CHAPTER VIII.

THE FATAL SHOT.

ALL Tilby was in excitement; masses of people filled the streets-some stopping to talk in groups, some hurrying in a long line in a particular direction. Fright, curiosityagitation of some kind, was pictured on almost every countenance. The cause was this; a duel had been fought that morning between Oliver Lipwell and a young man of inferior rank in the neighborhood. A drunken quarrel had ended thus; and news had flown all round, that the heir of Larch Grove was being carried all but lifeless into town. Everybody was out of doors-every tongue was busy. Such an end for Mr. Lipwell's only son! David Wynne felt that he had a better right to be in a fuss and a fume than any one not actually connected with "the family," and he rather resented the interest in the matter displayed by other townsmen, though, probably, he would have been equally annoyed had they proved themselves indifferent upon such an occasion. Mrs. Wynne had clapped her hands and raised loud lamentations when she heard the news; for like most women, she had always taken the part of poor Mr. Nol, because he was handsome and a scamp, and unable to conduct himself like other sober-going men.

Not dead, but nearly insensible: the huge young man, two hours before full of strength and daring, now entered Tilby, borne slowly by many hands. He was conveyed at once to his old haunt, the Combely Arms, there to await medical advice, while a messenger was despatched with the ill news to Larch Grove; and meanwhile, David Wynne and his wife stationed themselves beside his couch with unaffected concern. The remedies to restore consciousness were followed at length by success; and young Lipwell recognized Wynne, to whom he extended his hand feebly.

"This has been an unlucky business, David," he said in a low tone. "I feel that I am sinking fast."

"Very unlucky, indeed, Mr. Nol," said Wynne; "but there may be no danger after all. These sort of wounds aint always so bad as they seem."

Right well David knew that the young man would never leave that couch a living man; but what was the use of frightening the poor fellow, he thought.

"I feel as if there was much danger myself," continued Oliver, speaking feebly; and then, after a pause, he added, “Can I trust you, David, with a few words in private?"

"Oh, dear! yes, sir-any word you like; you know I'm close as iron."

"Well, let the doctor know I wish to speak with you alone."

Wynne, thereupon, grew very important, requesting Dr. Lawrence and his wife to leave the apartment for a few minutes, and allow Mr. Lipwell and himself to say a few words together in private. They accordingly quitted the room, and honorably left even the outside lobby, lest stray words might reach them there; but scarcely had they done so, than a waiter, named Matthew Drover, who had heard that Wynne and the wounded man were about to hold a secret conference, stepped noiselessly up to the door, and with ear pressed against the keyhole, listened attentively, and with the keen hearing common to serving-men, to any words that might be dropped loud enough to reach him where he was stationed.

"We are alone now ?" said Oliver Lipwell, looking cautiously round the room, while the first flush of fever was glowing on his cheek its first flash beaming in his eye. An unnatural strength was accorded to him while he spoke..

“Yes—all safe, sir,” replied Wynne.
Another pause now.

"You remember Miss Price, Wynne-the governess that was at Larch Grove eight years ago ?" asked Lipwell, making an ef fort to speak calmly.

"Yes, sir, most certainly," said David, feeling rather surprised and taken aback.

"I have never yet spoken to you of this young lady," continued Oliver; "but my father told me how you were commissioned to see that she left England, and that she escaped your vigilance, carrying with her whatever money my father had given her."

"It's a fact, sir," said Wynne.

"On your oath, Wynne-on your oath, as you know you are speaking to a dying man?"

"As far as I can say to my knowledge,

sir."

"On your oath—no hesitation, Wynneyou believe that this young lady escaped alive from Coyle."

his family that he had been thus taken away; for he was fast running to destruction;

"Yes; do not take up my time with exclamations. I regretted this step bitterly afterwards-knowing my father's great pride his wish that I should marry a person of rank; yet I would have braved his anger and confessed the whole truth, had it been possible for me to discover what had become of her. It sometimes struck me, Wynne, that she might not have run away at all that that she was dead, and that you and my father knew it."

Wynne shook his head positively, never flinching from the wounded man's feverish gaze.

"It's all a mystery, sir; there's nothing certain in the matter."

"If I die, Wynne, tell my father of my marriage; if I live, you may keep it secret." 'But, unless the lady turns up, as you say, I needn't tell it in any case, sir ?”

honor nor credit to the name of Lipwell. But his father thought differently. All his former unkind treatment of this unfortunate son rose up bitterly to reproach him. Never did man grieve more deeply than Mr. Lipwell From the day of that large funeral, when long strings of tenants flocked to pay tribute rather to the living than the dead, he was never seen to hold up his head as of old. The iron-gray hair became rapidly white; the lithe figure, that for so many years had defied the hand of time, became suddenly stooped. He was, indeed, an altered man. His two daughters now assumed a greater degree of importance than before in the eyes of the neighborhood-the elder one being regarded as heiress to the estates of Larch Grove. Mrs. Lipwell also became more active than formerly in the management of affairs at the Grove-her husband having lost much of his activity and energy, though he still attended the board-days at the Alms house with his accustomed regularity, and seemed to find pleasure in talking to Wynne of the past; but Wynne never told him the secret confided to him by Mr. Oliver on his death-bed. David was a shrewd man, rarely speaking of matters unadvisedly to his superiors, and gifted with sufficient understanding to know that the bearer of unwelcome tidings is often considered responsible for the evil news imparted by him. He would let Mr. Lipwell grieve for his lost son in peace; and agree with all his sentiments respecting him-even declaring that it was his full belief (which was an untruth) that had he been spared he would have been an ornament to his name.

He had always thought, he said, that there was much of talent and sense in Mr. Oliver, only waiting to be drawn out by some opportunity. Had he got a seat in Parliament, or anything of that sort, people would have seen how he would have shone.

"Indeed, Wynne, I have sometimes thought that myself," said poor Mr. Lipwell; "I often think I should have acted differently to my son. I believe I have altogether been to blame myself for all his follies."

sumed Wynne, quickly. "You know young men will be young men. It's my belief, it's all chance how they turn out-parents are not so responsible as people imagine for their children's good or ill behavior. Why, sir, I've known sons that were brought up as prim and regular as ever you saw turn out monstrous scapegraces."

And thus Mr. Lipwell allowed Wynne to pour words of honeyed flattery into his ears and they were sweet to listen to though he was not fool enough to believe them, or even to believe that Wynne believed them. But, are we not nearly all

weak enough to be soothed by humbug now and then-cajoled out of our senses? A fine monument was erected to the memory of Oliver Lipwell in the quiet little church at Larch Grove. There it stood, just facing the Lipwell pew; and for a long while the father could not bear to look at it; but neither Mrs. Lipwell nor her daughters minded it particularly, except that, during a long sermon, the young ladies, perhaps, used to read the inscription five or six times over, knowing the exact length of time it took to do so, and hoping thereby to beguile the dreary time.

About four years since, a nearly similar account went the rounds of the newspapers; and noticing, from various comments, that this wall formation was attributed to the skill of some aboriginal race, I requested Professor Daniels, our State Geologist, who, I was informed, had met with numerous works of this kind in his professional excursions in the West, to write an explanation of the process by which this stone formation had been constructed, and I herewith enclose a copy of his paper upon the subject.

It is very pleasant to have visits from our distant Eastern friends, and we believe that a trip into this broad prairie region of the West cannot prove otherwise than beneficial to our staid Atlantic cousins; but to induce them to make a thousand-mile trip to see a lake fortified by a parapet of stone,-the work of the Aztecs, or perhaps nearer relatives of Father Noah,-is a little too practical a joke to be enjoyed as funny, and so it seems proper to prick this curiosity bubble.

D. Madison, Wisconsin, July, 1858. "I have just read the notice of a Walled Lake in Wright County, Iowa, to which you called my attention. I recognize in the description a phenomenon common in the North-West, though perhaps rarely exhibited as perfectly as in the case here stated. Walls similar to that described occur around many of our lakes, and around marshes which have been lakes at a comparatively recent period.

"Those walls are usually composed of boulders, and exhibit varying degrees of regularity, from mere confused heaps of rock to the compact structure and appearance of an artificial wall. They are due to the conjoint action of those potent agencies, ice and water, acting upon the drift formation which is always found where those walled lakes occur.

"If now the lake is frozen, the expansive force of the ice pushes up everything movable near the shore, and forms a ridge at the uttermost limit reached by the congealed water in expanding. This ridge will consist mainly of boulders, covered by and mixed with sand, gravel, and the exuviæ of the shore. When the ice melts, everything but the boulders is soon washed away on the side of the ridge towards the lake, and the boulders are there exposed, forming a rough wall; subsequent congelations crowd the boulders closer together, against the bank or ridge, and render the wall more perfect. In this manner the lakes of Wisconsin, Iowa, and Minnesota have often become girt with walls, having a very artificial character, properly referable to physical laws operating under peculiar circumstances.

"Several other lakes exist in our immediate vicinity, around whose shores the parallel ridges and lines of boulders mark the ancient action of the same causes. The Third Lake exhibits this agency very finely, and a very extensive marsh, including about fifteen hundred acres of bog and peat, ten miles west of this place, shows a very splendid specimen of this natural wall-building several miles in length. This is the case with Lake Menona which forms the south-east boundary of our city. This marsh, like most other marshes, was the basin of an ancient lake, and the distribution of its boulders marks its outer limits. It is not uncommon for the ridges and walls to be pushed up much higher than the adjacent land outside. There is no difficulty in supposing, therefore, that the water in the lake might thus stand at a level above the land beyond the bank beyond its barriers.

"EDWARD DANIELS, "State Geologist."

once the city of the Romans, and the spot where King Arthur held his round tablenow a half-dilapidated village, but well worthy of a passing visit. When Tennyson was

That the Welsh language is slowly dying out we are convinced. Welsh parents begin to find that they are doing their children an injury if they do not teach them to speak English, and when once English is spoken Welsh is soon dropped. Mr. Borrow found an amusing instance of this near Wrexham. Meeting a Welshman he addressed him in his own tongue, and received no reply. He tried him again, with the same result. The unsuspicious Cwmraeg was then taken in by the "Romany Rye: "

"For the third time I spoke to him in Welsh; whereupon, looking at me with a grin of savage contempt, and showing a set of teeth like those of a mastiff, he said, How's this? why, haven't you a word of English? A pretty fellow you with a long coat on your back and no English on your tongue. Aint you ashamed of yourself? Why, here am I in a short coat, yet I'd have you to know that I can speak English as well as Welsh; ay, and a good deal better.' All people are not equally clebber,' said I, still speaking Welsh. Clebber,' said he, clebber! what is clebber? Why can't you say clever? why, I never saw such a low, illiterate fellow in my life; and, with these words, he turned away, with every mark of disdain, and entered a cottage near at hand."

Old Welshmen in the north would not utter a word of English to save their lives; but as the traveller approaches the south he finds that the Welsh is less and less in use. When Mr. Borrow was at Newport, he heard little or no Welsh, though had he been in the filthy market of that town on a Saturday he might have heard a little spoken. He is mistaken, however, in his conjecture that "the people for seven or eight miles to the east of Newport speak Welsh, more or less." A few may be able to do so, but by far the majority know nothing whatever of the language. It is to be regretted, by the way, that, while Mr. Borrow was at Newport, he did not turn aside to go through Caerleon

up his abode some few days in Caerleon, at an inn, where he was discovered, in consequence of entering his name in a book kept at the little local museum of Roman antiquities. The fact, perhaps, is that Mr. Borrow was frightened away by the many railroads in and around Newport, and was anxious to get beyond the screech and roar of locomotives as soon as possible.

Welshmen generally are Dissenters-a fact which the Church may attribute to its own half-heartedness and neglect. Wherever a clergyman, properly qualified, settles down in Wales, he brings the people over to him fast; but there are few churches in the country and many chapels. The dull, dirty, low meeting-place of the Methodists meets one's eye on almost every hill-side and in every populated valley; and in dissent, as in all other things with which they take up warmly, the Welsh are very inflexible, obstinate, and, we may add, bigoted. In the course of more of his rambles, Mr. Borrow met with one Morgan, with whom after his usual manner he held a conversation touching Welsh man

ners and literature. In the course of his

remarks Morgan, being, no doubt, a peppery man, gave expression to his views in these words :

"There are only two churches in the world that will take in anybody without asking questions, and will never turn them out, however bad they may behave; the one is the Church of Rome, and the other the Church of Canterbury; and if you look into the matter you will find that every rogue, rascal, and hanged person since the world began has belonged to one or other of those communions."

The venom and ignorance of this onslaught give it the appearance of burlesque, but we do not in the least doubt that many a Welshman would seriously and heartily give his assent to Morgan's proposition. We have as little doubt that the Church itself is responsible for this feeling, inasmuch that it has treated Wales with great and systematic indifference and coldness. The Welsh are essentially a warm-hearted, devout, and superstitious race; they will have religion of some kind, and