The result of the Solo Competition was as follows: for unbroken voices, first Webber, second Ross; Molony and Carruthers received honourable mention. For broken voices Blandford was first, Cochrane second; while Orr, Elton, and Hughes were commended. Certainly the most remarkable performance of the evening was Webber's singing of Beethoven's Adelaide. To be able even to sing this song -familiar indeed, and not yet so familiar among us as to have lost its moving power-to be able to sing it at all is evidence of extremely careful cultivation of the voice; to be able to put into it some echo of the passion which must have possessed the author when he wrote it, this shows that cultivation has been expended upon natural sympathy and feeling for music, which are rare in one of Webber's age. Ross sang one of Marzials' songs, "the Fairy Jane"; he has a full and rich voice. Carruthers was much hindered by hoarseness and the difficulty of his song, Bishop's "Should he upbraid "; in spite of this he showed taste and flexibility. Molony's song, "Some Day," was very pleasant to listen to. The only other competitor in this section was Harvey, who should learn to pronounce his words rather better; also he should have chosen a higher song. Blandford sang that beautiful old song of Handel's, Where e'er you walk," which one never tires of hearing, and sang it very clearly and correctly. Cochrane is to be congratulated on the possession of a voice of considerable sweetness and power, and a correct ear; he has a good deal to learn in the way of delivery and pronunciation. Orr sang Molloy's "Postillion " with much spirit and capital emphasis; he will sing very well when his voice is more fully come. Elton did all that could be done with a rather weak voice, which yet is sweet in tone and correct; Hughes put plenty of vigour and "go" into Sullivan's "If Doughty Deeds." We wish the judge had spared a word of praise for Harding, who showed much intelligent sympathy by the manner in which he rendered his song.

We must not omit to record the really excellent performances of the Brass Band, who appeared three times, and each time met with well-deserved applause, culminating in an encore. Thanks to the efforts of the Band-master and to opportunities for getting better instruments, the Band has of late conspicuously improved. The playing of the Cornets

was particularly praiseworthy. The Choir furnished one part-song (Hatton's "Softly fall the shades "), sung with much expression, and the Upper School Song was given with rare vigour, the whole School joining in the last verse. Cotton House repeated and improved upon their morning's performance; it was indeed difficult to think by what art they contrived to invest with fresh interest the fate of those three unhappy warriors, whose dying words had been so ceaselessly proclaimed from every quarter of the College for the past fortnight, that we have long since steeled our hearts and declined to be moved by their pathetic situation. Yet this they succeeded in doing.

In conclusion we beg to tender our most hearty thanks to the judge. We may express a hope that this is not the last time we shall see him among us performing the same office.

THE PHANTOMS OF THE PAYS DE LEON. A LEGEND OF BRITTANY.*

IN the folk-lore of every country, stories frequently hinge upon apparitions of the remembered dead. This is particularly noticeable in the Norse legends as developed in Norway and Iceland, an example of which may be found in the fearful story of Glàmr or the Valley of Shadows (Gretla Saga, c. 32-35). The same ideas may be traced in the legends of Brittany, and the following tale, from the considerable collection made by Emile Souvestre, is one of many having the same theme.

The Bretons, in common with their Catholic brethren in most parts of the world, love their dead and perpetually pray for those whose souls believed to be undergoing penance in Purgatory.

are

Especially in the mois noir-November-do they perform these Christian acts; and on the evening of All Saints' day, which immediately precedes the Festival of All Souls, they cause masses to be said for their dead. On this night moreover they believe that the dead are permitted to revisit their former homes, and they are careful to have food ready prepared, and fires alight all the night, that their ghostly visitors may refresh themselves and warm the limbs long benumbed by the chills of the tomb.

* Adapted from Le Foyer Breton, of Emile Souvestre.

But if on the one hand there are good Christians who ever remember their departed friends, there are also children of evil who forget those who once dwelt nearest to their hearts. Wilherm Postik was one of these. His father had died without receiving absolution, and the son grew up to be a reprobate, who danced during vespers, and drank with horse-dealers while mass was being celebrated. God had not failed to send him warnings. In one year he had

lost his mother and sisters, and his wife, but he consoled himself by spending the heritage they had left him. The village priest had done his best to redeem him, and had publicly reprimanded him, as a source of scandal and a stumbling block, but in vain. He renounced the Church and lived more at his ease than ever. Thus the summer passed, and the leaves began to fall, and soon November came, and with it All Souls' day. Then the pious folks put on their mourning and visited the tombs, and prayed for themselves and their lost ones. But Wilherm put on his Sunday clothes, and went to a neighbouring village, where he spent the evening in riotous living. Only when midnight approached and he had outstayed his jovial companions did he think of returning.

Then he started on his way home, singing loudly bacchanalian songs; he passed before wayside crosses without doffing his cap; and he struck right and left with his stick without fear of wounding the multitudes of Souls which upon that day were as thick upon the road as the dead leaves. At length he arrived at a crossway where two roads branched off to the village. The longer of these was protected by God; the shorter was haunted by spirits. People who had traversed it after dark, had heard noises and seen sights, of which they only spoke when many were together, or when they were in reach of a holy water fount. But Wilherm feared nothing; and he took the shorter road. The night was very dark, and wintry winds blew the leaves across his path; the rivulets flowed sadly down the hillsides, and the bushes shivered like frightened men. The footsteps of Wilherm sounded out of the darkness like the tread of a giant. He walked steadily on: nothing frightened him. As he passed near a ruined manor the weathercock cried to him "Return, Return." He came upon a little waterfall, and the water murmured, "Do not go on." He crossed a rivulet

and saw a dead oak tree, and the wind sighing through its branches, repeated, "Remain here, Remain here." But Wilherm struck it with his stick, and still pressed on.

At length he entered the haunted valley. Midnight had struck. Wilherm whistled joyously the air of Marionik :

"Koantik he Marionik

Koantik a delikadd,

Ru evel eur rosennik

A glaz e daon lagadd."

When he came to the fourth verse he heard behind him a sound as of muffled wheels, and he beheld a chariot covered with a pall. Wilherm recognized the Chariot of Death. It was drawn by six black horses, which were driven by Ankou, who ceaselessly lashed them with a whip of iron. "Get out of my way," he said, "or I will make you." "What are you doing here, Mr. Phantom ?" said Wilherm. “I take and I overtake," replied Ankou. "You are a thief and a traitor," continued Wilherm. "I am he," said the phantom, "who strikes blindly, and without respect of person." "But where are you going tonight in such a hurry," said Wilherm. "I seek for Wilherm Postik," replied Ankou as he passed. Wilherm broke out into loud laughter.

Presently he came in sight of a sloe hedge, upon which two white women were hanging linen to dry; "On my life," he said, "here are two young women who are not afraid of the night-dews! But why are you so late in the meadows?" "We wash, we dry, and we sew," replied the two women simultaneously. "What?" said Wilherm. "The winding sheet of the dead, who still lives and speaks." "And who is that pray? "Wilherm Postik," they replied. He laughed louder than before, and passed on his way. As he advanced he heard more and more distinctly the blows of washerwomen beating their linen by the river side, and soon he saw a group of women washing mort-clothes and singing this sad refrain;

"If a Christian comes not to save us,
Till the Judgment day we must wash,

By the light of the moon, by the noise of the wind
We must wash the grave-clothes white."

As soon as they perceived Wilherm they all ran towards him with loud cries, and presented their shrouds to him with a request that he would wring out the water. "So small a service," he said gaily, "must not be refused between friends; but a man has

only two hands, and I can only take one at a time." Then he laid down his stick, and took a shroud from one of the women, and commenced to squeeze out the water. Now he had heard from the old wives of the village of these lavandières de nuit, a sort of phantoms believed in throughout Brittany, but especially in the Pays de Léon; and he remembered that it was asserted that they had no power to do harm, if in helping them with their gruesome labour, you were careful to twist the shrouds in the same direction as they had done, but if this was neglected, destruction followed fast. So he carefully wrung out the shrouds, preserving the original twist. Among the phantoms he soon perceived his mother and sisters, and his wife, who cried loudly :

"A thousand woes to him who has left us to be tormented in purgatory. A thousand woes."

And they tossed their loose hair aloft, and raised their fleshless arms, and all along the banks of the river, from the valleys, and the hills, and from every side, a mighty voice repeated: "A thousand woes. A thousand woes."

Wilherm at length overcome with fear, felt his hair stand on end; in his terror he forgot the precaution previously observed, and he twisted the shroud in the wrong direction. At the same instant it held his hands as in a vice, and he fell dashed to pieces by the iron arms of the washerwomen.

In the morning a passer-by found his body stretched upon the stones. It was carried to the village and the usual offices were commenced. But when the wax-tapers, blessed by the priest, were lighted and placed around the corpse they refused to burn, and then it was known that Wilherm had received damnation. So they buried him outside the cemetery among the dogs and miscreants.

R.

LIGHTHOUSE BUILDING AMONG THE
SAVAGES.

Some of your readers, who are of an adventurous turn of mind and addicted to the reading of Fenimore Cooper and Mayne Reid, may perhaps be interested by a short account of how an O.M. is " roughing it" amongst the savages. The island of Formosa, now subject to the Chinese, terminates at its southern extremity in two prominent capes, on the largest of which, Nan Tha or South Cape, I am eugaged with

the help of an English mechanic, an American interpreter, and about 110 Chinese workmen in building a large Lighthouse station.

A considerable portion of the southern extremity of Formosa and almost all the high range of mountains which runs down the centre of the island is inhabited by aboriginal savages who, until quite recently, were cannibals. Indeed it is said that some of the tribes are still fond of a choice morsel of human flesh. In the south there are 18 tribes who have nominally surrendered to the Emperor of China and as a sign of submission have shaved their heads and attempted to grow pigtails. The Chinese are however obliged to pay their chiefs certain sums yearly to keep them quiet and, only a fortnight ago, one of the tribes killed two Chinamen and wounded a third within a few miles of this spot.

On our arrival in the Revenue Cruiser we had thirty of the principal chiefs summoned to meet us and gave them all manner of presents, pipes, gaudy parasols, knives, and many-coloured handkerchiefs, and it was a ludicrous sight to see an old coffeecoloured chief, with next to nothing on, marching proudly off under a red parasol. These savages are finely built men of medium height with coffeecoloured skins and very bright brown eyes. They have enormous jaws which make the lower portion of their face appear the broadest, giving them a ferocious aspect, which is increased by their chewing beetel-nut and thus colouring their teeth dark red. For clothes they usually wear only a small blue loin cloth, embroidered on one edge and reaching only three parts round their body. When it is cold or on occasions of state they wear a short sleeveless jacket, embroidered on the edges, and turban. Their ears are pierced with large holes into which they insert round pieces of silver curiously stamped, and many of them wear solid silver bangles on their arms. All carry a strong rough cutlass in a curious wooden sheaf which protects the side nearest the body only. The general weapons used are bows and arrows and spears. The arrows have no feathers and are frequently double barbed. Some of the Chiefs have match-lock guns of great length which they keep beautifully polished and are very proud of. When out hunting, they carry a coil of lighted fuse or slow-match round their neck; this they attach to the hammer of the gun, when they wish to shoot,

and pull the trigger, causing the hammer and fuse to fall into the flash pan and so lighting the powder. Hunting and fishing seem to be their only occupations. They use trained dogs in the former which hunt their game up to within easy range of where they lie in ambush. They fish with the rod and with the casting net, which they throw with great skill. The savages' villages are very neat and clean (a great contrast to Chinese towns which are invariably filthy) and are built of bamboo thatched with dried grass, the interior of the houses being plastered with clay.

Many dreadful stories are told of these "wild men as the Chinese call them. Here is one: eight years ago, or more, the good ship "Rover" was wrecked here and the savages killed and ate the whole crew, including the Captain's wife, some of whose limbs are said to have been found salted in a tub afterwards. To avenge this horrible deed the American corvette "Hertford" was sent shortly afterwards and, seeing some savages, proceeded to shell the Cape for upwards of an hour; a party of sailors under the first Lieutenant was then landed, and very soon the first Lieutenant and some of his men were shot dead whilst several more were killed by sunstroke. The corvette took the rest of the party off and left in haste, and the general impression is that the savages had the best of it.

To protect us against these "wild men we have a Chinese Mandarin and two hundred Chinese soldiers, who have built a small mud fort at the foot of the hill, where they parade in their gorgeous green and red uniforms and flourish their rusty old guns, many of which are a source of more danger to themselves than their enemies. The Mandarin is a charming little man and does all he can to help us in our work. He has built himself a mud "Yamêu with a grass roof at the top of the hill and there holds his court and tries all offenders, punishing the guilty ones with bamboo floggings across the face.

The rest of the population of Nan Tha is made up of a few Chinese wood cutters and some Pepawhaus or half-breds, who are great rascals and always ready to do any little bit of thieving they can.

Our first care on landing was to build quarters for ourselves and the workmen. The latter are lodged in a long street of mat sheds, which was erected in two days, and we are living in a small wooden hut.

My room is ten feet square and serves me for bedroom, dining-room, and resident engineer's office. On the south side we have a wide grass verandah which is necessary even in the depth of winter in this tropical climate. My room is adorned with plans of the station and the arms supplied by the Government for our defence, viz.: three revolvers and three repeating rifles with bayonets. Outside in the verandah stands a tiny fire engine which would have been useful had it arrived a month sooner than it did, as the Mandarin's first house of bamboo and grass was set on fire by some rascals and burnt to the ground in a few minutes, the poor old man barely escaping with his life, and losing quantities of valuable silk clothes.

The Revenue Cruiser, except when she is on a trip to Takow, our nearest port, 60 miles distant, lies in the beautiful bay of Kivaliang, about a mile from the site of the Lighthouse, and close to the beach where we landed all our material from the big merchant steamer which brought it over from the mainland. This landing was no easy matter as there is often a very heavy surf.

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The scenery is lovely all the hills, except one solitary bare limestone peak, are covered with thick tropical vegetation, palm trees, fig trees, quara trees, boxwood trees, India-rubber trees, banyans, wild ginger, and a host of others whose names I know not.

In

many of the trees grow huge ferns and innumerable monkeys chatter and squabble in their branches. One fern is a great curiosity, being scented very strongly of violets. The beauty of the scenery is much increased by the brilliant blue of the sea, and the water is so clear that on still days you can see the bottom in six fathoms.

The shooting is poor, as, although wild pig, pheasants, partridges, and even deer are numerous, it is impossible to get at them on account of the thick jungle. Some of the birds here would delight the members of the N.H.S., notably the Swinbault pheasant, a lovely bird with a dark purple neck marked with white, brown wings with a purple body aud long tail of brown and white feathers; or the golden oriole, a bird as large as the thrush, of the most brilliant yellow. The said members could collect armadilloes, snakes and lizards in abundance, huge butterflies, and extraordinary gold and lack spiders measuring seven inches across the legs.