Penarth Chronicle and District Advertiser

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Executed at the Chronicle Office, Penarth.

II WHY, she actually cut Mr. Stortlington, and Storflington, you know, is ene of the better sort." Yes; choice cuts come high now, but we must have 'em." AH, how these rain clouds do oppress The blithesome summer girl They fill her soul with gloom because Her hair won't stay in curl. "Have you heard that the big sleeves are going out, George, dear ?" "Yes, my love, I have, but I don't believe it." Why not, pray ?" I don't believe they can get through the door." DOESN'T Mrs. Noowoman strike you as a person of remarkably decided opinions ?" Naw. She can't make up her mind, apparently, whether she wants to be a gentleman or a lady." MR. DUNN (unpaid bill in his hand): When shall I call again, Mr. Owens?" Mr. Owens: "Well, it wotild hardly be proper for you to call again until I have returned the present call." Hic: "Wasn't Brown's wife named Stone before she was married ?" She Yes, and it was a very suitable name." He What do you mean ?" She: Oh, nothing! Only she threw herself at his head." How shall we shun the microbe That assails us at each breath ? If he can't kill us otherwise He'll frighten us to death. MARRIED sighed the elderly friend. Mar- ried, and with no provisions for the future." No," smilingly chirped the young bride, there are no provisions for the future in the house. He just detests conned goods."

BRUISES AND CUTS. These are happening every day, but it is marvellous how quickly HOMOCEA TOUCHES THE SPOT, taking away all pain, reducing all inflammation, and Bubduing all irritation by its wonderful healing properties. Homocea should be in every home. Price, 111% and 2/9 per box or by post, 1/3 and 3s. EXANO (HOMOCEtA FORT) Is the strong form of Homocea made especially for deep-seated rheumatic paitis-m. ()re especially of the joints, and for pains in the chest, bronchitis, &c., but it is not to be used for open wouncls, sores, og delicate parts of the body. We guarantee this ointment, and in every case when purchased dkecfc from us, we will refund the money if relief is not obtained! by the purchaser. Prit-e, 2a. 9d. per box, 3s. by post. HOMOCEA- SOAP. HOMOCEA SOAP. This soaj^ contains tfee valw^We propertffes Of the Homocea tintment, ana is cet-feamiy a perfeofe toiled soap but as a medical soap, it is of great value, especially in the nursery, and for all who have delicate skins, Price, 9d. and Is. 3d. a cake, or 2a. and 3s. per box postage, 2d. and 3d. extra. All the above preparations can be had from Chemists, Druggists, &c., or direct by post from the Homocea Company, 22, Hamilton Square. Birkenhead.

pathy towards the prisoner. ITer honest face was t speedily visible at Anna's bedside. Then came a i difficulty as to tongues. The language of the eye, the loving-kindnes of the tone, though deeply sooth- ing to the wounded spirit of the stricken girl, were unable to satisfy her hunger for a womanly bosom into which to pour her sorrows. Nor could Mrs. White hope to effect any actual goo d, to awaken real con- trition for the sins of a misspent life, without that free communication with her penitent which a common language affords. Like the police magis- trate, therefore, she resorted to a compromise. Upon her next visit to the infirmary, the widow was accompanied by her son, Raymond, for whose admission she had procured leave from the governor of the prison. The young man at once addressed Anna in her native tongue, and in subsequent inter- views acted as interpreter between her and his mother. chap 6 The first use Anna made of this opportunity was in eager inquiry for her child. She was told that it was better, that it was recovering strength, that it should be brought to her when able to be removed. A glow of thankful gratitude lighted up her faded features at the news, and blessings upon her bene- factors poured aver her lips. From that hour she grew notably worse. It seemed as if she had only been kept alive by anxiety to know her infant's fate. The circumstances under which these three persons were thrown together rapidly established a species of confidence between them. They formed, as it were, a separate world from the other inmates in the ward. The widow, through Raymond, pressed Anna to ac- 11 m quaint her as far as possible with the story of her life in the hope of gaining some clue to the mysterious M. Louis, who had rid himself of his burden by so heart- less an artifice. For a long time the girl refused to lift the veil. The entreaties of the widow, however, finally pre- vailed. One summer's evening, as the sun-rays glinting athwart the barred infirmary windows, shed their sinking beams upon the attentuated figure of the dying girl, she told her benefactress all. That evening, also, she was to see her child for the first time since she had given it up in the police-court. Sit away from me, if you please, kind sir," she said to Raymond, while I speak. The only face which I can dare to look upon when all is told is that of your noble-hearted mother." The young man willingly complied. Prurient curiosity has no place in pure and simple natures, and of such was his. Then, in a faint and trembling voice, gathering strength as she proceeded, yet broken often by the breathless weakness incident to her disease, Anna Marris related her miserable story. chap 6 About four years ago, when I was just fifteen, I came with father and mother to London. My native place is Halle, and I am Saxon born. Father left home because he heard that he could get better wages in England. So it turned out. He had good employ- ment, received plenty of money, and we were all happy. Mother and I worked at millinery for a great house up in Regent-street, for mother was very clever with her neecTp, and I did all she told me. Our only trouble was about mother's health. Father was afraid she was inclined to consumption. So things went on for three months. Then one day father came home at noon from the shop with a bad headache, and shiverings, and pains all over his body. We got him to bed, thinking he'd perhaps over-exerted himself the night before, and would be well next day. But he got worse. Mother was frightened, and fetched a doctor. Father was very angry when I told him where she was gone, and wouldn't speak to the doctor when he came. He was always a hard man, was father. The doctor went away, but beckoned me to come into the passage, and said, as well as I could under- stand, that father was very ill, and might get worse. If he did, I wasn't to mind his being angry, but to fetch him at once. That night father went out of his mind. It was as much as we two could do with all our strength to keep him in bed. He raved at the clothes for being so hot, declared we wanted to kill him, and frightened us terribly. When at last he fell asleep, I fetched the doctor. "The doctor shook his head as he looked at father, lying in bed all flushed, and red with the fever that was heavy upon him, and said he would send some cooling medicine. The medicine came, and we coaxed him to take a little but it did no good, kind lady, not a bit. It was father's fate that he should die in foreign land, and nobody can escape their fate." Mrs. White thought it hardly worth while to inter- pose, though this fatalist doctrine-very prevalent, by the way, among the German lower classes-grated sorely upon her ears. The girl went on: It was all no good. Father's time was come. He grew worse and worse so weak, too, that he couldn't turn himself in bed, and mother and I weren't able to move him. So there he lay. The doctor was very kind. He came to see him every now and then, and sent plenty of medicine; but he had so much to do, as the fever was all about the neighbourhood, that he conldn't come often, and when he did he only shook his head and looked very grave. At last the fever left father, and he came back to his senses but he was so feeble and exhausted that he was just like a baby. He couldn't lift his hand or turn his head. When he I tried to speak, you had to put your ear quite close to his lips and listen; and then his voice sounded as if it came from a long way off. The doctor said he might still recover if he could only have fresh air and plenty of good food, and told us he ought to get strong beef-tea, and soups, and port wine three or four times a day. Beef-tea and port wine when we had scarcely bread Why, we could no more give him these things than if the doctor had said he must eat gold. His illness had used up all our little savings, and everything but the bed he laid on had been taken to the pawnshop. And so-and so-he died." And so he died A simple, common story enough; yet not less grievous, less fraught with sin and suf- fering to this wretched pauper convict, than if she had been a duchess. Mother had .been ailing for some time before father was taken ill," she continued and his death prostrated her fully. She was only ill a fort- night. Then she, too, was taken away, and I was left alone—alone, in that great, strange city, without a friend or even a face I l<ne,w, except some of the lodgers in the house, and the forewoman at the large millinery shop in Reg< Vit-street But I got over it somehow, and was e\W> beginning to feel a little reconciled to life, when lfirst saw M. Louis." Some cooling drink wasViven to the patient, which seemed to refresh her. sun had sunk behind the roofs of the opposite houses rv>w, and its dying glory dappled the sky with irregi'SJar patches of purple, j white, and gold. An expression of impatience escaped Anna at the delay in bringing her the child, and she continued :—

r"TTrs £ ~metr M. Louis one evening when I was returning from taking some work to Regent Street. It was raining hard, and he offered me the shelter of his umbrella home. Afraid of getting wet, I accepted the offer. He soon found I was a stranger, and spoke to me in German. Ah it was so sweet to hear the sound of my mother-tongue in that great wilderness of strange houses and unknown people. I think this must have been the reason why I was first attracted towards him. M. Louis was well-dressed and hand- some, and seemed to have plenty of money. At first I felt afraid of him, for my mother always told me, dear lady, that a poor girl must beware of gentlemen above her in position, who only seek her acquaintance for base and cruel ends. So I kept out of his way for some time, coming and going with my work at different hours. But as he had found out where I lived when he saw me home, he called upon me one day, and asked how it was he never met me. I told him that a gentleman like him could have nothing good to say to such a poor girl as I, and that it. was best we should not meet. He called me a prim i. ttle goose, and declared he meant nothing wrong. A lId- and—he spoke so kindly, all in my own dear language, lady, that I believed him. chap 6 Well, that happened at last which I ought to have foreseen, and I was a lost and shameful girl. Then M. Louis asked me to come and live with him as his wife. I told him, if he had any honour in him, he would repair the injury he had done, by making me his wife indeed. But he only laughed, told me again I was a silly little goose, and declared he would never desert me. We were married, he said, in spirit, and that was enough for any sensible person. Would I come and live with him ? What could I do, dear lady ? My self-respect was gone. Besides, I really did love M. Louis, in spite of the way in which he had behaved to me. At least, I thought I loved him. I see now it was my fancy, not my heart, that was really touched. M. Louis and I then lived together as man and wife. But, as I told the gentleman who sent me here, I never knew his other name or his business, or any- thing more about him. Stay," said the girl, check- ing herself and drawing with difficulty a small parcel from beneath her pillow, this is his picture. Keep it, kind lady, that you may know him if chance should ever bring you together." She handed the photograph to Mrs. White. It was the likeness of a dark-complexioned man of about forty, with commonplace features, a sensual mouth, the cheeks and chin closely shaven, but blue with the stubble of a thick dark beard. The eyes of the por- trait were peculiar—lurking, crafty, cruel. It was not the face of a man you could trust. The widow placed it on the table by the bedside. Oh, my baby, my baby!" moaned Anna. "Am I never to see her again ?" Mrs. White pacified her with the assurance that the arrival of the'ehild would not\be long delayed. "I hope not—oh! I hope not!" gasped the girl. What is to become of her when I am gone I do not know, for she has not a friend in the world." So long as I live, Anna," said the widow,"solemnly, through Raymond, your child shall never want a friend." Bless you, dear lady, bless you for those precious words sobbed Anna. "I was hoping, hoping you would speak them, but dared not ask. Bless you for this mercy to the wretched and the fatherless She may well say fatherless," said Raymond to his mother. If this scoundrel were ever discovered, it would be atrocious to consign the child to his hands." "That shall never be!" returned his mother de- cisively. "But urge her to end her story. She will be more composed when she has told us all." chap a (To be continued.)