Conybeare's youngest sister, and the mines laid for him had proved successful. When he got to the house, however, he found the sight such a pretty one that he could not even tell himself that he was a J martyr in having to come. The rooms were large and beautifully decorated with ferns and daffodils, "just like a churoh on Easter Sunday," as Otto Conybeare said. Clifford's attention, was attracted early in the evening by the eight of a girl whose face he Icnew, who looked at him again and again, as if she expected him to recognise her, but whose name he could not remember. In faot., the more often he met her eyes the more sure .00 felt that he did not even know it. Before long Clifford saw her speak to Otto, and then glance in the direction of himself. "Now," thought he. "I ehall get to the bottom of the mystery." For he had had no opportunity of getting hold of Otto or of anyone who could tell him who she was. Otto came straight towards him. "I want to introduce you to Miss Lans- downe," said he LanadowDe! The name was quite un- familiar to Clifford. But as soon as he was introduced the riddle was solved. "I want so much to know you, Mr. King," said the girl, who was pleasant, unaffected, and amiable-looking. "I can see you don't know me. and yet I know you very well." "That is not quite fair," said Clifford. "I do remember your face perfectly well; it is your name only which is unfamiliar to me. I am. certadn I have never spoken to you "He's gone mad, my girl. Look at his eyes!" before in my life; you may be sure I should not have forgotten if I had." "I live niaar stroan," said Miss Lansdowne. Clifford started violently, aJIld his face clouded. "I have often seen you about there," wemt on the girl. "And I know intimately more than one of your friends there." "I have no friends there now," said Clifford, with a sudden charage to gravity and bitter- ness in his voice and manner. "Well, you had friends there at one time, I think. Miss Boetal and her father, the Colonel, would, I am sure, be ratiher hurt to think that you no longer reckoned them ae your friends." "The Bostals! Oh, yes," answered Clifford indifferently. "I know them; but Miss Theodora would hardly reckon me as a. friend. I lost my place in her esteem, if I ever had any, by walking from Courtetairs to gtvoan on a Sunday in a tourist's suit." Miss Lansdowne smiled. "She is an odd little creature," said dhe, "but she has a very good heart. To hear her deplore the disappearance of a young girl whom she was fond of and kind to——"—and Miss LaJJJsdowne looked steadily away from Clifford as she spoke—"no one could doubt the depth of her feelings." Clifford was silent for a, few moments. Then he glanced down ai the face of the girl beside him. saw that it invited confidence, and guessed that her last words had boen carefully chosen. I "You mean that Miss Claris has disap- peared?" "Yes. You had heard about it, I suppose?" she tusked, with a pretence of indifference. "Of course." "And that nobody knows more -than thia. that she and her uncle have gone away?" Clifford answered with scarcely a pretence, on. his side, of oorioe^'ling the emotion he felt. "I went down to the place myself, saw the house shut up, deserted, and found that no- body could tell me more than this-tha-t George Claris had gone ma.d, that he was in an asylum, and that his niece had gone away at the same time. If you can tell me any- thing more, I shall be very grateful to yon." "I don't know any more than you do; One can only guess or repeat the' guesses of others." "Well, let meJhear the guesses." "They say—people think that the girl has been shut up, too." "In an asylum?" asked Clifford, hardly able to control his voice. "Yes." "I don't believe it," said he hoarsely. "Well, isn't it better than beliering any- thing else?" "Believing that ehe is a. thief, a Clifford could not go on. "Do you know what haptened on that morning whan George Claris was found mad?" asked Miss abruptly. 'The woman at the nearest cottage told IQ0 the story," he answered abruptly. "Did she tell yon"—Miss lansdowne hesi- tated—"that Miss Claris faint**1 "f11 they told her what h-j.d happened to .^Oole? And that they found under her pillow—a oawvas bag containing the ConC> ,ted for some shipwrecked night tjsfore?" Clifford's face changed. "No." said he at oince, in the tone of a matl who has made up his mind upon some weighty point; "they did not tell we that." "It is true, though. After that., who could doubt the girl's guilt?" "I could." said Clifford quietly- "And one other person-Miss BOSt.al. A.T)vl 5"oa' are/ both equally ob-stinate aad unreason- able" "Miss Bostal takes her part? I the dried-np little creatnre had it in- neT.' cried Clifford with admiration- I shall go down a,n,d see her." That is just what she wants you to do, relied Miss Lansdowne quickly. "She hue said so to me so often that I thought, when I saw I h^j a, chance of speaking to you, I would not let it slip." Clifford looked down into her face grate- futly. "it is ^ery good of you," eaid he. "It 18 kinder than you, perhaps, think." He wa3 so mnch moved that he could not trust himself to say more. But Mise lans- downe, who wag a gym pathetic understood, and Rnriied. "Perhaps I °&n guess more than you imagine," she said gently. "I must confess. Mr. King, to having, heard something about yov.—a.nd little Nell ciarip, and to having been much interested in it. You know she was a great deal in everybody'3 mouth there, beca-use shs was &o pretty—so IIJue II prettier, in fact, than any of us." foiild have thought it was ben-eath the of the county ladies," said Cliffonl, contemptuous curl of his lip under hls che, "to recognise the existence of _a who was only an innkeeper's niece it was. » little. She vras spoken of .extraordinary freak 0f Nature, you Specially by .the old ladiee. Tb«y tLwaT+ *Vnied to afttot to think that she *1'T* «'fc *«. Wt cmlj «, was- flftu* te -oe 6Jat«q «t m4 admired to .I.J CV.u.1'O "A. it was a. great shame su-cih a lovely, refined girl should be wasted on such a place, and were very glad when it seemed she had a chance of going away where she would be thought of ae 'she deserved to be." Clifford gave her another grateful look. Miss Lansdowne went on: "And it was because of the interest we took and the swrow we felt when all this dreadful trouble came upon her that I wanted so much to meet you. Mr. King, and to let you know just the feeling there was about it." "You are very good; I cannot. thank you," said Clifford. He could scarcely speak, and when he had blurted out these words there was ai moment's silence. Then he said in his usual voice: "Which dance did you say I might have?" And the subject of the "Blue Lion" and its story wai dropped. But next morning, before luncheon-time, Clifford was at Stroan. (To be continued.)
LAUGH & GROW FAT 0-
Newyddion
Dyfynnu
Rhannu
LAUGH & GROW FAT 0- HUMOROUS PARS FROM EVERYWHERE "Why did you leave your last place?" asked Mr. Hiram Off en. Well," replied the pretty servant maid, "the last couple I was with didn't agree "Indeed? Why should their disagreements affect you?" It was about me. The gentleman liked me, but she didn't." Young Enthusiastic Artist (innocently): I presume, Miss Fitzdook, you paint? Miss Fitzdook (indignantly, misapplying his remarks): Sir, do you intend to insult- Young Artist (very much embarrassed): Oh, 'pon my word, Miss Fitzdook, don't think for a moment I alluded to the paint on your face. "The only objection I have to the fiat." said the new tenant, ic! that I can always hear vague mutterings caused by the people talking in the adjoining apartment." Oh, that oa;n easily be remedied, madam replied the agent I'll have the walls made thicker." "Thicker!" exclaimed the lady in surprise, "Why, then, I couldn't hear a thing!" "Beg your pardon, kind lady," began the polite beggar, "but I'm badly in need of money." "I wonder if you deserve help," said the kind lady, suspiciously. "If I was to give you a halfpenny, what would you do with it?" "Yoor gerLarosity would overwhelm me, ma'am; I'd buy a postcard end write you a note of thanks." Mrs. Bilkins: Do you think it is worth while for my daughter to go on taking sing- ing lessons? She has been at it for five years, a;nd cannot sing yet. Professor Von Note: Dit you expect her to learn to zing ? She vill neffer sing in zee vide world. "Then why didn't you Say so long ago?." "I thought you merely vanted to strengthen her lunge." "I would kiss you," said the bashful young man, "but am afraid I might disarrange your hair." "Oh, don't lot that wojry you," hastened the pretty girl. "I will just tell them I have been motoring." They were sitting in the parlour of the pretty little cottage. "Darling," he whispered, ardently, "we are rolling onward in the car of love." "Yes, dear," she whispered, nestling on hie broad shoulder, "and we don't need any conductor to say, 'Sit close, please. Sir William Gull, the eminent physician, was once consulted by an elderly man witi.1 referanoe to an attack of dyspepsia. The patient was quite deaf. What do you have for dinner?" roared Sir William into his right car. Oh, no!" was the reply. "Plenty of that -"two nulea regnla-rly after breakfast, and two more before dinner." How long do you lie a-bed of a morning?" "Toell, doctor, I sliall be sixty-nine this day three weeks." Without further parley the doctor gave him some simple prescription. At the door! the man turned round, and, in the loud, rattling tones of one very deaf, called out] "Doctor, can you core deafness?" Sir William shook his heed and made his lips express No." "I thought so," said the patient. You've been very kind to me. Therefore I make you a present of this prescription." He pulled a, Piece of paper from his pocket, and added, It cured me!" HIS HAPPY IDEA. Have you heard what Sharpe gave his mother-in-law for ø. birthday present?" "No; what?" "A motor-car. She's so delighted with it she's travelling all the time." PREMATURE. Physician: You will be glad to know, madam, that your husband will almost cer- tainly recover. Wife: Oh, dear me, doctor! What shall I do? Physician: Why, madam, what do you mean? Aren't you anxious that your hus- band should get well? Wife (sobbing): Yes; only .00n you said last week you didn't think he would live a. fortnight, I went and sold ail his clothes. NO TACT. Mrs. Cutting: I just heard you tell that man how grey he was getting. I'm surprised at you. Mr. Cutting: Why? That's Potter, and he I is getting grey, very grey. Mrs. Cutting: Ah, you men are lacking in tact; you wouldn't cateli a, woman telling another woman that she waa getting old. Mr. Cutting: No, a woman would say, Gracious, dear, you look positively young to-night." >, GODDESS OF WISDOM. The following anecdote is being told of Miss Helen Gould. Miss Gould, who is noted for her wit, reoently entertained at luncheon a frart-y of girls. Afterwards Mies (Goold showed the young ladies about her house, pointing out some of its interesting contents. "This," she said, stopping before a bronze in the hall, "is a statue of Minerva." "Was she married?" asked one of the fcneets. "Oh, no, my dear," replied Miss Gould, "you know Minerva- was Goddess of Wisdom." READY-AYE READY Mr. Richleigh bad taten tickets for the local fire brigade's New Year's ball; but so enthusiastically vrae the idea taken up by his family that he found he should want some ^ore. Therefore, he strolled down to the fire-station. No one was to be seen when he made his appearance; but, within the building, he found an electric button in the wall, and Drect3ed it. The effect was electric in every sense of the word, for the next moment through the ceiling, down the staire, and from every other direction, came helmeted men, and horses rushed from their et alls—in brief, all the machinery of a bustling Are-station was Put into aotion. Then the driver ba.wled to Mr. Richleig-h: "Where's the fire?" I'm sure I haven't a.ny notion," said Mr. Riohleigh, mildly. "I've called for another ticket for the New Yaaur's Wit- f
IWIDOW BLACK. I -.
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WIDOW BLACK. Years ago there stood on the sea coast, several miles from where the city of St. John now stands, a Little straggling sort of village, composed principally of hshermen's cottages. Little better than huts they were, and a rough, unpolished, but honest and hard-work-1 ing set were their occupants. Everything moved on in that little sea- coast village for years and years in the same calm, monotonous way; almost forgotten by the inhabitants was the fact that there existed any other world but the little one in which they lived. Sometimes, it is true, rumours would reach them of the boid manner in whioh the revenue was being cheated by the smugglers of Eaetport; but the honest fishermen, secure in their rock- bound retreat, cared little for this. At length, however, the inhabitants were aroused from their stagnation by quite a. little romance. Standing on a bleak, desolate sort of emi- nence that projected somewhat from the mainland was a little ruined stone cottage. It had formerly been built by one of the fishermen, who, finding he could not reside in such a cold, cheerless spot, had deserted it, and the hut had long been with- out an inmate. It was ever here the wind blew coldest in winter, and here the sun's rays fell hottest in summer, The summit of the dreary hill was crowned with stunted spruces, dwarfed and blackened by the inten-e frosts of many winters. Over the rocks below broke, with a dull, sullen roar, the waves of the Bay of Fundy; and oftentimes in the spring the tide would rise so high and so rapidly as to entirely surround it, cutting it off like an island from the main- land. The inhabitants had very appropriately named it Bleak Point. Such was the state of things when, one raw spring morning, the news went flying through the village that Bleak Point shanty had got an occupant. A low, black, rakish-looking schooner had corns up the bay the night before; a boat had put off from her, leaving a woman on Bleak Point. Then it had returned to the schooner, which before day- light was off and away. Of course, everybody was all aglow to discover who she was, and what a woman hardy and courageous enough to live in so lonely a place could look like. This curiosity was soon satisfied, for after the first few days the newcomer aid not soom disposed to conceal herself. Let them rise as early in the morning as they please they would find her up before them, strolling about among the rocks. This wonder was still further augmented at finding her young and eminently hand- some, with a healthy brown face, and the brightest-, vivacious black eyes in the world. The young men of the village could speak of nothing but her beauty; and the hours they should have spent in catching fish were wasted in devising schemes to catch her. The ladies of the village were, however, abso- lutely scandalised by the utter indifference which she manifested in regard to dress and, indeed, her garments generally looked as though she had jumped into them. She dispensed altogether with hat and bonnet, and wore in its place a silk handkerchief, knotted under her chin after the fashion of the French women. Still, even the jealous village belles were obliged to own that nothing could have set off better the dark, bright style of her beauty than the rich, brilliant hues of her gay-coloured head-dress. For a time the villagers held aloof from the newcomer; but, finding their reserve was met with careless indifference on her part, they soon began to change their tactics. A few of the village maids and matrons cailled at Blea.k Point Shanty, and, though shocked beyond measure at the universal dis- order reigning without and within, they left on the whole rather favourably impressed by its mistress. There was a wicked twinkle in her' bright, black eyes as she begged them to excuse the state in whioh they found things, on the plea, tha.t she "wasn't used to house- keeping." All their endeavours to discover her name and business proved, however, to be vain, but from several accidental remarks dropped by her they came to the conclusion she was a widow. As it was impossible for her to be spoken of without a. name, they resolved to give her one themselves—and admiring her bright, black eyes and jetty locks, they concluded to give her that of Black. Accordingly, the name by whioh the handsome 6tranger was known in the village was the Widow Black —a. name which, after a laugh at first, Bhe known in the village was the Widow Black —a. name which, after a laugh at first, she professed her willingness to be known by. Weeks passed away, and the Widow Black remained the sole dweller on Bleak Point. During this time she became the reigning belle and prime favourite of the good people of the village, in spite of the mystery in which she was enveloped. She accepted every invitation to parties, pic-nics, and quilting frolics, and" sandy sprees," always without exception in the tumbled dress and everlaet- ing silk handkerchief. Such eongs as she could sing in such a voice, snoh a splendid dancer as she was, such stories as she could tell, now keeping the audience convulsed with laughter, and now bringing tears into eyes all unused to the melting mood. No party of pleasure was complete without the Widow Black; no wonder, then, every unmarried man in the villaga had his heart pierced by the black eyes of the lively widow, and every woman under forty was wild with jealousy and envy. But the handsomfe widow moved on her way as if totally unconscious and indifferent as to what people thought of her. In fact, different from all either widows that ever were heard of, she ehowed at all times a decided preference for the society of the young ladies, a.nd rather laughed a.t all the tender devotion of her rustic swains. One night old Miles Judoon, being out un- usually late casting his nets, was surprised to see the same low, black, suspicious-looking schooner that had left among them the Widow Black enter the bay. Wondering whether she had come to carry off the widow again, he secreted himself to watch her. Presently a .boat was lowered, several bales were hoisted over the vessel's sid-e, and the boat rowed to the land and disappeared in one of the numerous islets surrounding Bleak Point. More and more myetififsd, the old man determined to watch their motions, and three hours after he beheld the boat return to the schooner, which instantly weighed anchor and made off. The following day old Miles Judson sat balking to a stranger from St. John, who had arrived that day. Seated within was the handsome Widow Black, chatting away with Miles's daughter, Ruth, a maiden with as bright an eye as ever flashed back sunlight. "lbve you heard a.nything lately about that celebrated smuggler, Captain R ?" said the man, meatiomng the name of a noted smuggler. "No. we hear nothing here," gTamhled old Miles, while Ruth looked up with surprise at the widow's sudden start. "Well, people are talking of nothing else in Rastport and St. John," said his companion. "He is a regular dare-devil, a.nd cheats the revenue so boldly that one cannot help feel- ing sympathy for him. Soaiehow the Custom ftpuse discovered that he was hovering around Eastport, and a dozen or two revenue cutters were sent out to watch him; but lo! the schooner ran the gauntlet of them all, delivered her cargo somewhere in spite of I their teeth, and where the beaks cannot dis- cover. It was a valuable one, too; she was loaded with rum and sugar." The Widow Black had suddenly Ceased her conversation, and sat listening with a look of interest to this recital. As he ceased she bit her lip, and pooped down to conceal the smile that, in spito of all her efforts, broke out over her counteuance The motion waa observed by Miles! the incident of the pre- ceding night flashed across his mind, a.nd in a moment he felt convinced he had seen the smugglers, and that the "widder" was con necrted in some way with them. Miles Judson was a prudent man, and he dartermined to keeip the discovery to hipiself, and to set out for St. John the next day and inform the authorities. Acting on this reso- lution he fldTOitly changed the conversation, keeping his eye fixed on the widow, who, all unconscious of his gaze, was now flirting most de0pera*ely with Master Bill, the old man's son aIld hoir. "Don't y°u find it kinder lonesome up there by said Bill, with a tender glance towards the "widdeT." "Oh, I In used to it now, and like it "Well enou«^ she replied, carelessly. Tb*Te Was a pause after this. Bill sat gn.a.tfllDJg his finger-nails, a.nd evidently try- ing to say something that stuck in his throat, The widow sat tapping the floor impatiently with one foot, and waiting for the return of who had left them. ">v icider! I want to get married," said. Bill, a.t length, with startling Do you?" said the widow, lifting her be- wildering black eyes to his faoe, astonished at the abruptness of the avowal. "Widder," continued Bill, picking up courage by a desperate woundn't you like to get. married apin ?', "Married again!" replied the lady; "How do you know I ever WIlS married?" I Why, everyone cailG you a. widder, and I never heard tell oi anyone being a widder ¡ without first bein' married," replied Bill. "Yes," said the widow, with difficulty j suppressing a Jaugh, Everyone calls me a widow, .but whether I am or not is another thing." "Wen," ¡¡.a.id Bill, who, as he after war da 1 expressed it, was determined to 80 t.øe I whole hog." I'm a chap as ia pretty well j off. I'm giiifc' to build a mm shanty, and get a. new boat some of these times, and I'm a pretty good-looking feller—hecn! so— hem! Widder, if you'H have me, you and me'll get spliced!" Amazement for a moment kept the 'widow silent, and she stared in the face of her sheepish admirer, who, blushing, startled, sat crossing one leg uneasily over the other. Then every other feeling gave way to the sense of the ridiculous, and, leaning back ia her chair, she burst into a peal of laughter that made the whole house ring. The unusual sound brought the whole household to the spot. There was pretty Ruth laughing from sympathy, without the slightest idoa of what the fun was about; there was old Miles staring at them with eyes and mouth wide open; there sat Bill looking irresistibly sheepish, and there eat the widow, laughing and laughing till the tears stood in her eyes. "What—what the dickens is the matter?" the old man roared, staring first at one and then at the other with utter bewilderment. "I—I must go," said the widow, in a voice faint from excessive laughter. "Come up this evening, Ruth. I have something to tell you." And, still laughing, the "widder" vanished. That evening two events worthy of notice took place in the little village. Old Miles departed full of an important secret to the city, and Ruth Judson and the Widow Black sat for an hour or more in close conference on the rooks of Bleak Point. What Ruth learnt there she did not disclose, but sundry ejaculations of amazement and sundry ex- pressions of delight proved that it was far from disagreeable. The following evening, when the gloaming was falling over the rock-bound coast of New Brunswick, the Widow Black sat in her little cottage, gazing in the fire and lost in thought. Suddenly the tramp of feet approaching Bleak Point fell on her quick ear. Springing to her feet, she (iaw two con- stables, headed by old Miles, approaching her cottage. Scaroely had she time to draw the bolt when a heavy knock came to the door, and a stern voice demanded her to open in the name of the law. Not until I know your business," said the widow, boldly. Who are you, and what do you want?" We are officers of the law. You are aoa- pected of being connected with smuggle18 and concealing contraband goods about your premises, and our business is to arrest yon and search for them," was the reply. Then let me assure you that your tronhle will be all for nothing. The smuggled goods you speak of were here, but a.re now where the eyes of the Custom House will never fall on them. As to arresting me, a. poor, lone widow, I am sure you are too much of gentleman to do it." "Open the door, or I will break it opeai, shouted the enraged officer. "Break away," retorted the Provoking widow, with the utmost coolness. With an oa-th the officer rushed acaina the door; at the same moment the widow drew the bolt, and he fell head first into the room, while old Miles, who rushed after, lay sprawling on top of him. Before they could rise the widow seized the remaining officer and hurled him with the greatest ease over his falling companions. Then, drawing the door after her and securing it on the out- side, the widow was off and away. Search was made for the widow, but is vain. No trace of anyone answering the description given of her could be found. Neither could any smuggled goods be found on Bleak Point, although they easily dis- covered they had lately been there. A few weeks after, late one night, a. hand- some young fellow dressed as a sailor entered the village. Advancing to the house of Miles Judson, he fastened a piece of paper to the door, then with a low, peculiar whistle, crouched under one of the windows. A few moments after the door slowly opened, and Ruth appeared. Tucking her under hie arm, the young man led the way to where a. boat lay on the shore, and a few minutes after they were rapidly skimming over the bay towards St. John. A few hours after sun- rise every man, woman, and child in the place were crowding around the oot-tage of old Miles, and there, written in large, flourishing capitals, they read:— To All Whom It May Concern.—Be it kno^n to all men by these presents that I, Ned Bryson, being one of the crew of the smuggler commanded by Captain R finding that we were continually watched by the confounded authorities, resolved on a plan to land our contraband goods. Dis- guised as a woman, I came to reside here, where, finding it convenient to land them eafSly, and as safely dispose of them, I remained there till a few weeks ago. For the gracious manner in which I have been entertained I feel profoundly grateful. To Mr. William Judson I would say I regret exceedingly that circumstances will prevent my marrying him at present, and sharing that new shanty; but, wishing to show my gratitude to the family, I have taken off his sister, to whom I will be "spliced," wind and weather permitting, to- morrow. NED BRYSON, alias the Widow Black. It only remains for us to eay that the above facts are strictly true. Ned Bryson was prevailed upon by his pretty wife to give up smuggling and settle down in some more honest way of living, and finally became ft respectable citizen of St. John. ,• -——————————— 1
"IS DADDY DRUNK AGAIN?"
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"IS DADDY DRUNK AGAIN?" DYING CHILD IN INFIRMARY AND INTOXICATED PARENTS. Mr. G. P. Wyatt held an inquest at Camber- well on the body of Bridget Vaughan, aged three, the daughter of Isaac Vaughan, a. car* man, living at 82, Bird-in-Bush-road, Pockham. The mother said that on Wednesday morn- ing, tiie 15-th inst., she left deceased with two other children playing in the room and went to work. Shortly before midday she waa semi for, and upon returning home found deceased shockingly burned. A medical man wa3 called in, wherbrdered the child's removal to the infirmary. The Coroner: How old were the other chit dren ?—The eldest was five years. And you left them to shift for themselves?— The landlady used to go up and down to see that, they were all right. Was there a fire burning in the room ?—Very little, if any. And no guard?—No- Eliza.beth Orman, the landlady, sta-toed that on the morning in question she heaa-d screams, and rushed up three flights of otaira to the last witness's apartments. Deceased ran out on the landing enveloped in flamee, which witness extinguished. The child eaid that, she lit a piece of popper at the fire and set light to her pinafore. Dr. W. J. C. Keats, medical officer at Cam- berwell Infirmary, started that cn admission the infant was suffering from ertengive bums on the arms, face, and neck. She died last Saturday from syncope and ehcck following the injuries. Previous to the child's death the pareate called to see her in an initoxioajted state, and as they neared her cot the little one said to her mother, "Is daddy drunk again? The jury returned a verdict of "Accidental death," and severely censured the mother for her carelessness in leaving the children as ehe had dome.
A WIFE'S JEALOUSY.I
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A WIFE'S JEALOUSY. That -vas a happy day on which Ernest II Morley led his well-beloved Mary to the altar in the picturesque church of the suburban vil- t c lage of Hornsey, where dwelt Mrs Clive, her aunt, who had brought her up. Six months had pa .^ed away since then, and Ernest had settled down in a nice little villa at Hollo- Way to the labour of his profession, which was that of a sculptor. He was just adding a few finishing touches to a sta-tue and softly humming an old Italian song when the door was quietly opened, and Mary entered. "Well, dearest, how does your work pro- gress?" she asked. "Very finely. Have you made all the pre- parations for the arrival of Mr. Thornton? "Yes," replied his wife, affectionately. "All right, then. Come here and see tho result of my labour." Mary stepped forward and gazed upon the work of her husband. "Take the mirror and tell me whose faoe it resembles," he said. She did so. "Why, you have made it look like me. For what reason ?" "Because you are, like the being I intended to represent, pure and bea.utiful." "Oh, you are a flatterer!" "Am I? Then, darling, I shall be one all my life," he -aid, quietly drawing her to- wards him. "I hope your love will never change," she answered, with a slight shudder. "No fear of that! But, hark! I hear the rumble of carriage wheels along the road. I thing that is Thornton." "Very well; I'll go and see about his room and tell the servant to send him at once to your studio." Ernest's conjecture was right, and in a. few moments his friend, Arthur Thornton, entered the room. He was a tall, broad- shouldered fellow, with a fair skin, frank face, light curly hair—in fact, just the person one would select as an honest, straightforward man. But how deceptive are appearances! Under all this apparently .r noble exterior there beat a. heart as treacherous as that of Judas. How are you, old fellow ? It is almost an age since we last met. How have things fared with you in Edinburgh? Prosperously, I trust!" exclaimed Ernest. "Thanks: I have no cause to complain. But how do you fancy your new role of Benedict, the married man? I have always decided to attempt it myself," added Thornton. Experience is the best teacher. But you must see my treasure before you can appre- ciate its value, and as it is drawing near our dinner hour I will conduct you to your room, where you can make your preparations, and I will then introduce you to my wife," said Ernest. How enthusiastic you are! Why, you are not disenchanted even after six months of matrimony! Quite a remarkable incident in my life's history. this meeting with a man who loves his wife after marriage. I must see this peerless creature who has so enslaved you—you, who used, in by-gone days, to abuse women vigorously," quoth Thornton. At dinner Thornton saw the beautiful Mary, and no longer wondered at his friend's infatuation. He fell madly in love with her a-t once, and before the repast was over had secretly determined to lead her away from hev allegiance to her husband and gain her for himself. His whole mind, during his stay with his friend, was devoted to this object, but in vain, for when he departed he had sained no foothold in her affections, but was merely treated with the courtesy due to an acquaint in ce of her husband. Ernest and Mary lived happily on, uncon- sciousness of the labyrinth of misery in which they were wandering, becoming more and more entwined in its intricacies daily. Having been quite successful of late and yearning to study the old masters, Ernest determined, with his wife, to visit Italy; be also invited Thornton to accompany them, as that gentleman was about to make the trip alone. After a pleasarut tour through France and Italy they purchased a pretty little villa in the suburbs of Rome, where our two sculptors I chipped away to their hearts' content. Among the models employed by Ernest was a. very beautiful girl, known as Guilletta, whose reputation for virtue was a,nyth;ing but spotless. Thornton determined to use her as an instrument whereby he might cause a. quarrel, and finally a. rupture, between Ernest and Mary. One day, about a month after their settle- ment in Rome, Mary was wandering among some old ruins, when she was met by Arthur Thornton. "How do you do, Mr. Thornton? I'm glad to see you out of doors, for I begin to fear that, like my husband, you do not take enough recreation." "Thank you for your kind solicitude; but, Mrs. Morley, I did not come out to-day for the sake of pleasure, but because I had some- thing to communicate to you tha.t concerns your welfare. Can I claim your attention for a short time?" Ocrtaiinly, Mr. Thornton." "As a. triend of your husband, it is not only a painful duty, but. apparently, a treacherous and contemptible action that I am about to perform; yet my high respect for you, and the hope that your intervention may prove timely enough to save any unplea- santness that might result have made me decide to speak. Mrs. Morley, your husband is unfaithful to his marriage vows!" "Mr. Thornton, you do not know wha.t you Ray! ,\Yh:rut! Ernest unfaithful? If he were present you would retract that a^persdom or Pay dearly for it." "I see that you are doubtful, but, neverthe- less, I again repeat that your husband has forsaken you to bask in the charms of GuiLLetta, and I can. prove it." "Do so, then!" "Here," he cried, drawing & packet from his pooket and handing it to her, "are some of the evidences of the constancy and affeo ticm of your faithful spouse." "Pahaw, sir!" she answered, a-t the same time taking the bundle and opening it. "Do you thrnk tha.t I am but a child ? These letters might be easily obtained for a small sum; yet the handwriting is wonderfully like Eroeet's, but I will not doubt him till I have seen with my own eyeg evidence of faithless- ness on his part." "That you may do without difficulty. Be a.t this spot when the clock strikes niTie to-night, and I will offer the most conclusive proof." "I will, Mr. Thornton. But cease your accusations until you have made them gocd. Good morning!" And she left him. After her departure he quietly murmured, "Aha, my pretty dame! I'v. caught you! Rather chary of the bait, but you are eecnre now; you must believe my stratagem in spite of yourself. Now to my arrangements for this evening's melodrama—or, rather farce." And he disappeared. It was sunset; the moon was slowly rising above the old ruins when Mary repaired to them to keep her appointment with Thorn- ton. He was already there. Telling her to follow, he led the way to an obscure part of the ancient pile, where they stopped. Here we are. All you have to do is to step behind a pillar, and look in thsut direc- tion," he said, pointing to an eanpty space, which wae partially concealed by intervening columns and remains of walls. She did so. What a sight burst upon her! With his head reclining in Guilletta's lap, a.nd his neck entwined by her arms while she showered kisses upon him, lay, to all appear- ance, her husband. She would have cried aloud had not Thornton, whispered to her to control herself. Are you satisfied ?" was his query. "Do not ask me any questions! Tiake me from this place! Oh, Ernest, Ernest! That you should have proved false! It is a dream -3 horrible vision! Oh, take me home!" she moaned. Thornton then conducted her to the dwelling, which now seemed so desolate. In answer to his question as to "how she should act," she replied that she wanted time to think." Mary immediately went to her room, gathered up her possessions, and before midnight was safely quartered in Rome, waiting for the morning to dawn, in order that she might go to Civita Vecchia, and take passage in a returning ship for home. Retribution always follows the wicked, and so it proved in this case, for, upon the same day that Mary set sail for her native land, Thornton was struck by a falling column— which, on acoount of age, had become tinder- m-ined-am,d fatally injured. Hie lived for a few hours, in which he revealed how he had bribed Guilletta. and her lover (whom he had in his corps of models, and who bore in figure and general appearance a striking resemblance to Ernest) to play the part of the unfaithful husband and the enchanting eiron; and how he had selected the uiglht so as to make detection less probable, and had also caused his tools to express their love by pantomime, in order to avoid the risk of exposure on account of the foreign accent whioh they could not avoid using. He died juet as the sun was malcing its descent below the horizon. Ernest instantly started in pursuit of his wife, but she had fled beyond his reach, and he, therefore, returned to Rome a dis- appointed man—one whose life was bereft of all its brightness. He wrote to Mrs. at Hornsey, but the letter was returned to him, marked, "Gone away; address known." It was only after many month' tie again returned to his native land. Immediately after his arrival he an invitation from a friend to aQd spend a few days with him at his country residence in Sussex. Ernest accepted the invitation. arrived Saturday evening, and on the following Sunday went with his friend to church. After service, towards evening, b« was wan- dering among the graves in the cemetery adjoining, when he saw a. black-robed figure bendine over a torn baton*. The "ortn seemed strangely familiar. He made a noise to attract her attention; and, much to hiB sur- prise and joy, he recognised the features of his wife. She would have left him, but he detained | her, told her of the wrong Thornton had done them, and besought her to return to him once more. She gLadly consented, and begged his forgivenea3. She told him she had been living with her aunt, who, on her own account, had removed from Hornsey. but death removed her benefactress, whose grave she was visiting when he discovered her. There, as the sun faded, they renewed by- gone vows, and again began their married life.
"RACE SUICIDE IN ENGLAND."…
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"RACE SUICIDE IN ENGLAND." j Raoe Suicide in England is the inspiring he.a.ding under which the Washington Depart- ment of Commerce and Labour publish the followirt in their "-Daily Consular Reports." England's birth-rate is declining. It touted its highest point, since registration began in 1838, in 1876. To-day it is at its lowest. The children of the most prolific mothers -those of 1876—are the most unproductive mothers. Only 75 per cent. as many little ones see the light now, or remain in it, as saw it 30 years ago. The fact is there are many causes of this. Notable among them is the advanced age at > which persons marry, and the fact that a groat many never marry. t. "The claim made for years, that population i was supposed to vary with the food supply, fails to hold good in England, for at no time in the past was food so cheap or so abun- dant as it is to-day. The faot of the matter is, the question baffles everybody. In the fight for first place that is on, it moans, or may mean, a great deal to England whether her birth-rate is small or large. A short crop of little ones in 1905 and in each succeeding year means a short crop of men for the army, navy, mills, shops, farms, ships, factories, and colonies of England 25 or 30 years hence." ■ '<
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? When Baking Brown & Pofson'sl raising powder > "Paisley flour" (Trade Mark) will save you time and money. Quick and I easy working; fewer eggs aaa less butter required. |g|^ £ s&/ £ Light, digestible Mg^dainties, that please the most critical palate..