Pontypool Free Press and Herald of the Hills

LIEUTENANT CAREY. The Central News" telegraphs that final arrange- ments have been made for the confinement of Lieut. Carey on his return to England. On the arrival of the Euphrates at Portsmouth, Lieutenant Carey will be taken in a cab, in charge of another officer, to Anglesea Barracks, where the 12th Regiment is sta- tioned, and where a suite of rooms in the officers quarters has been prepared for his reception. The accommodation provided will be of a comfortable character, and such as is consistent for an officer to receive. Carey will be confined to these quarters with this exception, that he will be allowed to walk in the large exercise ground in front of the officers' quarters and completely walled in. It was on this account Anglesea Barracks was selected, as no other place in the garrison would permit of his taking ex- ercise within the barracks precincts with the privacy and seclusion from public gaze such as the quarters selected will afford. Carey is expected to remain there until the whole question has been settled and the final decision of the authorities on the subject of his sentence, or whether any punishment is to be in. flicted, is made known.

MEETING of TIN-PLATE WORKERS THE REDUCTION RESISTED. A meeting of South Wales, Monmouth, Glouces- ter, Worcester, and Staffordshire tin-plate men was held at Swansea on Saturday, when 42 dele- gates attended, four being represented by letter. t:I The following resolutions were adopted:— That an earnest appeal be sent to the chairman of the Employers' Association, asking that body to redeem the trade by restricting the make." That each mill, by working 12 hours, shall only do 36 boxes per turn, and 30 boxes per eight hours, and that in no case the tin-house men shall exceed 30 boxes per day." "That the works working six days per week work five days; and that those working four days be brought to work five days." It was also unanimously resolved to co-operate with the Employers' Association for the mutual benefit of masters and men." It was resolved to resist the proposed reduction everywhere.

Ax old maid had a cat and a canary. The cat died. She had him stuffed and placed him in the cage oi the canary, saying,' I have put the dear creature where he always desired to be.' A German farmer disputed his tax bill. He said I pays the state tax, the county tax, and the school tax but I pays no total tax. I'se got no total tax and never had any.' Because a man is 'greatly tickled,' it is no sign that h0 is pleased. For instance, take the case of a man who is greatly tickled by a fly alighting on his nose A MATTER OF lIIOEY.-It is easier for most people to marry and settle' than to settle' and marry. The first may be done by a proper tie, but the other cannot be effected without property. PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE.—A very rich man said I worked like a slave till I was 40 to make a fortune, md I've been watching it like a detective ever since for my lodging, food, and clothes. ORDER is Heaven's first law.' Or something that was. Some women construe this sentence to suit themselves and never cease to 'order' until confronted by the inquiry, Who do you suppose is going to pay for all this?' 6 6 r

DEAN STANLEY AT LLANDAFF CATHEDRAL. On Sunday afternoon Llandaff Cathedral was crowded to excess, it having .been announced that the Very Rev. the Dean of Westminster, who is now visiting at Dean Vaughan's, would preach the annual sermon to the 3rd Glamorganshire Artillery Volun- teers, who, to the number of about 300, were under the command of Lieut.-Colonel Hill, in attendance at church parade. The cathedral was literally crammed in every available part, and more than 1,000 per- sons were unable to obtain admission. The Very Rev. Arthur Penrhyn Stanley is the son of the late Dr Stanley, Bishop of Norwich. He be- came Dean of Westminster in 1863. The service was intoned bv the Rev. E. A. Fish- bourne. The first lesson was read by Bishop Perry, and the second by Dean Vaughan, who is chaplain to the corps. The band, placed in the chancel, took part with the organ and choir in a portion of the ser- vice, including the Hallelujah Chorus and On- ward, Christian soldiers." The Dean's text was St. Mark, chap. xv., v. 39—" And when the centurion, which stood over against him, saw that he so cried out, and gave up the ghost, he said, Truly this man was the Son of God." He said In that dreadful day of the first eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which overwhelmed the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii, there stood a Roman sentinel at the gate of the city. Where he stood, helmet on head, lance in hand, there he remained at his post. The last of the terrified inhabitants had fled, showers of ashes descended around him aud en- veloped him in his living tomb, and there, after seventeen centuries had passed away, he was found erect as when he stood at his post on that day of doom, the model of the immovable soldier, faithful to the last. Such a picture is that which the text re- veals to us. Under a darkening sky, and on the reeling earth, amidst the confused wavering to and fro of the vast multitudes on Calvary, we see one figure, firm, unshaken, helmet on head, lance in hand, standing at the foot of the cross-the Roman officer who had the charge of carrying out the sentence to the end. In the silence which followed the last out- cry of & from the Suffering One who hung above him, his words broke in, words from the stern yet generous executioner, words variously reported, but the same in substance. Certainly this was a righteous man." Truly this was the Son of God. That noble profession of arms was the same then as now, with the same temptations to harshness, to frivolity, to vice, but also with the same grand opportunities for purity, for generosity, for courage, for the most absolutely disinterested goodness. In the centurion who stood before Christ, we look at the forerunner of those true-hearted soldiers who have been the glory of Christian Biography. As our hearts glow at his words, we seem to hear individual voices which tell us to read, and to imitate, the fine religious firmness of St. Louis, the Christian soldier of France Gus- tavus Adolphus, the Christian soldier of Sweden of Cromwell's Ironsides, of the chivalrous kindness of Sir Philip Sidney, of the exalted nobleness and purity of Sir William Napier, of the fervent devotion of Colonel Gardiner, Hedley Vicars, and Havelock. The preacher then proceeded to show, by many arguments and historical allusions, how it has fre- quently happened that the apparently weaker side has afterwards proved to be right, and that they who have been the conquerors for the time have often been wrong. The centurion at the foot of the Cross he instanced as an example of a man who did not desert the seeming weaker and ap- parently conquered side to go with the multitude, which is always far easier. He exhorted his hearers to hold to their conviction of what was right without yielding to the temptation to follow popular opinion, no matter what they might have to endure in so doing. In conclusion, he said To every such upright spirit Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever, that is to say, what was in itself good yesterday, is good to-day, and will be good for ever, whatever the outside world may say; what was in itself truth yesterday is truth to-day, and will be truth for ever, however I much the judgment of cowards or of fools may i z, have shrunk from avowing it. Whatever is pure and lawful, and of good report, will be found law- ful and of good report through all eternity. Though temptations thicken, and doubts multiply, and sorrows bewilder, hold firm to this belief, and we shall indeed set our backs against the Rock of Ages. Be strong and of good courage, turn not, neither to the right hand nor to the left, for the Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest.

PIIILANTHROPIC SOCIETY. At the Winning Horse Hotel, on Tuesday even- ing, the annual dinner of the Good Intent (Pontypool) Lodge of the Merthyr Unity of Philanthropists was held. A repast served in Host Jeremiah's usual good style was proyided, and ample justice done to it. After the cloth was drawn, the chair was taken by Bro. W. Williams, P.P.G.M., and the vice-chair by Bro. J. Cook, Secretary to the Lodge. The harmony was sup- plied by Mr Pearce, harpist, in his customary able manner. The Chairman, in proposing the toast of The Queen," said it would be a piece of ingratitude if the health of Her Majesty was not cordially drunk by every assembly of British people before they entered upon other matters. The Queen had always been ready to support charitable institu- tions, and Her Majesty was j astly looked upon as a philanthropist. (Cheers.) The Prince and Princess of Wales and the rest of the Royal Family" was next given by the Chairman, who remarked that the Prince had en- deared himself to the nation by the active interest he displayed in everything which pertained to the good of the country, and the sympathy he always manifested in charitable societies. When- ever he came to rule the country, they had every assurance that he would do so with honour and dignity. (Cheers.) The Chairman gave the Bishop and Clergy of the Diocese and Ministers of all Denominations." Lieut. Green responded to the toast of The Army, Navy, and Reserve Forces." He thanked them for the cordial manner in which they had received the toast with which they had so hon- ourably associated his name. If the reserve forces were connected with the standing army of the country, he felt sure that in action as well as in conduct they would be found a worthy and cre- ditable adjunct. (Cheers.) The country was under no small obligations to the volunteers, who so readily devoted their time and their energies in perfecting themselves in military matters, that they might be prepared in time of need to come forward in the defence of our national honour. (Applause.) If ever called upon, he felt sure the volunteers would acquit themselves equally as well as the army. Bro. E. Thomas proposed The Coal, Iron, and other Trades generally of the District." The Chairman responded, and said it was hardly a pleasant topic to speak upon at the present time. Everyone was more.or less suffering from the de- pression of trade. The tide ebbed and flowed, and when the flow took place, which he hoped it speedily would do, they might hope for better times. He thought the wisest thing to do was to say as little as possible that evening, and look at the bright side of things. He trusted that the dawn was not far distant when the cloud would be dispersed which overspreaded their commercial activity, and that a revival of trade was at hand. (Hear, hear.) "The Press" was given by the Chairman in complimentary terms, and responded to by our representative. Bro. E. Thomas proposed The Unity," to which The Chairman replied. He remarked that if they were somewhat diminished in numbers, their intentions were not altered. They now consisted of about 13,000 members, and hitherto had been able to meet all claims and reserve a satisfactory balance in hand. (Cheers.) They were fighting against sickness, distress, and death, and he thought no one would deny that it was an hon- ourable warfare. If they took a retrospective view of the working of the society, they would see that it had accomplished great results, and in the face of every difficulty had been enabled to hold up its head. (Hear, hear.) They were still progressing, and the cry of the Philanthropists was Forward." The Vice-Chairman gave The Pontypool Dis- trict of Philanthropists." Bro. D. Williams, treasurer, responded. He had been in the Order many years, and was glad to meet them under such favourable circum- stances during the hard times they were now ex- periencing. They had paid all demands, and were still in a flourishing condition, having triumphed over all their difficulties. (Cheers.) He regretted the intended departure of their Bro. John Williams to a distant colony, and felt sure that he would carry with him the respect and esteem of all classes. (Applause.) Bro. S. Tovey gave The Good Intent Lodge," and wished it God speed." Bro. J. Williams responded. He observed that he was proud to be associated with such a lodge. They had suffered severely from depression of trade and sickness in the district, but they had been able to meet all demands, and the lodge re- mained in a satisfactory state. (Cheers.) The Chairman next proposed The Past and Present Officers," to which Bro. Tanner responded. The Visitors" was responded to by Mr Ed- wards, and The Host and Hostess" and The Ladies" concluded the toast list. The remainder of the evening was spent in an enjoyable manner.

SIR GARNET WOLSELEY'S AMERICAN EXPERIENCES. A PARIS paper says: Sir Garnet Wolseley has done much fighting, and he has seen more. He has always made a point of going to look for it when he had the chance. In the American civil war he followed the operations for a long while on the Confederate side, as there was more experience to be gained among a minority ably officered than among a majority who at first had numbers and not much else. Sir Garnet, then Colonel, Wolse- ley made his way with a friend to Baltimore in 1862, just after the battle of Antietam..1 He wanted to get further south, if possible to Richmond, rightly guessing that the war was far from being at an end. To do this they had to cross the Potomac, or, as it was then called, run the blockade' between the two States, at a point where the river was frozen and almost as troubled in bad weather as the sea itself. The Federals kept a sharp look-out both from gun-boats and from military stations on shore. The boats car- ried a lime light, and if the slightest noise was heard at night they illuminated the whole ex- panse for a quarter of a mile from their prows. The population was friendly—that was the only thing in our travellers' favour; for the rest everything was against them, both land and water being in strong hostile occupation. "At last they reached a fisherman's cottage, overlooking the stream. The fisherman was afraid to house them, as his cottage was under the sur- veillance ot a i ederal patrol, but he told them to return next day; and they had to pass the night in a village, a prey to heat and musquitoes. On the following morning they stole back to the hut, and bargained for a passage across in the fishing boat at the rather high fare of seventy dollars in gold. They were to pass the day in hiding in the hut, and to set forth in the night. They were not on any account to be seen outside the premises be- fore that, lest their appearance should excite the suspicion of the keen watchers on the river, who according to the fisherman, kept that part of the shore under their glasses as well as under their guns. They sat down to watch out the day, when, at about two in the afternoon, the fisherman in a state of great excitement announced that a Fede- ral officer and a file of men were approaching the hut. There was no time for flight or hiding, so the pair quietly stayed where they were. When the officer entered, the colonel "s companion asked him if it would be possible to get permission for a little duck-shooting on the river. The astonish- ed officer thought that it would not. In that case, said the other, will you be good enough to tell two unfortunate sportsmen how they are to get back to Washington.' The officer did not like the look of it, and he was just hesitating about his answer when Col. Wolseley stepped forward, cigar-case in hand, and ottered him a regalia. It was the psychological moment of decision, and he had seized it. The officer took the cigar, and answered that a Wash- ington steamer would call at about four the next morning at a neighbouring wharf. Long before that time, of course, Colonel Wolseley and his friend were safely in Virginia. "They parted with the officer on excellent terms though a corporal who had seen, if not more of the service, at least more of the world, did not hesitate to communicate his suspicions of them to his chief. The young fellow stuck to his faith in the story of the duck-shooting, and left them to wait for the steamer. The fishing-boat duly came at night- fall, and with Wolseley and the other lying well covered in the bottom, cast its nets and tacked, under the very nose of a Federal gunboat, in the most innocent way in the world, until the master saw his way to put them ashore. They subse- quently reached Lee's head quarters."

I THE UNHALLOWED HAND. In the border counties of Scotland it was formerly customary, when any rancorous enmity subsisted between two clans, to leave the right hand oi small children unchlistened, that it might deal the j more deadly, or, according to the popular phrase, "unhallowed" blows, to their enemies. By ttffc superstitious rite they were devoted to continue the family feud or enmity. The same practice subsisted in Ireland, for in an old history we are told, In some co^er of the land they used a sinful supersti- tion, leaWSg the right arms of tfieir infSnts, males, unchristeped (as they termed it), to the end it might give a more ungracious and deadly blow."

TURNING THE TABLES. When an actor stumbles in his part, fertility ol resource is of the greatest moment, and has ovei and over again saved the credit of all concerned. In fact, the readiness of an actor or manager to turn an apparent disaster into an happy interlude is much on a par with the presence of mind that guides a skilful general to victory. This readiness was well displayed on the stage by Luguet, when playing the bearer of an important despatch, on the contents oi which the plot of the drama turned. By mistake the property-man gave Luguet a blank sheet of paper, which he handed to the mimic king, who, not having studied the words which ought to have been written on the despatch, was in a quandary. He got out ol it by handing the paper back to the messenger with the command, Read it to me, sirrah Luguet, however, was equal to the occasion, and responded: "Alas, sir, born of poor but honest parents, I have never learned to read."

MARRIED BEFORE HE KNEW IT. Unmarried men who have no desire to change their condition find Thibet a dangerous place. An English traveller resolved to travel through China by a route comparatively unknown, and full of dangers. Start- ing from Hadow, he went along the Yangtse-Kiang to Eastern Thibet. One day he found himself in a grove, surrounded by a group of girls, and, aecording to him, the whole scene was so Arcadian, and the romantic effect so irrisistible, that, though struck by -he remarkable absence of the male sex, he gave him- self up to the influence of the situation, and waited with languid curiosity for the denouement of this pleasant little adventure." He smoked with the girls and shared their meals. After the lapse of a pleasant hour they dragged in a young girl of sixteen, attired in a silk dress, seated her by his side, and then began to dance round the pair. He could not make it out until his servant explained that, according to one of the customs of Thibet, he had, without knowing it, allowed himself to be married. He at first wished to •esist, pleading English customs, but the tribe among whom he was would accept no explanations, and he was compelled to take the wirl with him, considerably to his discomfitur

SNOW SKATES. In some climates skating is a business rather than pastime. In Russia, the long frosts render the practice of skating universal for some months every vear. In Canada and North America enormous dis- ;ances are traversed by skating at great speed, the ikate there being to a sleigh what an English pair of ihoes is to a cab or carriage. In Holland all sorts of oad8, cans of milk and market produce, are borne lOr fifty miles at a stretch along the numerous canals by skaters. In Norway there is a military corps of rkaters called the Skellobere or "Skate runners." rhese troops manoeuvre with great velocity. They san pass over snow too soft for either cavalry or irtillery; and they dart about at such a rate that it is impossible to take aim at them. With these Norwegian snow skaters fifty miles a day is quite Jommon. In England a very high rate of speed has been attained on the ice by accomplished skaters in- itances having occurred of a mile being accomplished n very little more than two minutes.

MOTHER WIT. « A/rfi^ lon,g llst miSht be ma(le of men who have owed their advancement in life to a smart answei given at the right moment. One of Napoleon's vete. rans, who survived his master many years wn<* mn» o recount with great glee how he had once picked up not Srkedhatati «-Twt g < WaM a Pnvate> said carelessly! • T m y0.11 caPtain- In what regiment, sire ?" ins.antly asked the ready-witted soldier. Napoleon, perceiving his mistake, answered with a smile "In my Guard, for I see you know how to be prompt." The newly-made officer received his commission next morning. A somewhat similar anecdote is related of juarsnai buvorott, who, when receiving a despatch from the hands of a Russian sergeant who had greatly distinguished himself on the Danube, attempted to confuse the messenger by a series of whimsical oues- -Frl™,f°r.d fuUy equal to the occasion. Howmanyhah are therein the sear"askedSuvoroff. fa^isSafoai7h! C!iUg > ^0t> was the answer. "How forced marches '^Wh^ would e?,celIency'* vour men o.- • • w°uld you do if you saw d gmng way ln battle?"—"I'd tell them there was a wag-on -load of whisky behind the enemy'd lam Pom?s> the marshal ended with. between your colonel and mj self r My colonel cannot make a lieutenant, but your excellency has only to say the word." c. AndJ say it now, then," answered Suvoroff, and a right good officer you'll be."

WAR. When tidings come of battles fought and won, My saddened soul refuseth to rejoice. The merry chiming bell, the pealing gun, The frantic multitude's vehement voice, Sounding loud triumph o'er the vanquished foe. Alas! such mirth is mockery af woe— Woe dire, deep, unmitigated, sheer;— The widow weeps her only son laid low The maid her idol hope so fondly dear, So full of life a few short hours ago The old man mourns his one last solace here, And his last tears from their dried fountain flow,— Oh God of heaven, make horrid war to cease. Angel of love, descend, and give us peace. BOB C. HARRISON (T.J.J.)

THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT. If men cared less for wealth and fame, And less for battle-fields and glory; If writ in human hearts a name Seemed better than in song and story; If men, instead of nursing pride, Would learn to hate it and abhor it; If more relied on love to guide The world would be the better for it. If If more would act the play of life, And never spoil it in rehearsal; If„bigotry would sheathe its knife, Till good became more universal; If custom, grey with ages grown, Had fewer blind men to adore it; If talent shone in truth alone The world would be the better for it. If men were wise in little things, Affecting less in all their dealings; If hearts had fewer rusted strings To isolate their kindly feelings If men, when wrong beats down the right, Would strike togetherjand restore it If right made might in 'every fight: The world would be the better for it. B. C. HARRISON (T.J.J.)

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] 'TWIXT CUP AND LIP. BY NANNIE LAMBERT, jiuthoress of "Spring Leaves," "Thoughts on the "Talmud" c. CHAPTER XII. The next morning brings me the following letter from Derrick— "My dear Claude,—■ "My mind is so disturbed to-night, that I can only put before you, in the simplest manner, the facts which I meant to have told you, personally, this afternoon. When you see me to-morrow, you can question me aa you like concerning them. I shall be perfectly candid—not endeavouring in any way to tcreen my faults. • i am cue younger son or on woairey JJeverili. xy mother died in giving me birth, and from my very infancy my father seemed to resent the injury, which I had unconsciously done him. At any rate, he was extremely severe with me as my childhood advanced, and suffered my elder brother—a weak, sickly boy— to be so also. There were but the two of us he was the master—I was the slaye The same injustice marked our schooldays. I was a target for the ar- rows of his wrath. Life was a burthen to me, for 1 was naturally high-spirited, and this led to endless quarrelling. It was then that I felt most severely the loss of some kind female relative, or friend. In all my life I had never known such. "At the age of eighteen, I went to Germany. We were travelling there, and whilst my brother's deli- cate health confined him much to the quietude of my father's society, I fell in with others of my age, and became mixed up in a vortex of excitement and dis- sipation, which has rarely been equalled. "The bulk of my mother's fortune—not a very large one—would not come to me until I should be of age, but in the meantime I was the possessor of a few thousands (legacies from departed relatives), and this money was helping me on to ruin. My days and nights were spent in evil haunts, and the gaming- table possessed an attraction for me, which was noth- ing short of insanity. "At Weisbaden I met Mrs. Daring and Carl, then, as I thought, a lad of some fourteen years. Young as he was, he played high, and evinced a spirit for gambling, second only to that of his mother, who fairly startled me. "She was, at the time of which I speak, a magnifi- cent woman, still young, and possessed of extraordi- nary attractions of person, manner, and education. She was then passing as a widow, and was known as Mrs. Hume. "We soon became extremely intimate. She patron- ised me, flattered me, and I believe loved me sincerely. For my part I was too much dazzled by her, and by my new life, to define my feelings very closely, but I have no doubt I was so fond of her as it was then in my nature to be of anybody far more than an hour together. My father had seen the lady but once, when he strictly forbade our intercourse. He saw more clearly than I could see, but I refused to listen to his advice, and aa she immediately afterwards proposed to marry me, I consented, and we adjourned one morning to a a quiet chapel, where the ceremony was to bo per- formed. Nobody was by except Carl, and one or two of her lady friends. The marriage was just concluded, and we were about to sign our names, when a man —an American—who had often seemed to be watch- ing us, stepped in, and pronounced the whole pro- ceedings to be void. I shall not dwell upon what followed: in fact I scarcely know, for excitement threw me into a raging fever, which prostrated me for months, during which Mrs. Hume—or Mrs. Ashton, to call her by her right name—evinced towards me a devotion which touched me to the heart. Even still, strange as it may appear, I can scarely think of it, after the lapse of years, without tears of gratitude and pity. She took the fever from me, and Carl and I nursed her by turns. She had almost ruined me had been checked on the brink of a mighty crime, into which she had been hurrying me also; yet, so great was her devotion to me, and so earnest was her love, that I forgave her, and forgot to utter a reproach. She told me her history, concealing nothing from me, and begged of me—as my father and brother had deserted me—to be to her as a son. I was but a boy, had no mother, nobody to give me a word of advice she urged me, Carl urged me, and I consented. We three remained together, travelling, and seeing life, and enjoying the continual change of scene and end- less variety, with a zest which was soon a portion of my very existence. It would be impossible to imagine a wilder, or a more dangerously enjoyable life. No allurement was wanting, which could charm and captivate the senses, and to one like me—so long accustomed to slights and reprimands--this life of perfect freedom and careless enjoyment, was an Elysium of happiness and con- tentment. "I had but one drawback my adopted mother loved me too well; her affection, so deep in its intensity, became burthensome. Her constant dread was, lest I should leave her for somebody whom I might leam to love but, God knows, until I met you, she had no cause for jealousy. "I have said that the life I waa leading had but ono drawback r I forgot that it had another. I vainly Nought, as I grew older, to find anything in it on which to net-to discover any reality in so much that was hollow and unreal. There were hours of pleasure, to be sure, Lut there were, at times, hours also of spirit-loneliness, in which the dread vacuum made itself awfully felt. I had never read my Bible, yet there were moments when I reflected something of the spirit of the Preaohor, when ho vriote—" Rejoice, o young man, in thy youth but know that for aUe things, God will bring theo into judgment I did not know what it was to be good, but neither did I believe in good in others. I looked upon every- thing with a jaundiced eye. Seeing so much vice around me, gave me a contempt for all men and all 1,hingl-myeelf included—which was. as it were, a millstone about my neck. These remarks do not apply to the commencement of my strange career, but to later on—to the time I first met you—and for at least ten years previous to that period. When I had reached my twenty-fifth year, I met my father, travelling on the borders of Italy. I told him as much of my story as did not involve Mrs Ashton's safety, and asked him to be reconciled. He refused to be so, unless I consented to give up entire- ly my association with these people, and to stay alto- gether by his side. I took time to consider, but when the question was mentioned to Mrs Ashton, her grief was so terrible that I was touched by her faithfulness, and, for the second time, I turned my back upon my parent for her sake. A year after this, we camn to Enfh'ul. At Scar- borough we met the Becchcs, and YOll know the rest. When I loved you, you were, as still, my first and only love for you I could make any sacrifice, or dis- solve any tie. When I learned, on that wcn- remembered day in the wood, that my love was returned, mv mind was full of wild fancies and itn- possible plans. I knew the blow it would be to one, who, whatever her faults, was invariably kind, loving, and indulgent to mine, and to me. I therefore (wrongly, I confess) proposed secresy, but a few hours quiet thought, convinced me that I should he acting unfairly by you, and so I formed a didcr^nt resolution. I went that day to an old friend, resi- dent in London ascertained my father's foreign address; started on the following morning to find him, and get his promise to receive yon as a daughter; accomplished the finding with considerable difficulty, the getting of the promise with scarcely any left you a sufficient time to study your own heart; and returned to tell you all this, and to tell it, also, as gently as I might, to the adopted parent whom I knew it would grieve. "What you told me to-day, completely unnerved me. I did not think her capable of such a line of action. I thought her unscrupulous, and bold but certainly not mean. It is not for me, however, to ntter one word of blame in connection with her name enough to know, that all her faults-except the first tre due to an over-wrought affection all her blamo was incurred for the sake of the love she bore me. I ■;annot speak against her, nor think of her with harsh- ness. I must remember her virtues, and forget her faults, for she saved my life. Let us hope that the husband she injured may be merciful to her, and that One higher may be so, also! "Now, Maude, you know all. I have-not been a good man; my boyhood and my youth have been alike wasted. You can reclaim me-you have done so—will you follow up the good work ? I have not sought to conceal from you my faults, but, in justice to me, remember that until I met you, I had no guide but my own undisciplined heart and wayward passions. If some friendly hand had been outstretched to save me, in the early days of my wild career-if a mother's prayers, or a sister's gentle in- fluence had followed me, I might have been, long since, what I hope to be in the future. Good night, dear Maude, I shall count the moments until I hear from you. Yours, DERRICK DEVBRILL," My reading of this letter occupies a long while. At first I fairly devour it, without being able to dis- cover one-half its important meaning; then, again and again, I read it more carefully through, until every word dances in letters of fire before my eyes and, as the fulness of its import dawns upon me, there goes up from my heart such a cry as, thank God, is seldom heard or known, even in this world of sad- ness. From henceforth there is between me and Derrick a great gulf fixed And throwing myself upon my knees, I give way to an emotion, such as I have never witnessed in others, and have not known myself to be capable of enduring. I cannot keep my promise to Derrick I can never be his wife Not because the best years of his life have been squandered, and the standard of his god- like manhood lowered by evil companionship but because I have been the one to strike the ground from under the feet of the woman, whose warmest love has been twined around him, and who has hitherto- however unworthy-had the only claim upon his gratitude and affection. I am the miserable instru- ment which is rapidly bringing her to justice Bit by bit, and day by day, I have sought and found ovidences of her identity, only to turn them, as it were, against myself, for I cannot triumph in the midst of her downfall. I have walked with her, on the principle of the two sheep in the field, shoulder to shoulder, and step for step-and now that the gap is well-nigh reached, I feel and know that the going through will be a sorrowful time for me. It is I who have watched her every movement, (logged her every step, piled up evidence which can- not fail to condemn her, established a watch over her, kept up by others as well as by myself, and soon to be made public. It is I whose hand has summoned her angry husband, I who am to deliver her up to him, I who have drawn her, inch by inch, within the net which was waiting to crush her in its folds I who, believing that it was my duty, have pursued the chain, link by link, until the end is at length reached, and ruin is awaiting her Oh, how dearly have I paid for duty; how I hide my face in my outsprearl hands, and wish that I had never seen this woman, had never heard her miserable history, or hearing it, had suffered it to pass It is I who have snatched from her side, the man in whose companionship her very existence has seemed to be bound, and can I now walk calmly through the ashes of her burning, with that man by her side, and spread my marriage-feast in sight of her funeral pyre ? No, a thousand times no She has loved him; cared for him; guarded him, as her own son, from every trouble made his wish her law, and given him more than a mother's affection; she has been jealous of his every look and word and I have —however unwittingly-robbed her of her dearest treasure, whilst I have caused, or am causing, her to be trampled in the dust. She has not deserved better things of mo, but I must act worthy of myself. She, through my in strumentality, is hastening to speedy degradation, but when it comes upon her, I shall not look on it from an exalted pinnacle, nor triumph over a fallen foe. My ideas upon the subject may be unnecesarily severe, but they are the teachings of my heart, and as such I must regard them. The conflict with myself lasts for two long hours, during which I am reminded by several impatient rin-ings,land more than one verbal message, that my breakfast is awaiting me; but I pay no heed: I am engaged in fighting my strongest foe-my own heart. I get up from the battle, a victor, but a bleeding one and when I catch sight, in the mirror, of my scared and miserable face, I ask myself the ques- tion—' What has Derrick beheld in me, that he, in the prime of his glorious beauty, should have singled me from all the world ?' Then comes the yearning for sympathy—the sick ionging for my dead mother's bosom, whereon to lay my weary head! whither shall I turn ? God help me, in all the wide world I have not one friend-not one to whom I can turn for comfort. I sink upon my knees, but I cannot proy. I have loved Derrick m: re than God, and now my punishment has come. I go to my casement, and lean pantiqgly out. The flky is heavy with clouds and as I gaze upon the moving misty masses, a dim foreshadowing of a cloudy future uprises before me, and in the hazy heavens I read the emblem of a coming storm-a tempest of the affections, and of the heart. There may, perchance, be a hidden silver lining behind all that dense mass of cloud, and so there may be some concealed brightness lingering behind the misty future of my existence-but in the gloom which hangs over my spirit, I cannot see it now, any more than I can discern one struggling gleam of sunshine amongst the hazy vapours, which hang across the muffled sky. Doubtless, I look like an invalid, as I lean my pale face through the unclosed window, for some children who are blowing soap-bubbles in an adjoining yard, cease their laughing, and look sympathizingly and even a&dly, at my tearful eyes. I strive to smile at them, and they laugh again, and puff their gaudy playthings up to where I stand. One of them comes quite close to me, radiant with its gorgeous hues— green, and crimson, and blue, and amber—looking as if Golconda's treasures, and the Caspian's famous gems, had been liquified upon its glassy surface. It floats near me for a moment-hangs above my hea 1 —descends—touches my cheek-and bursts, in an instant, into a thonsand glittering fragments! And I think, it is thus with the hopes which I have been cherishing: the bright bubbles of my fancy have dazzled for a moment, even as this has done, and have vanished as swiftly, into empty air!

CHAPTER XIII. My leave-taking from the Beeches is marked by nc particularly interesting features. It is commonplace enough, and reminds me of the feeling which I enter- tained upon the day on which tho Miss Kingsleys departed from Beech Hill,-namely, that, with this family, once the back of a late member of it is fairly turned, they are clean forgotten, as a dream when it passeth." Probably this will occur in my own case, even more than in theirs: in fact it is a matter of course that it should they were the guests-I the governess; and, moreover, they left on apparently affectionate terms, whereas I am going away in displeasure. Indeed, Mrs. Beech is so displeased with me, that her adieux would be better unspoken, but my mind is so burthened with other cares, that I find no room for this one. It gives me a further example, however, of the truism, that in this world the remembrance of evil, predominates far above that of good. Here have I been for months, endeavouring to do my duty, and more than my duty striving to please my employers, and to be faithful to a difficult trust; endeavouring to educate and rcforn the manners of three young per- j sons. whose education and reformation have boen matters of extreme diuicultiy; assisting in the house- keeping, and filling various posts which I had never engaged to fill; and all this is forgotten, whilst my single offence against the household rules, is remem- bered with such acrimony, as to convince me that the recollection of it will not easily pass away. Well—it is the spirit of the age! I cannot complain. My pupils evidently wish to take an aiIectionate leave of me, but their mother's chilling presence puts a restraint upon them, which is painful; and with which I can well sympathize. Only the youngest, Clara, breaks through the icy barrier of this reserve, and throwing herself upon my neck, weeps with un- controllable bitterness, for which she is rewarded by a reproof from Mrs. Beech, who drives her before her up to the staircase, sobbing piteously, but not daring to look back. As I am about to enter the cab which has been called for me, Mr. Beech comes out of his study on the ground floor, takes everything in at a glance, and says— Miss Ashton, I have remained at home to have the pleasure of seeing you before your departure, but had no idea that you contemplated going so early. May I ask for a moment's conversation with you?" He holds the study door open, for me to pass in before him, and Mrs. Beech looks down from the landing with lightning in her eyes. I walk forward he follows me and the do-,r is shut. He goes to his desk, takes from it a roll of notes, which he hands to me, and says- "This is due to you, Miss Ashton, but I feel that nothing can sufficiently remunerate you for the labour and pains which you have bestowed upon my children. I deeply regret your departure, and can assure you that in me vou shall always possess a friend." ne delivers tntB speech in his usual digmtied, and somewhat cold manner, but I know that every word of it is meant. It It precise, but it is not stereotyped. I value it; I value his good opinion; and I tell him so, and thank him with all my heart. He seems gratified, and bids me a most kindly good-bye. When I am on the threshold, I pause, hesitate, battle with myself, and say- "Sir, you are aware that Mrs. Beech and I parting in displeasure. There is something wtich I did not explain to her, and which I should like TO explain to yon, relative to the cause of her displeasure -my absence on Thursday evening. Will you con- sent to hear me for a moment ?" He waves his hand, and says-" It is unnecessary; I know-I know. I do not wish to speak of these things at all." I am surprised, and doubtless look so, for he says hurriedly—"Do not question me, pray; it is all right-all right, I assure you. Good-bye good-bye;" and hastens to hand me into the vehicle, and to pay the driver, also, which I am powerless to prevent. Then he shakes hands again, runs his fingers through his stiff hair, and stalks back to his study. When I subsequently open the roll of notes, I find that I have received a much larger sum than was at all due to me. A slip of paper is enclosed, begging of me to accept the surplus money as a small token of esteem and goodwill, and urging me not to return it, on pain of giving serious offence to the donor. It ia a kindness which touches me deeply, and which I never forget. As we drive noioily through the crowded streets, I the clock of the mighty fane, which Bardos, a century ago, designated The Monument of Nations," tolls out the mid-day hour and as the successive strokes boom upon my car, a consciousness steals over me of the thousands who, like me, are within the sound of that great monitor, and the knell which it has rung to many of their brightest dreams and most ardent anticipations. Will the vast machine of metal, sen- tinelled in the dark belfry—abandoned to its own stealthy movements, and yet tracking with inexorable finger the lapse of every second, and roaring forth with sonorous tongue the progress of indomitable Time—will this solemn chronicler of the hopes which hourly perish, in like manner respond to the destruc- tion of my own ? I contemplate the untrodden path of my future existence, and shudder at the answer which Reason seems to shirk. I find, on arriving at my new residence, that every effort has been made to make me feel at home. The rooms are beautifully fresh and neat. Spring flowers, in pretty vases, adorn the table and window-stands and, the day being chilly, a cheerful fire is burning in the grate, whilst an easy-chair, drawn in front of it, offers an inviting rest for my weak and weary limbs. Altogether, were it not for the one great vo:d in my heart, I should feel contented-almost happy, in this quietv le, and the blessedness of being once more free. I have scarcely time to throw off my bonnet, and seat myself in the luxuries warmth of the fire, when Derrick is announced. He comes in hurriedly, and as he shuts the door and advances to greet me, I can see how his hands are trembling, and how worn and aged his handsome face appears. My heart is full of love and pity for him, as he flings himself at my feet —for I have not risen-but, with all my conqueror's armour on, I am ready for the battle, which I know i at hand. *— ( To be continued.)

THE REPRESENTATION OF MONMOUTH- SHIRE. Col. Kemeys-Tynte has stated that he does not intend becoming a candidate for the representation of Monmouthshire. His reasons are disinclina- tion to cause disunion amongst the Conservative party," and the feeling that it was possible such a course might have led to the success of a Liberal candidate.

AN INTERESTING NUMBER. The number twelve plays an important part in everyday life. What so common as a dozen hand- kerchiefs, or napkins, or whatever the article may be I It comes natural to think of various articles in dozens. Of course, dozen is another way of saying twelve; twelve units make one dozen, twelve dozen one gross twelve gross one great gross. We have twelve cal- ender months in the year. We have also twelve inches in a foot; twelve onnces in a pound Troy and apothecaries' weight. When a crime has been com- mitted and someone is suspected and arrested, he is tried before twelve of his fellow-countrymen, and they decide upon his guilt or innocense. Thut twelve figures at every trial. Is not the number an important one?

A JAPANESE PRISON. The convict prison of Tsukuda Jima, near Tokio, is founded on an admirable system by which each prisoner contributes to his own maintenance by labour. The prison stands upon nineteen acres of land, more than three of which are covered by build- ings and in the month of March it held three thousand three hundred and ninety prisoners, oi whom only one hundred and four were women. One of the principal trades carried on in the prison is that of brick-making, at which more than three hundred of the convicts are employed, the clay being brought from Tokio. The bricks are sold at a fail profit. Forty convicts are employed in making boots and shoes, and all the boots for the police are manufactured there. There are a smithy and car- henter's shop in the prison, and among the miscel- laneous articles turned out are umbrellas, china ware, toys, and various kinds of lacquer work. There are also several printing presses in the prison, while the younger convicts have a large schoolroom, in which they are taught Japanese and English, and are made familiar with different trades. The prison is under the control of the police department.

THACKERAY'S HABITS AND PERSONAL APPEARANCE. The personal ppearanc of Thackeray has been frequently described. His nose, through an accident was misshapen; it was broad at the bridge and itubby at the end. He was near-sighted; and is lair at forty was grey, but massy and abundant; his ieen and kindly eyes twinkled sometimes through ind sometimes over his spectacles. A friend remarked that what he "should call the predominant expression jf the countenance was courage—a readiness to face Jie world on its own terms." Unlike Dickens he took no regular walking exercise, and being regard- less of the laws of health suffered in consequence. [n reply to one who asked him if he had ever received the best medical advice, his renlv was • -What is the use of advice if you don't follow it ? rhey tell me not to drink, and I do drink. They tell me not to smoke, and I do smoke. They tell me not to eat, and I do eat. In short I do everything that I am desired not to do and therefore what am :° expect h' And so one morning he was found lying, like Dr. Chalmers, in the sleep of death, with us arms beneath his head, after one of his vinl^nt tttacks of illness; to be mourned by his mother and laughters, who formed his household, and bv 9 wider public beyond, which bad learned to love him ;hiough his admirable works. Cli(imbe,y Journal.

It is not always possible to keep from having mud thrown at you; but you can always keep from throw- ing it at others. In play and for pleasure you cannot speak too much ,V%Iitli children, nor, in punishing or teaching them, too little. The greatest of fools is he that imposes on himaftlf. and his greatest concern thinks certainly he knnwi that which he has least studied, and of which hn most profounly dienorant. WIUCil i ,A,VTn! man, who used benzine to light tho kitchen tire, has not sinco. The paragraphists have discovered the best method ffrccfc,car- "Carry a woman half a enough Wants t0 S°' he hot kee,P a bee a^ay from you by the use of tobacco smoke, but a bee is always in such » Con- founded hurry that he gets in hi. work before you can light your oigar. "And how long have you been out of place. Lady-help (indignant at the use of such an expression as out of place ") "I have been mal « propos only a few weeks, madam. PONTYPOOL. Printed by HUGHES & SON, at their General Printing Offices, for the 'Proprietor and Publisher, HENRY HUGHES, Junior, of PenygarD, in the parish of Trevethin, and published at the FREE PRESS Office, Market St.—August 16, 1879.