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om I3-YWIIlia-m e qu,eu,x, ✓ CHAPTER XXXI. Some Astounding Bacumants. That afternoon was grey and overcast. In a small, front sitting room in a house in Scarsdale Villas, Kensington, I was seated with an elderly, bald-headed, rather undersized man, named Greaves, who had been recommended to me by the keeper of Mediaeval Monuscripts at the British Museum as an expert paleo- graphist. With heavy, steel-rimmed spectacles on his nose, he was seated at the table near the window, intent in his examination of the three yellow dusty parchments which I had submitted to him. They were written in brown, half-faded ink in a crabbed hand, of which I could decipher scarcely a single word. While I sat in silence at his side, he had been poring over line after line, apparently deeply interested in what he had read. At last he turned to me, saying I do not know where you obtained these from, but from both a paleographic and histo- rical view they are of great value. All of them have a.t some, time or other been abstracted from the Italian State Archives in Venice. The earliest is this," and he spread out before me the largest of the parchment rolls—a piece above five inches in width and seven in length, square at the top, but cut in a wavy manner at the bottom. It was headed *DIE XIV. DECEMBRIS, 1527, Not without difficulty he succeeded in deci- phering the whole document. It was the actual recipe for making the secret poison used by the Council of Ten of Venice.* *(The originals of these documents have been returned to the State Archives at Venice, where they may now be seen. They, however, do not rfppear in the index, as it is feared that improper use might be made of the formula contained.—The Author.) One passage ran :—" The powder if inhaled- from certain flowers—the tuberose especially —or if placed upon the lining of the cap will cause death. Its first successful trial was made at the order of the Council, by one Babon de Naldo, upon the Due de Bourbon. It was in that case placed upon a bunch of tuberoses handed to him by his little Aaughter. So potent is it that the greatest care shpuld be exercise by anyone manufacturing it or having it in his possession." This," exclaimed Mr Greaves, tapping the docament with his skinny forefinger, is the feat time that the actual formula of the secret ? and terrible poison of the Council of Ten has come to light. It is a most important docu- ment, and certainly most dangerous if in un- scrupulous hands. Wherever did you obtain it ? I am most interested to know." At present that is a confidential matter," I saick "I am not yet at liberty to inform you." He therefore turned to the second document which, smaller than the first, was written in darker ink in a rather bolder, heavier and more ornate hand. "This, you will observe," pointed out the old gentleman, is an actual record of a sitting of the Council of Ten on May 3rd in the year 1527 in reference to the offer of a certain person called Bafcon de Naldo to"*poison the Duke of Bourbon—the crime recorded in the previous document. Most extraordinary!" he ex- claimed. "fThere is absolutely no doubt about their genuiness. I made studies in the State Archives at Venice during two years for the history of the Doges which I am now writing therefore, I am well acquainted with their form and characteristics, They could never be imitated." 1 Not by a. clever forger ?" Of Impossible. The ink, the handwriting, the contractions, the age of the parchment, and the gloss upon its back are all too perfect. My I eye would detect a fraud in an instant," he declared. No, sir, these are most important, extraordinary, and hitherto unknown docu- ments, wherever you obtained them. I beg you will allow me to take copies to include in my history of the administration of Andrea Gritti, who was Doge from 1523 to 1538, and some of whose original records are now in our British Museum." I will give you an answer in a few days," I said. But what is the nature of this third parchment ?" It is a fetter, as you see, for it has been folded square at one time or other—a dispatch from His Excellency, Pier Antonio Marioni, Charge d'Affaires of the Republic of Venice in Florence, addressed to the Inquisitors of the State," The old expert in mediaeval manuscripts sat in silence staring at the dispatch spread on the blotting-pad before him. These three documents are most important, sir," he declared, and I trust you will not fail to allow me to copy them. The first actu- ally gives the prescription for making that compound which in Andrea Gritti's day was used with such fatal and secret effect by the Inquisitors. The whole history of Venice t teems with secreet assassinations of enemies of the Republic, and here we have the actual in- structions for the manufacture of the poison. I would urge you, whatever ,you do, not to fallow these documents—especially the one of the fourteenth of December—to fall into the hands of any person who might make use of it. Imagine what a potent power would be placed in their hands I promised him. < So interested was he that heread, and re- read them, over and over again. Then I paid him his fee, three guineas, and replacing the old parchment in my pocket, was soon walking in the direction of the station in High-street, Kensington. d Two points were uppermost in my mind. First.whether this secret poison of the dreaded Council of Ten of Venice had actually been hsted in ReddKffe Gardens; and, secondly, whether at the moment of our visit to Bolton- street, Ralph Garshore had not been engaged in the upstairs room endeavouring to manufac- ture some of the poison according to the for- mula set out upon the damp-stained page ? CHAPTER XXXII. Back in Yorkshire. I held back from my friend Cunliffe what I had discovered concerning the three parch- ments, which he merely regarded as historically valuable documents hidden away by Garshore for some purpose known only to himself. The letters of which we had taken possession were all unimportant to us—all save one. It was written upon Paper of the Hotel ^Excelsior at Cimiez, and signed "Elfrida." There was no date, yet its tenor was that of regret—a letter, indeed, of farewell. To my companion it, of course, conveyed nothing. To me it was, however, full of signi- ficance-so full, indeed, that that same night I left King's Cross again for Malton, arriving there at early morning, and: taking up tempo- rary quarters at a quiet old-fashioned hotel with a big garden just up the hill outside the town. I had passed it in the train many times, and "had often thought I wctald like to see what the old place was like. At etev-en o'clock I called upon Mrs May- nard, in pretence that I was compelled to remain tdle in Malton that day. She believed me, and as I sat in the long old-fashioned drawing-room of the charming house half a mile from the town I began to chat about our mutual friends, the Stapletons. Myra, she informed me, was Very unwell, and a. doctor from York had seen her and ordered Ther abroad for a change. She and her father were to leave very shortly for Switzerland. Then a pressing invitation to remain for lun- cheonwas followed bythe entry of my divinity dressed in a well-fitting riding-habit and neat nttleOOwler hat, she having just come in. from her ride. Only-fancy finding you here, Mr RAlston!" ghecried, her cheeks flushing in pleasant sur- prise. I've just come back from the Grange. Myra is a little brighter.i, Of late she's been ■very poorly. Curiously enough, she was only this morning wondering what had become of you. She got an illustrated card from you from some out-of-the-way pace in Asia Minor, she said. Really you are nothing if not a Wanderer Yes, Mass Maynasrd," I laughed. Tve been moving about a good deal of late." I did not, of course, refer to her call upon me at xsy rooms. "Did Myra express a wish to see me ?" f She has done on several occasions lately. Only a week ago she said she wished she knew where you were. I think, indeed, she sent a letter to your dub inLondon." ,Then I must run over and see her—if only 2or an hour or so," I said. You'll excuse me while I go andchangef won't you 7" said the girl, merrily, and then disappeared. I looked out of the open French windows upon the level stretch of lawn, the fantastic- ally cut old yews, and the high box ^hedges, with the beautiful rosary beyond. Though autumn, the may was warm and sunny, and the peace of it all impressed me after the storm and stress of the breathless days through which I had just passed. Mrs Maynard was questioning me upon my journey East when suddenly she remarked „ I really don't ,know what has come to Xyra. She looks so pale and haggard. Only the other day I was remarking to Elfrida that 1 feared she was going into a rapid decline. She used to be sach a bright, active, athletic girl." "t I was silent for a moment. Well, I knew the 1 truth, alas. Bat I merely remarked that the air of Yorkshire might not suit her. Bat it's her native air, she protested. She's Yorkshire born and bred." | Therefore I withdrew my theory rather [ ignommiously. Presently my divinity returned, dressed in A short dark blue skirt and blouse of cream silk, while on her head a dark blue beret was saucily set. 8be looked the picture of feminine daintiness. Latex on she and I strolled forth together into tho old-world garden, wandering up and down the WUrapt sraratkd walks, and past I the grey lichen-covered sundial at the further 11 end of the lawn. At length, when we were quite alone, at the further end of the garden, and out, of the observation of anyone in the house, I suddenly turned to her and said rather abruptly, I fear Do you recollect our confidential chat in London, Miss Maynard ? Well, I have come here to-day regarding it—or rather concerning the position of Garshore." Please don't mention that man's name again, Mr Ralston," she protested, in an instant growing serious. But I am working strenuously in order to give you your freedom," I said, looking into her beautiful eyes and trying to read the great mystery there concealed. That, I fear, you can never obtain for me," she answered in a low voice of sorrow. You were present at that house in Red- cliffe Gardens on the night of the tragedy," I said, slowly. And Granny Gough was there also. Why was he there ?" We had halted beneath a big cedar, and were out of sight from the house. He is my friend, Mr Ralston, as he is yours, but—but he went there armed," she faltered, "armed in order to commit murder." To kill that woman ?" I gasped. No, to kill Garshore—or rather, I suppose, to defend himself from attack." Was Garshore present ?" "No." Are you quite certain of that—certain that he was not the assassin ?" I demanded, amazed atthisreply. He was not present, I tell you therefore he could not hafre killed her." í Who actually did kill her ?" I—I don't know," she faltered. The charge is laid against Mr Gough. By whom ?" By Garshore-and by me." Then Gough's guilt is alleged by Gar- shore!" I cried quickly, which .points most strongly to the fact that he himself is guilty I added. I was seated with an elderly man who had been recommended to me by the British Museu S • How could he be guilty if he was not present■?" she queried.. put surely Granny and yourself are both innocent, no matter what -were.Gough's motives in visiting the house on that evening. There- fore, there remains Garshore." "Who was in another part of London—per- haps very fortunately for himself—with that woman Popescu." I Then it was not the ;fair Roumanian who died I cried, excited at having established at least one fact. No. It was the maid, Marie Lebas." Then why was she dressed in a gown of her mistress's ?" I demanded.. I cannot tell. That's a mystery. I, of course, believed her to be Lydia Popescu, until a-moment before the tragic affair." "But what caused, you to go to that woman ?'' I demanded, in the same breath apologising for my abrupt crogs-examination. I was induced to go the-re-in secret," she answered, lowering her gaze. "Induced! By whom ?" She was silent for a moment. By Mr Gough," she admitted, in a hoarse whisper. Why ?" « But though I repeated my question many, times, she refused to respond. Her eyes were downcast, her countenance white as death. 1 loved her with my whole heart, and truly she had all my sympathy. I saw her sweet- faced, pale, and broken, as she stood alone with me, the victim of a vile, dastardly plot, which had had for its object the death of the unfortunate Marie Lebas. I would at that moment have fallen upon my knees and raised her soft white hand to my lips. I yearned to declare my love, but, alas, I dare not. She somehow seemed so indistinct and inde- finite, half hidden behind the veil of mystery which stood between us. Yet she was my well-beloved. Already I knew that her soul and mine were one. CHAPTER XXXIII. Contains a Curious Confession. Three weeks had gone by-weeks of constant travel and of diligent inquiry. In the latter Cunliffe had been my never-failing assistant. I had been back again to Constantinople, thence north to Vienna, Dusseldorf, and home by The Hook." Accompanying me from Dusseldorf, where I had found him at the Park Hotel was Tom Winch—an adventurer, it was true but Granny's friend. There were certain private reasons wh-k he should not just now put foot on England he had explained to me when I had first beggea him to return but at last I overcame all his objections and one dull, overcast day at twelve o'clock we found ourselves stAijding in a small private sitting-room in the big Station Hotel at York, the windQW of which overlooked a broad green sward and the grey Minster beyond. X. I had brought him there in order to meet Elfrida and Myra-and besida him, at peril of his own personal security, stood the man he had so unfortunately denounced to the police -Granny Gough. > Ralph Garshore, his face flushed, stood ■■ before us with bold audacity. The latter, smart and dean-shaven as usual, wore a well.cut suit of blue serge and in his cravat a fine diamond pin—only yesterday re- deemed from pawri, be it said. As he stood upon the hearthrug in low conversation with his fellow-p-ook and whilom enemy, he looked the picture of the prosperous man. No one, indeed, would ever have taken the easy- going humorous Granny Gough to bean ad- venturer and, indeed, in his remarkable personality lay much of his success. With Tom Winch it was different* for he had the air of the card-room and racehorse bbotit him-an air which he could never put off. I confess that I, like Granny, was also* very apprehensive as to the result of that meeting. I had taken a very bold step, as you will presently se6—one so bold, indeed, that it might be very easy for me to fail ignomin- iously. The two men I had brought there, to the centre of England, were very badly wanted by the English police, and for all I knew they might botp. have already fallen undor obser- vation. CuniiQEe had remained in UaBd-e on the previous day—to have an interview with Gar shore. What the result of that had been now puzzled me, for he had not telegraphed an account of it, as he had promised. I don't half like this, Phil," declared Granny, standing aside with me, twisting a cigar nervously between his fingers. I was far safer out in Turkey." You wished to see Myra and explain to her," I said. You will now have an oppor- tunity. Yes, I know. But will she believe me ?— that's the question. In any case, I must show myself to her in my trae colours—an adven- turer, without a shilling." "It will be the best test of her affection," I remarked quietly, at the same time wondering what would be Elfrida's explanation of Gar- shore's thraldom upon her. As we had spoken the Minster clock had struck noon, and almost immediately after- wards a waiter appeared, announcing Two ladies to see you, sir." I gave orders for them to be shown in, and in a few seconds Myra and Elfrida, in dark tweed dresses and motor hats, were standing before us. Myra had motored her friend over from Malton upon their secret expedition. The lovers grasped hands in silEtnce-a silence more eloquent than words. Tears stood in the eyes of both. t Granny was the first to speak. Myra," he faltered. I—I >Tam lb ere to ask your forgiveness. I-^I'm not what I pre- tended to be. I am only a poor man—so poor that, before we go further, I ask you to re- lease tne from your engagement." She started, staring straight at him. Because—ah, it is because you do not love me ?" she blurted forth, tears in her eyes and her face pale as death. No—because I still love you better than my life, Myra," he assured her in a low, hoarse voice, holding her hand still in his. Because, loving you as I do, I refuse to allow you to ally yourself with one so unworthy of you or of your family—a man who-well; I may as well tell the truth at once—who is an adventurer. There, I have told 3 ou the truth," he added. And now I ask you to forgive me—to forgive and forget me." For a moment the girl was silent, her gaze fixed upon his. No," she said, magnanimously. Until I know the truth, dearest, I refuse to release you from your pledge to me." He sighed. The truth. Ah," he exclaimed with a be- Jrildered air. Would that it could really be old." Elfrida was standing near the window facing me. That she was nervous and unstrung was plain from her drawn blanched features and the terrified look in her beautiful eyes. Her attitude was that of one brought there much against her will and dreading the terrible ordeal she had resolved to face. • When Grannyhad sufficientlyrecoveredhim- self from the meeting with his well-beloved he introduced Winch to the two girls, saymg As it was Mr vViney. who first gave infor- mation to the police against me; perhaps he will make explanations of the reasons which prompted him to do this, and which afterwards prompted him to give me opportunity for escape. To him I owe my present liberty." Certainly," answered the clever thief. I discovered that I had been misinformed—wil- lfully misinformed regarding your guilt— Granny." In connection with the affair in London ?" asked Myra Stapleton breathlessly. No. In connection with another affair that was equally mysterious," he responded, and then, turning to Granny, he added, JPerhaps, Gough, you had best explain the affair your- self." My friend hesitated, jttnwiHing to dommit himself before the woman he so dearly loved. That meeting was, indeed, dramatic, yet I felt a pride that I had at last arranged it—that I had brought the lovers face to face. One per- son I had invited was, however, not present— Ralph Garshore. Yet, in the circumstances, wastiis absence to be wondered at ? He, no doubt, feared to be denounced as Arthur Rufford by the trusting girl over whom he had held suchenchantment, and whom he had so grossly deceived. I had had no wire fr#m Chinliffe, therefore I did not expect him. I prompted Granny to speak, and at last he said— I'll tell you the facts of what occurred two years ago in Vienna—that is, I'll explain as far as I know them.. Two years previously, in Galatz, I had met J smart and very attractive young girl named Lydia Popescu, daughter of a poor clerk in the employ of the Danube Com- missioners. Quite unexpectedly I encountered., her again one afternoon in the Franzenring in Vienna, walking with a man some years' her senior whom she introduced to me as her hus- band, Professor Branchini, of the TJinversity of Bucharest. Hearing that11 was a friend of her family in Galatz. he invited me to their house—a cosy apartment In the Karnthner Strassse, close by the Stevens Platz. I dined there on several occasions, and'onelevening met Prince Paul Greciano, a wealthy young Roumanian, whom I detected was greatly attracted by madame, whom he had also known in Galatz before her marriage. The Prince, who was a great friend of Mr Winch, became rather friendly with myself, and I went on several occasions to the young man'srooms, overlooking the river close to the Stefanie bridge. I did not, however, approve orchis atti- tude towards the Professor's wife, and owing to a remark he passed- concerning her, we one afternoon in his rooms had high ttrofds, and I left the place. Two hours later, his man, who had been absent, returned, and discovered his master lying upon the floor dead. Medical examination could determine no cause of death, and !the affair was shrouded in mystery, which was increased by the fact that three days later there was presented and cashed at the Anglo- Roumanian Bank, in Bucharest, a draft for a large amount in favour of Lydia Branchini, and drawn by the young man on the day of his death. Is not that so, Winch ?" he asked Of his friend. The cheque must have been Signed an hour before I called upon him." It was," replied the other. The whole affair was a mystery, but the truth was never suspected." a Well," Granny went on. "AboUt a fort- night after the Prince's death, Pilade Bran- chini, who had previously resigned his appoint- ment at Bucharest, left Vienna for Berlin, and did not return. Then the fair Lydia, after wait. ing in vain for her husband some weeks—re- turned accompanied by her faithful maid Marie Lebas—to the Roumanian capital, and there re-assumed her maiden name. Her maid. was v her constant companion and confidante, for she was the daughter of a French workman in Galatz, and the pair had been educated at the municipal school together. A brief but brilliant career in Bucharest brought Lydia under the notice of the old Minister Soutzo and His Excellency soon fell entirely into her unscrupu- lous hands. Winch and myself watched her career in silence, but made no comment. Her husband had deserted her she said, and was in America. That was all." "All—until three months ago," Winch ex- claimed. Then the maid, Marie, found me in Paris, and declared that you, Granny Gough, had killed Paul Greciano because you were jealous of him. She gave information to the police, and at the same time declared that I could identify you. She and Lydia had also told Garshore the same story—hence the war- rant out against you, and my subsequent warning." I believed the warrant to be in connec- tion with the affair in Redcliffe Gardens," Granny said. Why did you warn me 1" Because I thought I saw in all this a con- spiracy against you," replied the otheu. "Gar- shore, aided by Lydia, had obtained the con- cession from old Soutzo which was ycrfars by virtue of your prior application, and it seemed as though they wished to get rid of you, Granny." "No doubt they do," laughed the other, grimly. They've done their ingenious best." At that moment we were startled by a rap at the door, and there entered a waiter who announced A gentleman, sir." Next moment Ralph Garshore, his face flushed, as though he had been hurryingj stood before us with bold audacity. (To be Concluded), i if v
MR J. H. JOSE AND HIS SOCIETY.…
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MR J. H. JOSE AND HIS SOCIETY. His Letter of Resignation. The monthly report of the United Society of Boilermakers and Iron Shipbuilders contains the following letter, addressed to Mr D. Cl Cumming, Newcastle-on-Tyné, the genera. secretary of the society :— 58, Marlborough-road, Roath, Cardiff., July 13th, 1908. Dear Friend,—Having to-day accepted the position of technical adviser to the Bristol Channel Employers' Federation, I herewith tender my resignation as delegate to our society. In so doing I desire to express to you and our E.C. my best thanks for the support I have at all times received from you. I may also say that, personally. I feel there is now little security for officialatin our society, and far too often they do not receive that support in their arduous duties which they have a right to expect, and what is worse is the fact that at the end of their days no regard ia-paid to the services they have rendered. My rela- tionship with the members in this district has been a long one as an official in some capacity or other, but what I most prize is the fact that I have gained the respect and esteem of the majority, and although I am about to. leave them as an official I 1 hope always to meet them as a man and a brother. Our committee meets on Friday next, and under the present circumstances I am of -opinion it would be to the advantage of our members here were you to ask them to appoint a delegate pro tern. at that meeting.— Yours truly, J.H.Jose. The report adds We have accepted the resignation with very great regret for various reasons. Bro. Jose has always been a very able and efficient delegate. Gifted with a well- balanced mind, he has alwayshad the strength of will to take upon his shoulders the full responsibility of his office, and although not hesitating to honestly diffei* with the execu- tive officials, yet he has never sought to evade his own responsibilities and put them upon the shoulders of others. It is easy to abuse the E.C. and play to the gallery. Such could never be charged against Bro. Jose, and J we sincerely trust that his successor will be a man able and willing to take up his full responsi- bility and not one who seeks popularity by abuse of others. We hope and believe that Bro.! Jose will in his new position act as fairly aad impartially Us he has done as an official of out sociefcy. (
Y GOLOFN GYMREIG. .
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Y GOLOFN GYMREIG. Dymunir i*n gohebwy* Cymreisf gyfQirio eu gohebiaethau, llyfrau j'w hadotysjq, etc., fe1 y canlvn:—" IFANO, Gil Hedd, BaipiUwin- ttreet, Cardiff."
. AT Y BEIRDD.
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AT Y BEIRDD. Gyda Gruffudd Grug a'i gywy<?4 tnirain, sydd yn y Golofn y tro hwn, yr yflya yn y ganrif o flaen yr hon y blodeupi Dafydd Nan- mor a Rhys Goch o Eryri ynddi: yr ydys gyda'r awdwr yn y bedwaredd ganrif ar ddeg, yn oes Dafydd ap Gwilym, a chyn Eisteddfod Caerfyrddin yn 1451. Doeth yw nodi hyn, oblegyd afreoleidd -dya'r gynghanedd o'i chy- mharu a'r dosbarth a wnaedarni yn yr eistedd- fod honno gan Ddafydd ap Emwnt a'i gyfoedion. Fe deimlir hefyd, yn ddian, fod mynegiant cystrawenol Gruffudd Grug yn henach, ac, o ganlyniad, yn anaws ei ddilyn rhagor yr eiddo Dafydd Nanmor a Rhys Gocte o Eryri; ac fe synnir peth, ond odid, mt ragoriaeth ei gyfoed, Dafydd ap Gwilyiy^«?no mewn symledd iaith a hoender ffansi. Er hynny, o graffu ar RufEudd, hawdd yr ejrheibio i'w • gymhendod ysgolheigaidd i ddbtio ar arucheledd ei feddylddrychau ac i ymennyn yn ffiam ei nwyf angherddol. Cywydd lied anad- nabyddus yw hwn o'i waith, a vgodwyd, fel y lleill a gyhoeddwyd yn y Golofn bon, o Lyfr y Ficer o Woking," 1564-5. Mae cywyddau ymryson Gruffudd Grag a Dafydd ap Gwilym, yn gystal a'u marwnadau y naill i'r Hall, cyn eu marw, yn adnabyddus ddigon, ac i'w gweled yng "N gorchestion y Beirdd "a Cheinion Llenyddiaeth Gymreig." Y Gol., o serch at ddarllenwyr y Golofn, a ryfygodd atalnodi'r cywydd hwn, a gosod y geiriau, Y Bardd ac Y Don" o flaen llinellau cyntaf yr ymgom. Yr ateb i'r gohebwyr sydd wedi sylwi'n ddoeth ar yr amrywiadau yn narlleniad y cywyddau fel y maent yn y. Golofn rhagor i'r hyn ydynt yn y Gorchestion a'r Cein- ion," ydyw hwn :—Mae'r cywyddau at dru- garedd gwybodaeth neu anwybodaeth y copiwyr o'r gynghanedd ac o ffurf y llythyr- ennau mewn hen waith Haw. Addas a chydnaws ddigon i'w cyhoeddi gyda phrawf Gruffudd Grug o'i gariad at anian a'i phethau tlysion, yw dwy gan J. L. Jenkins. Y cy^aundeb agos hwnag Anian, fel ffrwyth hoffder o honi ymhob agwedd arni, yw nod- wedd fyth-swynol barddoniaeth Gymreig er's canrifoedd lawer, tra na ddaeth y bardd Seisnig i'w werthfawrogi Anianhebymgynhen- nu cryn lawer a Wordsworth a Choleridge am gyhoeddi eu "Lyrical Ballads morddiweddar a 1798.
CYWYDD Y DON I YMOFYN AM EI…
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CYWYDD Y DON I YMOFYN AM EI i 'GARIAD. GAN RUFFUDD GRUG. Y Bardd.— Y don ewynlon, wenlas, Rhed i'r gro, raeadr y grls; Hir yw yno i hyr anaig, A hi yn ymgrogi am graig. Amhuredd o berfedd berw Cylla eigbn, cell egerw, Gweilgi glawdd a dy fwriawdd fry, Gwê hirerw—gwae a'i hery Gelyn cynol gweilgi cain — Gwalas mSrfeirch a gwylain, Gwreichion tiwys drochion disdrych, Draie: agur craig egyr, crych; Gan hafn drud, gwn ei hofn draw: Gwfce'r undyn a fo'n ei gwrandaw t v Gwae a wyl o'i hymyl hi Gaer yr hwyl, goror heli I Diasbad o du ysbaen, Mynydd granit, man eddi graen. Mam aig hyd y ffaig, ni pheirch, Morfurym newydd—cwrw morfeirch. Ei mwng a fwrw am angor I Ymhennydd marwferydd m6r— Drwyth yn tywynnu am drwyn Mawr ferw am wallt morforwyn. Mae neidyr ami yn endrych j Llid oer ei gwrid ar ei gwryeh. Yna y daeth enaid y ddn, A'i dyfredd am ei dwyfron, I'm cyrchu neithr, dalleithr dwyll: Megys sarffwen. megais orffwyll- Rhestr o boer: rhwvstr a beroedd: Rhoes hwrdd i'm llong, rhoes fiong floedd; Yna i dywod yn dawel Dyn gain a'm gyrrodd dan gêl. Y Don.—I geisio bardd dyn hardd-dlos, Nag ofned. neb gyfnod nos. Cennad wy', er cyn y dydd, GynniJ, leddf, gan oleuddydd, I geisio Gruffudd ruddgroen Gt yg, os byw; gorugais boen. Hwyrddyn wyl, h»rdd iawn olwg, Hiraeth a deigrfaeth a'm dwg; Gorlliw lloer, garllaw ei llys Y'm garaed, mam aig ynys. Y Bardd.— Dywed, dón lwysgron, leisgreg, Chwedl da am ferch wiwdàl deg. Y Ddn.—Ynial wst yn ol ystum, Wyúeb oer, yno y bum. Y Bardd.— Beth yno, o bu i'th antterch, Os sai' lie rhoes gynt ei serch ? Y Don.-Nid ystig hi—nid ystyr Onis gwylJlu unoes gwyr. Serch ag annerch a gynnail, Sai' o doi adre 0 'th sail; Oni ddeui yn ddiwyd Ar oed byrr Ó rodiaw byd, ( Na cfrais, er dy" farddlais, fudd Ymddiried i em ddeurudd. Dirmygid merch draserch dro Ornai wyl wr ni welo. Y Bardd.- 4 "clawdd Off a, oerfa erfid, Caer Gwdion-myr UongWyr Ilid, Clopl feingrair ewybyr clwyd for-' grainc, Claer farchwen, clyw fangcerwen fainc, Cwys o Wynedd Cas Wennan, C'ais fy mwyn, lawforwyn lan, Ar dy gefn er dygyfor: Na lestafr mwy, lestyr mor. Pe cawn, don, feinwen gennyd, TTnwaith o'th nerth, brydferth bryd, Fy hebrwng i deilwng d.r T t Ger Llvs Faen—ger Uais feinir „ A gweled Gwen, gwyiiad gwiw, Gwiail unllun gwylanlliw, Drimis ni cheisiwn dramwy Nawdd Duw a Mair, un dydd mwy.
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AR I/AITYLLYN. Ar lan y llyn un nawnddydd mwyn, Pob llwyn yn llaw n ° ganu, A phelydr lion yr haul mor fraf Yn dweyd fod haf yn nesu, Cydrodiai dau yn lion cu gwedd, Mewn hwyl a hedd diwenwyn, Y b]odau'n'lIn yn.lliwio'r fan, Ac anian yn ddiddychryn. Ar lan y llyn, un hwyrddydd teg, Yr awel chweg chwareuai, A'r ser yn llu yn gwmni lion Ar fron y nef ddisgleiriai, Ymgomiai dau heb unrhyw nam, t Pob cam yn fehis odiaeth, A meddwl wnaent hyd llwybrau gwyrdd Am ddoethwych ffyrdd Rhagluniaeth. Ar lan y llyn udganai'r gwynt Wrth fynd i'w hynt wlCUgofus. A'r storm yn dod ar archiad lor I'w hymdaith mof ddigt.fus, Cyflymai dau ar ffrwst ynghyd 1 I'w cartref clyd, cysnrus, Tra'r ednod bychain ax bob tu. Yn crynnu yn bryderus. Mae llawer storom enbyd h^r' Er hynny wedi chwythu, N A llawer haf a'i wenau clir Trwy'r tir a fu'n brasgamu; Mae newid heunydd ger y llyn; Ond gwyn yw'r holl adgofion; A digyfnewid ydyw gwen Ddigynnen Enid dirion. Ynysforgan. J. L. Jenkins,
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PWY" Pwy fu'n lliwio 'r wawrddydd dyner, Pan yn cychwyn"'1i.r ei thaith Mor ddirodres yn ei gwylder, I ddihuno'r cread maith ? j Pwy fu'n paentio'r gweunydd,tlyaion, Gyda'r iiiloedd llygaid dydd, A'r prydferthion bach melynion, -Ddawnsiant yn yr awel rydd? Pwy roes Hw y gwaed i'r rhosyn- Gwisg mor dlos i'r lili lan— Llunio cfi-n i fwyn aderyn— Llhvio blodau'r grug yn dan,— Galw'r dail yn fyrdd i'r goedwig— Galw'r nentydd yn eu tro 1 Gyda'u llif yr ant yn ddlddig: Mynnant ddisychedu r fro. Pwy roes lwybr i'r afonydd I droelli tua'r aig— Hyfdra a serthedd balch i'r mynydd, A chadernid fyth i'r graig— Plygu'r ddaear a'i holl gynttwys Fel dilledvn heb un trwst— I Gyrru allan o baradwys Yr anufudd ar fawr ffrwst? Pwy fu'n tawel iawn ariannu Seren fach ar fron y nef— Cad w heuliau rhag vmwylltu Gyda chadarn nerthol Jef- Llauw'r cwmwl o fsndithion I'w gwasgaru dros y tir. A gorchymyn i angylion e Agor drws i'r weddi glir? Pwy fu'n hwylió pob cerddediad Rhag ymlithro ar y rhawd,—• Rhoi defnyddiau i gympriad Ddal holl groesau sen a ? Pwy fu'n trefnu ffyrdd Rhagluniaeth Yn eu glwys gysondeb gwiw? Medd tafodau'r greadigaeth, A chredadyn, Neb ond Duw." Ynysforgan- J. L. Jenkins.
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oui a I By the Wit of a Woman. Bji JOHN DEVEREL DAGNALL, Author of The Grey Wolf," &c., &c. It was when the late Lord Dufferin-rourtli- est and most gallant of diplomatists—had been taking the world into his confidence in one of those charming speeches of his, and had ad- mitted that he never took any step,.however small, without first consulting his wife. I remember telling Sir Marcus Crawley this as we sat together in his private room at his offices in Victoria-street. The famous old engneer smiled, as he sat in his chair, and said —" I agree entirely with Lord Dufferin. A woman's wit will often succeed where a man's brain and training fail. I will tell you an instance of this. It resulted in my having this bookcase made as a souvenir." He laid his ) hand affectionately on the oaken case or book- rack which stood near his table, and continued —" I don't think you have ever heard its history ?" Ijshook my head and he began his story. It was in the year 1845—the year of the great boom in railways. They had become a pronounced success, and half the world was mad to speculate1 in them. Huge fortunes were being made and lost, and this year saw the climax, for between two and three hundred schemes became law. Now one of the regulations of the Acts of Parliament of those days was that all plans and surveys of a proposed railway should be deposited in the offices of the Board of Trade ndt later that the 30th of November in the year preceding that in which an Act of Parli- ament was to be sought. If one was a day later later a whole year was lost in the mean- time a rival scheme might become law, and one might be completely ousted by it. Conse- quently there was a great rush at the last moment to file the plans and papers required. I need only remind you of the intense hostility with which a large number of landowners opposed the railways—even using violence to prevent measurements of their land being made, to recall the great difficulty there was in getting plans completed by the required date. There was no ordnance survey then. And there was always the hostility of rival promo- ters to be reckoned with. Such was the case with the Northern Junction Railway in 1845. It was to join the North of England to Har- wich, and not only was there a powerfully- supported rival scheme, but also tHere was the open hostility of landowners here and there to overcome. As the months slipped by our plans were completed, save only for that portion of our line which was to go through the land of old Squire Botsford—near Harwich itself. We could not get any sort of a survey of it; so careful a watch had he kfeptlon all strangers in the^ieighbourhood of His parkand land. He posted gamekeepers, or tenants with dogs and cddgfels everywhere, and had his own grounds patrolled day and night, threatening to blow out the brains of anyone who should trespass. His land ran for a long way by the banks of the riVer, and the wofcst of it wis that it formed one of the most vitally impor- tant parts of our scheme, and it was absolutely essential for my principals to obtain some sort of a survey of it. And as November came round and (except for this) our plains became copiplete, it was decided to have them litho- graphed at once, and to leave space for this small portion to be filled in by hand. Litho- graphed they were, though not without diffi- culty, for there was even a shortage of litho- graphic stones in the country owing to the number of schemes that were to be placed before Parliament. And theji came the last week of November, and ourfinal difficulty was yet to be overcome. Things looked black indeed, for any attempt to obtain some sort of survey by force had been defeated by the Squire in person, with a small army of men, the junior partner of our firm had returned in dudgeon to London with a broken head, and threats of a prosecution for trespass hanging over him. The Squire was said to be ill in bed with inflammation bf the lungs, caught through his nightly watches to prevent an entry on his land. The junior partner vowed he would have Nothing more to do with the matter, and it began to look as if our firm would lose what was likely to be one of the greatest chances it had ever had when I, young as I was, stepped into the breach and offered myself as a forlorn hope. The head of the firm and Feltham—the solicitor in charge of the matter—were in consultation together when I did this, and I well rgmember Feltham's half-quizzical, half-curious question. Well, young gentleman, how do you expect to succeed, where we have aU failed ?" It was then that I had to admit that, al- -tha«gh-I h**d,aao Mvery, 4efwaitQ,plawH^I ■fcnewrilje, neighbourhood very we1"- for my fiancee— Norah Mayne—lived in the self-same village as Squire Botsford. What I did not say was that, when our plans for the railway had first been mooted, I had told Nprah, and tfiat it was at her suggestion that I had waited until the difficulty over the plans had arisen, as we anticipated. "For," said she, "if you ask them to let you do what you can now, your services will be taken as a-tnatter of course, and they will not be specially beholden to you. But they do not send you, and fail in obtain- ing their plan, and you then volunteer and succeed where they have failed then they will have to acknowledge themselves in your debt/ A suggestion which seemed so worldly-wise to me that I adopted it, and afterwards forgot that it had been suggested by Norah—which brings to the story I am now telling you. "Let the boy go," said Feltham, when I had said what I had to say. He can but fail, and if he succeeds—well we, I hope, shall be some- thing more than graceful to him." And so it happened that on the next day- Sunday—I arrived at Hawford Village on a visit to Norah and her mother with carte blanche" to do what I thought fit to com- plete the plans, so that I did not openly break the law. It would be a- near shave in any case, and I should have to set to work quickly, for the Sunday following was the 30th of Novem- ber and so great was the rush to deposit plans and documents that was even then begin- ning, that the Board of Trade offices in White- hall, it was publicly announced, were to be kept open until midnight on that day—to the very last minute in fact that the law allowed. The days went by, and Itttle by little I added to the plans, reporting progress each ,day to Feltham, who was staying at the Red Lion at Harwich, and only communicated with me by letter, in order to avoid suspicion. I did not quite see the use of his being there, but he had insisted on it in case of difficulties," as he putit.. The Eastern Counties Railway, in those days ran no farther than Chelmsford, so that there was a nineteen mile drive from Harwich if I completed my plans, as I hoped to do, on the Sunday. On Sundays there were two trains to London, one at 8.30 in the morning, and the other at 6 in the evening, and they arrived in London in a little over two hours. There was the possibility of accident or design preventing my catching the train. This I said to Norah as we were talking matters over, and, boy-like, I informed her with triumph that I had thought of a better plan than relying solely on the railway. And what is that ?" said she. "Simply," I replied, "to post up to London. The offices will be open until mid- night,anp there will be just. time to do it if we miss the train. I will trust no one but my self." And do you not think, tbat if they find out What you are here for, and interfere with the traiM, that they will not also have foreseen, and defeat your plan for posting up to London ?" Pooh—I have taken care for that," I answered her. "Besidts, Feltham agrees with me, and is himself making all the arrange- ments." It is so powerful a combination, then," re- turned Norah, laughing, a London lawyer and an engineer turned surveyor ? I suppose my poor wits could not hope to cope with you, or to suggest any alternative ?" | I imagine that I must have been;aj^noyei at the doubts Norah cast on the success of our great scheme for outwitting both the railway company and the Squire, for I foolishly an- swered her, that though she was a good and clever girl j I did not think they could. And this nettled her, and led to my receiving a lesson which I have never forgotten. Very Well," said Norah, with that pretty little toss of her head I knew so well. Then we shall see. But (I am not to be prevented from doing my little best, in my own poor way, to help you after all." ,I And what is that ?" I answered. "Nevermind," and Norah went off to talk to the servants. Meanwhile, Squire Botsford's illness, it was reported in the village, had taken i a serious turn. There were cross-summonses out for kssault and battery down to be heard as a result of my principal's luckless expedi- tion, so I had had a suspicion that the illness was more or less diplomatic. But although I did not Wish to feel glad at another man's sickness, I could not but feel thankful that it rendered the putting into operation of my own plans the easier. I need not trouble you with the details,but little by little as the week went by, I had completed my survey. Past walks with Norah and an excellent memory did a good deal. A final successful excursion on the very last night gave me the completing details, atad though I was chased off the land by the keeper, I hoped that I had not been recqg- nised. for Ifondlv believed that I had keptjmy mission secret. When I returned I told Norah over the supper with. triumph at my success-' ful escape, adding that I was sure I was not known. She did not say anything indeed, she was unusually thoughtful all that evening; but after supper she left us in order to write a letter which she said she must send in to Har- wich at once. I set to work, and before mid- night had competed my plans. The six o'clock train on the following day was a certainty for me. It was in a jubilant mood that I rose that Sunday morning of the 30th November. My success in my mission meant my success in life. I was a made man in my own eye?. Norah would be my wife before the year was out. Strange to say, Norah's thoughtfulness in- creased as I told her of the hopes that were swelling in my heart, so much so that I rallied her upon it, and announced my intention of accompanying her and her mother to church, and of not leaving until after the midday din- ner. Hawford was two miles from Harwich,but I could easily walk in after the meal and join Feltham by half-past two as we had arranged. This would leave us ample time to drive to Chelmsford and get there before six. But Norah pleaded a headache, and did not go to church, begging me to accompany her mother, a request with which I reluctantly cofnplied. There was at least one sincerely thankful worshipper in the congregation that morning. When we returned there was another dis- appointment in the shape of a note from Norah saying that she had been summoned away to a friend's,and would not be abe to see me before I left. There was also one from Feltham, in- forming me that he expected me at 2.30, and reminding me that in case of accident, relays of post horses had been arranged, as we had agreed, from Chelmsfqrd to London. Strange things were done in those days, and it was not well to rely on an advertised train starting even when an hostile scheme was on foot. I delayed my departure as long as I could, hoping that Norah would return, and then set off discontentedly on foot, carrying the bag in which were the precious plans that had cost so much trouble to obtain. It was just after the half-hour by the time I reached Harwich, and asked for Feltham. To my utter astonishment I received the totally unexpected reply, He has just gone, sir." What Gone ?" I almost shouted, unable to Believe my own ears. Yes, sir—paid his bill and left." Did he leave no message for me—no letter for anyone ?" None, sir." I gasped with astonishment. It was incred- ible. Had Feltham gone over to the enemy ? Impossible. Should Lwait ? And wait I did for half an hour in the utmost anxiety and con- cern, plying everyone with inquiries, and even in my anxiety sending out to see if he was anywhere else in the place. All to no purpose. Feltham had evidently left without me. Thank heaven I had the plans. Worn out at last, I ordered the carriage, to meet with a new sur- prise. There was none to be had. Feltham had taken the only one—it was the only one in the place as I afterwards discovered-and had driven off in it. There was nothing for it but to walk to Chelmsford. And walk I did, and carried my bag the whole of the eighteen miles there, only to find, of course, on reaching the railway station, that the train had left for London shortly before I got thore. No sign of Feltham. I knew not what to think, and began to fear that he was the victim of some deep- laid scheme, and had been spirited away, I was now fully prepared to find that the post carriage and horses he had arranged for were also wanting. Can I have a special train to London ?" I inquired of the stationm aster, who was eyeing me with a curious look. A special train as already been ordered," he replied, And we have not another engine for a second train." A ray di hope flashed across my mind. Then, perhaps, the passen- gers wilt allow me to travel with them," I said. Possibly, sir," he replied. "At any rate you might ask them." "Whose train is it 1" I asked. It is to convey the body of Squire Bots- ford, of Hawford, to London for burial art Kensal Green," he answered. This was too much. I sank on a seat in des- pair. I should never get that permission even if the old squire were dead. Dead or living, he would defeat us if possible. Was he dead ? I had heard nothing about it. True I had been busy with my own schemes j but still I should have thought it impossible for the'news not to have gone about the village and So to have reached us. What was more than probable was that the train had been ordered by him simply to anticipate the chance of our obtaining one. I left the station in despair, but determined to do my best, by all the means at my command; in order to secure horses and a carriage for London- There waS yet time to cover the fifty miles before.midnight. In the street, on my way back intdythe town, I encountered a hearse, followed by a mourning coach, on its way < to the station. It was true then the old squire was dead after all. I ale most felt glad of it, so much anxiety had the old wretch given me. Whoever and whatever had caused my difficulty at Harwich, there was none in store for me at Chelmsford. The post carriage had been ordered right enough, and was in waiting so at last, thoroughly Wopn out, I • stitvk into the carriage' tnJshions with a sigh of relief. and started on my jour- ney to London, certain that if no further acci dents occurred there was yet 1 ime for me to arrive at the Board of Trade offices before midnight and file the papers. After all that had happened I was on the qui vive for further mishaps, and was pre- pared for anything, even the being waylaid. Much to my relief, however, everything went well. We changed our horses with celerity at the usual stages, and at last arrived in London. Never was the sight of its smoky outskirts more welcome to me, and even our old familiar friend—the November fog—seemed cheery. It Was*pa3t eleven when we passed the East- ern Counties terminus, but I could not forbear1 stopping and inquiring whether the evening trrain had come in from Chelmsford. As I half expected, I received the reply, No, the engine had broken down, and althought it was due at ten minutes past eight, it was not in yet." I did not for a moment believe in this breakdown. It was a designed stoppage. Our plans had got wind/sure, enough, and it was owing to my foresight in reverting to the old posting arrangements, as I plumed myself, that I had got through. What had become of Felt- ham I did not know.* Anyhow, I was through the enemy's lines with the-plans, and I bade the post-boy drive as fast as he could to Whitehall, opened my bag, and took out the bundle Óf papers tied with red tape ready at hand, and held them so that there should be no loss of time. Heaven help me. I even began to crow over Norah in my own mind, for I was a little sore at her allowing me to leave withovit seeing-her. My thoughts went wandering on as the carriage rumbled through the fog, until at last I came to myself with a start, as it stopped, and the flfost-bov descending came to the door and an- nounced that he did not know where he was. He had lost his way in the fog. Ass that I was never to have thought of this. To jump out and ascertain where we were was but the work of a moment. We had overshot our mark and were in Pimlico, and itjwanted but a quarter before twelve.. At the very last, and in such a stupid way, was the risk of defeat staring me in the face. I knew the neighbourhood, and in a few moments:the post-boy was driving like a mad- man in the right direction, while my brain was throbbing, and my heart in my mouth with anxiety. At last we reached Whitehall., But the clocks were striking the hour as we arrived at the Board of Trade offices. Papers in hand I jumped from the carriage and ran up the steps. The door was closing. I threw the papers inside before it had quite shut, in a last motion of despair, only to see the door re-open and have my papers thrown back at my feet. I was too late—all was over. I could have sat on the steps and cried with vexation, to be beaten at the last and by so slight a thing. Our scheme was now delayed for a whole year, and in the meantime our rivals' bill was fairly certain to become law. We could not oppose—we had nothing to show. I told the post-boy sadly enough to drive to my lodging, and (omitting to notice that he had no trouble in finding them), paid him, though not so liberally as I should have done had I succeeded, and dismissed him. My supper lay on my table in readiness for me but I had not the heart to eat it. I placed the papers on it, and sitting down in my arm- chair, buried my face in my hands and aban- doned myself to bitter reflection*. There they were—those papers for which I had done so much,and on which I had built so many" cas- tles in Spain "—useless. I took them up, and untying the red tape idly looked at them. What! I turned them over feverishly. They were not the plans, at Sheets of blank/paper un- folded themselves. This was too much. I began to laugh out loud. I had been doubly fooled, and had been racing over the country in the endeavour jbo file blank sheets of paper. Beaten all round, and at every point I began to wonder where and when the plans had been abstracted. No good wondering. That would not help me, and anyhow the result was the same. I resigned myself to going to bed, and was just looking for a candle, when there was a knock at the front door. J I wondered who it could ife at such an hour, but as the knock was repeated, and my land lady, I was sure, had gone to bed long ago, I went and opened it myself. Norah!—Norah and Feltham !—I could hardly believe my eyes. Forgetful of Feltham's presence, Norah gasped out, It's all right. Marcus—I could not rest without telling you," and then fell on my neck in a half faint. I helped her intjo my room and then perfectly stupid with surprise looked at Feltham for an explanation. He would tell me' nothing at first, but that the papers were safe and had been filed in time, for he wanted to leave it to Norah but she laughed and wept and choked so much with joy in her attempts to do so, and I became so impatient, that eventually he had to do so himself. First of all," said Feltham, Squire Bots- ford isn't dead, and his illness was nothing but a sham. He knew all about you from the very first, ks I soon found out. The only person who was not known, and whose mission was not suspected was myself. But I should have been helpless, but for this young lady. It seems that the Squire was in a great state of mind over the free fight that occurred on the last attempt to take a survey, and had resolved that this time be would use cunning. Hence the reports of his serious illness, and (when he heard that you were likely to complete every- 1 thing) the secret arrangements for the bref £ down of the ordinary train service. At last, as, thanks to this young lady here, found out in the nick of time, he even engage a spocial train to convey himself as a de*7 man to London, circulating a report of 1m death. He did not intend to make any use j* it, but.simply wanted to prevent your so. I have not the slightest doubt even befor I ask you that he had tampered with y^f postboys, and that you did not reach *■ Board of Trade in time 1" < He\e he looked at me inquiringly, ana < nodded, remembering how the postboy cunningly contrived to be late at the last. Well, the only thing to do was to let defeat your attempt to reach London it tin1, with the plains, and toadoptsome other .getting therrf there. I had hard work to indf", this young lady to acquiesce in this withoW informing you, but at the last she suddenly yielded, and agreed to substitute the blaO papers (which I see you have discovered) fot the completed plans." I looked at Norah ruefully, and reddened as I remembered my challenge to her, and say bow I had been outwitted. Feltham conti: nuedr- Then )came the question of how the p\A ± were to go to London, and—it was a brilli^1} idea, for which no credit is due to me—W0? young lady suggested that we should carry °°.. 1. the Squire's idea, which we knew he could oo do himself, and ourselves take the papers London. So—to cut a long story short— obtained the assistance of an undertaker, your plans in a coffin, disguised ourselves & mourners, took the Squire's train to London arriving some time before you, filed the re* plans, and here we are." < Feltham slapped me on the back and with laughter as he added: There is on1, one thing to do now, and that is to ask y°^f pardon for having allowed you to be are herring, and divert the scent." But Norah had her hand in mine and whispering: Forgive, Marcus. It was only way. I did so want to call out ™ you when I saw you from the mourning riage. But Mr Feltham stopped me." And I forgot Feltham's presence in a VIIaý which made him congratulate me afterwards. There is not much to add. We carried scheme through Parliament, and it was making of me. Squire Botsford never got 0, the storm of ridicule, which the manner e had been foiled in, involved him in, and soon after died in good earnest. I obtained the coffin as spoils of war, and Norah would not let me keep it, I had bookcase made out of it. And now you kn° why I always defer to my wife's opinion. (The End.) Next Week— THE BACHELOR'S BEAUTY-SLEEP' By L. B. Walford.
SOME CARDIFF REMINISCENCE8
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SOME CARDIFF REMINISCENCE8 Mr Lewis Williams, speaking on Sunday 1 Roath-road Wesleyan Church, said the news MrvIra D. Sankey's death recalled the memor' able visit to Cardiff in the summer of 1874, with Mr D. L. Moody and Professor Heo1^ Drummond. They utilised a large built for a circus where the new Post Offic, .has been erected and the Wood-street for the meetings. Thousands were unable to gain admittance. The three evangelists then at the zenith of their power. mission was attended with remarkable resultS. Mr Ira D. Sankey's great aim was not to i.J1l' press you that he was a great singer, but Vll'ltb the conviction that he had a great mesasge JP deliver in song. He possessed the happy of hiding himself behind the song and the sage, and so impressed it that for after you could hear the street arabs singing the melodies in all parts of the to^ In answer to the charge raised by some criti^~ here, the missionaries both stated that tD whole of the proceeds of the sale of tb^ books had been vested in well-kno^ trustees for evangelistic work in this country* Professor Henry Drummond, who had coi# from Glasgow at his own expense, said evening that D. L. Moody was the great^ human" he had ever met. It was in the h°&\ that he (Mr Williams) saw the charming si1J1' plicity of their life. Mr Sankey used to devo&~ the morning in going through the •with the message that he was to sing ,eaf0 afternoon and evening. It was at Cardiff composed two of his most popular hymns songs. He was greatly impressed with w* Welsh singing and the readiness of the cro'ff^ in Cardiff to pick up a melody. Mr Moody subsequently returned to Cardiff, and at hiS request preached at the Roath-road Church, little thinking that a boy in th»* Sunday school, Campbell Morgan, was to the man selected to carry on his work at death for five years in America.
STORIES OF FAMOUS EVANGELIST.
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STORIES OF FAMOUS EVANGELIST. Mr Ira David Sankey, the world-renoWOe^ singing evangelist, passed away on Thursday night in Brooklyn at the age of 68. Five ago he was stricken with blindness, another sorrow came laterwhen his eldest went mad, railing at religion as a fraud an^y professors of religion as impostors. Mr SaO*fl^ nkd accumulated considerable property, handed over the royalties cm his musical positions to religious objects. I interviewed great evangelist at Brooklyn once (says Telegraph correspondent), and he that his .favourite hymns first and last Ninety and Nine and When the have rolled away." It is estimated that & songbooks attained a circulation of 40,000,000 copies. Famous Pair. Many thousands of people will recall Ira Sankey and his fellow-evangelist, Dwight Moody. It is 35 years since their first visit £ England, and that visit was the most mem0 able. The two friends had first met in the P' ceding year—1870—at a convention of Young Men's Christian Association held} Annapolis. Mr Sankey was a native of Ed0* burgh, in Pennsylvania, where he was bpf on August 28th, 1840. His father, the David Sankey, had at one time beenamem of the State Senate. Very early in life he VII:' famous for his singing in the Methodist EPgø copal-Church to which he was attached. Ii joined the Army of the North in the Civil War, and was not less famous there f?ø his singing of the hymns among the boys J, blue." After his military experiences he ried and settled in Newcastle, and in town in 1867 erected a fine building the Young Men's Association at a of 40,000 dollars—all realised by the sale of h Gospel Hymns." Three years later, when he met Mr MoodV the latter having heard Sankey sing, f Where are you from ? Are you married • What is your business ?" To which San^eJ replied that he came from a wife and two childreri, and was in Govern,' ment service. "You will have ) ogive thatup» said Mr Moody. What for ?" To coroe, j Chicago and help me in my work." B^ cannot lea vie my business." You musk answered Moody. I have been looking you for the last eight years." The result known—one of the most successful evange^ tic missions since the days >of Wesley Whitfield. Lord Salisbury once observed,' Mr Sankey has done no more than teach to people to sing Hold th$Fort,' he has ferred an inestimable blessing on the Briti^ Empire." Cemptssd as He Sang. Describing the way in which he There were Ninety and Nine," Mr San* said that while travelling by train fr £ Glasgow to Edinburgh and reading a ne^\ piper his eye fell upon a poem about a sh^ herd and his sheep. He felt it would make j. great song and preserved it. Next d»y,^0 Edinburgh Mr Moody preached on T*V Good Shepherd." Mr Sankey had no apPvU priate solo, but the impression came upon Sing the hymn a,nd make the/tune as you along." He placed the^newspaper cutting 0. the harmonium and Hegan to sing the t1;lØ, which afterwards beca*ne famous. The lI^ pression made on the audience was very de^P' and hundreds were in tears,
ALLEGED PARENTAL NEGLECT-
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ALLEGED PARENTAL NEGLECT- Seridus Cardiff Case. A week ago to-day Alexander Fraser and his wife, Sarah Fraser (40), living at No- 0 Helen-street, Roath. were brought before 1- locaLmagistrates (Dr. Mullin aid AldermaP Jenains) on the charge of neglecting their children in a manner likely to cause them necessary suffering. These five children, of respective ages of 12, nine, five, three and 0 years, had been previously removed to > workhouse, the youngest (Malcolm being then in a serious condition. & child died on Saturday last, and it is expe £ vj that a post-mortem examination will be b to-day. -ci At the police court last Monday Mr F-j Ensor (town clerk's office), who prdsecut^ applied for a remand of the prisoners, wD1 was granted until to-morrow (Tuesday)v. 0 consequence of the- serious condition of ™ baby (Malcolm Fraser.) CD Inspector Bingham, who then gave evide»j0 in the case, said he arrested the feE?elJ- prisoner under a warrant at No. 40, 2e.nto street, and received the male prisoner custody later at Roath Police Station. >fc formally chargjed, Mrs Fraser replied, jine take me give me another chance," and male prisoner's reply was, "I didn't do Blame me for what my wife done."
BRIDGEND GUARDIANS.
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BRIDGEND GUARDIANS. At a meeting of Bridgend BoaM of dians on Saturday, Mr J. I. D. Nicholl ihg, it was reported that there was an in the number of conscientious objectlonSttJe vaccination. It was resolved to apply to tile Dunraven Estate for, the lease or sale to Board of a piece of land adjoining the y house garden for garden purposes in the P fot of the land which the Board propose to uS? building a new board room. There was a tll90f¡ discus ion on the motion by Mr T. J. Job tivJ1 the Board take into consideration the of increasing the staff at the infirmary. motion was rejected. A resolution wa3.Rafof thanking Colonel and Mrs Turbervill having entertained 20 of the old inmates of Workhouse at Ewpnny Priory.