Papurau Newydd Cymru
Chwiliwch 15 miliwn o erthyglau papurau newydd Cymru
13 erthygl ar y dudalen hon
i;rr,F!Ts RESERVED."
i;rr,F!Ts RESERVED." 'TWIXT CUP AND LIP. BY XAXXIE LAMBERT, J.n'hwens of "Spriilg leaves,"Thought* Oil the "Talmud," CHAPTER II. (Con till urd ) We find, besides the ordinary paraphernalia, twelve pounds in gold. No other money—no other of any kin 1, —no wilt, no papers We search diligently, turning everything' carefully out then Jfon-i'eiir Corvicr looks up, and says-" This desk has been tampered with I know it quite as well as he I have felt sure of it yet we are powerless to accuse, and I tell him so. Then, with grave faces and careful lingers, we ex- amine every drawer and hiding-place the house con- tlinll. Our search occupies hours, but nothing comes of it. The nurse rouses 'herself, and aids us languidly the elder servant aids us with all her might. She tells in that there was a large escritoire, wh rh the owner of the house removed shortly after my father's tenancy commenced, at which she had more than once seen him occupied consequently we prepare to seek the owner of the house, who, we are informed, lives at a country place, about four miles distant. We drive there, and see him. He is a gentleman of many acres, and very few worJs. lie says my father objected to the size of the es ritoire, and consequently he removed it, and dis- posed of it for a smaller one. He adds that he believes it to have been perfectly empty, but had made no particular ex nnination^of its interior lit tings. We ask to whom it has been, sold, and he directs us but as it is a t*lrniture-dealer's, we have to wait until the next morning. When we go, the pro- prietor informs us that a man in a lower branchof the trade, has purchased the article from him some weeks before. We seek this individual, whom wo find in a very dilapidated condition, and somewhat the worse for liquor. He acknowledges, sheepishly, that ho has been obliged to pawn the property, and gives us the pawn-broker'faddress. We go at one? and find the place, after many inquiries, and much traversing of narrow streets and by-ways. My heart saddens as we como in sight of it, and I pause instinctively when opposite to it. Taere i", I believe, more of the philosophy of life to be learned at a pawn-broker's window, than in all the libraries in the kingdo:n. The maxims and dog- mas which wise men have chronicle I, disturb the mind for a moment, as the breeze ruffles the surface of the still stream, and pa-ses away; but there is Jinething in the melancholy grouping of a pawn- broker s window, which, like a record of ruin, sinka 'nto the heart. The household goods, cherished relics, the sacred possessions affection bestowed, or eyes now closed in death, once looked upon us their own, are here, as it were, profaned the associations of the dear old times are here violated; the family hearth is here out. raged; the ties of love, kindred, rank, all that the heart clings to, are broken here. It is a sad pioture, for, in spite of all the glittering show, its associations are sombre. There hangs the watch—the oU chased repeater that hung above the heal of a dying parent, when lestowing his trembling blessing upon tho poor out- "st. who had parted with it for bread The we iding ring is there, the last and dearest of all het possessions; the trinket, the pledge of love of one now dead, the only relic of the heart's fondest memo- ries Silver that graced the holiday iV-ast, the gilt- frrtme 1 miniature that hung above quiet mantel. iiielfthe flute; the favourite of a dead son, surrendered by a starving mother to buy food for her remaining offspring the locket that held a parent's hair, or gloomier still, the dress, the very covering 01 tho poor, is there waving like, a t'ag of wretchedness md want. It is a strange sad in the eyes oJ the thoughtful. There are moie touching memorial! to be seen at a pawnbroker's window, than in all the monuments in Westminster Abbcv. Doubtless something of all this is in tho mind of Monsieur Corvicr also, for I an almost fancy that there are tears in his eyes as we step into the shop. The proprietor is most obliging. lie shews us the escritoire, allows us to inspect it, sounds every portion of it. Yv c have gained no information, and return i home—my companion with a depressed countenance, and I with gfCat joy in my heart. IJeel as if a vast weight had been lifted from it in short, I am FREE and as the long imprisoned bird spreads its wing with a rapture which speech cannot convey, so throw off my chains, and prepare to soar, unfetter** out into the world. 1 have done my duty in r~ ing for these papers, but, oh, with what inexpwrvrr x terror have I looked forward to the finding of I have felt certain they will bind me down to r particular plan of action now, I can choose my 0. know that I an poor-that I hava unly twelve founds in the world—scarcely tii m will pay po.-aOri.scd twelve-thousand. ");,) nun, r "¡y, ca;} tell whether he is rich or pon' by turning to his ledger. It is not what he has bu'; what he is that decides the question of his poverty or riches; and j although God knows I have had no religious education, I nev< rtheleas feel that I have that within m; which is the germ of good the desire to do well, both foi myself and for my fellow men. I have an inward consciousness that for somo pur- pose have events thus fallen oat: that my work is before me and I feel, with a joy which floods my very soul, that young as 1 am, I shall bo ready when that work begins. Raphael did well, and Phidias did well, yet it is not painter or sculptor who ennobles himself mu-t truly, but he who making good impressions upon hunun minds, carves frescoes for eternity, that will not shine out till the light of heaven reveals them t do not, however, say this to Monsieur Comer. I fear that he may misunderstand me, and think it egotism, which it is not. I tell him none of my good resolutions on the contr rv, I rather shock him by an account of my own unworthincss. Some persons carry their consciences li.1,e drawn swords, cutting this way and that in the world, but sheath them and keep them very soft and quiet when turned within, thinking that a sword should not be permitted to cut its own scabbard. I am happily not one of thes< miserable pettifoggers in the court of my own con. scienc I know the worst of myself, and I know the best, nor do I prevent others from knowing it also- let them think what they may. The goo 1 clergyman aids me in arranging the few trifling matters which remain to be settled, under- takes to communicate with the American journals; with a view to discovering, if possible, tho where- abouts of Stephen Ashto'i, whose address has nevei transpired, and gives me a world of gentle advice, which I take and treasure and then—within one week from my father's decease,—without money— without friends—I sail for England.
CHAPTER HI.
CHAPTER HI. Fanev it lkirgundy," quoth J'onifaee of his ale, "only fancy it, and it is worth a guinea a luart Boniface wa: a Philosopher such a one as I am striving to be, as 1 sit in my miserable London lodg- ing, endeavouring to fancy that my stale bread and weak tea, are the ambrosial food of the Sanphi- trions. I have been in this lodging exactly four dingy weeks. I have come to London with the idea, alas, so common, that it is a City so full of wealth, that there is no room for poverty in it; that it is a city in which gold is to be found and gold is to be made, and neither misery nor want need ever stalk the streets. People have told me this, and they have told me a lie —one with a shadow of truth in it, which is ever the most dangerous. A lie always needs a truth for a handle to it, else the hand would cut itself which seeks to drive it home upon another. The worst lies are those whose blade is false, but whose handle it true, and such a ono has been thrust upon me. 1 have been deceived. I have come to this Babylon, thinking and believing that my accomplishments will get me bread for weeks together they have not got me so much as a CUD of cold water. 1 have advertised, and have ansv.vrea aavertii- ments, and have been interviewed by at. least a score of heads of families, with young branches to educate, so re of whom expect me to work for nothing—oi next to it; others have thought me too young, and ] have been on the point of despairing, when Mrs Beech, of Beech Hill, Lower Norwood, has been graciously pleased to consider ire neither too young, nor too extrav agant, and has engaged me, at a hand- some salary, to preside over and educate the three 31 i ss lkcehcs-Ada, Kate, and Clara, aged respect- ively fifteen, twelve, and nine years. This is very good, so but at the time oi my interview with Mrs. Beech, she has informed me that my services will not be required for a fortnight from that date, and a fortnight seeming to me a long while to be alone in London, I ask myself the difficult ration What am I to do in the meantime r" It it a question often asked it comes home to the ex- perience of every man who hears it uttered. The thesis requires no demonstration: from the chimney- pots to the cellars of society, all classes of humanity, great and small, scholars and cjowns, are plinfull) alive to its truth. Certainly I am alive to it. I know that I must eat to live, and I must pay for a roof to cover me, noi can I go home to a grand situation without suitable lothing and appointments, which I have no money to purchase. The" moantime" affords me leisure tc think on these tilings, and what I do is this I re- luctantly take out a valuable ring, belonging to my lead father, sell it for about one half its worth, and purchase the necessary articles. This done, I spend the remaining days of the" meantime" in making my dresses and bonnets, and in brushing up the learning which is so soon to be called into requisition. I have made no acquaintances in London, and cer- tainly not one friend therefore, it is without any regret that I stand up, now, from my stale bread and weak tea, to pack my dresses into my neat new trunk, ind prepare for my departure, by an early train, for Lower Norwood, this being the day upon which I am to undertake the management of the three Miss Beeches. I arrive in due)ime at Beech Hill. It is a beautiful place, charmingly situated, with ornamental water, ind faney flower-knots, and extensive tennis-lawn, upon which—cold as is the day—four persons are en- gaged at play. There are cheerful faces at some of the windows, but my quick eye-anxious to take all in—discovers one face that is not eheerful-II. dark, stern, crue uy handsome face, which gazes from an upper casement with a kind of hungry eagerness, as I descend from the vehicle, and then withdraws, as suddenly ad it has appeared. I am not introduced at once to the drawing-room, but go straight to my own apartment, on the way to which I meet the owner of the face—a splendid-look- ing woman, no longer young, fifty or sixty, perhaps —tall and well formed, erect as a statue, and magni- ficently dre-" I in brown silk and velvet. hc is right in my pathway, as we cross the landing, and my eldest pupil, who has accompanied me upstairs, intro- duces us—•'• JIrs. Daring—Miss Ashton." A stately bow from the lady, a similar one from me, and we go into our respective chambers. Ada at once volunteers information. "That is a great friend of our, Miss Ashton—Mrs. Stamer Daring. She is staying here at present, with her two sons. One of them, the youngest, is paying his addresses to my cousin, Vivia Kingsloy. Din is here, also, and her sister Mary. Mamma likes visitors ind always has the house full. It is great fun for us." I proceed to take off my things, feeling very glad that my pupil is disposed to be communicative, for J am soon in possession of the entire of the family arrangements. I discover that Mr. Beech is, himself, extremely quiet, and much averse to company, gen- orally returning tired from his onice in the city, and rarely entering the drawing-room once dinner is over; but that his help-mate is, on the contrary, in a con- tinual flutter of gaiety and excitement. I find out, moreover, that the eldest Miss Kingsley-beloycd by Mr. Carl Daring—is remarkable for haughtiness and reserve, whilst the younger, Mary—beloved by every body—is possessed of a most friendly and amiabio disposition. I am told that Irs. Daring is mtdl attached to both her sons, especially to the elder, of whose affection she is so jealous, that he scarcely dares to lift his eyes to anybody; and the two Miss Kingsleys and tho two Mr. Darings are the tennis players, whom I have seen upon the lawn. Presently, we go down, and I meet them all at luncheon. Mrs. Beech, full of bustle about a ball, she is about to give my three pup" hungering for news of it, and for their food, also ? .1158 Kingslev, erect—stately—haughty as a princess, and dressed j like one; Miss Mary Kingslev, beautiful—gav— joyous, fresh as a rose, and just as sweet; Mrs. Daring, silent and seemingly suspicious her elder eon, equally silent, sipping his claret with an air of solemn^ grandeur, with a look upon his glorious face, which impresses me the moment I gaze upon it, with the idea, that, for some unknown reason, he is hold- ing all the world-himself included-in contempt. A time is to come, in which I am to find out this, and much more concerning him,—a time which is to bring untold pleasures, and untold sufferings, to him and to me yet never in all that time-, am I to see that slrange look more plainly stamped upon his face, than now, in the moment of our first introduction. He is tall, and magnificently formed; his hair is a mass 01 waving gold; his eyes dark grey, large, and I inss^jtcBBibly beautiful; his nose well -cut and aqui- Rae, nip mouth and teeth, perfect. His chin is not beniad'L&nd in beauty, and is well defined, for he wear? fio hair upon his face, except the big be tfhich es his UDber lit). 1 Ilis brother, who sits by Miss Ivingsley's side, is younger by about five years. I should guess him to bo quite thirty, but not more. lie is somewhat small in stature, delicately made, with exquisite hands and feet, and an air of great refinement. His face is dark, and rafter handsome; perfectly clean shaven, but set off by n abundance of rich black hair, which curls luxuriantly about his temples. Altogether, ha is totally unlike his brother. The lunche Jil hour passes pretty cheerfully. Mrs. Daring breaks tho chain of her silence, and sitting next her hostess, converses affably enough. Yet I can- not say that their conversation is edifying, so far as I can j udge by the snatches of it which I hear. They seem to have flung away the golden grain of prac- tical and conversational wisdom, which each has doubtless enjoyed many opportunities of harvesting, and to have carefully stored their memories with the "worthless husks. 1 notice that Mrs. Daring carries the thumb of her right hand in a pocuilar position, and that her young- est son cuts her meat for her. I als 3 notice that she does not look at him whilst he docs so, but gazes fix- edly at the elder, who is gazing fixedly at me. Miss Kingslcy scarcely speaks; her sister Mary laughs, and chats unceasingly, uttering witticisms and bon- hiots, which seem to make the very air around her glitter. After luncheon, I am brought all over the pleasure grounds, and tho ornamental wood, by my three pupils, who induct mo further into the mysteries of the family, and express much contempt for lessons, and learning in general. During our walk, we como upon the elder Mr. Daring, sauntering in a lonely part of the wood, with his hands in his pocket, and a cigar in his mouth. He merely raise; his hat lazily, and we pass on. Then comes an interval of idleness in the drawing- room—looking at books, trying the piano, telling fool- ish fortunes, and gazing through the window at the gathering shades of night. After this, we dress foi dinner, at which I am presented to Mr. Beech, who is a tall nervous-looking man, with his hair brushed up in two destine! horns. The dinner is a repetition of the luncheon, only it is on a grander scale, and is much more formal. At every meal, Mr. Carl Daring assists his mother, whose thumb appears to cripple her. After dinner we have music. Miss Kingsley sings, and charms her admirer, who hangs over her. Miss Mary follows with a lively Neapolitan air. I sing, ind the younger Mr. Daring turns the music for me, ind Mr. Beceh comes upstairs, for a wonder, and :ompliiuents me. Mr. Daring, the elder, says noth- ing, but leans with his back to the wall, facing the piano, and our eyes meet—and I am rewarded. Then, some of the party adjourn to the billiard- room, and the rest remain and sip eoucc and so the Evening wanes. I crave permission to retire earlv, ind go upstairs with my pupils, who bid me a very Icindly good-night. On the floor of my room, I find a pocket-hand- kerchief. It is not my own, for it is fine cambric; ind in tho corner of it are worked the initials-- C. S. D. I take it up—look at it long and thoughtfully- fold it carefully—and hide it away in my trunk. Not that-1 moan to appropriate it-certainly not. I want time to study its owner—nothing more. And so ends my first day at Beech Hill.
---_-----_-PULPIT SKETCHES…
PULPIT SKETCHES in PONTYPOOL No. II.—CHANT: ST. BAPTIST CHAPEL. In point of numbers and influence the Pmptist denomination ranks next to theEsta hlished Church in the neighbourhood of Pontypool. In face of the present stagnation of business and general distress the vitality of Voluntaryism surprising. The purse is a good touchstone of sincerity; and; therefore, when we filllllarge numbers of people —and those chiefly of the poorer class—subscribing liberally for the propagation of a particular form of faith, we may conclude that their religion has a strong hold on their affeetions-espeeilly when there is in their vicinity a state-supported Church whose creed varies but little from their own. Pontypool, though not such a stronghold of Dissent as many other manufacturing districts, rejoices in the possession of four Baptist chapels so it may be safely inferred that in this locality the Baptist denomination is both numerous and important. The mode of administering Baptism and the sub- jects of that ordinance are usually considered the chief matters in which Baptists differ from other Dissenting bodies though, of course, other points of diiierence in doctrine and Church government do exist. Only those persons who have arrived at years of discretion, and who make profession of their faith, are baptized and admitted into this Church what becawes of the vast multitude who are not baptized at an adult age, we must lea,vean open question. In regard to the mode of Baptism, it appears to be held by most Christians that sprinkling and immersion are both Scriptural; but that in our inclellieirt climate sprinkling is the more convenient, and, therefore, preferable form. Tell me, said an argumentative Baptist to his Scottish antagonist, do you not find total immer- sion in the Bible ?" I think I do-twa or three cases," replied the canny North Briton. H Ah said our Baptist, triumphantly, will you just say where ?" "Aweel," retorted the other, there was a total immersion at the Flood Pharoah and his host were baptized h immersion in the Red Sea; and the last case that I read of is where the members of a certain sect are immersed in the lake of fire and brimstone Ridicule, however, is not argument; and, though a late eminent polemical writer says he always en- deavoured to get the laughers on his side, we are persuaded that a serious discussion demands se- rious treatment. But it is not our province to dis- cuss doctrine here; so we at once proceed to the subject of our sketch. There is nothing remarkable in the external architecture of Crane Street Chapel to attract the stranger's notice. The interior is neatly and taste- fully fitted up, the graceful lightness of the fittings making a pleasing impression upon the casual | visitor. Shortly after we had taken a seat, the Rev. John Williams,pastor loci, ascended the pulpit and commenced the service by leading in prayer. Mr Williams, we understand, has not for some time been in the enjoyment of good health and on the present occasion he did not appear remark- ably robust. The preacher selected for his text a portion of the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes. There are, he said, two extreme views of hnuian life. Some look upon it as if it were all sorrow", and others as if it were all joy. There are grounds for both these views. Most of us are painfully aware that care and sadness and snffering are continually hovering about our steps. ■—T\ever wore To evening but some heurt did break." Yet life has a bright side as well asadark sidc.for the clouds are not always hanging' over us. The bright side, too, is the better and by far the larger side of lite. Scripture recognizes both aspects of our ex- istence, reproving the optimist on the one hand whilst it. reproves the pessimist on the other. The Christian is generally supposed to be one of the most gloomy and morose of men. Such a sup- position is unreasonable. There are, it is true, in the Bible, some chapters dark and gloomy as a November night; but there are others bright and joyous as a May morning. The picture given in the text is a gloomy one. In connexion with it two points may be noticed: the decline of life, and the dissolving of life. Under the first head the preacher proceeded to note the gradual decay of the physical powers. The keepers of the house shall tremble; those that look out of the window? shall be darkened and the daughters of music slmll be brought low." That ig to say. the strength and grace of manhood SlM" pass away; the eya shall not be able to see; anjl the ear shall be draft;) the thousand sounds of busy world. In brief, all the avenues of sense will be graelually closed. Worst of all, desire shall fail." Not only have the enjoyments of life faded, but the very wish to cnjoy it has gone. There is no more pleasurable mental excitement, for the bright hopes and fond ambitions of Youth are all deaxl. Barzillai said to David, How long have I to live that I should go up with the king unto Jerusalem. I am this day four score years old and can I iliscern between good and evil ? can thy servant taste what I eat or what I elrink ? can I hear any more the voice of singing men or singing women ? Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again that I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and of my mother." The preacher in the second place went on to speak of the dissolv- ing of life. Man is a wonderful compound of greatness and littleness. He faces death in battle without a tremor: and yet he weeps bitterly over the death of a little child. He says to the sun and moon and stars, I am of far more value than any of you;' and yet a cartload of earth covers him from their sight for ever. The prevailing materialism of the present day furnishes no key to unlock this mys- tery; but the grand old Bible long, long ago gave us the solution of the problem—Dust returnethto dust: the spirit to Goel Who gave it. This law of restoration operates throughout all nature. The river originally came from the ocean, and returns to its source at last. The strong and stately oak draws its nourishment from the bosom oftheearth; and when it crumbles to decay, it returns to the mother who g ive it birth. So, the body returns elust—therefore we walk by sight. But the spirit —a spark of the great uncreated Spirit—returns to the God Who gave 1t: therefore we walk by faith. In commenting on the expression, the mourners go about the streets," Mr Williams ex- plained that sorrow and bereavement, though hard to bear, are not without their uses. They purify and strengthen our souls. Men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things." By the beautiful expression, "111tll goetli to his long home," most commentators are of opinion that the soul and not the body is meant. Home is the sweetest word in the English language. It is clothed with the happiest associations. Itisaplace of rest and security. And as we contemplate the home beyond the grave where the restless pulse of care is calmed, and where sorrow and sighing are unknown, we sometimes feel a elesire to depart from the travail of this life. Tennyson's saying that Whatever crazy sorrow saitli, No life that breathes with human breath Has evtf^-uly for death," however iul, is scarcely true in fact. Some of those who are crushed with pa,in of mind and body truly long to be at rest, and say again with Tennyson, I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead." There is a satisfaction in the thought that our loved ones are far from trial and tempta- tion and suffering,, especially when we are ourselves pressed in the spirit by adverse circumstances. The speaker concluded his sermon by a further al lusion to that heavenly home where believers shall be re-united to go no more out for ever. In this faint and feeble outline of Mr Williams's discourse it is necessarily impossible to do it justice. As a preacher Mr Williams occupies a very high place, both in the estimation of his own congrega- tion and that of the general public. His style is characterised by a literary freshness and finish that ought to be gratefully welcomed in these days of slipshod English and pulpit commonplace. He appeared to have his sermon written out in extenso, but he delivered it with almost as much freedom and ease as if it had been wholly extemporaneous. In the pronunciation of some words there was a perceptible deviation from the customary methoel; but, on the whole, his manner of delivery was dis- tinct and solemnly impressive, well suiting the calm dignity of the composition. Both in the mode of delivery and the style of the discourse the absence of rant was as conspicuous as it was agreeable. Each carefully-chiselleel sentence fitted into its place with the ease that is born of art, as the stones of Solomon's Temple were laid in perfect position without the aid of hammer, or axe, or any tool of iron. One characteristic of Mr Williams's preach- ing struck us as being very strongly developed— bis style is eminently quotational—if such a word be allowable. In the sermon under notice we counted some eight quotations from Tennyson rlone, as well as several from Shakspere, Cowpor, mel Longfellow and there were probably other utations with which we were unacquainted. While an apt quotation may serve to point a noral and adorn a paragraph, there is a danger the vigour of thought peculiar to the indivi- lual may be unduly restrained by a wholesale ap- propriation of the language of others. In justice o Mr Williams, it must be said that the passages L cited by him were in harmony with the general strain of his observations. Tennyson, to whom the preacher seems very partial, is perhaps one of the best authors that an English-speaking Welshman can read: the chaste and highly-polished style of the poet must exercise a salutary influence in toning down the lnxuriant exuberance of Cymric fervour. In grace of expression, in delicacy of workmanship, in emo- tional intensity, Tennyson is almost incomparable. Probably the daintiest bit of writing in the English language is The Brook," every word of which is so judiciously chosen and carefully set that the slightest alteration will mar the melody of the music. Burns' description of a brook in Hallowe'en," though scarcely so musical as the picture of the English bard, is no less graphic but the full beauty of Burns' lan- guage can hardly be appreciated by one who is not conversant with the Lowland Doric of Scotland, Tennyson, while he is a master of polished expression, does not expend all his force on the mere beauties of style he has not left unfaced the great problems of Life and Destiny, which perplexed the bygone ages and still remain unsolved. And yet we have often arisen from a perusal of Tennyson feeling that, in some indescribable way, the subtle charm of the work- manship had stolen our attention from the thoughts so exquisitely clothed. In brief, tllCfarm more than the substance too frequently arrests the attention. In a limited degree this remark applies to Mr Wil. hams s sermons—at least to those which the present writer has been privileged to hear. The traveller lingers to admire the rainbow in the spray, and to watch the white plumes of the flying fo;im but he seldom ventures upon the sullen reef that lies hidden in its drapery of snowy spume and flashing diamonds. So Mr Williams looks at the pictorial aspects of a question, but does not always strike the heart of the mystery. With the fringes of his subject he weaves a pleasing tapestry; which, however,oceasionally shrouds rather than illustrates the inner truth. Yet, after all, a pictorial style is generally the most effective that can be adopted by the public speaker. The much- coveted power of representing in words what one sees in imagination, is possessed by Mr Williams in large measure, and must prove of great advantage in his pulpit ministrations. To conclude Mr Williams is unforced, yet forceful; quiet, yet dignified; strong without rant; and manly without roughness. If the great aim of preaching be to impress the people, it cannot be doubted that in his case the end is accom- plished—and nothing more need he said in his praise.
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A PRAYER FOR THE TIMES.
A PRAYER FOR THE TIMES. (J Lord. how long shall gloomy winter's frown .Make summer mourn ? How loug shall storms uf kd and rain give earth A saddened tone Earth, 'l'hid1 "hould now bo full uf l1luic sweet, And beauty g-r;mtl? o Lord. Thou satistier of all living things, Open Thine hand. If Thou dost open it, great blessings v:ill Fall plenteous down; The sun will brighter shine, and drive away Winter's dark frown: Will lift from earth the gloomy garb shc (vears And give her one — As only Thon can'st give—fruitful and bright. May it be Castle Cur?. E. Ash TO x.
TO JOH XJiBULL.
A friend has requested the re-production of the following poetn in these columns] — TO JOH XJiBULL. (BY SAMUEL LAYCOCK.) Oh, forshaine 011 hee, John forshame on thee, John The murderin' owd thief 'at theaw art Tha'rt a burnin' disgrace to humanity, mon, Tho' theaw thinks thyself clever and smart. Tha.'rt a, beggar for seudin' eawt Bibles and beer, An' eallin' it While thee an' thi dear Christian countrymen here Are cheatin' an' lyin' like station. Thee tak my advice, Juhn, an' get a good brush, An' sweep well about thi own door An' put th' bit o' land 'at tha's stown to some use, Ere theaw offers tu steal ony moor, An' let th' heathens a be, for tha's no need to fear A t they're loikely to get in to he 11 My opinion is this—if there's anyone near A place o' that mak, it's thysel'. It's thee. 'at aw nieon, John theaw hypocrite, theaw: Wi' thi Sundayfied, sanctified looks; Dost think 'at ole th' milk comes fro' th' paps o' thy ceaw ? Is ole th' wisdom beaund up i' thy books ? An' what abeawt th' mixture o' cotton an' clay 'At theaw thrusts on thi unwillin' naybours P Eh. John, tha/rt a, curebut tha'll catch it some day, When tha's ended these damnable labours. Tha. may weel tell the Lord what a wretch tha art, John, For tha pulls a long face on a Sunday; An', to prove what tha says. tha does o 'at tha con To rob thi poor naybours on thi Monday. What business has tha to go battin' thi wings, An' crowin' on other folk's middin' ? Dusta think thi black brothers sich mean cringin' tliiugs As to give np their whoam at thy biddin' ? An' tha's th' cheek to thank God when tha meets wi S11(;ees, As if He stooped to sanction such wark Neaw one would have thowt 'at tha couldn't ha,' done loss Than to keep sich loike actions i' th' dark. If tha meons to go on wi' committin' these SiDS- tha'll ne'er get weshed eawt or forgiven—■ Tha should try to keep matters as quiet as tha con, A n' ne'er let em know up i' heaven. Tha wur alius a bullyead, i' th' best o' thi days, An' this ole thi naybors must know Au' tho' tha seems (luid, an' poos a long face, They can manage to see through it o. But when tha goes sneakin', an' tries to cheat God, It stroikes me tha'rt goin' to' far Awm noun mitch surprised at thi impudence, John, Awm only surprised heaw tha dar What business has theaw to be sendin' eawt thieves To steal slices off other folk's bread ? It would look better on thee to roll up thi sleeves, An' work for thi livin' instead. Aw'll tell thee what, John—an tak notice o' this— Tha ne'er knew a nation to thrive, heer th' bees preferr'd feightin' to good honest wark They're like drones stealin' honey fro' hive. If th' sense ova Jackass tha'd tarry awhoam, An' keep thi own garden i" fettle But tha'd rayther be eawt wi' thi bible gun, An' robbin' some other mon's kettle. Xeaw, drop these mean tricks—this contemptible wron(7- An' behave a bit moor loik a mon, Or aw 11 gie thee another warm dose before long, For gru.dely ashamed on thee, John. —From the Salfonl 11 vekhj News.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER IV. The few following days at my new residence were spent in a somewhat similar manner to the one I have just described, except that there was a feeble attempt made at lessons, which, indeed, were not unfrequently a. mere pretence, being ignored for any trifling amusement that might chance to como in the way. I did my duty uprightly, in every particular, and sought to enforce the discipline which I had been en- gagetl to cstal)1iilh, but it was of no use lessons were begged off, holidays asked for at head-quarters, and invariably granted. Headaches and colds were pleaded as excuses, which were not suffered to weigh an ounce when any recreation, or excitement, was in participation. Altogether, my post was, through no fault of mv own, almost a sinecure. I was the companion of my pupils, far more than their preceptress—their play- mate more than their governess. I learned to love them dearly. They were generous to a fault, affec- tionate, and open-hearted, wild and ungovernable, but truly loveable and kind. Such, especially, was C'lara, h' youngest, who, with much pertness and solfwill, possessed, nevertheless, a warm heart, a quick intellect, and a clear perception between right and wrong in short, the framework of a naturally good disposition, warped and spoiled by evil pre- judices, bad example, and careless bringing up like a good seed, which has chanced to fall amongst many noxious weeds, and is i,1 danger of losing it native purity, among the evil influences in which it has been Left to flourish. Of Mrs. Beech I found it much more difficult to judge. I saw comparatively little of her. She wai in a whirl of pleasure and bustle from morning until night; visiting and being visited going to parties; and given them seeing an endless round of conrjany and donning half-a-dozen different costumes between sunrise and moonrisc loving her children, in her own boisterous, hurried kind of fashion seeing that they had plenty of fine clothes, and dainty food, and grant- ing a laughing consent to their every request; over- looking her husband altogether, or treating him-not is the bread- winner ought to be treated, with deference and affectionate attention—but with a sort Df suddenly-remembered politeness, as though the re- collection of his wants and requirements always camo last. Such was her life. Mr. Beech was a quiet, unobstrusive man, usually absorbed in his business, and liking nothing so well is to be left alone pleased when others were pleased 1nd showing his pleasure by running his fingers through his stiff hair, till it literally stood up like a of corn vexed when asked to go into company, aid showing his vexation by shunting himself up in his growlery. His nieces, tho Miss Kingsleys, were spending the winter at his hospitable house. For the elder I did not care she was proud and unbending, eecmino- to take pleasure in tho society of only one person, Mr. Carl Daring, and not always in his. J Could not understand this young lady there was something unfathomable in her conduct and demeanour. In svhat sort of strange atmosphere had she flourished )1' had she been left to hang as she had grown ? she appeared, so far as I could see, to }je at war with some crook in her lot, which certainly did not seem to be an unenviable one. Or the younger, Mary, I could not speak too highly, nor could I magnify r attractions. I do not want, as the poets do, to manufacture a woman out of a cloud, with a moonbeam for a petti- oat, girdled with a rainbow, and kerchiefed with a [ticcc of blue s^y I am eontcnt to represent a tan- gible, palpable, lovely girl, whose natural fire was LeiuporcJ with softness, and her earthly attributes with those of a higher .pliere. Just that kind of ¡ being, in short, that Rousseau couM imagine, Titian paint, and Chantry find for us in tho enduring sub- stantiality of impcrisbblo tnne. She and I became firm friends, and shared many pleasures in common, which couh.1 scarcely have been termed pleasures, if partaken of alone. Many visiters came and went, but Mrs. DarinO" and ber sons remained. In the lady I took a strange and peculiar interest. I was never tired of watching her -of noting her every movement—her every word. At times, perhaps, this was visible, for she seemed to resent it. I think she hated me. There was yet another reason why she appeared to So so. And now F come to speak upon a subiect upon which I would fain 1 c silent—over which X would willingly cast a veil—for with this subject my Greatest pleasures and heaviest sorrows are mourn- fully intermixed. Mrs. Daring hated everybody in whom her eider eon manifested the smallest interest: anu uaiift to ten, nis interest in me was plainly ap- parent. I saw it the first week, with carelessness— the third with a widlv-beating heart; and as the days passed on, he and I loved each other with a love which found no words—which did not betray itself, even by looks—yet, which each felt was a part of the other's daily life. Oh, how I loved that man and oh, what days oi happiness those were for me To live beneath the roof with him to breathe the air he breathed; te liavc him join—as he sometimes did—the quiet walks in which I delighted; to sit in the twilight, those glorious spring evenings, during the half hour before I linner, and to know—although I could not see-his, wondrous eyes were upon me: all this was rapture, which to my newly-awakened heart brought a fulness )f happiness, such as those whose day of first love has neon less tenderly begun, can neither know nor under- itand. I did not want him to tell me that he loved me. Perhaps if the time ever 'came to do so, I might be lorry it had arrived it was joy enough for me tc mow it. even though it were never to be spoken. Xo loly knew of it: we both went cpnetly tiirougn oar everyday routine, as though we were naught on earth to one another. lnero was but one who suspected our attachment— whose lynx-eye discovered it, well-nigh before it was known to ourselves. Taat one, was his mother. She studied me from that hour almost a3 closely as I studied her, almost, but not quite. Wo were like two sen. tinels, constantly on the watch (To he continued.)
BATHING AT A TYROLESE WATERING-PLACE.
BATHING AT A TYROLESE WATERING- PLACE. Ignorant of the excessively long time these pcoplo in thoir tubs (says the author of "Gadùings with a lnmlb ve. People") we put off our breakfast in enjoy a good dip in the invigorating waters °i e enter the crazy old doorway giving entrance to the log-built bath-house intent upon our anticipated plunge; but we proceed no further, for rooted to the ground we gaze thunderstruck at tho strange sight that meets our eyes. Imagine a long chamber, lighted by half a score of windows, cut in the timb r, but unprotected by glass. The roof of the hut is tho ceiling of the room, and hanging from the rafters at regular intervals of some five or six feet are sheets, 80 arranged that they serve first of all as screens, and then as towels to dry. A screen lar- ger than the rest divides the chamber into two un- equal portion", the larger one with nine tubs being reserved for the males, the smaller, with six tanks, for the females. A low doorway leads into an out- house where the water is heated in several large boilers. We perceive all this at a glance, for the curtains nre drawn aside, and the whole chamber, male and female division, is free from end to end. In Cicti of the large tubs, some four feet in length, is connncd a human being. We say confined, for noliimg but the head peeps out, a close-fitting covering of boards, with a semi-circular hole at one end for the neck, shuts you in as completely as were you a Jack-in-tho box. A brisk Conversation is car- ried on. Here a husband, his bronzed face in a red clow, is scolding his demure wife at the other end of .he long chamoer; there two peasants, late partners in a game of cards, endeavour to settle a disputed point in a high-pitched wrangle. Others again are jraying the rotary in most devout fashion. Their aanus, rendered invisible by the lid, are busy telling beads. Altogether, the scene is peculiarly striking. 1 j
the^great^composers.
the^great^composers. Composers differ as much as authors in their man- aer of working. M. Gounod is one of those whom composition throws into a very fever, and who can bear no interruption or domestic sounds about them whilg they sit at tho piano thumping the keyboard with one hand and noting down the score with the athcr. Poor Madame Gounod once drove him wild by coming to ask him for her thimble, while he was endeavouring to link two phrases of an aria. Meyer- jeer used to compose methodically, sitting down to ais piano as a business man to his desk, and never showing the least irritation if called away from a vork which he seemed able to take up and drop with ;11c utmost case. Rossini composed best lying on his jack in bed and if once he. was in tho vein, he would .io abed all day, humming his airs to himself until he .cnrned them by heart, and scoring down a whole let at a time after lie had hummed and rehummed .t to his satisfaction. His musical memory was pro- iigions, but his vcice was so untuneful that once an Italian innkeeper, in whose house he had hummed for ;hree whole day a at a stretch, ran up to beg that lie would desist, for that his "noise" could be heard through the open window and disturbed some English tourists dining downstairs. Auber, up to an advanced ige, used to derive musical inspiration from a glass Jr two of champagne, and Wagner can only compose with the assistance of suits of satin clothes of divers colours, which he dons or put off according to the style of the thing at which he is working. For instance, when spinning off a pastoral duct he will array himself in primrose satin when he comes to a martial chorus, quick he bolts off to his dressing- room to don a pair of scarlet satin pantaloons with tunic and cap to match. These delightful antics were made known to the public through the very distress- ing circumstance that the author of the Tann- hauscr" was sued by his milliner for the cost of his composing vestments, and was made to pay an extremely long bill. Among those whom we may call minor composers, M. Lecocq is the most happily mlowed, for he can forgG solos and choruses any- where and at any time—in trains, in a hot bath, on ;op of a 'bus in the rain, or in a dentist's drawing- room while waiting to have a tooth drawn. M. Vas- ,our. who is an organist by profession, contrives his ivclicst melodies by allowing his fingers to run wild jver the keys of his large organ, and he is a fertile workman. M. Offenbach, on the contrary, though 1e has composed so much, is only prolific during the spring-time of the year and while residing by the jea-side. If he rises to compose elsewhere and at jther times of the year, his works are worth little iccording to his own testimony.
THE HOUSE-CLEANING EPIDEMIC.
THE HOUSE-CLEANING EPIDEMIC. (EXTRACT FROM MR. PEEWIT'S DIARY.) Monday.—Prepare for whitewashers. Furniture ailed up in centre of every room. Breakfast in scullery, so as not to interfere with whitewashers. Wait for w.w.'s all day. They arrive with a plank md a pair of steps at ten o'clock at night.. Too late to do work. Commence early next morning with scullery: Tuesday.—Prepare scullery for whitewashers, mel breakfast on bedroom landing. Painters come, but no w.w.'s. Painters say, "Can't begin till w.w.'s finish." Leave pots and brushes. White- washers' boy comes in evening and slops over ceilings. Says w.w.'s will begin first thing in morning. Wedneselay, 6 a.m.—Loud knocking- at street door. Servants asleep. Have to get up to let w.w.'s in. Glad they've come, though. Going down stairs bruise shin awfully over pail left by wdiitewashers' boy. Open door to men with steps. Not the w.w.'s after all, but paperhangeas. They can't do anything till w.w.'s finish. Leave pail cf paste and brushes. Thursday.—Come home late. Found eldest hoy had been painting piano with paint left by paint- ers. Cost me five pounds to have it re-polished. W.w.'s have been, but could'nt do anything because they'd left brushes at home. Supped on the stairs. Friday.—No slippers. Found 'em at last. Second boy had put' em in paperhangers' paste pail. Quite spoilt. Message from w. vv's to say bhat other job will be finished to-day, and they will be here to-morrow morning. Man comes with new blinds. Can t up till finish. Saturday, W.w.'s had not come when I started for business. Beastly wet day, and no umbrella. Found eldest girl had whitewashed new blinds with it. W. w.'s arrive at four o'clock; agree that it is too late to begin work this week. Promise faithfully to come 0 at FIVE on Monday morning! —Funny Folks.
[No title]
A Gentleman in a steam-boat asked the man came to collect the passage-money, if there vas any elanger of being blown up, as the steamer nade such a horrid noise. H Not the least," said sharp collector. H unless you refuse to pay four fare."
-------------_._--A VISIT…
A VISIT TO TINTERN ABBEY. DYAPEDKSTRIAy. (Written for tlll] Free Press.) It is said there is a pleasure ill madness, thougoh nobody but a madman can feel that pleasure. In the same way there is a pleasure in pedestvian- ism which nobody but a pedestrian can enjoy. We should scarcely advise anyone to go uiad in order to experience the delights of lunacy but there can be no doubt that walking is a cheap, healthful, invigorating, pleasurablo exercise, in which almost everybody can indulge with very little inconvenience. For the enjoyment of a long walk the only things necessary are a pair of easy shoes, a moderately fiao day, and a dis- position to make the best of everything. The last-mentioned requisite is, perhaps, the most difficult to secure; yet everyone should make an effort to obtain it, for not only does it make exercise agreeable, but it helps to smoothe and beautify the rough road of life. Well-fitting boots are also hard to be got. Better, however, wear a pair like Pat's, which had one hole to let in the water and another to let it out, than cramp your feet like a Chinawoman's with a pair of high-heeled, narrow-toed, fashiouable abortions, such as are affected by the languid swell and the girl of the period. 0 A fine morning having accidentally dawned not long since, the writer determined to visit Tintern Abbey, whose praises he had heard sounded" ju other lands and other times." A friend volunteered to be a sharer iu the arduous enterprise which friend modestly desires to re- main incognito, and must, therefore, only be known to the readers of this paper by the name of Amicus. We took the 11.35 a.m. train from Pontypool Road to Usk, where we arrived about midday. Usk, silent and sleepy, lay blistering in the sun, with the audible stillness of tho noon brooding over its empty streets, while the old Castle and the Church hid themselves among the trees as we passed. There were, indeed, a few sigus of listless life about the celebrated hotel caned" The Three Salmons," where Cockney anglers come to spend their holidays and their cash, and, after catching half-a-dozen unsophisticated trout, go back fondly believing that they have had glorious sport Usk is situated in the midst of a pleasant country which looked fresh and lovely after tho recent rain. As Amicus playfully remarked, Nature had wept and theu washed her face; but the tears still stood in her eyes. With a sigh we left Usk be- hind, and, turning our faces to the East, strode rapidly forward. For the first two or three miles our route lay through pleasing scenery, but gradually as we went on the country assumed a more barren and rugged appearance. The road, too, grew rougher when we left the Chepstow turnpike and turned up to the left. The country appeared very thinly populated, bllt churches dotted the land- scape everywhere. Amicus observed, that ac- cording to Cobbctt, England must have had a much larger rural population in times gone by, as evidenced by the size and number of the country churches. Leaving Llangwm on the left, we entered the precincts of the parish of Wolves Newton, where a church was shown on our little map but uo church could we find, ihough we did find something more extraordi- nary—a parson in his shirt-sleeves. Having been regaled with unbounded hospi- tality in a farm-house, where one glass or cider was generously divided between the two of us, we pushed ou with great vigour, as we had heard •hat the Fountain Inn lay a mile or two ahead, tiiere we could slake our thirst and feast on fat :hings. The birds sang the sun shone; butter- lies in great variety sported about; "daisies jied and violets blue and lady-smocks all silver .vhito besprinkled the hedges, which werethick ferns; and the May-blossoms fluttered lowlI in a shower of fragrant snow, making the lir heavy with their sweet scent. Feeling a sense of btioyanojr Qod freedom, we pursued our juest of Tho Fountain." That ancient hostelry at length dawned upon jur vision but its accommodation was not re- narkably good. The hostess, a lady of com- nanding stature, having a face "round as the shield of my fathers," to uso all Ossianic phrase, yelcomed us with an expansive smile. In tho nterior two aged peasants were discussing poli- ics with more zeal than knowledge, while a -estless beldame, who appeared to be non compos nenlis, insisted upon treating us to a series of >fteusive personalities notwithstanding the unc- tions exertions of the landlady. We departed ibruf.Uy, and proceeded on our way through a iictutjesque valley, where ou one side were a piaint old wire mill with its great motionless vheelj and a number of queer, narrow-faced louses while the steep hill all the other side vas covered with an exuberant growth of shrubs md underwood. On emerging from this valley ve found ourselves in Tintelll. ° Tintern has the appearance of a village which lerives its chief support from the tribe of tour- sts. Similar hamlets may be found in the lighlands of Scotlan,]^ amid the wild scenery Comiemara and Munsi«,% wherever sight- icers most do congregate. Tintern has an air of piiet respectability, heightened by_. the pictu- esquo maguilicence of its hotels; anditsatnio- phere breathes of that semi-gentility which is nduced by occasional contact with the beau- noiule. Of course the Abbey is the centre of attrac- ion. Viewed from the outside it is an impos- ng ruin. The great window of the west front vith its mullions and tracery is a fine monument )f mediajval architecture. Once inside, the n'osiest visitor must be struck with the gran- leur and artistic beauty of the Abbey Church. L'his sketch is not intended for a Guide, and we herefore need not enter into details respecting he various buildings and features of interest lonnected with the Abbey but we may say hat the impressiou produced upon us was one of idmiration for those disciples of the Beautiful vho reared that stately structure, and we longed o know what manner of men they were. Cer- ainly, it would appear, they had not the plea- lantest life in the world. One meal a day vithout meat is not high living and, when we emcmber their complete silence and frequent lenance, we may be sure the poor old monks veredullenoug)). Rigorous were the rules of he order: if a brother forgot to tie his shoe- itring, punishment was the consequence. But he life of tho mouks was rendered somewhat ivelier by the presence of that midnight assas- iin which makes night hideous in the common odging-house f°r the brethren were not over deauly iu their persons. In the Sacristy stands he statue of a knight in chain mail, reminding he visitor of Tom Moore's statue in Dublin, vhich is said to be as like him as any other nan and on the way to the top of the north ransept there is a doorway, where soft-headed rouths have with artless enthusiasm crved their iweet names, to the intense disgust of the aesthe- ic traveller- Many and diverse are the visitors to the ibbey. There is the studious clergyman in dack surtont and clerical wideawake, whoso diin bears that mottled, blueish tinge which is udicative of an impending shave. It is aston- shing what an aversion the average curate has o the cultivation of a goatee. The ubiquitous ourist may bo seen in great force and variety, ilere is one with bare, bronzed face and eager jyes, clad in au irreproachable suit of tweed. fero is another, bearded like the pard, looking ike an Indian nabob home for a holiday, and )orne about upon columnar legs, to borrow iValt Whitman's extraordinary expression. La- lies, too, are not wanting. They are chiefly ittached to the officers and clergy i for, accprd- ng to trustworthy ipforipatioiij n clerical gentleman is the beau ideal of the fair sex, and, tstho lady sings in "La Grande Puchesse," they dote on the military." r hus they are staunch Conservatives in supposing both Church and 1 State. Here isapairotiovera. You can tell at 1 1 glance that they are mutually engaged by the vay they ling III sequestered nooks looking at f lothing io particular and dally over the photo- 1 paphs at the stall. Aot, indeed, that he pays nuch attention to the photographs. They are 1 lead, inert, motionless but the liviug picture < o which his eyes wander is tinted with the oeeate hues of health, has a pair of laughing l eyes bright with expression, and is crowned [ vith a coronet of brown hair, while the dainti- j :st little bonnet in the world is perched atop. ( Vhat wonder that the smitten swain sees photo- 1 graphs, and Abbey, and lauelscape, and every- liing else through a glamour of romance, when) lis heart is fast bound in the silken fetters of Jupid The life of the lover is a golden dream Ind he is a hard-hearted wretch indeed who j vould endeavour to awaken the dreamer, albeit • 1 time may como when that dream, like so many j ithers, will vanish into air, into thin air, and ike the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a ack behind." Leaving the Abbey and its occupants to the are of its silent janitor, we sallied forth into tho oad, and discovered a signboard immediately -=- opposite, whereon was displayed in round un- varnishsd letteis the Cotlage." Further, the tiavel-worn pilgrim was informed on the same sign that tea, coffee, anil hot water could be obtained with the least possible delay. This was a great discovery. We knew from bitter experience that the average hostess isin- capablo of making any distinction between tea and hot water; but here was one who not only recognized the difference, but actually had the honesty to call hot water by its proper name. Here, therefore, with the prospect of obtaining good tea, we determined to tarry for, as the poet beautifully observes, weak tea is an abomi- nation to gods and men. The smiling and obliging landlady promptly ministered to the necessities of the weary strangers, who soon forgot their cares under the influence of the re- freshing beverage. Dr. Joluisou, it is well known, was a great lover of the cups that cheer but not inebriate. Sir," said the burly Doctor, "Mrs Blank invited mo to her party but I found she only wanted to draw me out before a parcel of fools. But, sir, I had my revenge, for I drank twenty-five cups of her tea and did not say so many words!" We did not drink so much, though wo talked more. The appetite of Amicus was appeased at his third cup but tho writer eked out the contents of the pot with hot water, and to the intense amazement of Amicus, succeeded in pouring seven cupfuls down tho yawning chasm that opened gratefully to receive them, only desisting when the wather wudn't take a sthrong grup ov the tay," as Mrs Moloney used to remark. Exhilarated by our repast and with enlarged capacity for enjoyment, we started for the fa- mous Wind Cliff, which lies about two miles from Tintern. The way is delightful. On the left the sombre boscage of the wood slopes down to the river's edge, while on the opposite shoro the cliffs rise abruptly to the sky, the new railway scoring a yellow furrow along their base. On the right the seamed and splintered lime- stone rocks tower perpendicularly far above our heads, sheltering us from the western sun. Na ture, in motherly kindness, seems trying to clothe these naked rocks with birch and broom and moss and lichen. A tramp lay snoring on tho pathway with his knees like ragged pyra- mids pointing to heaven. Amicus sagaciously remarked that it was about as amusing to kick a slumbering tramp as to tread on a sleeping snake in both cases the results were startling. Suddenly we found ourselves beside Moss Cot- tage, an obscure retreat where wearied ladies of sixty years or sixty stoue may gently repose, while their more volatile companions ascend the Pisgah that rises overhead. By the way, has it never occurred to the architects who construct wooden seats that the soft curves of the human figure do not easily adapt themselves to hard straight lines of wood ? After reaching the top of the Wind Cliff one enjoys a two-fold reward the pleasure of gain- ing the summit and the charming view. Tho view, we think, is perhaps not the finest in the kingdom, but is certainly well worth the trouble of going to see. The tumultuous sea of Welsh mouutains which we knew lay behind us was iidden from sight but before us stretched a pictui esque panorama of green fields, sunny up- lands, and dark woods, sown with white houses and streaked with silver sea. Beneath us was the Wye, like a sinuous silver ribbon, winding between its shaggy wooded banks, curving gracefully round Chepstow, and merging at last into the Severn. "There twice a day the Severn fills: The salt sea-water rushes by, And hushes all the babbling Wye. And makes a silence in the hills." The tide was at ebb, aud long reaches of brown sand lay bareiu the sunlight. The Severn itself and the broad expanse of the Bristol Channel were calm and shining as tho face of a mirror while red in the glare of the sinking sun, Cleve- don and other towns on tho Somerset coast stood out in strong relief. Far away in the dim distance, whero earth and sky were bluely blent, wo fancied we could discern the undulating outlines of the Devonshire mountains. A bar of iloud stretching along the eastern sky complet- ed the picture; the slant sun played among its fleecy folds, producing a variety of exquisite ints, from the faintest rose hue to the most de- licate shade of green. Having steeped our senses in the beauty of iho scene, we desceuded towards Chepstow, massing on the way by Piercefieid Park with its reat beeches and stately oaks. A noble avenue )f chestnut trees leads into Chepstow which own is a pleasing contrast to Pontypool. The own of Pontypool is, indeed, alarmingly ugly; ilthough relieved by the beauty of the surround- ng scenery, as an unsightly stone is sometimes mclosed in an artistic setting. In itself Chep- itow is a handsome town, and its beauty is en- lanced by its picturesque environment of hill ind dalo and wood aud stream. The general ispect of the place, and especially the antique irehes that are to be seen hero and he curious traveller that the town is not of nushroom growth while a perceptible odour )f tar indicates propinquity to a harbour. We caught a glimpse of the Castle, some eight or nine hundred years old,where Henry Martyn.onc )f the judges of Charles I, languished for twenty years and as we passed near the parish church llong an umbrageous pathway through the churchyard, we heard the deep basa roll of thq )rgan, for the devout were at prayers within. Par parenthese, this same pathway reminded ua )f the Cross at Pontypool by the great multitude )f its loafers, those human fountains of tobacca- uice, who discharge a torrent of that savoury iuid at regular intervals, and relate choice mecdotes in the chastest and most mellifluous anguage. We came back to Pontypool by way of Xew- )ort, reaching home about that solemn hour when churchyards yawn and graves give up heir dead," having spent a most enjoyable day. vVhile the spell of the Abbey still held the soul )f the writer ho fell into the most intense ago- nes of composition, and, after convulsive throes If ineffable anguish, produced the following itauzas; which he implores the intelligent eader to look upon with the large charity hat covereth the folly of a friend. Gray Abbey As the sun goes down Behind the stormy hills of Wales, And the strong sunlight slowly fails, I think upon thy past renown. In ruin arc thy walls, and yet They have with glad Te Deums rung, To celebrate when thou wast young The conquests of Plantagenet. Plantagenet, and Lancaster, And York, and Tudor, all are gonej A stranger fills the Stuarts' throne*" And even thee Time doth not spare, I see across the centuries A dim procession, all bedight Jn ghostly garments fluttering-white, And sadness in their solemn eves. hat deeds of rapine and of wrong The kneeling penitents confess, <:> While the pale monks absolve and bless From matins until evensong. What time hot life bunied in their veins Did those pale monks believe that He, Who made all nature glad and free, Condemns the human soul to chains Nay, something noble seems to me In that long struggle to repress The yearnings of their loneliness For woman's love and sympathy They died. Their names have passed away. Their joys and griefs have ceased to be. Each friar now sleeps peacefully Within his narrow cell of clay, 0 human hearts that throb and thrill With strong desires for earthly things, Ye, too, shall cease your tiutterings, And in the grave at last be still
CONSTANT INTERRUPTIONS. ---
CONSTANT INTERRUPTIONS. One of the most annoying things that can happen a a refined man or woman is to have their conversa- ion constantly interrupted. A man or woman who as anything- to say that is worth saying, desires to ay it in his or her own way and those who liavo rains to appreciate it will be equally desirous of earing- it without interruption. Yet it is a common hing for a parlour conversation to partake more of he nature of a Tower of Babel than a conversation mong rational beings, who are suppossd to know and ppreciate what each other says. One begins to ;'cht n incident, and before he has fished tyo ijontences, ome parrot in fine cloihej chimes in with her sense-' 333 gabble, breaking the thread of disejourse, and orppclling- the narrator to begin again, or abandon lleattcmpt to instruct or entertain. This is thq rossest of impoliteness; nevertheless, it is as cam-. ion an occurrence as conversation itsdjr. It is not 00 much to say that nine out of ten people who ridulge in this are incapable of carrying on a. ationaj conversation on any useful topic, and indulgq a tuese broaches of etiquette by way of covers frg their retreat and hiding their ignorance. Her 1 u. promising field for social reform, ==- tOTnaoL. Printed by HUGHKS & SON, at their General Printing Offices, for the Proprietor and Publisher, BENny HUGHB: Tunior, of Peuygarn, in the parish ofTrcvethin, and published at the FKEE PUBSS Office, Market St.—July 1^, 1879,