COFNODIAD. UNDEB GWETXTDOGIOX BEDYDDIEDIG CYLCH PEXYBONT-AR-OGWY. Cynaliwyd cyfarfod misol yr undeb uchod yn Noddfa, Pontycymmer, Mai 29ain, pan oedd yn bresenol amryw o weinidogion y cylch. Wedi dechreu y cyfarfod trwy fawl a gweddi, pasiwyd y penderfyniadau canlvnol:— 1- Y bydd i'r cyfarfod nesaf gael ei gynal yn Saron, Nantymoel, ar dydd Mawrth cyataf yn rph: 2. Fod Mr Richards, AberavOn Academy, 1 Adarllen papyr ynddo ar Safle y gweinidog yn yr eglwys,' a phe digwydda Mr Richards fethu bod yn bresenol, fod Mr Lamb, Pontycymmer, i barotoi pregeth ar gyfiawnhad. 3. Fod Mr Morgans, Blaengarw, a Mr Jones, Penybont, i bregethn yn yr hwyr. 4. Ein bod yn cydyirdeimlo a Mr John, Tondu, yn ei alar presenol. Yn nesaf darllenodd Mr Harris, Maesteg, bapyr ar Beryglon prcaenoi enwad y Bedyddwyr Wedi peth ymdriniaeth ar y papyr diolchwyd yn gynhes i Mr Harris am ei bapyr amserol, a: iymunwyd arno ei gyhoeddi yn mhapyr wythnosol y cylch ac hefyd yn y Seren Cjmra. Pregethwyd yn Noddfa yn yr hwyr gan Mr Allen, Maesteg, a Mr James, Penybont. JOHN HUGHES, Ysgrifenydd. Nantymoel.
TEIMLAD MAITAR OLCOLLI TAD. Colli nhad, trom ydyw'r archoll, Loesau sydd ar hollti'm bron Iaith sydd fyr i dd itgan teimlad Calon oedd mor rydd a lIon; Llwybr bywyd 'nawr sydd arw, Ddoe oedd lyfn a llawn mwynhad, Llong wyf ii ar srefnfor amser, Heb un llyw 'rol colli'm tad. Pan wnai saethau amgylchiadau, Fygwth eu hergydion llym, Tarian oedd yn fy amddiffyn, Niwed byth ni ddaethai im' Damwain drom a chystudd caled, Teithiai ef er fy iachad, Heddyw 'rwyf heb neb i redeg, Ie, rhedeg mezys tad. Pan yn llanc yn rhodio'r dolydd, A mwyniantau ar bob llaw, D'wedai wrtbyf Cofia'th Grewr, Dyddiau blin yn sior ddaw 0, raor fyw yw yr adgofion Am fy ngyrfa yn y wlad, Daw yr oil fel drain pigo, Am y d'wedant am fy nhad. Swyn ay' im' yn ei syniadau, Am wir arwydd teyrnas Dduw, M Cjn y gwawria dyddiau Jubil. Rhaid i'r oen a'r llew gyd-fyw Ami adeg bu yn tingcian, Odlau per er fy mwynhad, Ond mae'r pyngcio wedi darfod, Dim sain mwy o enau nhad. Arglwydd grasol, dal fi fyny, Dysg fi i orphwys amat ti Gwua a'th ras fi'n addas ddeiliad, I seinio anthem Calfari Gyda'r dyrfa hardd sy'n moli Ar orielau'r hyfryd wlad Loes a galar wedi dianc, A dim hiraeth am fy nhad. Tynewydd. D. W.
EISTEDDFOD LLANCARVAN BUDDUGOLIAETHAU '10AN TRITHYD.' DIBWXST. o ddirwest hardd fugeiles fwyn, > Llawforwyn deg gwareiddiad, Mae yn dy enw ddenol swyn, I lwybran dyno carial Achnbaist In o feibion ereh Rhag beddan anamserol, Oe nid i lwybrau crefydd dderch, I deg awyrgylch foesol. o ddirwest lan, fe'th fagwyd di Ar arffed lefn dyngarwch, t A'th gartref sydd mewn llawer ty Fu g nt yn nythle tristwch; Mae'r anial ddiffrwyth o'th ol, Fel gwinllan yn blodeuo, A meddwon lu yn dod yn ol I'th freichiau i'w cofieidio. Wyt un o brif genhadon nef, Athrawes dyner Bwynol; Mae rhyw atdyniad yn dy lef, A balm i'r natur ddynol; llaw y meddwyn hyf, I'w godi o'i drneni; Mae'th dyner lais yn ddigon cryf I'w ddychwel o'i fudreddi. Wyt megys castell cryf ei sail, Yn amgylchynu'th bobol, A chedwi dyrfa rif y dail, Rhag pla'r diodydd meddwol Lledaena'th a den lydan glyd, Cysgoda blant y meddwyn, Athywys holl drigolion byd I restru yn dy fyddin. SPUEGEON.' Gweinidog enwog union,—a gwr Duw, Gariai dan oedd Spurgeon; Awchus i'w waith, achos len, Ga'i ei olud a'i galon. OBGAN NEWYDD IAASCABVAN. U st clywch ar swn yr Organ, Mae'n echo byw o anian J, Dyfais newydd yn y Fro, L Yn swyno plwyf Llancarvan. Mel adlais ei mawl-odlau, I Drwy feinion fan dafodau, £ Ymdona'n ffrwd i ma's o'i bri, Nes mynu ein hamenau. Mae'n awyno clust yr angel, A'i hen Gymraeg oruchel; f- Dilyn hon drwy'r lleddf a'r lion, II Wna undyn bron yn Handel. ■; IOAN TBITHYD.
CWYN YR ALLTUD WRTH DDARLLEN CAN Y BARDD Fe dderfydd fy nhrallodus hynt t Fe flfy y plyfyn gyda'r gwynt, Y brycbau ar gyrchfa'r lli, T I Gymru'n ol dychwel&f li ? Caf rodio'r llwybrau gynt. 0 mor hyfryd teithio'r man Lie crwydrodd gynt fy i'enctyd gwan, *■ Ac eistedd ar eisteddle werdd, I wrando'r hedydd mwyn a'i gerdd, O mor ddedwydd fydd fy rhan. Caf ddrachtio dyfroedd gloywon glan— Sy'n sisial rhwng y meini man— Lie ce's orphwysfa ar fy hynt; Lle'm disychedwyd ganwaith gynt, I'm clust eiliasant gau. Caf rodio hefyd yn yr ardd, I Ei cheinion flodau arnaf chwardd, | Ac eistedd yno ar ystol; A galw i gof hen ddyddiau'nol, Wrth ddarllen can y bardd. Ond, fy nghyfeillion, p'le maent hwy ? Yr adsain etyb P'le maent hwy Y rhai fn gynt yn lloni'm gwedd ? Mae'n rhaid eu bod ar waelod bedd, Ni chaf mo'u gweled mwy. Ai marw yw'r anwylaf ferch, A'r srleision lygaid glwysion serch? i Y blodau tecaf ddygaf fi, I'w planu ar ei beddrodd hi Gwlychaf hwynt a deigryn serch. Os neb ni wready ar fy nghwyn Os ua cbaf gwrdd a chyfaill mwyn, Gerllaw i'r ffrwd eisteddaf fi- 1 geisio rhai o'r swynion gynt, A gwrando'u dwndwr ar eu hynt, Siaradaf gyda'r lli. Cyad. Ilww. |
BOREUOL ADGOFION. Yr alarch (iwo ei barchu),—a gana Yn gynes wrth drengu; A geilw ei gan hvgoel, gl1, Ei goleddwr i'w gladdu. Dywedir i mi gan rai gymerant arnynt fod, ac, diau, awdurdodau, fod y syniad sy'n nwy linell gyntaf yr englyn uchod yn wirionedd anian yddol. Dywed greddf, neu rywbeth, wrth yr alarch glan, ond di-gan, fod awr ei ymddatodiad yn I agoshau, ac yn ngwyneb hyny teimla yntau awydd I angherddol i alw ei goleddwr i'w gladdu, ac fel tal i'w goleddwr am y drafferth geiff efo'r gladdedi- gaeth, can yn gynes iddo. Rhywbeth cyfFelyb yw'r teimlad sydd yn fy maddianu inau heno wrth ddechreu rhedeg y Boreuol Adgofion. Mae'r vrfa bron ar beu mwy sy' wedi'i dreulio nag ar ol o lawer iawn, ac un o'r dyddiau nesaf Gwysir ni gael ein gosod Yn dyrfa d'od. Wrth fwrw golwg yn ol gwelaf lawer o droion blinion yn y cwysi, end mae'r talar yn yr ymyl, a rhaid myn'd iddo a'r beiau oil ar fy mhen. Cyn I myn'd iddo, modd by nag, mi garwn gael rhedeg dros ychydig o'm boreuol adgofion. Nis addawaf ganu'n fwyn—nid yw hyny yn fy ngallu, ond ceisiaf efelychu'r alarch, a chanu'n gynes, ond nid yn fwyn. Duw'r hedd a'r trugareddau, Rhoddwr gwres i'r fynwes fau, Yr awr hon, 0 dirioa Dad, Yn llewyrch pur y lleuad, Uwch llwch fy nifrad dudau, Sy'n gorwedd mewo culfedd cau, Yn gymhorth ac yn borth bydd I mi, Ion, a'm Hawenydd. Yr oeddwn, wrth gwrs, yn fab i'm tad, yn dyner ac yn anwyl yn ngolwg fy mam, ac y mae fy adgofion boreuaf, fel eiddo pob un arall, ynglyn a hwy, ond gan nas gall y cyfryw fod o ddyddordeb cyffredinol, nis at ar eu. hol, a chychwynaf gyda'n cofion cyntaf am fy ymwneyd a'r byd. Ond rhaid i mi, er hyny, gael dweyd i mi gael fy mendithio a mam na fu doubt gan neb erioed a'i hadwaenai am ei duwioldeb. Dysgodd fy mhader a lluaw8 o adnodau sy'n aros eto, ac a arosant cyhyd ag y troediaf fryniau anfarwoldeb, i mi yn mhell cyn y gallaswn barablu'r geiriau'n groyw. Mil a mwy o ddwys gynghorion gefais gan hono a'm hymddug, ac na atto Duw iddynt oil fyned yn gwbl ofer. Am fy nhad rhaid i mi gydnabod iddo ef fyw a marw yn ddigrefydd-na, ti oddefi i mi wella fy ngafael, ddarjlenydd mwyn, a dweyd mai byw a marw heb enw o grefydd wnaeth fy nhad anwyl. Ti welaist yn dy ddydd, mi wn, fel y gwelais innau, ganoedd o ddynion yn meddu enw o grefydd, ond yr oedd yn amlwg ar eu holl weithredoedd ea bod wedi gwadu ei grym hi. O'r tu arall, ti welaist, fel finau ambell dro, ddynion heb enw o grefydd, eto'n meddu yabrydoedd mor flue, egwyddorion mor drwyadj ryddfrydig a charedig, dynion amcanenc wneyd da i bawb a drwg i neb, dynion a chymaint o ddynol- iaeth rywiog ynddynt, dynion mewn gair yn byw yn hynod o debyg i'r Hwn fu byw i fyned o amgyloh i wneuthur daioni. Un o'r cyfryw oedd fy nhad. Gwynebodd gyfyng fwlch marwolaeth heb enw o grefydd sut yr ymdarawodd Dnw wyr, ond y mae rhyw bresentiifu-iit ynof fi nas gall cf fod ar goll byth yn ymherodraeth H wnw sydd beuuydd a beunos yn weledydd ao edmygydd o'r tneddiad lleiaf at ddaioni. Aanoeth, yn ddiao, anturio i lyn eysgod angau heb enw o grefydd, ond annhraethol annoethach anturio gydag enw o grefydd heb ei grym hi. Y ddau. gatfot ti a minau ddarllenydd ou. Yna'n wir baeddir y bedd—holl ingoedd Hyll angau yr unwedd; A mwynha'r cyfiawn mewn hedd Anfarwol, ddidrangc fawredd. Mae llawer o adgofion plentyndod yn troi o amgyich y famgu tadcu. Maddeued y doethion a'r dysgedigion i mi am eu galw yn famgu a thadcu mae laWY a swyn o lawer i mi yn mamgu a thadca nae mewn nain a thaid. I mi mae llonaid yr enwau o ystyr a swyn—mam-ou, a thad-cu. Rhywbeth iJ. reserve i'r plentyn ydyw'r famgu. •' Welwc&ohwi'r hogyn bach accw sydd wedi gwyro oddiar ganol llwybr barn ac uniondeb; mae ystormydd a chorwyntoadd ceryddon rhieni yn chwythu arno. O i mae golwg ofidua arno, a'i galon fach bron tori drwy'r canol. Ai nid 008 iddo ddinaa noddfa yn unman P Oes, oø oes ganddo famgu ar y ddaear. Gan nad beth yw ei bechod mae ganddi hi faddeuant rhad a llawn iddo, ac esgusawd go dda am y bai yn y fargen. Nid oes y fath beth mewn wyr neu wyres a phechod yn erbyn ysbryd glan mamgu. Mae mam yr hogyn a'r hogen yn anwyl ganddynt ond mam eu tad neu fam en mam yw eu raam-GU iawn. Yn ei mynwes garuaidd hi cant gysgod i lechn'n ddigon diogel rhag pob ystorm. Gwynebais daith gyntaf fy mywyd cyn fy mod yn dair oed, a'r daith hono oedd o dy fy rhieni i fwthyn bach dinod ond anwyl iawn fy hon famgu. weddw—pellder o ryw filldir o ffordd. 0, fel y carwn gael un olwg eto ar fwthyn gwyngalchiedig fy hen fnmgu fel y bu, oad byth ni chaf, canys nid oes careg ar gareg ohono'n aros. Bu llaw'r demwr yn drwm odiaeth ar yr ardul, a'r lie fa gynt fel gwinllan Naboth sy'r awr hon fel anialwch, yn ddim ond magwrfa gwylltion adar, a cherddi rheibus. Cred fi, fy narllenydd hyfwyn, y galon hon ei gw-ied yn lli bob tro yr a heibio'r fangre gysegrwyd gan fil a mwy o foreuol a phrydnawnol aberthau, arogl-darth peraidd pa rai esgynasant i'r llys o fewn i'r lieu, lie mae'r hon a'u haberthodd er's llawer blwyddyn bellach yn gorphwys oddiwrth ei llafur blin a'i lludded mawr. Ah gwraig welodd galedfyd, a gwraig hefyd fynodd drechu caled-fyd, oedd fy mamgu. Gallasai ddweyd yw'r wraig a welodd flinder,' a gallasai ychwanegu yn ngeiriau'r Hwn y ceisiodd fyw iddo a orchfygais y byd.' Un o'r cymeriadau adwaeawn oreu yn fy mebyd oedd wr o'r enw Thomas Hywel. Genedigol o'r Coity oedd Thomas Hywel; yr oedd ganddo olwg fawr ar, a meddwl mawr am y Coity, a gresyn na. chawsai ei roddii huno'r olaf hun yn llwch y plwyf. Nid fel hyny y bu fodd bynag, ac y mae Thomas, druan, yn gorphwys yn ddigon tawel ar obenydd 0 bridd yn mynwent henafol Glynogwr. Plwyf oedd y Coity yn nyddiau Thomas a heddwch yn ffynu ynddo fel yr afon, a cbyfiawnder fel tonau'r mor, ond, ysgwaeth, erbyn heddyw mae gwedd dra gwahanol ar yr hen blwyf enwog. Beilach ymddengys fod crefydd yn y Coity yn gynwysedig mewn cnoi a thraflyngcu, ao er cael huno mewn heddwch gwell yn ddiau fod gweddillion Thomas ddoniol lie maent. Cafodd Thomas wraig dda ragorol i drin y byd, a godroy ddaear yn ddeheu, ond fel ei chwiorydd oil, nid oedd yn berffalth. Ei phrif fai yn ddiau oedd yr eiddigedd ofnadwy a'i nodweddai. Drnan o Thomas, os gwelid ef yn cerdedd haner cam ochr yn ochr a merch neu wraig, yr oedd gwae iddo, a gwyddai'r hen bererin diniwaid yn dda mai cael cribo ei wallt a choesau'r cadeiriau, a golchi ei wyneb 'ar ffrimpan fuasai ei dynghed. Am flynyddau gwelodd Thomas fyd trwm-ofid i'w drin' yn herwydd eiddigedd afresymol a disail Mari, ond o'r diwedd tarawodd ar gynUun fu'n feddyginiaeth lwyr a hollol iddi rhag ei hafiechyd poenus. Canoedd os nid miloedd o weithiau y cyhuddodd Mari yr hen Domas ddoniol o fod dros ei ben a'i gluatiau mewn cariad a rhyw ferch neu wraig; wrth gwrs gwadai Thomas y soft impeach- ment bob amser goed, maes, a mynydd,' fel yr arferai yr hen bobl ddweyd. Nid oedd gwadiad Thomas fodd bynag yn cael yr argraff a'r dylanwad dymunadwy ar Mari; yn ofer ao am ddim y llafuriau'r hen frawd yn y cyfeiriad hwnw, ond yn y llythyr nesaf cawn weled pa fodd y gweithiodd y feddyginaeth newydd spon,a pha fodd y daeth Mar yn debyg i wragodd rhesymol ereill, ac y cafodd Thomas fyw mewn tangnefedd o ran eiddigedd gwraig. Yn iach i ti, ddarllenydd mwyn, hyd byny. WarrjFEa'a PBDOLWB.
CINTHY BLOSSOM: AN Iny.1. OP TmB WBST. II After all, I think I'll have the pink rose," aaM) Kitty. It will look real nice on you," Miss Blossom I answered in her soft, gentle way, snipping a fe. stitches and taking off the violets. It's smarter," said Kitty, setting her head on one side and regarding it with a satisfied air. Henry Ballard is coming home," she said suddenly, watch- ing the little milliner's glancing needle. Did you know Henry Ballard ?" Somehow Miss Blossom's fingers trembled suddenly. Yes," she said yes, 1 knew him." He's been gone a long time, aint't he ?" rattled Kitty. "Fifteen years. They say he's got awfully rich. And he ain't married. I mean to set my cap for him." Miss Blossom bent lower over the pink rose. Perhaps it was the red sunset through the little shop window that made her face so rosy. I'm tired of these commonplace people," the girl said airily, drumming a tune on the little work- table. I mean to try a new one." Miss Blossom watched the girl as she went out through the little garden and down the village street with her finery in its tissue wrappings. Then she turned back to her little shop and set in order a few trifles that had been misplaced. The hands of the nickel clock pointed to six, and she went out into her kitchen to set a mite of a kettle on the fire, while she brought out tea-things from a sweet and spicy cup- board. Somehow she seemed to be in a dream. All these years she had remembered. And now he was coming back. But perhaps—perhaps he had for- gotten. Men did forget, and it had been a long time. Barbara Wilcox ran in next day with a shawl over her head. She wondered if Cinthy had heard the news. She herself had learned it only that noon, when a neighbour girl came in on an errand. She went over as soon as dinner was over. She wanted to be the first to tell it to the milliner, for she had a fancy She and Cynthia Blossom had been school- mates. Seems to me I remember you used to think a. good deal of Henry before he went away," Barbara Wilcox said, after she had discussed every other phase of the matter. Queer he didn't pick up a wife in all these years. Maybe it's what he's come back for. Why, Cintby Blossom! You ain't going to put them blue cornflowers with green ribbon, are you ? Why, no, no said the poor little milliner, in great confusion. Of course not! What am I thinking about ? "I used to think Henry and you was going to make a match of it," continued Miss Wilcox, with her small grey eyes fastened relentlessly on her friend's flushed face. At last Miss Blossom gathered her forces together. II Oh, well," she said lightly, "those things have gone by, Barbara—for both of us." That was as near as the gentle soul could come to sharpness or retaliation. But Miss Barbara gathered up her shawl and went away. And she had waited fifteen years for his return. In all that time the thought of his coming had been her hope. Many things had happened in those fifteen years. Her father had died. People for miles around mourned for mild little Doctor Blossom. How were they going to manage without Doctor Blossom? But a dashing young physician came to the rescue, and they were saved. He wore a rakish pair of whiskers and drove a fast, horse. His patients were always sicker than Dr. Blossom's had been, and his fees were correspondingly larger. But then ha carried a cane and wore a silk hat. When Miss Blossom found herself alone she opened a little shop in the front room of the ell. She had always had a knack with hats, and the maids and matrons of Bellpoint had come to depend on her for their millinery. There was a bit of a show case two feet long, a large mirror, an array of boxes, and a glass bell which had once held a creation in wax-work, but which now covered the bit of head gear which served as her window display. A little work table and two chairs stood nt one side, and the other window was full of blossoming geraniums. She always spoke of it as the store." And now he had come home. But he had had many things to think about in the meantime. What if he had forgotten—or had changed? She must wait and be on her guard. She would not let him know that she had remembered until she was sure that he had not forgotten. He came up the walk to the sitting-room door. Nearly everybody game and went through the store, and the sitting-room door stuck a little from dis- use. He stooped a little as he entered. He was a tall man, Doctor Blossom had built his house to suit himself. Miss Blossom sat down opposite him. The shaded lamp stood on the table at one side; there was a dance of firelight in the grate. It was just fifteen years ago. Nothing seemed to have changed. Even Miss Blossom, in the dim light, looked fair and girlish. His coming had brought a soft colour to her cheeks, her eyes were bright and excited. It's a long time since I saw you, Cinthy. It's fifteen years.' Yes," Cynthia Blossom answered lightly, and people can change a good deal in fifteen years." You hain't changed," said Henry Ballard. I can hardly believe I've been gone so long when I look at you. And everything is just as it used to be." It's the people who change," Miss Blossom said, looking away into the fire. They find out they've made mistakes, and they change their minds." The man's eyes deepened suddenly. I don't believe you've changed that way, Cinthy." Miss Blossom's heart was beating very fast. He's going to keep his word just because he thinks I expect it," she cried to herself, fiercely. He thinks he must, because I've waited. It is he who has changed." So she only smiled, an indefinite smile that might have meant almost anything, and fell to talking of something else. He went down the walk that night feeling baffled and unsatisfied. After all, it was a good deal to ex- pect of a girl. He might have come back sooner, or written, but those land deals came, and then the town grew, and one thing after another had held him, and he never had been any hand to write. As for Miss Blossom, she listened till she heard the gate click and his footsteps die away down the gravelled sidewalk; then she dropped before the chair where he had sat, and laid her face against it. Rumours came to her-chiefly through Barbara Wilcox. Henry Ballard was going to marry Kitty. He had plenty of money he wanted a home. He meant to settle down and marry. Kitty was the prettiest girl in Bellpoint, even her rivals admitted that. Certainly Henry Ballard watched her a good deal on Sundays when she sang. She was head soprano in the choir, and her cheeks were as pink as the pink rose that nodded above them. Miss Blossom had used to sing in the choir her- self, and Henry Ballard had sung tenor to her soprano. But the old days were gone by. Kitty came into the little shop one morning, sweetly radiant. She put her arms around the little milliner and kissed her. "Dear Miss Blossom," she said, "I want you to make me a hat, and this time—the lose-must be white." A sudden chill gathered about Miss Blossom's heart. It was all true, then, what she had heard! Yes, I am going to settle down and be good at last," said Kitty, with shy eyes and smiling lips. I hope you'll be happy," said the elder woman, gently, and Kitty looked up quickly, fancying there was a quiver in the soft voice. Henry Ballard is a good man," said Miss Blossom, meeting the eyes bravely. Henry Ballard! Why, I'm going to marry Jack!" A sudden joy and relief leaped into Miss Blossom's face. "Oh, Jack!" She laughed a little excitedly, a laugh that sounded as if the tears were very close. Of course it's Jack," Kitty answered, with a tender thrill in her voice. It couldn't be anybody 1 else." Then she looked up, suddenly illumined. Miss Blossom, you needn't tell me a single word. 1 understand all about it. That horrid Barbara Wilcox! Dear Miss Blossom, I'm so glad!" But this was too much for the little milliner, and the first she knew her head was on Kitty's shoulder, and she was being petted and comforted by Kitty's Boft touches and soothing words. I can't think what makes me act so," said Miss Blossom. I guess you ain't very well. But you'll be well now, and—why, it's just like a novel for all the world!" But Miss Blossom shook her head. No." she said. it's too late now." But after the momentous question of ribbons and roses had been settled, Kitty marched away with a determined air. She went straight to Henry Ballard. They had grown to be great chums, and she did not feel the least bit afraid of him, even if he was so rich and so grave and so old. Mr. Henry," she said, I've got a fairy story to tell you." But I'd rather have a true one," said the man, teasingly, looking up into the girl's mischievous face. I'm too old for fairy stories now." "Fairy stories may be true," said Kitty, frowning at him. And sometimes there are morals in 'em— great big ones." The man laughed lazily, and settled himself to listen. ,"C8. apoa ft time then lired a piuuea fa. cu*;h-, !ind there was a prince who loved her. And when the prince went away into a far country the princess waited for him to come back. Every day she thought of him, and thought of the time when he would come, and she wouldn't marry any of the other princes who came to woo her. At last the princa came back again after a great many years, but for some reason he was too careless or too timid to find out for sure whether she still cared for him. The poor princess waited and waited, and an evil old witch came and told her that the prince had forgotten, and had gone to wed a flighty young thing over in the next county. And the princess The man sat up suddenly, a quick red springing to his bronzed face. Hush he said in a queer, muflled voice." You've told enough, child. I'll finish the story myselfAnd with that he walked away. Oh, my goodness! said Kitty to herself, looking after him. I wonder if I've put my foot in it Henry Ballard walked straight down the village street and in at Miss Blossom's gate. She paled a little when she opened the door for him. Something in his face made her tremble. Cinthy," he said, I've come to ask you a ques- tion, if it ain't too late. I've been trying to forget it; I thought you didn't care. I want you, Cinthy. You're the only woman in the world I can love. I want a home, and I want you. "Are you sure?" A light grew slowly in the little woman's face all the hunger of her long wait- ing was in her eyes. I've loved you—all the time," she said softly, thought of you every hour." Barbara Wilcox came over that afternoon, this time with her sun-bonneton. I guess it's really true that Kitty and Henry is going to make a match of it," she said. Kitty's got Miss Tucker over there to sew." But Miss Blossom only smiled.
FUN AND FANCY. INEQUALITY BETWEEN MAW AND MAN.—"Miss Banknote, do you think that your father will object to my suit ?" Miss Banknote I guess not, for ho wears one just about as loud himself." "DOCTOR, is it true that extreme nervousness will produce nausea Yes I once saw a car full of people throw up their hands when two train robbers covered them with their pistols." MAHY JANE, you say you had no company in the kitchen last night. I would have sworn Oh. mum I mean I am sure I heard a kiss there." Sure it was only the boss, mum." BALBRIGGAN I say, old man, what are you putting those toothpicks down your back for ?" Flanellv: Just getting in training to wear my winter flannels, old fellow." MILKT Did you notice there are certain tones in Miss Thrum's voice that deeply move people ?" Mallet Yes, indeed, pretty nearly everyone in the room left as soon as she began to sing." TAILOR Mr. Overdue, I hear that you are about to be married to Miss Bullion. Allow me to con- gratulate you." Overdue (extending his hand) Allow me to congratulate you." WILLIAMS Have you bought that dog to keep tho burglars away?" Poodlesby: "Yes." Williams: Then you're not troubled any more at nights I sup- pose ?"' Poodlesby Ouly by the dog." SCHOOLMISTRESS: "Why was it that his great dis- covery was not properly appreciated until long after Columbus was dead ?" Nineteenth Century School- boy Because he didn't advertise." BARHKK You don't come very often." Customer: It takes too much time." Barber I cut hair in ten minutes." Customer Yes; but it takes three weeks for it to grow enough to look respectable again." OLIVER: "Men are more valuable than women." Olivet: What nonsense! Oliver It's a fact. Every man has his price, but brides are given away." EXTRACT irom a sentimental young lady's letter: Last night I sat in a gondola on Venice's Grand Canal drinking il all in, and life never seemed so full before." MRS. HOUSE: w Dear me! What abeautiful teapot! It must be a hundred years old!" Mrs. Flatter Yes. I am awfuily ashamed of it, but we really can't afford a new one." AT Southsea. She: Oh, James, how grand the sea is How wonderful! I do so like to hear the roar of the ocean." He: "So do I, Elizabeth; please keep quiet." LADY (to tramp) How old are you, mv man ?" Tramp: I dOlft know, ma'am; you see f was so young the first few years of my life I couldn't count, so I lost track." Miss YOCNO* Why do you not marry, colonel ?" Colonel Ofdboy Oh, there are lots of good fish in the sea." Miss Y.: "But don't you think the bait is a little stale ?" An, there goes Chris and his mother." So I Me." "What a. popular flower they would make!" Why so ?" Because they might be described as Chris-an'-1 he-mum." Tn. Reverse of Romance.—Publisher Is your novel realistic ?" Arthur: It is. The hero and heroine get married in the first chapter, and are unhappy ever afterwards." His Parting Shot.—He: But couldn't you learn to love me, Ida?" She: "I don't think I could, George." He (reaching for his hat): "It is as I feared! You are too old to learn LITTL. BOY Don't Quakers ever fight ?" Mamma: No, my dear." Little boy (after reflec- tion): I should think it would be awful hard for a real big Quaker to be a Quaker." SHOVING him off.—George: I'm afraid Ethel doesn't love me any more." Jack "What makes you think so ?" George Last night she introduced me to her chaperon." COULD you make it convenient to lend me £100, Jack ?" I don't know. If I should lend it to you I should be a man of some distinction." How is that ?" One out of a hundred." Wuo is the belle to-n ight ?" asked she, As they stand on the ball-room floor; He looked around the room to see, And she speaks to him no more. TnF. age of wisdom—From 17 to 21. MAKING the waist places blossom—Wearing cor- tage bouquets. "YOUR argument is too one-sided. It reminds me of a jug-handle." TUE angler first lies in wait for his catch, and then lies in weight of his catch. IT is when straws are made up into hats that they show which way the wind blows. "WKREVOU named after your father?" "Cer- tainly. Didn't suppose I was named before him, did you ? IT won't, help your own crop any to sit on the fence and count the weeds in your neighbour's field. MAUD: Is it true that you are in love with Mr. Bullion ?" Clara: Mercy, no! I'm only engaged to him." THIS Chinese word for farewell means go away slowly." How a messenger boy could enjoy himself in China. FIRST prisoner What kind of time did you have in the Police-court this morning ?" Second ditto Fine." ONE of the first indications that a woman is in love is that she will begin to deny any suggestion that she ever cared for anyone before. MRS. P.: They say Mr. Hay, who used to sing so much, has lost his voice." Mr. P.: "I shouldn't think he offered much of a reward." DEPOSITOR (breathlessly): "Is the cashier in?" Bank Examiner: No, he's out. Are you a deposi- tor ?" Yes." Well, you're out, too." IF you want to see the difference between a man and woman, let them marry, and after a time there may be a new difference every day. HE (vaguely) Wonder what those strange cries are, out towards the sunset ?" She (languidly): Perhaps it is the mewing of the cat boats." Sun: Oh, how delightful it would be to drift on like this for ever and for ever!" He (who has hired the boat): Not at 75 cents an hour." Ficas You have an independent income, haven't you?" Diggs "Independent? Well, I should say I had. It has utterly ignored me for years." You must find out a word that will silence proclaim, Which backward or forward will yet read the same; And next you must search for a feminine name Which backward or forward is still spelt the same: And then for an act or a writing whose frame Spelt backward or forward will still be the same: Next think of a fruit that from Mexico came, And the title by which it was first known to Fame. Then a musical note which is slow, but not lame, And backward or forward alike is its name: These initials connected a title will frame Which is justly the due of the fair married dame, And which, backward or forward, will still be tie same. —Madam (Mum, Anna, Deed, Anana, Minim.) POSTHUMOUS charities are the very essence of selfishness, when bequeathed by those who, when alive, would part with nothing. THE perfection of conversation is not to play a regular sonata, but, like the Æolian harp, to await the inspiration of the passing breeze. AN amateur poetess anxiously wails: O, where can I find rest?" Get a position as saleswoman in a shop that doesn't advertise, darling. "GOODNESS me, Johnny! what are you crying about now ?" 'Cause Tommy dreamed about eating pie last night, and I didn't." AN amateur punster informs us that some houses have wings, and he has often seen a house fly. We thought no part of a. house save the chimney flue. WIFE (excitedly) If you go ou like this I shall lose my temper." Husband: "No dnn^er| ■ A thinu of that if not easill loaW* —
FARMliXU NOTES. CROP rROSPBOTS. Farmers are evidently not (the Farmer and Stock. breeder fears) to be allowed to reap an abundant harvest this year yet. The common grain and hay crops have every appearance of producing a prolific yield. And that certainly is so much to be thankful for. But there are other crops grown on the farm which, if of less importance, yet are of sufficient interest to give rise to no little trouble and concern. We refer to such useful plants as beans, peas, potatoes, and several others of similar standing. All these crops are of great importance to the farmer, and every year sees their position on the farm extended and enhanced. Think, then, the annoyance and serious loss that their destruction means to the farmer, and some indication of the momentous havoc the sharp frosts of last week 1 wrought in several parts of England may be obtained. The seven, nine, or lldegs. of frost which were registered in various districts in the beginning of last week has much to accouat for. It has blackened many fields of potatoes, beans, peas, and such like, not a few to such an extent as to render a profitable crop impossible. In some cases ploughing up and re-sowing with some quickly maturing plant will have to be resorted to. Better this than lose the use of the land for an entire season. In the case of potatoes it may be deemed advisable to break up and plant anew, using for this purpose one or other of the various late varieties. Although later than is desirable, a good crop from May planting is not by any means an impossibility. Great havoc has resulted to fruit in most of the southern counties, and this aspect of the damage is really the more serious one, as the producers are helpless in the matterof re-stocking the land. Where damage has been wrought the crops must inevitably remain a blank until next year. But for the unkindly interference of the frost, the fruit- growers' prospects would have been good generally, but it is well nigh impossible now to form nn approximate estimate of the chances of yields. The same remark applies to farm crops in so far as they were subject to the destructive in- fluences of the frost. As we have stated, the wheat, barley, and oat crops are looking well. Some fields, indeed, are too far advanced, and will run the risk of being prematurely and heavily laid. BEET FOR DAIRY COWS. The Americans are great experimenters in the feeding of cattle. As a result of careful investiga- tion, corn ensilage has become a common food for cows in that enlightened country, and the result of a recent experiment to test it alongside beet has been productive of some interesting and suggestive con- clusions. It was found that beet increased the con- sumption of other foods, and of the total dry matter. It was also responsible for inducing a greater flow of milk, and, adds the report, of butter fat, but this in- crease was not sufficient to account for the additional expense of the feeding. Here we have an indication that the effect of food on the butter fat is veryapparent, a doctrine which, as we have remarked, is gradually being supplanted. Cows show a greater average live weight while feeding on beet, but part of this in- crease was ascribed to the probably increased weight of the digestive tract. One peculiar fact which de- serves notice is that although beet was fed in such quantities as to increase the watery contents of the food by 301b. per day, the quantity of water which the cows drank did not diminish. It was found that beet pound for pound of dry matter in comparison with corn silage cost almost twice as much to produce. The feeding of beetroot to oows is thus a matter of some expense, and not at all likely to be adopted on an extensive scale either in America or here. This makes way for the suggestive question, and which un- fortunately our experimentalists do not answer, Whether beet may be used with any great advantage in comparatively small quantity, and timply as an appetiser? Regarding the comparative productive capacity of different cows, it has been found that when ted on a ration consisting of about one-fifth to one-fourth grains and the remaining coarse foods of good quality cows produced on an average about 3lh. of butter fat to each lOOib. of dry matter in the food, besides making a small gain in live weight. Where this production of butter fat was exceeded, it was attended with a loss of live weight and vice versa, which leads us to believe that a common average in cows having been struck, an increase or decrease of butter fat from that average is attended by a corre- sponding reduction of or addition to the animal system, a doctrine, we may add, which is not always sound. In individual instances this rule is not alwaJs applicable, because eome cows may return a profit on the food, and others be fed at an actual loss, even when butter fat and increase in live weight be counted at their full value. It has been concluded, from a comparison of experimental results generally, that full periods of fattening compared with full periods of lactation, the increase of live weight from a good quantity of food seems to be about three times as great as the average yield of butter fat from the same quantity of food. The general trend of all experiments goes to prove that weeding is as necessary in the byre as in line breeding. Root out unthrifty cows, and keep only the animal which will pay for its food. HORSKS AND WARBLES. If horses like this one have to stop work, then half the agricultural horses in the kingdom will be idle." This was a remark (says a writer in the Agri- cultural Gazette) by a farmer and horse-dealer who had been called as an expert witness in a case where another farmer was charged before the magistrates with cruelly working a horse in an unfit state. The horse was one of two in a plough team, and the ponce sergeant, passing along the road, came to the conclu- sion that something was wrong with it. On removing the collar he found several raw sores, from which blood and matter had exuded on to the collar. In the case of one of the sores a hole had been cut in the collar. The defence was that the horse was suffering from warbles: that all horses and cattle were subject to them; that there was no pain from such, hence no cruelty; that if horses suffering from warbles were to stop work, then half the agricultural horses in the kingdom would be idle. The magistrates held that there had been cruelty, and indicted a fine of 10s. and costs. Considering the age we live in, it is strange the apathy existing amongst so many farmers as to the suffering of their live stock from warbles in fact, we have heard it gravely stated that warbles are natural to horses and cattle, hence no attempt is made to mitigate suffering from such; that. like boils in human beings, warbles carry off injurious matter from the system. A moment's consideration will show the error of this. The warble flies deposit their eggs in the hides of animals; during the winter these pass into the maggot stage, develop rapidly in the spring until the size of man's little finger from the first joint; if unmolested, they will eject themselves on the grass, where they pass into the fly state, and continue the attack on animals. During the growth of the maggots they feed on the animal, and, as we have counted as many as 20 in the back of a heifer, and seeing that when touched the cattle display much sensitive- ness, it must be apparent that they are painful, that they must hinder animals from thriving, and, as warbled hides sell at a lower rate, it would be to the interest of the farmers of the United Kingdom to make a united effort, to exterminate the warble fly. Miss Ormerod has shown us how this can be done, giving us both prevention and cure. If the animals are rubbed with certain oils when turned out in the hot months, the warble fly will not attack them, and the breed could not thus be propagated. Again, if a hand be passed over the animals in the spring months the budding warbles will be felt. They are then coming into the maggot stage, and have each a breathing spore through the hide as fine as a hair of a man's head. if this breathing spore be stopped the maggot dies. All that is necessary is to then part the hair around the warble, place on the top of it a piece of good medi- cated smear about the size of a pea, put back the hair, and the goose of that warble is cooked. In the matter of an hour or two the whole of the horses and cattle on a farm could be so treated, and if done by all farmers the warble fly would cease to exist. STORK CATTLE FROM CANADA. There is no doubt in my mind (a correspondent of the Live Stock Journal says) that Canadian cattle may be landed on this side in a diseased state with- out having shown any symptoms of disease in their native land. The severe knocking about, and the inevitable hardships they must undergo both on their land and sea jourmeys before reach their destinations, are by themselves a cause of disease. The slaves that used to die by hundreds on board ship during the horrors of the middle passage were probably healthy enough when they were embarked. The sufferings of cattle during a rough voyage across the Atlantic from the rolling of the ship and the want of ventilation are terrible, and have often been described. It is quite enough to cause lung disease of itself, without assum- ing that the cattle were affected before they left their native pastures. I have had considerable experience in travelling cattle for long distances overland in Australia, and I have known lung diseases almost invariably appear in the herd if the journey was made in unfavourable weather, and an overland journey is nothing like so severe a test of the constitution of a bullock as a stormy passage on board a ship. Our cousins on the other side of the Atlantic, both colonists and citizens of the United States, place all sorts of restrictions on the importation of our goods and live stock without the smallest regard to our in- terests, and they are well within their rights in so doing. Thev ought, therefore, to accept with equanimity the rules which we consider necessary j fcr the £ arc £ uw<iui £ oux herds iui^ui'Ud rrnT1Bpr-j^
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