Denbighshire Free Press

lALL RIGHTS RESEUVKD.J THE ORCHID EOOM. BY MRS. L. T. MEADE Avuhor of Trie Mcdicinc Lflrh" ii Si'orJcs f.fnn T)i::ry of a Do.'tor," "Frorp tuo ilaud ol ti:e Hunter," "His Mascot," &c. CHArTER XVII. Chrietmas Day dawned on a snowy world; but there was no fog, and the sun roe-2 with iriajeatv. I would make the very most of my one holiday. Accnrdingly. I took the train to Wimbledon at eight o'clock from Waterloo. To do this 1 had to rise very early. Clara called me at six, bringing my tea, and offering me the usual Christmas greeting. Dear me, miss!" she said. as I opened my eyes and sprang up in bed; "I wish I was in your shoes. You'll have a long and I happy day in the country. What a pity, miss, you can't sleep out. Anyone would like to sleep away from this house—that- is. once in a bitic, ii-iocii. I can't imagine, mi^s—if you'll forgive my making the remark—how you stay hero so IOllg." Why should not I stay, Clarn? I find 44, Garland-square very comfortable." Clara smiled significantly. "After all." I said, looking at her, "you ixavo been here longer than I." Things are quite safe in the servants' ) w:ng," said Clara but it's uncanny enough downstairs in the hall—that is, when Yates hovers about. He has his meals, of course, hovers about. He has his meals, of course, with the lower servants, and has nothing whatever to do with us. but even to come across the man gives you the cold shudders. Now, miss, I've brought your bath and vour tea, and your breakfast will be ready by seven. Sir Claude left directions that the I motor was to be round at half-past seven to you to Waterloo." Very kind of Sir Claude." I answered. The girl departed, and I hurried with my toilet. My heart was singing. I should meet my beloved mother; I should see dear old Sophy; I should thank fix? General in per- son for those three beautiful dresses, so urgently needed, so delicately offered to me. I took pains with my toilet, ate my breakfast with appetite, and at the appointed hour found myself bowling away rapidly in Sir Claude's motor-car to Waterloo Station. I had left the household practically asleep. A few of the servant." were up, but Salome, Pearl, Mrs. Wolcombe, and doubtless the baronet were still in the arms of Morpheu6. As I left the motor-car the chauffeur put his hand into his pocket and presented me with a little note. I recognised Sir Claude's writ- ing, and when I was in the train on my way to Wimbledon I tore open the envelope. Will expect you at eleven o'clock to-night in my study.—C. M." I tore the note into fragments, and flung the pieces out of the window. I did not want that interview with Sir Claude, which doubt- less would be a little ghaatly. I certainly would not think about it now, however; I would give myself up to perfect enjoyment. At Wimbledon Station I was much as- tonished to find Sophy, Rupert Dalkeith. and Denis Ward waiting for me. Sophy flung her arms round my neck and kis&ed me impul- sively. You look very stylish," she said, and- yery n-ice," she added. Rupert shook me heartily by the hand, and Mr. Ward said You are surprised to see me; but the fact is, I came here on purpose to have a chat with you." I assure you that is the case," said Rupert Dalkeith. Ward wired to my father from Scotland and asked if he might spend Christ- mas Day with us, as he knew you would be qn, of the guests." 1 felt myself colouring, and I know my heart beat with added pleasure. We drove up to the house, where the General and my dar- ling mother were waiting to give me a recep- tion. Oh, happy day Oh. golden, but fleet- ing hours Each moment was precious as a pe,-trl not an instru.t must be wasted. I felt as if a great load were lifted from me. I be- came a child on the spot. I forgot responsi- bility. I forgot the heavy cares which clung ever and always to 44, Garland-square. The mystery ceased to be. I know mv eyes were bright; I know my cheeks were full of colour; I know that I laughed and chatted, and was insouciante, and gay of the gav. My com- panions were all in capita! spirits. My ap- pearance was evidently an immense relief to General Dalkeith and also to my dear mother and Sophy. It is horrid of the baronet not to snare you to us a little longer," aaid Sophy; "but really, you look uncommonly well-uncom. monly well, Belinda. Doesn't she look well, mother?" I never caw you look better, darling," said my mother. We won't believe in that tiresome ghost any more," added Sophy. "You needn't," I answered. What ghost? asked Dennis Ward. Oh, nothing," I answered. I gave him an imploring look, which he respected. After early dinner I found an opportunity to thank the General for my three dresses. It was sweet of you to take them," lie said. But you must really thank Rupert for the idea. Rupert said you would accept a little present from me, and he arranged the matter. My dear young lady, no more—no more thanks, I beg. A girl cannot appear amongst fashionable people without being dressed to fit the part, and you would do jus- tice to prettv clothes, I fancy. "The dresses are quite lovely," I said; and if I had only been allowed to stay here a few days you would have seen me in one after the other." And much I should have enjoyed it. It's very strange and rather mean of old Mal- colm not to spare you to us for a few days," said the General. I shall certainly manage to come down again—that is, if you will let me—while mother and Sophy are here," I answered. Let you. child Why, of course. You must consider this house as your home. Cotr.e whenever you like; never wait for an invi- tation." Then he lowered his voice. "Is it all right at Gar'and-square? You're not- ue>ous— eh? 1 verv nervous one night," I replied. *looked at me. "Tell me about it," lie said then. You will promise never to mention it to anybody." if you wish it, dear. Of course I will keep your confidence." I then told him about the Orchid Room, and the strange appearance which I had cer- tainly seen in the dark hours of the night. He pondered the circumstance very gravely for n little time. "You struck a match?" he said. "And there was nothing at all to account for what you imagined you saw?" "Oh! I didn't imagine it," I answered; I —o it." "You did quite right," said General Dal- keith, "to insist on leaving th<> i oom after- wards- I wish you would make me a promise i-ou will not sleep there again." I,will gladly do so." I said. I am now comfortably settled in a most inoffensive bed- l-oom. where no ghost ever troubles himself t, j disturb my dreams." Then I feel quite happy about you and' let me tell you, Belinda, that I think what you saw. was. really due to your own imagina- I ioll. We had no right to tell you about that poor girl who leit the house in a hurry, and' v.ho1—well, why worry ourselves about her, poor thing? She was never able to explain whas did happen. She might have gone ma<& in any case." 1 took the old General's hand. "I believe she x4ept in that room." I said. "and I lje- I what happened there drove her niad-I am r-oftain of it." "Oil, don't be silly, child; 44. Garland- square will not be a healthy place for you to live 1a if you go on imagining these things. Antis now Ward and Rupert and Sophy are all dying to take you for a walk. Go on the common. and have a good time while the sun is C)LIT meanwhile, I will look after your mother. He went off, and I joined my companions. I found myself now alone with ,:s Ward. Rupert and Sophy had gone briskly on in front. I'thought that Denis lingered a little behind on purpose. When there was a lair distance between us and our companions ha V-irned and faced m. x do not Inov;. wh I hac at that moment a sudden and uncontroll- able sinking at my heart. It had been so flil] of joy up to that moment. I had been sa feappy, so gay- "May I call you Belinda?" was his first remark. "Of course you may," I said; "I itni al- ways longing to call you Denis. The name seems so natural, on account of long ago." "Here," he said, "in this bcautitu! air. far away from horrid London, and above all things, beyond the mr.lign influence, ef 44, Garland-square. I feel that wemny drop con- vention. Let us drop it for a f.ew miruttes." Only for a few minutes? I asked. "•Why—ye<5," he answered, raising his brows a tririe. How can I possibly call you by your Christian name in the presence of a woman like Mrs. Wolcombe? An(! t firl like P,e,I, I sa;d. rorgive Denis I forgot them both for the minute." But I can never forget them. Now liai-O something to tell you I would rather you kINiV from my lips than from anyone else." I turned and faced him. ""What? "I asked. I have yielded to circumstances, and am en-gaged to marry Pearl Malcolm-" He said the words very slowly, dropping them out one by one. Healthy girls like my- self do not fain t ojr she w any special outward emotion when a big blow descends on them. I had received my big blow., but after an in- terval of half a minute I said, quietly I expected this already. Please accept my "Don't congratulate me," he said. "To you, here and now, I will .say what must. be as a sealed book for evermore between us. I am about to marry a woman I do not love." "But I cried then; and I allowed my hungry eyes to gaze into his. and I perceived at that moment that his—just as hungry, almost starving—were looking into mine. It is a case of noblesse oblige," he re- plied. If you knew all you would forgive me; you would see that circumstances forced me to this course." But why should I forgive you? "Ah!" he said, quietly; then he looked at me. and a rush of colour came over his thin, tanned face. We said no word each to the other; but we each knew well—oh, well !-that we loved one another. "I thought I must tell you myself," he said, after a pause. "It is arranged; the marriage is to take place in the spring-quite early in the spring. Now, having yielded after considerable persuasion to Sir Claude Mal- colm's wish, I am particularly anxious to do what I can for you. I don't want you to stay in that house after we are married." But it doesn't matter," I said. I felt in- clined to add, Nothing matters." but I re- frained from uttering the last words. You are not really happy there," he said. "Why should you stay? Mrs. Wolcombe, I know, will remain, and she will tyrannise over you. If you must earn your bread, Belinda, surely General Dalkeith and I my- self could find you a more congenial post." It is very strange," I caid, but I am in a measure forced to remain at 44, Garland- square." "There is a strange feeling about the house." he remarked. "That little Salome has whispered to me once or twice that there is a mystery attached to it. I rather like Salome she is a staunch little friend to you. I wish you would promise me to leave, if not before the wedding, then immediately after.'T "I should like to go." I said "I should love to go. I hate being there—yes, yes. I hate it; but, the fact is. I want to earn a little money. We are poor. Mother is poor; Sophy is poor. I can help them by support- inz mvself." "Oh!" he said, with a groan. "don't tell me too much. Noblesse oblige must be my motto. Well, you know what I think. You ought not to stay in that bouse. I dislike the atmosphere of it." Ana yet you are taking a wife from that house," I could not help answering. He shut his lips, his face became firm, his eyes seemed to loss their expression. After a minute he said: Don't make things too cruel for me." I don't understand you." I said. Then I continued: "You have no right to marry a girl you do not love." And you have no right to say what you have ju6t said without knowing everything." Then why not tell me everything? I wish I could, but I can't. One thing, however, I will tell you. Pearl knows the truth. She knows that I do not love her as a man should love a woman he is about to make his wife." We turned slowly back. I don't think we said much. The glory of the beautiful coun- try morning was over; a fog was beginning to rise. It was cold-I shivered. Let's get back to the house," I said. "I want to talk to mother." CHAPTER XVIII. I We retraced our steps to Dalkeith. Mother was resting in her room. I ran up to her. She was seated in an easy-chair by a com- fortable fire. The moment she saw me she uttered an exclamation. Why, Linda Oh, my darling she said. What is wrong? Notiii-ig-nothing at all, dearest." Yon looked so very bonny and well this morning," continued mother. but now you are completely changed. Did you tire your- self when you were out walking? Perhaps I did, a little." Linda, if that grand place in Garland- square does not suit you, you must come home." No, darling, it does suit me. I am going to stay there for the present." U But I won't have my child made ill for any paltry hundred a year." Darling mother How few hundreds a year she had. and yet she spoke of my salary as paltry It is sweet to be close to you," I said. and I rubbed my cheek against hers and took her hand and cuddkd it. I saw you going off. darling, for your walk. What a dear. nice fellow Delli" Ward is How strange that you should have met him -at the Malcolms'. He is the next, heir of that rich old Lord Norhrccli. He is poor enough now. but will have lands, a title, and a fine position some day." A ?- of enlightenment came over me, find my heart sank lower than ever. Sir Claude was not so unworldly as lie would give one to i •agine. Mrs. Woiconibe knew wnat she was about. Pearl would be Lady Norbreek some day. How I wished that Denis Ward might be always poor—just poor enough to live as he ha.d done hitherto. Hew I hated ilehes iToiher." I safd. suddenly. "I am in- clined to agree with .you. A little cot in the country a"v from all the turmoil and temntarion of the town is quite the happiest life in the world." f I shall expect you home before long," said my mother. I don't somehow like your j look." I had tLa an(! -it end arrived hack again t 44, Garland-square close on eleven 'o'clock. 'I he motor-car w as sent to W aterloo to meet nie. Rupert saw me up to town. Den:Ward said to ine just as t I was leaving: "I am coming to stay at Garland-r-quar-e to-morrow. W e .shail meet now and then. I i hone. Good-bye. Miss Treherne." That little interval when I was Belinda to him and he was Denis to me was over. It was a sealed book, beginning with, oh such brightness, such dancing sunshine fal'Itic on its pages, and ending—well, but why should j I say any more about its miserable ending? j As I was being swiftly taken back to (Jar- lano-square, having said good-bye to Rupert, who arranged that he to come to M-ch me on the following Sunday in order iliat I might spend the en:ire day with mv mother and sister. I gave myself up to a sense of the | most sweeping desolation. I could not con- eeal the fact from my own hevrt that I loved Denis Ward, and—glowing, stimulating, oIt. passionate thought my love was returned Nevertheless, he was about to marry another girl. Why was he doing it? 1 he house was almost in d.*Hniess when I. got back. The immaculate Andrew let me in. Sir Claude wishes to see you as soon aolJ you can go to him, Miss Trelierne," he said, respectfully. I did not delay a second. I went straight to the baronet's study. I knocked at the door. He came eagerly towards me. I saw at a glance that, L although I was feeling thorough., able, he was in fairly good spirits. v On the table, near cne of the electric lights, lay a set oi costly furs, not sable, but the very finest Russian iox. I hope you will often come for drives in my motor-car," said the "-and that you will accept this trifling recognition of your services." As he spoke he put a warn: cape round my shoulders, a collar round my neck, and tak- ing my two hands, slipp-d them into a muff. And here's a little tap of the same." he said, glancing at my dark hair as he spoke. I should have preferred to give you chin- ehilla." was his next remark, "but I did not suppose you won hi care to wear the same kind of fur as Pearl." j I thought with a sudden Jiang that Pearl would now wear the lovely sable which Denis Ward had lent me on the day we went to Richmond, for I could scarcely believe that he would really give this magnificent set to an old lady. Sir Claude looked at me ex- pectantly. evidently half afraid that I should refuse his costly present; but I accepted it without any hesitation. Thank you very much," I said. Thank yon. many times, for being willing to take it," he responded. I didn't dare to offer you a gift before, but on Christmas night it is allowable, is it not? I have been distributing presents to every member of the household all day. And now, will you sit down by the fire? I have something to tell you." "And I have something to tell vou," I re- plied. Let me hear your news first." When I was at Wimbledon to-day I met amongst the guest6 mv old friend, Ir. Ward." "Ah, yes, yes!" said the baronet. "Yes? I did not know he W8.6 to be there. You met him. eh?" "I did. He told me that he was engaged to Miss Malcolm." That is true. They are to be married in February. It will be a great occasion. Ward isn't rich, but Pearl herself will have plenty. I am not an ambitious man—by no means ambitious." He looked at me curiously, as though he defied me to contradict him. Ward is a first-rate fellow, is he not, Miss Treherne? He is," I replied. You think Pearl will be happy, don't you?" She ought to be," I said. I think she will-I am sure of it. She is very young to be married, but when a good man comes along it's a great pity to miss the chance, and I have promised her that she shall have her fun afterwards. She will be presented as Mrs. Ward, instead of as Miss Malcolm. The marriage will be early, in order that she may return after her honey- moon to London in time for the season. We shall have gay doings in this house for the next six weeks. Miss Treherne." "You promised to tell me something to- night," I said. Will you do so? I am not sure that I shall." Then why did you ask me to come to you here? Partly to give you these furs, partly to tell you that Pearl and Ward were engaged." And partly for another reason," I said. "That is true. I want you to promise to stay with us until the wedding is over." "I don't want to make promises," I re- I plied. t He looked at me in a sort of breathless, way. He was a queer old man, and eeemecf to have the power of reading people through. Everything depends on you," he said, after a pause. You have been with us two months. Remain for another two months—it won't even be quite as long. Remain until the wedding is over—promise me that; yes, promise me that." "umy," l replica, "if you will give me vour true reason." What do you mean? You have puzzled me from the very Srst, I replied. 1 never could understand why I was wanted here at aH. nor why you were so specially kird to me. I want to know why you are kind, and why you want me to remain." Oh, good gracious he exclaimed, im- patiently. What a girl it is Why shouldn't I be kind to a nice, pleasant, handsome young creature like yourself? And why shouldn't I want you here? Someone must look after Salome." Sir Claude," I said. suddenly, you have another reason, and you know ít. You pro- mised that you would tell ine on Christmas night. I have come here for the purpose of knowing. I will know. If you don't tell me I shall go back to Dalkeith to-morrow, for I refuse to remain any longer in the dark." He looked at me with great anxiety. He was evidently surprised at the tone I had as- sumed, but I saw, to my infinite relief, that he respected my wish. If you must know. you must," he said. I claim the fulfilment of a promise," I replied. Very well." He shut his lips after saying those two words and continued to pace up and down. His face was haggard and worn. "I don't want to be beaten," he said, sud- denly. I am quite near victory, and I don't want to be beaten. The fact is this. Now listen." I am prepared to listen." I said. He stood before me. He had folded his hands behind his back; he was bending slightly forward. His ever, from under their shaggy brows peered into my face. You remember my advertisement? I nodded. I wanted a girl who was not oppressed with a disease of the present day—nerves." You certainly did," I answered. By a lucky—a most lucky—chance, I have "ound that girl in you," was his next remark. "So far my nerves have proved fairly good," I answered. They will not fail; I know they will not fail," he replied. Do you want to enrich your mother? Do you want to help your young sister in the future? Do you want to rise above pecuniary trouble, once and for all?" What do you mean. Sir Claude?" Because you can, if you will only abide the test." I felt my heart beating. Was the dreadful old man going to ask me to marry him. He seemed to read the idea which filled my mind for a brief moment, for lie sijiiled. Tou neea not De arrsia ma: 6:i:1:1 make love to you." he said. I have no such idea. I shall never marry again. But I am a much harassed man, and you. you alone, can de- liver me. I can never find anyone else to take your place. I have tried you for two months, and you have not given way. If for the next six weeks or two months j:ou continue to shew7 that strength of will, that determination, that bravery which has hitherto characterised you, all will be well, and your reward will be-" He paused for a minute, then he said I will settle on you—ten thousand pounds." I gasped. I was not silly enough to despise euch an offer. I knew what penury meant. I knew. also, that riches were not happiness. But I could realise, even in that moment of extreme tension, what such a sum would pro- duce for my mother's benefit during the re- maining years of her life how Sophy would rejoice in it how I myself need fear no ad- verse turns of fortune with such a stand-by. "Come with me." he said; "there is no time like the present." But where am I to go? I said. Oh, don't mind. Follow me, there is nothing to be alarmed at. He held out one of his claw-like bands, <1 before I could prevent him, grasped one of mine. Step softly," he said. They're all in bed. all but you and me, and perhaps that scoundrel Zack." (To be continued.} a GREAT DRESSMAKERS. Paris to-day has two distinct schools of great dressmakers, the new and the old. but the sur- vivors of the old. original type are few. In the old days, MVS Eleanor Hoyt Brainerd. an American writer, in her "In Vanity Fair," the phrase "creative •rotiius" was not amiss when applied to the head- of the big French dressmaking establishments. To-day these men are business men, but tho-se of the old school were artisiv*. had creative talent-in fa-hion sense—and cultivated that talent. Walles, an Englishman by birth, was an ex- treme example of this attitude of the dress- maker towards his art. He waF a.n avid student of colour, lines and values in the art galleries; lie spent day after day in the woods, noting the colour of the autumn leaves lie <IF'w upon flower and bird and insect and cioud. for inspiration, and tichievcd great results; but he had the ill-balanced temperament of genius, and his career was brief. Madame Roderigues. a Portuguese, was a phenomenal artist of this same type, but ill health interfered with her spectacular success. Other dressmakers, not such extremists as these two. ranked with the artist irroup. but Worth was almost the last of the great masters of dress. The new men 6r of a different class. The work turned our. from their ateliers is as good as that of their predecessors, but it is produced by different methods. The head of the establish- ment to-day is, first of all, a business man of extraordinary ability. He is also a man of phenominally good taste—but he is not a crea- tive genius. tive genius. YTO (lo-c. not lie awake wrestling with em- bryonic ideta concerning sleeve or flounce or collar: he does not roam woods and field in search of inspiration. Not he. He buys the brains of the lesser folk and launches the pro- ducts of tho-se brains for his own glory. Some little worker in his shop has a moment of inspiration. She goes to her employer with her idea. If he likes it. he buys it. and she goes hack to her work. Or perhaps some obscure dressmaker with more originality than reputa- tion goes to one of the famous men and t-hews him models she has designed. If she has any- thin <r to offer which, in his judgment, has possi- bilities. he buys it—and at a generous figure. These men are always willing to pay liberally for ideai: but once bought, the thing is theirs. The originator must not repeat it or claim credit for it, although it may make the man who huys it famous, and set the fashionable world ago?. Unfair? Not necessarily. The little dress- maker has not the ahility to launch her idea. She makes more out of it by selling it to a well- known house than she could make in any other way. In course of time she may become the. head of such au establishment, for the seats of the mighty are filled chiefly from her class: but in the meantime she is glad to find a market for her ideas. The genius of the great dressmaker to-day ronsists in appreciation of the possibilities in an idea. He may not be able to conceive an original costume, but he knows instinctively what is good. has taste and judgment that are unerring. Out of a hundred models he will un- hesitatingly choo the one that has a chance of success: and having had the taste to select, he has the business ability to exploit and sell. Then. too. the ultimate development of the chosen idea. does rest in his hands. The seller of (sketches or crinoline models has given him sug- gestions. It is for him to bring forth from these suggestions creations that will dictate to all the fashionable world.

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BITS rnO1 BOOKS. WOMEN IN SIBERIAN PRISONS. Jnakofr Prelookcr's "Heroes and Heroines of Russia (Simpkni. Marshall), contains some ter- rible c'ri0" of the Siberian prisons.. Death is too offer, the goal of desire rather than the great fear in these infernos. Here is a glimpse of a hunger strike on the part of several ladies by way ot protest against a brutal commandant: One i f 11tem. Madame Sigida. to save her friends from a sure death, resolved to sacrifice h<-rsoIf. She asked for a personal interview with the commandant, and IIL the presence of gen- darmes and other o;Lc:a!« gave him a blow on the fa.ee. saying. Tha: is tor you as command- ant:" An officer ',J insulted by a prisoner is usually removed to another place, while the offender is put to death. In this way Madame Sigida thought to put an end to the impasse. Madame Sigida. however, was flogged instead of a one to death, an:1 several of her fellow-victims poisoned themselves. Catherine Brcshkovskaya spent twenty-three years in prison and exile. Seven of those years were at Sclenginsk. on the frotitier of China, wht re Mr. Kennan visited her. "I grew almost frantic." she tells us. "with lone!ities*, and to keep my sanity I would run out on the now seuuting passionate orations, or even playing the prima donna, and singing- grand opera arias to ;ac bleak landscape, whicii never applauded." A MAGNIFICENT SOLDIER'S DEATH. Colonel G. J. Younghusband has some splendid tales to tell in The Story of the Guides" (MacmiilanV Here is one of them, describing the death of Lieutenant Waiter Hamilton during the defence of the Kabul Resi- dene." in September. 1S79. when he charged forth four times to try to capture the enemy's guns. at the head of .1 cyer-dwiJj(JljlJg- band of the Guide.* who formed the escort of Cavignari'a ill-fated mission After i i:c third recapture and loss of the guns Hanii!)!! and the few remain- ing survivors sought refuge from the Afghans in the hamam. or bath. w;.ich gave welcome shel- ter for a time But. even so. was but a question .)f hours or minutes, and neither Hamilton nor his men were of the sort to sit tamely down to wait for it. Taking rest for a wddle •!rom the exhaustion cf seven hours of this Homeric- si niggh-, the undefeated Hamilton •gain laid his plans. "Now two or three. said se. will fire from here, so as to try to keep ,doni-n the fire on assaulting party, while the lest dash out again. Arrived at the guns. I alone will face the enemy, wiiile all of you. paying no Jiecd to the fighting, will harness yourselves to one gun and bring it in. We shall then. at least, have one gun less against us. and may per- haps be able to use rite captured one in defence. Then, in the same way. we will aain < harge out and get 111,. other gu; Your Honour speaks well, we are ready." r-ari his men. This was the fourth sortie Hamilton luid led that day; the first, with all four E^tilishmen in a liile. the second witli ihre-e. the l ord with two. and now alone. Over tft. b, ight. splendidly made, lithe and strong, with all the activity of youth, expert with sword and pistol, he was a noblo specimen of the British officer, and none more tit than he to stand in the deadly breach. Out, then, they went and aei"d on the plan arranged. For a third time fateful guns were cap- tured. awi i lien alone to stem the fierce assault stood Hamilton, whi! • his men laboured at tho gun: bur the odds we> too groat, and the gal- lant subaltern, after killing throe men with his pistol lk rt(I cutting dowu two more with his sword, vvas*himsi>!f borne down. And so fighting died as brave a young heart as ever did honour to the uniform lie wore. Swarming over his body, the mutineer* recaptured the gun and again drove back the remnants of the forlorn hope. Hamilton lay where he fell, close to the guns, till darkening night settled down on tho dreadful scene. But wiien, next morning, a wit- ness passed that way. he mentions that the brave voting fellow's body was laid aceoss the gun. Perchance it was the kindly act of a friend, or perchance the rough chivalry of one who had watched his heroic deed*. COBDEN AS DISRAELI SAW HIM. In Mr. G. W. E. Russell's A Pocketful of Sixpenoes" (Richards), the author supplies a plausible key to most of the characters in Dis- raeli's word-. He save: Job Thornbcrrv is Richard Cobden, of whom Lord Beaennsfield i&io to Matthew Arnold in 1863: "He was born a statesman, and his reasoning is always like a statesman's, and strik- ing." Here is the portrait of Thornberry: "Ho was a pale and slender man, with a fine brow and an eye that occasionally flashed with the fire of a creative mind. His voice was rather thin, but singularly clear. There was nothing clearer except his meaning. Eudymion had never heard & case stated with such pellucid art; facts mar- ihallcd with such vivid simplicity, and inferences so natural and spontaneous and irresistible. Another interesting portrait is Nigel Penrud- dock. who is Cardinal Manning in earlier life. We first see him as an Oxford undergraduate, next as a Tractarian clergyman, and then as a Roman Catholic Archbishop. Leaving for a moment the minor characters, one recognises Dickens in Gushy a perverted view of Thack- eray in St. Bar be; and in Mr. Vigo, who, begin- ning as a tailor, becomes a railway king, a com- pound of George Hudson and the founder of the house of Poole. An amusing trio consists of the two brothers, Mr. Bertie Tremaine and Mr. Tre- maine-Bertie. obviously drawn from Edward Bulwer-Lytton and his brother. Henry Bulwer, and Hortensius. the Solicitor-General, who. with lis "sunny face and voice of music," irresistibly recalls Lord Chief Justice Cockburn. One of that trio carried down to recent times the recol- lection of the dinner where first they met Ben- jamin Disraeli. We wore none of us fools." ho 6aid. And we talked our best. but when the evening was over we all agreed that the best man of the party was the Jew in the green vel- vet trousers." IN ANOTHER VOICE. As the Pastor of the Zion's Hill Chureli looked down at his parishioners, to whom he had been giving thirty-five minutes of sound doctrine, his face took on a less benignant expression. Bredren an' sisters." he said. I want to warn you against one t'ing. an' dat is t'inking ebery man dat don't hab jes" de tame views you got is a no-'eount religionist. "I don' want to hear so much t-all, about 'wolves in sheep's clothing.' as I been hearing. You don' want to settle it in y) I minds dat a man's a wolf in slwep's clothing je6' because he don' bl'at exactly like you do." SOPORIFIC. Irate Wife: But what is the use of my talk- ing when you just go to sleep? Do ycu hear?: (Bang!) What is the u-e of my talking when you just go to ,.cep: Tired Husband: On the contrary, Jenny, it was only because I was listening to you that It dozed off." HE NOTICED IT, TOO. A one-srmed man entered a restaurant at noon and seated himself next to a dapper little other-people's-business man. The latter at once noticed his neighbour's left sleeve hanging loose, and kept eyeing it in a how-did-it-happen sort of a way. The one-armed man paid no attention to him, but keot on eating with hi." one hand. Finally the inquisitive one could stand it no lon- ger. He changed his position a little, cleared his throat, and said: "I beg pardon, sir, but I see you have lost an arm." The one-armed man picked up his sleeve witli his right hand and peered anxiously" into it, Bless my scul he exclaimed. looking UR with great surprise. I do believe you re right. —Everybody s Magazine.

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