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'I" CHAPTER XIIL ! A Mort,…
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'I" CHAPTER XIIL A Mort, The Captain of the Mercenaries remained at the door of Beatrice's room until be was satis. tied that it was well with her; theu with a brief word of relief ha went downstairs to give instructions to his men. It was plain to him that the joung man Giovanni had escaped th his story to the city, but Paul da Ponte was >t the man to be surprised bv such an advan- Age, and he set about the business of his excuses ithont any loss of time. For a. full hour there .vere mesaages to and fro between the Casa degli Spiriti and the Ducal Pilace gondolas drifted about the steps of the house and men passed in and out with letters at their girdles. To the Senate the Captain told a brief story, The French Count, he said, waz3 nob with Madame la Marqnise bat it might be supposed that he would return, whon. if the Savi so pleased, he should be brought to the Palace instantly. Furthermore, be made a pretence of Asking the pleasure of his superiors, and signed Himself, his tongU3 in his cheek, their faithful servant and, this being dona, he despatched 4ther troopers to the houses of his freinds that be might find support should bis shrewd defence jiiscarry. Not a clever man by any manner of neans, Da Ponte nevertheless was equipped with a. certain vulgar cunning which served him well in the decadent days of Venice. And DOW oppor. tunity hf:d come stumbling upon him, and he embraced it with clumsy arms. So far had Beatrice of Vemco stood above his schemes yes- terday, that even his audacity made no mention of her in its wildest flights. Rich, well oefriended, high in favour, she had passed by him in the public hour and the private, not dis- dainfully, but as one who was totally unaware of his existence. In his turn, Liie night of won- y Sera had set him in her honse to be the master of it, her judge and jailor. He would be a. iool, he Mid, not to gather the last ear of such a harvest of opportunity and, emboldened by the advan- iage, he could go tnrther and say that she, her- jelf, might not be unwilling to purchase his friendship upon any terms —even marriage and "ihe right to her name and possessions. Herein was a fool's hope, which exacted from him a I zarM apon his own clumsiness, and the manner if the first assault. She was not a woman to be ;oerced, he remembered and, coercion profiting nothing, he bethought him of persuasion. The idea pleased him, aact he lost no time in the execution of it. A brief word cleared the hall of the Sclavonians, who had come so exult- ) ingly to stand for justice and a little pillage. Da Ponte sent the most of theni about their business I A terrible eight met her gaze. j apon the paltriest excuses, which deceived no one, the men least of all. No gallant from Florians, seeking a rendezvous with mincing gait, could have mounted the staara as nimbly as this clumsy lover returning to his chosen mis- trees and when he knocked upon her door, a woman's fingers might have craved admittance for him-nevertheless, he was not a little aston- ished to find Beatrice at her writing-table, and an interval of stammering hesitation confessed his surprise. "Marqnise," he exclaimed at last, in a tone which should have provoked her laughter "Mar- quise, I have come to apologise. L- It was much for him, a real shedding of pride and the vanities, and when my lady did not even look no from her table, he imagined that aston- ishment forbade her to speak, and he repeated it with unction. I have come to apologue. Marquise. What has happened is a source of annoyance to me. But after all," and here he fingered the brim of his hat as awkwardly as any boy in the school- bouse, there has not been much harm done." Beatrice laid down her pen, and the light of candles declared in the swollen eyes and the flashed cheeka the tense hour through which "be had lived. Captain da Ponte." she said shrewdly, when von leave my house I will accept your apology-" Da Ponte flung his hat upon the table, and, seating himself in one of the low chairs near to him. tried to make a case out for himself. Impossible, he said you know that I can- not go. If yon had told me everything in the first place, all this might have been spared you, and the life of an honest man saved. It is very oniortunate, Marquise, but I must do my duty. "A coward's refuge-his duty. Does your apology, then, mean that my servant Giovanni is dead ? The qaestion cost her an effort, and she rrembled when she spoke of Giovanni's death. ja Ponte, however, saw his advantage. I Nothing of the kind," he hastened to say w it is I who mast deplore a faithful fallow. Your young man Giovsnni is hali-way to Maestre by this time. A larval, my lady, for he runs like a Greek. I am left, you see, to look after the house. That is what I came to say. Everything must go on as though this had not happened. I have sent to the Palace for my orders, and, perhaps, they will recall me. Well, that is good news for both of U3. but I don't see why we should'starve meanwhile. Let as have supper together, and see if something cannot' be done. Upon my word, I like your eourage, Mllr- guise. If you will have me for a friend, I think I can put this right. Bat you must tell me the amth-I can do nothing until I know it." Beatrice had listened with some indifference to the beginning of this harangue, but as it pro- ceeded she took up her pen and continued her writing. When next she spoke she had the air of one pre-occupied and but half aware of that which had been said. 1, The truth Is all about yon, Captain da Ponte--I can add nothing to it. If yon are the master of this house, my wishes will scarcely con- cern you. Pray give your orders. The maid will sliow you the wire cellar. "Perhaps yon will be more at your ease if I decline your flattering invitation." Oh, come, that's mere pretence. Yon began by provoking me and now you insult me. Well, I know women, and I can laugh at it. Yon are clever enough to be reaeonable. I can make things pleasant or otherwise, just as I choose. It is for you to take or leave my offer, but it won't be repeated. 1 have apologised to you for doing my duty. There are not many men in Venice who would have done as much-are there, now 7" Unhappy Venice. I am indeed fortunate, Captain. Shall I take you at your word-do you piaiiy desire to make it easy for me ?" ¡ A soldier's word—upon my honour." "Then leave this room, and do not enter it again until I invite you. I put you to the proof. I«ave me and I will begin to believe you." He rose instantly and took up his hat. M I certainly will go," be said. and with a laugh, take the key of the cellar with me but I warn von that I expect much. Shall we say to-morrow morning for an understanding ?" He crossed the room, and, stooping, whispered 111 ber oar— To-morrow morning for an understanding na between you and me." Beatrice replied without looking at nim, At acy boor you please, Signore. She waa alone now, and she pushed the paper away from her with just impatience, and locked The door of the salon behind the burly figure. Not for a single instant had he deceived her. She knew that he would remain in her house until the whole story of Gaston's flight was told at the Palace. She knew that every hoar or the morrow wonld bring fresh dangers, new insults. Everything that had been done was characteristic of a government alternately imbecile and driven by panic. Thewomanlywit drew up a case with a. lawyer's acumen. She per- ceived how the possibility of deriding Napo!eon had pleased the dunces who had not the brains to barter with him. She pictured their rage when it was known that Gaston had fled Venice and that the opportunity was lost. Instaple, shifty as they ware, what more natural than that dudr rage should be vented upon one whom they believed to be the agent of this almost tragic mishap. The fickle people who had cheered her, Beatrice de St. Remy, yesterday, would stone her to-morrow. Even could she escape the house zmm dangers must her on Terra Firma and and the islands. She foresaw herself sacrificed ■■ to the chagrin of the hour, made the scapegoat j of the national folly, and she declared it ironical beyond expression that her danger at home should ba less than her danger abroad. Never- [ theleas. had she confessed all, the truth might have been that the presence of this man affrighted bar beyond anything she had known in all the years. But the truth was the last thing she wculd confess, and she said always, My wit shall save me, and be shall be the foil between me and the people." It was her only hope—Fiametta, the maid, returning from the inner room, found her almost radiant in the possession of it. She would turn the tables upon Paul da Ponte, as she had turned them upon Lorenzo, the dotard, and many another wbc had withstood her in Venice. Yes, wit should be her ally. The room is ready, my lady, if yon should wish to sleep," Fiametta said. Beatrice drew the child close to her and kissed her npon bi-tb cheeks. Child," she said, who gave you this courage ?" You, my lady I learned it in vonr house." Ah, you say so well, we are alone now, and God knows whether we are right to be sorry or glad. Light the candles, child, lipht them all. I fear the dark—yes, I fear it to-night-and every candle is a friend to me. Do you think that yon conld sleep, Fiairetta-ro, I'm sure yon could not. We will watch and pray together, child prayer is left to us still, and faith in our God." Fiametta said Yes, yes, we can always believe, m'v lady," but the words were a mere echo, and, in truth, she was wondering all the time when the Captain would return, and what he would say. Her own danger was passed by, and ao she could turn a laughing face to the light. "Giovanni will serve us," she cried con- solingly I beheve in Giovanni. He will go to our friends. He told me so when they beat him in the hall; Da Ponte shall pay for it,' he aaid. Giovanni certainly in clever." Beatrice siiook her head, though she would not tell the gir! how little any man's help might serve her in such a dire honror against such odds of circumstance. True, the moment was one of armistice but its duration must be the pleasure ol a scoundrel, and its final outcome new insults —perchance that which was woise than insult-a thousand times. All this she knew, bat her manner spoke no word of it. We must wait and hope." she said, the day will teach us to be brave." The dkty-yes, Beatrice prayed for the day, though the patient clock told her that there were six boars yet to the dawning, and that they must be hours of uncertainty and of peril. Now that the door of the room was shut she could hear no sound from the floor below, though Venice spoke to her in a message of its music, and many a catppanille rang out a chime which seemed to say Yesterday, yesterday." For yesterday she bad been a free woman yes- terday she bad loved yesterday -313e had been honoured in Venice, and now the brief hour had written this decree of accusation and of judgment and she must pay the price that all women pay who have no defence but a woman's imDulse. She tried to sleep, bat oblivion wontd not befriend her; and in her wakIng dreams she walked and talked with Gaalon again, and asked herself once more what was this young soldier's influence over her. Why, from the first had she been unable to resist the desire to seek him out and help him, to save him from the danger of his presence in Venice, and, in doing so, perhaps to compromise her own good name and give rein to ready tongues. She knew that it was because she loved him because, for the first time in her young life, she had met a man who conld mag- uatise ber will and command her as he might pleas3. Of other explanation none was possible. The very n;ll1. oi Gaston could stii deep emo- tions in her heart, courageous as she was, she would have bad no shame to surrender all her burdens to such keeping and this gentle desire of surrender drew upon her in the honr of separa- tion when she seemed to be forsaken of all. She loved Gaston-her woman's heart made good excuses for him. Not a second time would she tall herself that he bad betrayed her. fox* gotten, perhaps despised ber. And this must be set down in some part to that tenacity of will which refused to admit that her final judgment of man was incorrect. She had believed from the first that if anv woman could awttken Gaston de Joyeuse to a real passion, she would have him for the most abject of slaves. And to this idea she clung hopelessly through the long night of waiting. He had left her, dismissed her from his mind-perchance had entered some other honlle upon the road to Gratz and there found anotber dupe nevertheless she would be patient through the years, and the after-hope of faith should be her staff. As the dream began to be lost in the blackness of sleep the bitter thoughts passed away, and she perceived Gaston's image near to her and held up her arms to him and nttered his name, and in his embrace found rest. Then for a, full hour she slept. Her eyes were heavy still when Fiametta waked her and bade her listen. Madame, for the love of God, do you not hear them ? Beatrice had not wholly undressed herself, and she sat up npon her bed and pressed the sleep from her eyes. The dawn was breaking in tho room, and candles had gutteied down in their sockets, and deeper shadows were bteing gathered up by the glimmering daylight. This, however, was the lesser thing, for the new day sent tip to them a loud message from below, whence came the sound of heavy footfalls and sparkling steel and the low cries of men hard pressed. And so it was that Fiametta had come to say, Do you not hear them ?" She herself had been listening for fully five minutes, her hand pressed close to ber wh; e chemise as though to still the beatings of her heart. Sbe knew that, something dieadfnl was happening in the houte. I heard a voice," she said, and that wafead me. 'l'hen a gondola rowed up, and someone entered by the garden gate. I ihink it was Gio- vanni—they did not speak for a long while after- wards, and then, oh, my God, dear madam, what is it-wbat can it mean ?" Beatrice drew her gown about her shoulders and crossed the room with bare feet. She re- membered long afterwards how cold the parquet flooring was, and bow clumsily she fumbled with the key before she could turn it in the lock. Fia- metta, meanwhile, crouched down in the bed- clothes, shuddering and crying like a frightened child. When the door did at last yield to Bea- trice's hand, she opened it but an inch or two and so tried to discern what was happening in the hall. But the light refused to help her, and the black shadows of the great well played with her fears. One figure aione could be perceived—it was that of a trocDer who !ay stone dead by the outer doors with a great wound in his right lung, and the lantern he had been carrying still burn- ing at his side. The yellow glimmer of light seemed to play in horrid mockery upon the black puddle beneath the man's tnuie-his eyes were atarine upward toward the dome of the hall; he had evidently been struck down by someone who surprised him upon the threshold. It was such an unlooked for turn, so wholly fearful and bewildering that Beatrice remained at her door afraid either to advance or draw -back. And yet it cannot be said that fear pre- dominated 10 her mind above that strange prompting of hope which whispered the truth, that the dead man had been killed by her friends and that help was at hand. For who else but a friend would have come to the-Cass degli Spiriti at a moment when even the least loyal to the Republic must shun her as a leper. She be- thought of many names, but none of them save the name of Giovanni Galla satisfied her reason or answered her question. Yes, the girl Fiametta was right after all. Giovanni had returned, but whence ? And if it were be, why this perplexinn silence, this truce of voices and of arms ? Not a single living being was to be seen in the hall. She was sure of it-she could not hear so much an the sound of a man breathing, and she said that whoever had killed the Sclavonian trooper had been alarmed at his own act and had fled the house. Where then were Do. Ponte and the others ? Could it be that he was aaleep ? The darkness told her nothing. She half shut her door and leaned against it panting. Would the sunlight never fathom that great well of the staircase and declare its mysteries ? They have killed a soldier, Fiametta," she said, almost breathing the words in her excite- ment. Tell me all you have heard. I see no ono we are alone, child. What walt it that waked you, then ?" Fiametta stood up and shuddered again when she saw that the door was a little way open still. Someone cried out," she said. It was like an animal's cry. Then I heard the Captain-yes, it was he-I know, but I cannot say it. Giovanni will come back, Madame. If yon shut the door, we conld still hear them. Dear Christ, how frightened I am. Will they kill us, Madame ? I am afraid to die—I am such a child- Why should they wish me harm ? Oh, Giovanni should speak. Why does he not speak when he knows that we are waiting ?" It was just a child's babble of panic and of the ultimate dread which would remain a supreme memory while Fiametta lived. That open door seemed to point the way to darkness and to ter- tor. She could hear nothing,is" nothing and, burying her head, imagination said, now they are coming up hark, there is a footstep upon the starr.' Beatrice herself was powerless any longer to console her. The blind could not lead the blinrl-mietrfts and maid must suffer together to-night. "It it is Giovanni—ifn could be," Beatrice reiterated as one who did not dare to believe so great a thing-and Fiametta watched bar moving from place to place, now toward the window, now toward the bed; and she said to herself again, All lost, my lady is afraid." j "But it was it fear—at least not fear of things 1 known which -rung from a brave woman these witnesses to her mental distress. Beatrice cared | nothing now tbat Paul da Ponte was in her house and would coxae to her. atLdarcuJot _n_- answer-each an answer as ninety of every hun- dred women would give willingly under similar circumstances-to the blunt question he had put to her Relatively while she pitied the poor fel- low who lay dead upon the threshold, the rrgged manners, the strong nerves of her age, left her in some way indifferent to death. The torture was j that of the darkness and the shadows. Why had f the unknown friend left her house ? She felt that she could not rest until she knew all and bid- ding Fiametta got up, she took one of the silver candelabra in her hands and told the girl to fol- low ber. We must know," she said often. If you are afraid, come bnt a little way. We must have light. Are you thinking of Paul da Ponte. No it is I whom he seeks, Fiametta. AncTI am not afraid—not now-now now." She was picking unlighted candles from he glass chandelier in the centre of the room while she spoke, and when she had three in the cande- labrum she carried, and Fiametta had put on her gown and discovered candles in her turn, they went to the door together and passed through it to the balustrade of the great staircase, where- from they' could look down into the open well, but not to the corridors which its pillars walled. The glow of dawn was fuller and leqs grey by this time, the shadows bad receded somewhat, I and the dead man's lantern no longer burned as a taper by the body, but all else was as it had been-no living thing appeared to move in the hall, and as Beatrice descended the stairs in her white gown, her hair unbound, and the candela- bra in her hand, she might bave been some fig are of imagery appearing from the spirit world. ¡' Shining faintly through the gloom, the dancing rays were but wan stars in that great world of twilight-she felt for every step, feared to go on, and yet would not draw back. Who was there, who stood so near to her ? An intuition said, Gaston, your lover." Her heart boat quick—she called his name aloud—he did not answer her. Again she advanced a few steps-again 3he stood to listen. Surely someone was breathing almost npon her cheek. She lifted the light on high and perceived the figure of a man. He was Paul da Ponte, standing all his height behind one of 'the pillars, and she perceived that the point of his naked sword touched the pavement before him, but when he saw her be cried out aloud and sprang into the open—whither another figure followed him—the figure of Gaston de Joyeuse, who had been counting the minutes until the sun should discover his enemy. And now the wan light said Here." Beatrice did not know that one brief hour had taught Gaston how to love her. So tfo men learn. of loss that which Rain may never teach them. Da Ponte had been quick to wheel round to- ward the west, and he had the light behind him and a full sweep for a heavy rapier. Gaston was armed with a light French sword, but he too bad a master's hand, and for many minutes one blade engaged with the other, and not even a twitch of the wrist declared that sense of touch which is the finest in all the swordsman's art. When the disengagement came, the Itaiian cried out like a drillmaster to a squad, One, two, Now and feinting, he came to the engage- ment again with a, hollow laugh which had oeen better kept. There was a grace, a pose, an easy play about Gaston's style which iuvited confidence. He did not attack, made no feint, was a mere defender. For he anticipated the rogue's artifice. No code of honour, written or unwritten, would bind Paul da Ponta. Gaston meant to wait, and while he waited Beatrice stood like a statue, motionless, spellbound, a very type of death. She knew that he loved L,er-and this man might kill him. The agony tortured ber, the day and night seemed to pass, and she was standing there, and the blades were crossed and upon the one side there was the hollow laugh, and upon the other, the clean straight limbs of the finest fencer in Buona- parte's army. From a feint in octave, Da Ponte cut over and lingered and was met by a stiff arm and a point which touched his shoulder and brought a crim- son flush upon hia vest. He did not laugh now, but bit his thick lips; and for a spell engaged without a new plan of attack. The first plan bad taught him to respect this slim masterful anta- gonist, and perhaps for the first time in his life he permitted his imagination to play tricks with him. and to ask what were tbo sensations of a man who bad a sword through his heart. There would be an agony of pain, he thought, and then insensibility but, said the voice, if it be not through his heart but the lungs, a man may linger some liours and be conacions the while. Many a man had fallen thns before his sword and be bad not pitied them at all; but pity for himself because be sa;d, -1 I meant to do well by the woman and duty brought me to ber house," was as bilm to his mind, and he indulged the thought to his danger. At the game time his art did not fail him, andhe knew that he was hold. ing his antagonist. Gaston, indeed, had long since been aware of it, for, strong as he was, this burly Italian had the measure of him, and hia close confinement in Venice was not in his favour, leaving him as it did without those op- portunities iorjphysical exercise which he had enjoyed with Buonaparte's army. So lie would be niggardly in attack until one supreme oppor- tunity should present itself. And while every muscle, every nerve, was at its full tension, he forbade himself to think of Beatrice, lest the re- membrance should unman bam. That she was somewhere near by. that she watched and waited he quite understood and her presence breathed courage upon bim. He would not believe that fate could thns betray him. Da Ponte attacked in quarto now, with light- ning swiftness and perfect distance, and the flash- ing point touched Gaston upon the sword arm, and left a long, jagged scar, from which tha bi-od welled slowly. He recovered himself instantly and met a lunge with so firm a touch that fire flew from the steel and the Italian's wrist trembled like prisoned steel. There was swift attack, new and sure defence and stamp- ing, lunging, the sweat pouring from his face, his lips close set, the Italian moved up and down upon the parquet in such a strife that a miracle alone seemed to snatch his antagonist from death. When they halted for very breath, in a tacit truce, Gaston waa bnt an arm's length from Beatrice, who stood as one transfixed, say- ing, He will die they will kill him." He knew that she was near him, but bis eyes never left Da Ronte'lf face, and he thought that he could interpret every change, even the subtlest upon that puckered countenance. He is afraid, Gas- ton," and then again, He has forgotten how to fear," or He is measuring my strength by his own and will tire me," or He cannot te patient"; his temper will not let him, and patience is bis only chance." This last was true above them all. Even the stake for which he played could not. hold back that impetuosity which had been Da Ponte a rule of life. To go in like a brute beast to- beat down opposition to roar at it lustily to crush antagonism beneath the weight of violence, was the only code of warfare he bad ever known and now when this clean-limbed figure played with him so cunningly, when the tapered steel stood ever as a great barrier between the man and the desire, patience must soon givo place to the deed, opportunity to temper. Baffiod and enraged, the Italian got his breath, again, and while he said to himself ttll the time, "Wait, wait," the impulse drove him in spite of it, and he disengaged and lunged in tierce with the ferocity of a fencing master. For a full minute on, the blades were darting like flames of silver in twilight—neither gave way each knew that this was the crisis of it, and calling to their aid every stratagem, every resource of the supreme art, tbey waited for the aritration of destiny. Now, all this had taken place by that pillar of the hall which sheltered Beatrice from the light and as the two men moved ever toward her in the frenzy of the bout, she retreated yet nearer to the wall, and stood trembling there with Gaston so near to her that her outstretched hand could Face to face; have touched him. The maid Fiametts bad run upstairs again at the first pass, and she, from the stairs head, watched the moving tigures and the darting swords. At first Fiametta thought that it was Giovanni returned, and her faith in him said, He will save us but when she per- ceived that it was not Giovanni, but the French Count, she lost hope again, and, shivering in tho cold air, she turned her face to the wall and would not look. From this attitude she was called by that last suprema attack in which the duellists mo\ed toward my lady and thinking loss either of Da Ponte or Gaston than her mis- tress, she ran a little way down the staircase, and. lifting up the candlestick, she uttered a loud cry, which echoed through the hall and was heard eveu at the gate. Almost in the same instant someone knocked heavily upon tllebronze doors, and believing that there were men to his assistance, Da Ponte took a new Btand, and for a spell neither lunged nor feinted. In this brief interval, the girl Fiametta ran to the door and opened it; and discovering a man there, she implored him, for God's sake, to save her mis- tress. Joseph Villetard, however—for it was he who knocked—pushed her aside roughly, and maKing his way into the bouse, he called loudly Gaston, Gaston. Where the devil are you, Gaston ?" The brisk appeal, the French tongue, the strange voice, fell like a bolt upon Da Ponte's ear. He half turned bin head and took a step backward. Thoogh all befel in the fraction of a second, it seemed to him that a full measure of j his liie was dealt out to him when the steel | WuctiMl otis stft was towed iA it, ami j ran like a burning iron to bis heart. What an age it rested there and yet left him conscious of strength and vitality and sight and sense. The great hall whence the sunlight chased the shadows, Beatrice pale and shrinking by the wall, Fiametta upon the stairs-the glimmering can- dies, tbe cold statuary, the pictures—and this strange face looking so oddly into his own. And then the veil of instant darkness—the shudder- in sense of sinking down as into the bowels of the earth—death to touch his limbs with icy I fiugers and to shut all from his glazing eyes. He fell face downwards almost at Beatrice's feet, and the sword bent and broke beneath hIs huddled body. But Gaaton turned to my lady and caught ber swooning jn his outstretched arms. i (To-be Continued.)
----_._--------WELSH POLITICS.
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WELSH POLITICS. ADBRESS BY MR ELLIS GRIFFITH, M.P. Claim for Distinctive Legislation, On Saturday nigbt Mr Ellis Griffith, M.P., addressed the Welsh Tabernacle (King's Cross) Literary Society on Welsh Politics," Mr J. Foulkes Jones occuyying the chair. Mr Griffith invited his audience to think not Imperially but nationally, and not merely nationally, but politically, for he proposed to deal with the national politics of Wales. In the House of Commons the Welsh members formed 5 per cent. of the tlouae, but tbe Welsh Liberal members were nearly one-seventh of the Liberal party. During the past 17 years Wales had sent a preponderant Liberal majority to tho House, but the net result of distinctive Welsh legislation was comprised in the Welsh Sunday Closing Act, the Intermediate Education ^.ct, and the University of Walcs, and, I curiously enough, the last two came from Conservative Administrations. The mast important legislative enactment for during this period was the establishment of County and Parish Councils. This showed that they must not depreciate the benefits to Wales of the legislation which it shared with tha resc of the United Kingdom, From 1895 to the preseut day there had been no mention of Wales in the speech from the Throne. At the present tiine it appeared to be a popular pastime to gibe and gird at the Welsh members of Parliament. A recent lecturer ou The idols of the Welsh people" had conpled the Welsh party with Welsh Nonconformists as being shams. Speaking for himself he (Mr Griffith) was proud to belong to a group of men censured in such company. The Welsh Nonconformist ministers had ren- dered illustrious service to the rebgious, social, and nolitical life of Wales. Ill-paid and living on stipends little greater than the earnings of artisans they had sustained tha splendid tradi- tions of the Free Churches ana done conspicuous work for their fellow countrymen. Welsh politics. involved first of all a policy, and secoudly the meana of carrying it out. It had been alleged against him tbat he had suggested a self-denying ordinance to Welsh members which was destined to wrack the high career that awaited some of his colleagues. Nothiug could be more erroneous. What be had suggested wa3 tbat.jii'ofitingiby the Lesson of Welsh Revolt in 1895, the Welsh members should settle beforehand whether they could or could not sup- port the Liberal Government and on what terms. He did not know how far the Welsh members were consulted na to tbe main lines of the Welsh Disestablishment Bill, but he was strongly of opinion that tbey Ought to have been. It was certainly regrettable, whatever the merits of the case, that the debate on that Bill should have led to the overthrow of the Liberal Government in 1895. What should be the main lines of the proposed understanding and agreement mnst, of course, depended uyoa the majority at the next General Election. Church, land, and temperance were the three questions that bad figured before the Welsh electorate, He had nevar suggested that Disestablishment or land reform or temperance reform for Wales should be made the sine qua non of Welsh Liberal support in the House cf Commons. After the next General Election it was only reasonable to suppose that the first Session should be spent in dealing with reforms connected with the United Kingdom generally, such as one man one vote and the amendment of the electoral system. The second Session would be claimad for Ireland, therefore the earliest Session available for Wales would be the third. But who would insure thelife of tbe Government for three years ? Was it wise to stake all their hopes on the proba- bility of the Government lasting into its third year? What they get at once without waiting upon the Problematical continuation of the Government in Power ? Obviously adminis- trative reform was Possible. Speaking for himself he thought it was reasonable to ask th\t the new Government should allocate to one Webh Office tb3 work of the various departments of State in so tar as It Was concerned with Wales. This would be tbe commencement of a new ad- ministrative era for Wales, and be not only an end in itself, but the nucleus of further devolu- tion. This shonld bo coupled with aBiJI to transfer the various powers of the Secretaries of State, in so far as those powers concerned Wales, to a new officer-the Secretary for Wales. He did not suggest that thie waa.4ùl. He also honed that powers would'be given to a Council repre- sentative of the Welsh County Councils to deal legislatively with education and licensing. The proposal was not heroic, bat it was practical, and it would form a basis for discussion in tbat and kindred societies, so that they might arrive at a consensus of opinion upon a matter of vital interest for Wales. .Jo-
S-IR J. GORST AT TONYPANDY.
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S-IR J. GORST AT TONYPANDY. The Fallacy of Tariffs. Sir John Gorst, M.P., visited the Rhondda Valley on Saturday afternoon, and delivered a speech on the fiscal question at a largely-attended meeting held at the Theatre Royal, Tonypandy, under the auspices of the Rhondda district of the Minera' Federation. Alderman Kicbard Lewis, J.P., presided, and sympathetically referred to the absence of Mabon, M.P., who would, they hoped, return from the South of France thor- oughly restored to health. (Hear, hear.) Mr Watts Morgan extended a cordial welcome to Sir John on behalf of the miners. Sir John Gorst, who was received with cheers, dealt at length with the proposed fiscal changes, one proposal, he said, being to put a tax upon the tood of the people, and the other to put on im. ported foreign manufactures a varying duty, averaging 10 per cent. all round. The tax on food had, be thought, been universally condemned, and it had been distinctly stated in the House of Commons and the Honse of Lords that tbe Government were opposed to the proposal. The other proposal, to put a tax on manufactured articles, was recommended by the most positive declarations that it would increase employment, raise wages, and improve the general prosperity of the country. These declarations were mads with ihe greatest possible confidence, but be had not observed that any person had attempted to prove them. (Cheers.) Tariffs placed upon British goods no doubt did harm to them, but they did a gnat deal more harm to the people of the countries which imposed them. (Hoar, hear.) The effect of a tax on imports would be to diminish them, and the exports sent out to pay for them would also be diminished, with ttfte result that tha producers of exported goods would be thrown out of work. It might ba said that the people could be transferred to make the goods that used to bo imported, but if that were done labour and capital would be much less economically employed, because instead, of making things which they could make best they would be making things which the foreigner could make best, and therefore, prices would rise. An example which was quite con- clusive of the enormous advantage of Free Trade over Protection as a national policy was provided by the great cotton market of British India, which was the biggest in the world. The market was open to all nations on equal terms, and yet the market was monopolised by the British manufacturer because he was the only manufacturer in the world who enjoyed the ad- vantages of Free Trade. (Applause.) A tax on manufactured articles would make the people of this country poorer, but he thought they would survive such a catastrophe. A tax on food, how- ever, would crush the greater number of the people. (Hear, hear.) Sir Alfred Thomas, M.P., chairman of the Welsh Parliamentary party, described Sir John as one of the few men in the House of Commons who had the courage of their convictions. (Ap- plause.) He had suffered for expressing them, but be had been more than repaid by the pleaeure which he had given to the people,who appreciated his action. (Cheers.) He (Sir Alfred) admired men who, like Sir John, placed principle above party. (Applause.) On the motion of the Rev. E. Richards, Tony- pandy, seconded by Mr D. Deere, Clydach Vale, a hearty vote of thanks was given to Sir John, who briefly replied. The meeting closed with a fervid rendering of the hymn 0 fryniau Caersalemceir eled."
TONYPANDY CATHOUG SCHOOL.
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TONYPANDY CATHOUG SCHOOL. Attitude of the Educatien Committee Criticised. A public meeting, representing the Catholics of the Rhondda Valley, was held on Sunday morning at Tonypanuy Catholic school, the Rev. Father Griffiths presiding, to protest against the manner in which the Rhondda education authorities had treated the Catholic school at Tonypandy. The Chairman said that although the Council were legally responsible for the proper maintenance of tbe school the managers had received no rate aid. The Council appeared to be under tbe impression that the school could be kept going entirely on the Government I grant. The account books, however, showed an adverse balance of £400. Mr James Brooks, I Tonypandy, Droposed, and Mr Mike O'Brien I' seconded, a resolution protesting against the attitude of the Rhoauda Urban District Council Education Committee towards the Tonypandy I Catholic schools, characterising it as unjustifi- able and in direct contravention of the Educa- tion Act. The resolution wa.s unanimously passed. II!
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A Uwyer was examining the chief mateof a vessel which had been wrecked. "Now tell me," he said, in what latitude and longitude you crossed the equator." II Ah, yon are joking," said the sailor. No. sir, 1 am in ear- nest, and I request an answer." That's more j than I can give." Indeed. Yon are a chief mate and are unable to answer so simple a ques- tion." Yes, the simplest qrsestion I ever was asked. I thought even a fool of a law^W know tkoxe's na letitotfe at the equator.
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
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FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. The Prince and the Pags, By S. L HEWARD, It was at the close of a pleasant spring day, in the year 1189 that a Darty of horsemen were making their way through the forest of Amonn- derness. Most of them were riehly attired, and all were well mounted. As they came into an open space one of them exclaimed with an oath u Methinks, my Lords, that our father bath given us but a barren heritage. Here there are neither- castle nor villages nor even well-tilled fields, and the few churls we have met flee asibongh they bad never seen a, knight before." It would seem so, indeed, Prince," replied a; knight of venerable appearance, 11 yet are was well assured that at Kirkham wa shall find lodg- ing and a hospitable reception," We shall hardly win to Kirkham to-night, observed another of the party) see hotv low the sun is already." Where is the guide ?" cried the Prince im- patiently. The man, who had ridden behind one of the men-at-arms, was brought forwarcl, and after much hesitation was forced, to confess: he had lost his way. String him up to the nearest tree," cried- Prince John in a fury, "'tis an ill place in which to be overtaken by night, and he must e'ent pay the penalty." before the Prince's order could be carried out a. man covered with a blanket, which completely liid his face, stepped out of the underwood, and,, holding up a deformed hand, cried boarsely- Forbear 1" Still further enraged at this intrusion, Prince John drew his sword and spurred towards the stranger, but the man sprang aside, crying again Forbear rash youth. Tempt not the wrath of God by laying unholy hands on me. You have said that this is an ill place in which to spend he night, and ye say well. Let the man go and [ will be your guide." Prince John gazed in terror at the stranger, irid at last exclaimed in a trembling voice- Who art thou who comest nnfcidden at this hour?" Seek not to know my name, I am one whom, God hath smitten." Lead on then, in heaven's name, if thoot bnowest the way." I have made a condition." Conditions To me," cried the Prince, his inger overeomiug his fear for a moment. Even so," was the calm reply. I have but to lay my hand on thee, Prince as thou art, and thou wilt never see London more. Release your' prisoner. I will answer for it that he does youi uo harm." Reluctantly, overmastered by the fe&r with' which this strange being inspiredihim, the super- stitioua Prince ordered the release of the unhappy tjuide, who qnickly disappeared into the nearest thicket. Lead on," cried Prince John. I lead follow ye, but at a distance," and" with the word the figure plunged into a dark alley. After about an hour's riding the party emerged on the bank of a river. On the further side rose the towers of a, strong Norman castle, with a few huts ctnstering in its shelter, while a broad stretch of well-cultivated land proved the power of Kirkham's lord to protect his vassals. At their feet a ford led across the stream, and a well-trodden path ended at the castle gates. 'Tia well," cried the Prince, pressing forward eagerly. we shall find here food and rest. which we sorely need. Githe guide a gold piece from my belt, de Winton, and come quickly all of you." "Farewell, Prince," said tbe guide, "it may be we shall yet meet again," but the Prince, hardly heard the words as he urged his horse across the liver. His followers crossed them- selves silently, to them there was something evil in the manner and sudden appearance of the strax^dr in that lonely forest, haunted as thatf' ajtrange impi. »nd demons. J But now the drawbridge fell with a crash, the portcullis rose, and men with torches came out to line the path on either side. In the court- yard all the household were assembled to wel- come the guest, who was honoured for his rank, but not for his character. The Prince's horse stumbled over the uneven paving, and his rider, never a good horseman, would bave been unseated but for the ready hand of a page who sprang to his help. unfortunately, John's temper, never an ami- able one, had been increasing in fury from his: enforced silence during the forest ride, and he thought, or chose to think, it wils the boy's action which had so nearly unseated him. He burst out in a torrent of fury and bad language which -nade the stalwart Lancashire men-at-arms gape with astonishment. Take him away," be ended, and to-morrow let him be well ."flogged. No one shall insult Prince John without paying dearly for it." Not a man of the castle following stirred, waiting for a signal from their lord. But the Prince's own men, knowing their master's un- certain temper, seized the lad and prepared to, carry him off. Seeing the folly of opposition, Eric was wise enough to go quietly, and the master perauaded the Prince to go into the castle, where supper was awaiting him. The seneschal, after receiving a message from his lord, directed the men-at-arms with tbeir prisoner to a chamber in the tower overlooking the river, where after a rather long delay he sent them their supper. They had amused them- selves meanwhile by detailing stories of the' Prince's cruelty, hoping to drive their captive to offer them a ransom, bat Eric, who was an espe- cial favourite with the knight, thought it best to wait until ha heard or saw some sign from without. As soon as the soldiers had finished the strong ale with which they had been sup- plied, they dropped almost immediately into a heavy sleep, breathing noisily, and lying like iogs. By-and-bye the massive door opened, and a boy peepsd in. coming right inside "9 the moon showed the sleeping men, Eric sprang to meet him. Hash," said the new-comer; my lord thinks it will be well for you to join your father in the forest till the Prince's visit be ended." I knew he would not fail me," cried Eric joy. fully, but how shall 1 win throngh the Royal guards ?" 'Tush, 'twould be simple enough an' need were, but there is a better way," and he began feeling about the wall. 'Tis our lord's own secret," he continued, and he trusts to none but thee and me. There lies thy roo,d,Eric," he added, as a large stone swung out of its place, leaving an opening large enough for Eric to squeeze through. "Here is a lope, which I brought from the armoury, and here is a ring in the wall just handy." In a few mowents their preparations were made, and Eric was lowered from the window into the river below. It did not take him long to freo himself and to swim across so quietly that the sentries took nis dark head for a water- rat. Arrived on the other Bide. be soon vanished in the forest, and, running as quickly as his wet garments would:permit, reached a glade in the èentreof which stood a large blasted oak tree. Tiere he halted and gave a shriek like an owl, with a peculiar note at the close. It was answered almost immediately, and the figure of the Prince's guide appeared on the other side-of the glade. "Welcome, my son. I more than half ex- pected thee. Wherever the Prince goes he brings trouble." It was noticeable that the two remained at opposite points, and neither made any attempt to approacb as Eric told his story. It is well, Eric. Rest in peace, andl will take care that no hurt comes to thee." Eric crept inside the huge tree. where he found a couple of blankets for it was not the first night he had spent in the forest. He curlpd himself up on a bed of leaves and slept until morning. When the Prince discovered the escape of his prieoner, be was ao furiously angry that he refused to stay b not her hoar trt Rirkhara Castle, and would have taken a more memorable vengeance but that his followers were few. and he had placed himself far beyond the reach of any aid. All he could do was to rids away and take uphlaquartera.at the monastry of St. Mary s, until such time as the lord of Kirkham should choose to deliver Eric into his hands. A week passed, which the Prince spent in hunting, with but poor success and at last he started to ride -southwards, vowing that this barbarous district should see him no more. lie had gone but a day's journey into the forest when, as thay wero about to encamp for the night in the rough and ready style of the age, the figure of Eric's father appeared in the gathering shadows. Prince," said theintruder, "Isaid we should meet again. Beware. Royal though you be, you are in a way that leads to nought but shame and disgrace. I foresee that you will one day be King, but he who cannot rule his own spirit can never rule a kingdom. You are the slave of your passions, and unless you learn to master yourself will be the slave of your own servants. Take head to your wayi lest a worae thing befall you." -c..r.
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Two stockbrokers were discussing the likeli- hood of a certain watered stock rising or falling in price. It's qaing up steadily., although I believe it's foil of water,' saia one. But," remarked the other, how can it be full lof water if there isn't a drop in ic ?n A gentleman met in the street an Irish beggar, who importuned him for 6d. Not having one, the gentleman gave the man a shilling, adding; I with a laugh, Now, remember, yon owe me sixpence." Och, sure enough I" said the beggar. live*UUL I pay yoo 1*'
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i'n gehebwyr Cymrcig gyfeirio en- go- hebiaethaa, llyfraa i'w hadolygu, &c_ fel y canlyn: Dafydd Morgajiwg, Morganwg House. lilantwit-street, Cardiff."
< BARDDONIAETH.
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< BARDDONIAETH. Y PETHUSWB. Breuddwydiwr, awdwr oediad—y w'r isel I Betruswr di-godiad; t Ni wel fri na damniol frad, Dwl ydyw, di welediad. ■' Bbydd. Dewi An*.
! DYDDIAU YR WYTHNOS.
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DYDDIAU YR WYTHNOS. Djdd oin Duheddywiyn d wj n—hedd ddiliftg I addolwr addfwyn; Ni cheir bath ein Sabbath am swynJ A gwirhoff oesfyg orphwya ixryn. f .1,dd Linn, is eilnn. oes alwad—y ty4 1 bawb drwy'r maw read. A'iiach wfcn-iu'n gychwyniad Aeur vraith, yr wythnos rad. f Dydd Mxwrth, diwyd aidd i mi,—ddilyna Ddylanwad ei deithi; Mearar wnair ein ni Hyd einioeser daioni. Dydd Mereher, yn der y Wir b:ofiiid yn ddistaw; Wna. roolus wcithiwr hylan, I enill llwydd ar bob llaiv. Dydd la a, anrhydedd awen—y wjtana Uwch ceinwaith oes dryland Drwy lafur pur codi'r pen Uweb ingoedd afiach angen. Dydd Gwener, llawnder a llondid,—a cbnwd- Marchnadol a. glendid; ParatoawJ, dadawl did Gawn yn hwn yn gynenid. Dydd Sad wrn, ocdedd osodjr-al: waith Y gwir weithiwr cywir; Rh7.d hoen tftl ar hyd ein tit, A'i fwyniant belaeth fynir. Rhydri. Dewi Aur.
- YRARDD.
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YRARDD. Draw yn Armenia dlofl 1 taidd yr envr O'r liee/n He bu nos Diddymdra'n marwj Bn yno ffrwythau per Yn mhresenoldeb Not, Pan wenodd huan ter Y borea hwnw. Yn bon v lluniodd Daw Syw diymii'r cread; Gwnð ddyn ya euaid byw» A'i wiw anadliad; Boreuol yrfar'r byd A ddeiJ mewn Bwyn 0 byd. Mae arrfoidroldeb drnd Yn glyd mewn bwriad. Yn Getbsemane fad t Bu'r Iesu tyner Yn ymbil ar ei Dad Dros deulu amser: Disgynai'r chwys i lawr Yn dd&fnau ar y llawr, Amlygci doriad gwawx Yn awr cyfyngder, Un boff i galon bardd Yw'r ardd swynhndofcj Teleidion yrns. dardd Yn ha.rdd a. gwrolc Caf ynddi lyuiau per I Iwyr ddiwalln'n der Wir angen tenlu Net, Heb fcrinder oesol. Drw: bon clafi Yn fyr oi gamran- Edtnyga sawyr braf Yr haf rosynwi: Ptu wena haul y dydd, Siriola'i galon brudd, Daw gwen ar ael ei rndd" Pan fydd heb boenan^ Ond, owl daeth hydref eretl I ddiftt'i swynion,— N J gem an derch Yn serch adgofion. Ba'r ardd hcvelionus fron fam i'r ddaear gron,, •hryd i Adds. Ion, r n Eden. dirion. :■ LlinosWjce.
LAIS A CHLThAIS.
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LAIS A CHLThAIS. ) welais ln lili fn ddwytol dl0s,- nwsmel y TeHi, mom a rbosl: edd haf yn teyrnaatt TOS bant a chau, haf yn ariann > i hemrynt claer. Hydref e's heibto >. llapercb gun,—- ,l >; » > owl nid oedd yn« ,\y. „V J, •>.jfc m si eiliwyd ei thlysni iu Iwydrew oer, lly waie ei cbyni :11> ngoleu'r lloer. V relais laalencyn— febyn mad!— ra a'i fyw delyn Idolai'r wlad. urai lew gewri i dreiddiol lyrfodd holl Gymra-* lenol din I ddwydiai fy Ngwaliet s iyfodol claer, ihrydydd ANWYLAVRY^; Keats <i haer i redem fod awen wr Mynwy* wiw sbri Ben Bowen dremiad byw, C OI clywais wed'yn 1 mantell dda lddio y delyn thanau cu,— < jystudd a'i niwloedd—• jnus ac erch- fcyllu galluoedd • ff fardd ein serch. Mi glywais daer wedd! Trwy Walia Wen, Yn trfyn ar Iesu Am arbed Ben,— Am. estyn ei ddyddiau, dd'od yn well— Cael rbagor o'r nerlau Cwmpasog, pell. Hi wekiis ei arwyl — Araf, ddihedd, A rhoi yr un auwyl Mown dystaw fedd. Mi glywais och'neidiau Y wlad yn un. 0 waelod calonao Uwchben ei ham. M' welaia cc argel Un Rha^fyr oaW9, A suon yr awtfl leddfus iawn, Wrth basio mangarw, Dilaswellt, pradd- klun bardd a fu forw Yn haf ei ddydd. Tra'n tywalltiheillt ddeigron, Mewn in a chur, Lie claddwyd gobeithiott „ Athyrlith bur, Mi^^glywaialaia iael— Llais angel gwyn, oslef yn isel, Yn dweyd fel hyn- 01 brydydd, na wyla, Mae Ben mewn hoen, awen yng Ngwyufa, Yng nhwmDyr Oen y mae el ddych myioQ Heddyw'n fwy byw 'Rol gweled dirgelion Paradwyu Duw. t Islwyn. Llsttbedr-Pontetephan. My fyr Teifi.
YR ARDD.
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YR ARDD. Oea lanerch brydferthach ? Goirenwperselnl&ch? Fn tentyn swynolach, hyfwynach i fardd? codi yr awen fry, fry ar ei baden, I anterth ei helfen —mor gymen yw eardd. G-wiw gartref y cread, lie lliwiwyd ei dfllad, A mangre bu n Nheidwad ogariad digudd Yn waedlyd ei chwysiad wrtb gario y bwrratf, A adgyfodiad ar doriad y dydd. Ar forcutegfelyn yn ngwanwyn y flwyddyni Af allan i ddilyn cywreinddyn yr ardd, A'i rawiau a'i gribin, a'i hadau in ddibiin, o warcbod a meithrin tud cgin a dardi. I'r golwg daw effaith y gwyngalch a'r gwrtaith, Ac eutedd mae Gobaith mewn gwecdddiaf: ddiailj Pob cancan brigyn ddwg allan blanhigyn, Caf eto wel'd blod'yn yn dflyn y dail. Yn araf fy nghamran, rhof dro t'r ardd lysian Uenwi'n ceginau a byrddan y byd; Pob gwanaidd eginyn yn tyouei seigun o fron yr haul melynyn hyfwyu o hyd. Yn drachtio dyferiony gwlithwlaw mwyn, muth- ion. Mae wynion, a moron, a chioron (inch Y gwylath a'r erfin, y breaycb a'r rwdin, Y cenin hoff gwyrddlaa, y panas a'r pye. Y wridog ardd ftrwythau oedd feicbiog o flodan, Cyflawnwyd en dyddiau, afalao sy' fil; Y rbyfion teg addfed, a'r gwinwydd bared, Fr genaa'n felused a daod a dil; Danteitbiol eillygau yn nghrog ar y cangan, Boglynan o aeron rhuddgochion eu Y grwy9wydd yn doraeth—11 aw Dwyfol xtnag- lnniaeth Yn darpar en tluniaeth i deuln y Uawr. Daetq haf ar y blodau. Mae awe! yb°**a Yn dwyn peraroglon rbosynau heirdd, oywj Amryiiw welyan ar flefed garpedau Yraylsaiti'i milfyrdd ddail bythwyrdd hebwyw; Al oosan yr & wel, neu gemb a'i finfel R'odd gwrel ar rhotfynau pet sam? Ai angel goleuni fenthyciodd y tlysnt It HH wyl, dyner, o Wyndttr y wawr? Mewn arrial fach wledicf mae bwthyn galchcdig, Aben wr crymedig, wyweètiei wedd, Yn wylo wrth weled htirdd flodalla. blanued Gan law sydd oM lludded dan bared y bed Pe rhoid im' oorea cynnyrchion balasan, Teg bWVBi a crddi arglwvddi ein wlad, Mil teccach genuy' y blodau tirf hyny JfttiliW laW JA bteBBRger bwthyn fy nbad. > Aregwedd Voeddig.
Quite Different.,
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The Flowers of Speech.—Tulips. vH To Intending Householders.—Toe way tit make a bole in your poeket is to incur a. larg rent. Hadn't the Tim6.—M-Oh, my poor man! Juslflj wait and I'll bring you some of the health fixxaH that a traveller left here yesterday." me, lady I That may be all right for people w'1" eats for pleasure, but rm hnngry 1 fl .R. "The Baby's Pall. Do you know," reij marked the mother of the new baby thoughtfully* S "I believe he has his father's hair?" "Ifl shouldn't be surprised," replied a candid friend; wj his father certainly hasn't got it now: i Her Simple Choice.—A gentleman, before going to London on business, promised his wife that he would buy her a new dress. Just before starting homeward, however, he telesrached to his WJfe-" Which shall I bring you-a, diamond ring or a silk dress ?" The reply waa concise and explicit—"Both." Tact.—Johnny: Father, what ia tact ?—Father: Tact, Johnny, is knowing how to do things with- out appearing to be doing them. For instance, }I asked Mr Peterson to dinner this evening and 'incidentally I remarked tbat your mother would entertain us on the piauo. Mr Peterson said he "was sorry but be couldn't come. Lucid.—Irish Professor (after lecture, proceed- ing to question class) Now, gentlemen, can any 'of you describe a virgin forest?—Smart Stndent: A forest where no one has ever been.—Professor (sternly) Why don't yon express your ideas elegantly and classically ? Why couldn't yon say, A forest where tbe hand of man bas never left its footprint ? A weekly newspaper recently published the following in its" Answers to Correspondents column .—" We have two apple treeSlD our gar- den," writes Ella, and in the spring they were covered with such lovely pink and white blos- soms torn I pulled them all for table decora- tions. Now I see that there are no apples on the trees. Do you think this is likely to be be- cause I pulled the blossoms off 1" Almost all the guests having contributed, not one, but many anecdotes at a recent dinner party a man who had been silent throughout was asked to tell a story. I can't tell a story," he pleaded, but I can ask a riddle." "AH right, we'll let you off with a riddle," was the reply. Why asked the hitherto silent guest, u am I like that turkey ?'' No one could guess. Be- cause," he explained, that turkey has been stuffed with chestnuts—and so have I" A little boy, being left m the care of a-nig gardly uncle, was grossly neglected that he frequently bad not enough to eat. One day, when the two were out together, the uncle met a friend leading a valuable greyhound. Stop- ping to speak to his friend, be was much dis- comfited when his small nephew.—observing the extreme sltmness of the dog—patted him gently, and sympathetically inquired, Do yoa live with your uncle, doggie ?" A North-country clergyman staying in lreland had occasion to ride up a very steep hill in a stage coach. Where the ascent was steepest, the driver got down and walked, and as he walked he would frequently open the door of the coach and then shut it again with a slam. This the pas- sengers found annoying. "Look here, driver," one of them said, why do you kick up such a noise with that door?" "To cheer up my horses," the driver said. Every time they hear this door shut, they think one of you has got out, and tbat makes them imagine the load ia lighter." Canon Horsley tells many good stories of his experience as a prison chaplain one of the most amusing concerns his personal appearance. The reverend gentleman has a long beard, and usually wears a voluminous cloak and a slouch hat rather larger than the ordinary clergyman's hat. This combination gives him a somewhat mysteriona appearance, and on one occasion, when travelling by train, he became aware that two ladies, his fellow passengers, were eyeing him wtth dis- trustful looks. As he alighted at his station, he overheard a remark made by one of his com- panions to the other, which was rather discon- certing. What a villainous-looking man," aaid she. I shouldn't like to meet bim on a dark nigbt." Here are a few examples of schoolboy howlers," culled from the latest batch in the University Correspondent." IJllcpe examina- tion paper the meaning of Cam grano salis" .was given as, AltV—•r'1 with -*orr 'ere described as a sacrilegious order who lived o\ an island. The question, Why does true Zttglish history begin with the reign of Henry VII. ? evoked the answer; Because up to this time it was all lies. Other facta that will strike- most people as new are—The population in the neigh- bourhood of coalfields is very dense because of tbe smoke coming from the coal; the snn never sets on British possessions because the sun seta in the West and our Colonies are in the North, South, and East; the chief featnxe of the play of Richard II." is the decomposition of the king; the feminine of he-goat is "she wentIzaafe Walton was such a good fishermaB that he was called the judicious Hooker tJ.' sonckoo is a bird that does not lay its own eggs t pedigree means a schoolmaster, emolument soothing medicine in the United States peoph/ ate put to death by elocution the primate is wife of a Prime Minister a Job's comforter is f, thing you give babies to soothe them political economy is the science which teaches Q8 to get' the greatest benefit with the least possible amount of honest labour. Quite Different. Sir," said the City man, I bought a piece of fly-paper the other day— Sorry," said the assistant, hastily, bat y^e exchange no goods after they leave thecounter.1 "But 1 wanted to say," continued the cus- tomer, that- We can't remedy the matter now sir, yon should have-" "One minute bawled the customer. I want to say that I bought a piece of fly-papetf here the other day, and it caught a lot of files, hang you I want some more just like it I I I" But they bad to call another yoang man tc wait oa him. Look Before You Leap. The end is that you find yourself sold up, While the lawyer is in comfortable possession of a row of houses at probably little more than half their value, the suppliers of tbe material getting perhaps twenty percent, of theamouuttbey have risked.. On the other hand, the result is occasionally ofa different nature, many a big fortune having bad its origin in juat such transactions. And if you lose you can console yourself with thv thought that you have had your little fling." A safer way of investing ia house property 18. of course, that offered by the various good build- ing societies. Cured Him. A doctor tells this good story about a hypo- chondriac: 11 Sometimes he would think him- self a teapot. Again he would be a kettle, or his lags would be turning into glass. He was, altogether, a trying subject to deal with, but one morning the limit was reached, for when (saya the doctor) I asked him how he felt he said grn £ 8y How do I feel ? Wby, I dop t feel at all. I'm dead. I have been dead for several hours. How can a dead man feel I determined for once to humotir him. So I said Yes, you are dead, right enough. Come ap- stairs. We'll send for ,the undertaker.' The patient consented to this, though with a rather uneasy look, and got into bed Ana- stretched himself out. Then, two or threa at a thne, his best aOO oldest friends were admitted. "These friends, having been well coached* gazed at the corpse and shook their headr. sadly. 4 Ah,' one would say so he is dead at last, Well, a greater villain never lived.' ■ • » Ha muat have died hard,' another would murmur. Tbey say the wicked die hard always.' «• A third friend exclaimed • He cheated met once out of £500. I lent the money to him With- oat security, and he pretended that be had never received it.' At this the hypochondriac .sat 4 Yon lie, George,' he said bittoriv. a Bat I pushed him back, whispering to him i to remember he was doad, and he Subsided again. "Bat when an old and trusted Bervant eaid of him in a loud voice • Well, the old curmudgeon is gone and I am glad of it,' tbe hypochondriac conld restrain himself no longer. He leaned out of bed, and seized the servant by the throat. d U 8conndrel,' he exclaimed, ■•■I——* But a great shout of laughter went up the patient seemed for the first time to realise hia folly: be turned and went for a walk, and naver again did he permit his hypochondria to (hake-a. fool of him. One Was Sufficient. 1 Jimmy, aged five, had been naughty, and hid mother had puniahed him in tbe. good, old- fashioned way. His father pretended to be greatly shocked at bearing the aggrieved young- ster express a hope that a large stray bear might happen along some dark night to make a meal of his offending parent. But, Jimmy," said his father, impressively, you shouldn't say such dreadful things. You I should always remember, my son,. chat a boy never has more than one mother." Thank God for that," breathed Jimmy, fer- vently. As Announced* This notice has recently been distributed b. an Urban Council :—" In view of the earlier approach of darkness, every vehicle must, until further notice, carry a light when dnrkness be- gins. Darkness always begins as soon aa. the lamps are lit."