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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f800819 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64975 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64975) diff --git a/old/64975-0.txt b/old/64975-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c983c2c..0000000 --- a/old/64975-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2230 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 6, Vol. I, February 9, 1884, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, - Fifth Series, No. 6, Vol. I, February 9, 1884 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: April 03, 2021 [eBook #64975] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 6, VOL. I, FEBRUARY 9, -1884 *** - - - - -[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL - -OF - -POPULAR - -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART - -Fifth Series - -ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832 - -CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS) - -NO. 6.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -CIRCULATING-LIBRARY CRITICS. - - -It appears to be a mania with some people to criticise everything which -comes in their way, no matter whether it be the last new bonnet of Mrs -Smith, the pug dog possessed by Mr Jones, or the last new novel by -Mr Brown; and as a true specimen of the ready-made critic, we might -cite those interesting individuals who, having more time upon their -hands than they can comfortably get rid of, endeavour to dispose of -some of the surplus stock by subscribing to a circulating library, and -diligently ‘cutting-up’ and otherwise abusing every author they read. -Novels, of course, are the principal dish of these readers; and it must -candidly be admitted that some of the notes pencilled in the margins -are not altogether uncalled for; though some of them are decidedly -personal, not to say unpleasant; while others, on the contrary, only -raise a smile, and if particularly ridiculous, are underlined by some -sarcastic reader, in order to call more attention to the blunder, which -has probably been committed by some indolent and not very well-informed -critic. - -But taken as a whole, this criticism, although in some cases severe, -is but the echo of public opinion, and as such, is entitled to -consideration, no matter how humble the source may appear from which -it springs; and we know of nothing more enjoyable than a well-read -book, which has been some ten or twelve months in circulation. And -such a book would without doubt prove of great service to its author, -could he by any means get hold of a copy; for he would then have the -opportunity of judging for himself how his work was appreciated by the -public; and although some of the remarks would doubtless cause him -annoyance, he should remember that they are the candid opinion of the -readers through whose hands the work has passed. And if he has good -sense and a desire to please the public, he would avail himself of -those critical remarks which seemed to be just, and alter the text in -any future editions. It is an author’s place to write his work to the -best of his ability, and that of his readers to criticise it after it -has appeared in print. Whether the book be good or bad, the author may -be sure that he will have a faithful and industrious army of critics in -the shape of subscribers to circulating libraries, who will diligently -search out all its little defects, and display them in the margin for -the edification of the next reader, who in turn will try his best to -discover something which the other has passed over, and triumphantly -display it in a similar manner. Although ‘the stone that is rolling’ -is said to gather no moss, it is a far different thing with a novel; -for the faster it passes from hand to hand, the more and more abundant -becomes its crop; and at a seaside watering-place, the writer has seen -blank sheets of letter-paper inserted between some of the leaves, -because the margins were already too crowded, to admit of some reader -adding his mite to the evidence there accumulated! - -This is why we suppose it might be advantageous to an author to get -hold of a copy of his work which has been through a like ordeal; and -let him remember at the same time that his book has probably travelled -through the hands of some people who are intimately acquainted with -certain subjects upon which it treats, and whose opinion is not to be -lightly passed over. As some of the novelists of the present day seem -to think the law a machine which they can work upon as they choose, -without the slightest regard to facts, it might be recommended to -them either to study the subject seriously, or submit any notes which -may appear upon this subject in the margins of their works, to an -experienced lawyer; and in nine cases out of ten, the author will find -that the readers’ notes are correct. This may be taken as a proof that -people, although they may pass rough criticism upon the characters, -situation, and general plot of a novel, are not so eager to criticise -points which touch upon the law, physic, &c., unless they thoroughly -understand the subject. As an instance of this, we have heard of a -doctor who would never read a new novel by a certain author, because -in a former work this gentleman had murdered a man in a manner which -my friend described as being ‘utterly ridiculous;’ for the poison -administered, and of which the character in the novel died, would not -in reality ‘have killed a cat.’ - -These remarks may serve to show that the public, although they may -accept a taking title, a pretty cover, and a pound or so of toned -paper, as a novel, will also exercise their right of picking its -contents to pieces as soon as possible. To show with what diligence -some of them do so, we quote the following: ‘The red rose actually -_died_ the captain’s cheeks.’ The word in italics is underlined in the -book, and altered in the margin to _dyed_. This, of course, is merely -a printer’s error; but it serves to show how the circulating-library -critic delights in ‘cutting-up’ the work of other people’s brains, -and exposing to the best advantage any little defect he may discover. -Then, again, in the same work, in describing the scene of a shipwreck, -the author makes use of the following words: ‘Quantities of chips, and -pieces of wood, and bits of _iron, were floating about_.’ The words in -italics are underlined in pencil by some incredulous reader, who could -not quite appreciate the joke, and took this method of calling the next -reader’s attention to it. The words might have been a mere slip of the -pen; but, as they stand underlined in the book, it is impossible to -overlook them now. - -A little farther on in the same work, an unmarried gentleman is -supposed to have made his will, bequeathing all his property to -friends settled in the colonies; and his relatives at his decease are -disputing the same, when this paragraph occurs, and is supposed to be -uttered by a _lawyer_: ‘But had he lived to marry Lady A——, he would -surely have cancelled this will!’ Probably had the gentleman lived, he -would have done so; but our pencil-critic shows that such an act would -have been altogether unnecessary, by writing against the paragraph: -‘The act of marrying would have rendered it null.’ This is strictly -and legally correct; and as the words are supposed to be spoken by a -lawyer, it shows that the opinion of these gentlemen is not always to -be implicitly relied upon, especially when they air them in a novel. - -To turn now to the criticising of situations, we find our amateur -critic is quite as hard upon them as he is upon the characters, and -will not allow a novelist to make use of situations which it is -scarcely probable would happen in real life. A noble lord is forced -through some miraculous circumstances which would rival the adventures -narrated in the _Arabian Nights_, to associate with poachers, who are -well known to the police; and after some time has elapsed, he at length -regains the property, which has wrongfully been kept from him by his -uncle; and to celebrate this happy event, he gives what is styled in -the novel a ‘levée,’ and invites thereto the whole country-side, -_including the poachers_, and also the police of the town. Our critic -could not quite appreciate the novelty of this situation, and therefore -pencils in the margin: ‘Is it likely the poachers would have ventured -there?’ After studying the facts of the case, and reducing the subject -to practical life, which is evidently the meaning of our critic, -and also bearing in mind that the police and poachers were in the -same room, and that several of the latter were ‘wanted’ for various -offences, we may take that bit of criticism as sound. - -If our voluntary critics will read novels, they must expect novel -things; but as far as our observation goes, this is the very thing -they criticise most. They will not allow a young and delicate lady to -elope with a handsome Captain on a stormy night with nothing to protect -her from the weather but a flimsy ball-dress, under any consideration -whatever; but feelingly suggest in the margin that the gentleman should -either offer her his ulster or procure an umbrella; a piece of advice -for which I am sure the young lady’s parents would devoutly thank them, -if they only had the pleasure of their acquaintance. - -We might easily add to these examples; but the above is sufficient to -show that the novelist who sits down to write a work of fiction merely -for the sake of airing an opinion, or to please a certain person, -neither caring in what language he expresses himself nor how absurd the -book may be, may be sure of a warm reception when his work falls into -the hands of the circulating-library critics. - - - - -BY MEAD AND STREAM. - - -CHAPTER IX.—SLANDER’S SHAFT. - -They were still at breakfast when the postman arrived, and Madge was -surprised to find amongst the letters two from the Manor. Both were -addressed in Miss Hadleigh’s large angular writing: one was for her -uncle, the other for herself. - -As Madge had long conducted her uncle’s correspondence, she attended -to his letters first; but remembering that still unexplained quarrel, -misunderstanding, or whatever it was, between him and Mr Hadleigh, she -discreetly kept the letter from Ringsford back till she had disposed -of the others. These were all on business, and of a most satisfactory -nature: good prices for grain, good prices for sheep and cattle, and -reports of a deficient harvest in America, whilst that of Willowmere -was excellent. Uncle Dick was in capital humour, and disposed to be on -good terms with everybody. It is wonderful how prosperous all the world -looks when our own affairs are thriving; and how merciful we can be in -our judgment as to the cause of our neighbour’s failure. - -Then Madge—sly Madge—opened the Ringsford letter, and read a formal -invitation to dinner at the Manor a fortnight hence, on the eve of Mr -Philip Hadleigh’s departure. - -‘You will go, of course, uncle?’ said Madge, looking up with a coaxing -smile.—‘And you will break through your rule of not going to parties -for once, aunt? You know we may not see Philip for a long, long time.’ - -Aunt Hessy smiled, and looked inquiringly at her husband. Dick Crawshay -was not a man to bear malice; but it was evident that he did not relish -this invitation. He was not frowning, but his face was not quite so -cheerful as it had been a moment before. - -‘I don’t know,’ he said, rising. ‘I hate these sort of things at -Ringsford. They’ve always a lot of people that don’t know anything’ -(about farming and cattle, he meant); ‘and when I’m there, I always -feel as uncomfortable as a bull in a china-shop that didn’t want to -break the crockery. Certain, I have spoken to some young fools that -knew all about betting lists, but not one that knew the points of a -horse—except Wrentham. They only want me there because they want you, -Madge; and if it wasn’t for you, I’d say no straight off.’ - -‘But you mustn’t do that, uncle; at least wait till we see what is in -my letter.’ - -‘You can tell me about it when I come in. That new reaping-machine -ain’t doing what I expected of it, and I want to give it a fair trial -under my own eyes.’ - -With that he went out, preceded by the dogs; for they had made for the -door the moment their master rose to his feet, and as it opened, almost -tumbled over each other in their haste to be first afield. - -‘I hope he will go,’ said Madge thoughtfully; adding, after a pause: -‘We must try to persuade him, aunt.’ - -‘Why are you so anxious about this, child? I never knew you to be very -eager to go to Ringsford yourself.’ - -‘Because I am about to disappoint Mr Hadleigh in a matter which he -considers of great importance.’ - -Then she read the strange letter she had received from him, and -Dame Crawshay was surprised almost as much as Madge herself by the -earnestness of the appeal it contained. She was silent for several -minutes, evidently occupied by some serious reflections. At length: - -‘Thou knowest how I love the lad; but that does not blind me to his -faults—nay, it need not startle thee to hear me say he has faults: we -all have our share of them. Perhaps it is lucky for thee that what -seems to me Philip’s worst fault is that he has the impulsive way his -father speaks about.’ - -‘But all his impulses are good-natured ones.’ - -‘I do not doubt it; but that makes it the more needful he should have -some experience of the world’s ways before tying himself and you down -to a hard-and-fast line. Nothing but experience will ever teach us that -the hard-and-fast line of life is the easiest in the end. There’s a -heap of truth in what Mr Hadleigh says about Philip, though he doesn’t -seem to me to have found the surest way of keeping him right.’ - -‘What would you advise, then?’ was the eager question. - -‘Thou must settle this matter for thyself, Madge; but I will tell thee -that there is one thing Mr Hadleigh is quite wrong about.’ - -‘What is that?’ - -‘In saying that Mr Shield would try to keep Philip from _you_.’ - -The emphasis on the last word and the curious, half-sad, half-pleased -smile which accompanied it, caused Madge to ask wonderingly: - -‘Did you know Mr Shield?’ - -‘Ay, long ago, before he went abroad.’ - -‘Have you never seen him since?’ - -‘Once—only once, and that was a sad time, although we were not five -minutes together. He heard only a bit of the truth: he would not stay -to hear it all, and I daresay he has had many a sorry hour for it -since.’ - -She ceased, and leaning back on her chair, lapsed into a dream of -sorrowful memories. Madge did not like to disturb her, for she was -suddenly amazed by the suspicion that once upon a time Austin Shield -had been Aunt Hessy’s lover. - -But the active dame was not given to wool-gathering, and looking up -quickly, she caught the expression of her niece, and guessed its -meaning. - -‘Nay, thou art mistaken,’ she said, shaking her head, and that curious -smile again appeared on her face; ‘there has only been one man that -was ever more than another to me, and that’s thy uncle.... But I’ll -tell thee a secret, child; it can do no harm. Hast forgotten what I was -telling thee and Philip in the garden yesterday?’ - -‘About the two lovers? O no.’ - -‘Well, the man was Mr Austin Shield, and the girl was thy mother.’ - -‘My mother!’ was the ejaculation of the astounded Madge. - -‘Yes. It was a silly business on her part, poor soul; but she was -cruelly deceived. She had been told lies about him; and there were so -many things which made them look like truth, that she believed them.’ - -‘What could she have been told that could make her forget him?’ - -‘She never did forget him—she never could forget him; and she told the -man she married so. What she was told was, that Austin had forgotten -her, and taken somebody else to wife. At the same time no letters came -from him. She waited for months, watching every post; but there was -never a sign from him. She fretted and fretted; and father fretted to -see her getting so bad on account of a man who was not worth thinking -about. He had broken his word, and that was enough to make father turn -his back on him for ever.’ - -‘But how did my mother come to—to marry so soon?’ - -‘She was kind of persuaded into it by father, and by her wish to -please him. He was a kind good man; but he was strict in his notions -of things. He considered that it was sinful of her to be thinking of a -man who had done her such wrong. Then Mr Heathcote was a great friend -of father’s—he was a deacon in our chapel—and he asked sister to be his -wife. He was quiet and well-to-do then; and father was on his side, -though he was twenty years older than your mother. Father thought that -his age would make him the better guide for one who was so weak as to -keep on mourning for a base man. He was never done speaking about the -happy home that was offered her, and in every prayer asked the Lord to -turn her heart into the right path. At last she consented: but she -told Mr Heathcote everything; and he said he was content, and that -he would try his best to make her content too, by-and-by. Father was -glad—and that did cheer poor sister a bit, for she was fond of father. -So she married.’ - -‘And then?’ - -Only the subdued voice, the wide, startled eyes, indicated the -agitation of the daughter, who was listening to this piteous story of a -mother’s suffering. - -‘And then there came a letter from Austin Shield, and he came himself -almost as soon as the letter. He had been “up country,” as he called -it, for more than a year, and he had been lucky beyond all his -expectations. But there were no posts in the wild places he had been -staying at. He had written to warn us not to expect to hear of him -for many months; but the vessel that was carrying that message home -to us—eh, deary, what sorrow it would have saved us—was wrecked in a -fog on some big rock near the Scilly Isles; and although a-many of the -mail-bags were fished up out of the sea, the one with sister’s letter -in it was never found.’ - -‘What did my poor mother do?’ - -‘She sat and shivered and moaned; but she could not speak. I saw him -when he came, and told him that he must not see her any more, for she -was married. I wasn’t able to tell him how it happened, for the sight -of his face feared me so. It was like white stone, and his eyes were -black. Before I could get my tongue again, he gave me a look that I can -never forget, and walked away.... I found out where he was, some time -afterwards, and wrote telling him all about it. He answered me, saying: -“Thank you. I understand. God bless you all.” We never had another word -direct from him; but we often heard about him; and some time after your -mother went to rest, we learned that he had really got married; and the -news pleased me vastly, for it helped me to think that maybe he was -comfortable and resigned at last. I hope he is; but he has no family, -and his sending for Philip looks as if he wants somebody to console -him.’ - -‘But who was it spread the lies about him at the first?’ - -‘Ah, that we never knew. It was cleverly done; the story was in -everybody’s mouth; but nobody could tell where it had come from.’ - -The feelings of Madge as she listened to her aunt were of a complicated -nature: there was the painful sympathy evoked by the knowledge that it -was her own mother who had been so wickedly deceived; then it seemed as -if the events related had happened to some one else; and again there -was a mysterious sense of awe as she recognised how closely the past -and the present were linked together. Philip was the near relation of -the man her mother had loved, and was to be parted from her on his -account for an indefinite period. - -Who could tell what Fate might lie in this coincidence? - -She pitied the lovers; and her indignation rose to passion at thought -of the slanderers who had caused them so much misery. Then came -confused thoughts about her father: he, too, must have loved as well -as Mr Shield; and he had been generous. - -Gentle hands were laid upon her bowed head, and looking up, she met the -tender eyes of Aunt Hessy. - -‘I have troubled you, child; but I have told you this so that you may -understand why I cannot counsel you to bid Philip stay or go.’ - -A soft light beamed on Madge’s face; a sweet thought filled her heart. -She would bid Philip go to help and comfort the man her mother had -loved. - - -CHAPTER X.—LIGHT AND SHADOW. - -As soon as she found that Madge was calm and ready to proceed with the -duties of the day, Aunt Hessy bustled out to look after the maidens in -the dairy and the kitchen. The other affairs of the house were attended -to by Madge assisted by Jenny Wodrow, an active girl, who had wisely -given up straw-plaiting at Luton for domestic service at Willowmere. - -When clearing the breakfast-table, Madge found Miss Hadleigh’s letter, -which she had forgotten in the new interests and speculations excited -by her aunt’s communication. - -Miss Hadleigh was one of those young ladies who fancy that in personal -intercourse with others dignity is best represented by the assumption -of a languid air of indifference to everything, whilst they compensate -themselves for this effort by ‘gushing’ over pages of note-paper. Of -course she began with ‘My dearest Madge:’ everybody was her ‘dearest;’ -and how she found a superlative sufficient to mark the degree of her -regard for her betrothed is a problem in the gymnastics of language. - -‘You know all about dearest Phil going to leave us in about a fortnight -or three weeks, and goodness only knows when he may come home again. -Well, we are going to have a _little_ dinner-party all to his honour -and glory, as you would see by the card I have addressed to your uncle. -Mind, it is a _little_ and very select party. There will be nobody -present except the most intimate and most esteemed friends of the -Family.’ (Family written with a very large capital F.) - -‘Now the party cannot be _complete_ without you and your dear uncle -and aunt; and I write this _special_ supplement to the card to implore -you to keep yourselves free for Tuesday the 28th, and to tell you that -we will take _no_ excuse from any of you. Carrie and Bertha want to -have some friends in after dinner, so that they might get up a dance. -Of course, in my position I do not care for these things now; but to -please the girls, it might be arranged. Would _you_ like it?—because, -if you did, that would settle the matter at once. We have not told -Phil yet, because he always makes fun of _everything_ we do to try -and amuse him. Papa has been consulted, and as usual leaves it _all_ -to us.—Please do write soon, darling, and believe me ever yours most -affectionately, - - BEATRICE HADLEIGH.’ - -‘_P.S._—If you don’t mind, dear, I wish you _would_ tell me what colour -you are to wear, so that I might have something to harmonise with it. -We might have a symphony all to ourselves, as the æsthetes call it.’ - -From this it appeared that Philip’s sisters were not aware of their -father’s desire to keep him at home. There would be no difficulty in -replying to Miss Hadleigh—even to the extent of revealing the colour of -her dress—when Uncle Dick had consented to go. - -When the immediate household cares were despatched, Madge sat down at -her desk to write to Mr Hadleigh. She was quite clear about what she -had to say; but she paused, seeking the gentlest way of saying it. - -‘DEAR MR HADLEIGH,’ she began at last, ‘Your letter puts a great -temptation in my way; and I should be glad to avoid doing anything to -displease you. But your son has given me a reason for his going, which -leaves him no alternative but to go, and me no alternative but to pray -that he may return safely and well.’ - -When she had signed and sealed up this brief epistle, a mountain seemed -to roll off her shoulders; her head became clear again: she _knew_ that -what Philip and her mother would have wished had been done. A special -messenger was sent off with it to Ringsford; for although the distance -between the two places was only about three miles, the letter would not -have been delivered until next day, had it gone by the ordinary post. - - * * * * * - -Mr Hadleigh read these few lines without any sign of disappointment. -He read them more than once, and found in them something so quietly -decisive, that he would have considered it an easier task to conquer -Philip in his most obstinate mood, than to move this girl one -hair’s-breadth from her resolve. - -He refolded the paper carefully and placed it in his pocket. Then he -rang the bell. - -‘Bid Toomey be ready to drive me over to catch the ten o’clock train,’ -he said quietly to the servant who answered his summons. - -‘A pity, a pity,’ he repeated to himself. ‘Fools both—they will not -accept happiness when it is offered them. A pity, a pity.... They will -have their way.’ - -The carriage conveyed him to Dunthorpe Station in good time for the -train; and the train being a ‘fast,’ landed him at Liverpool Street -Station before eleven o’clock. - -He walked slowly along Broad Street, a singular contrast to the hurry -and bustle of the other passengers. He was not going in the direction -of his own offices; and he did not look as if he were going on any -particular business anywhere. He had the air of a man who was taking an -enforced constitutional, and who by mistake had wandered into the city -instead of into the park. - -He turned into Cornhill, and then into Golden Alley, which must have -obtained its name when gold was only known in quartz; for it was a -dull, gloomy-looking place, with dust-stained windows and metal plates -up the sides of the doorways, so begrimed that it required an effort of -the sight to decipher the names on them. But it was quiet and eminently -respectable. Standing in Golden Alley, one had the sense of being in -the midst of steady-going, long-established firms, who had no need of -outward show to attract customers. - -Mr Hadleigh halted for a moment at one of the doors, and looked at -a leaden-like plate, bearing the simple inscription, GRIBBLE & CO. -He ascended one flight of stairs, and entered an office in which two -clerks were busy at their desks, whilst a youth at another desk near -the door was addressing envelopes with the eager rapidity of one who is -paid so much per thousand. - -No one paid any attention to the opening of the door. - -‘Is Mr Wrentham in?’ inquired Mr Hadleigh. - -At the sound of his voice, one of the clerks advanced obsequiously. - -‘Yes, sir. He is engaged at present; but I will send in your name.’ - -He knew who the visitor was; and after rapidly writing the name on a -slip of paper, took it into an inner room. Mr Hadleigh glanced over -some bills which were lying on the counter announcing the dates of -sailing of a number of A1 clippers and first-class screw-steamers to -all parts of the world. - -The clerk reappeared, and with a polite, ‘Will you walk in, sir?’ held -the door of the inner room open till Mr Hadleigh passed in, and then -closed it. - -Mr Wrentham rose from his table, holding out his hand. ‘Glad to see you -here, Mr Hadleigh—very glad. I hope it is business that brings you?’ - -‘Yes—important business,’ was the answer. - - - - -CURIOUS ANTIPATHIES IN ANIMALS. - - -I. HORSES. - -My late father-in-law, a physician in extensive practice, once -possessed a horse named Jack, which was celebrated for his many -peculiarities and his great sagacity. One of his antipathies was a -decided hatred to one particular melody, the well-known Irish air, -_Drops of Brandy_. If any one began to whistle or hum this air, Jack -would instantly show fight by laying his ears back, grinding his teeth, -biting and kicking, but always recovering his good temper when the -music ceased. No other melody or music of any kind ever affected him; -you might whistle or sing as long as you liked, provided you did not -attempt the objectionable Irish air. One of the doctor’s nephews and -Jack were great friends. The lad could do almost anything with him; but -if he presumed to whistle the objectionable melody of Erin, Jack would -show his displeasure by instantly pulling off the lad’s cap and biting -it savagely, but never attempting the smallest personal injury to the -boy himself, and always exhibiting his love when the sounds ceased; -thus saying, as plainly as a horse could say: ‘We are great friends, -and I love you very much; but pray, don’t make that odious noise, to -which I entertain a very strong objection.’ - -Jack had another and very peculiar antipathy—he never would permit -anything bulky to be carried by his rider. This came out for the first -time one day when the doctor was going on a visit, and having to sleep -at his friend’s, intended to take a small handbag with him. On the -groom handing this up to the doctor, after he was mounted, Jack—who had -been an attentive observer of the whole proceeding by craning his head -round—at once exhibited his strong displeasure by rearing, kicking, -buck-jumping, and jibing—so utterly unlike his usual steady-going ways, -that the doctor at once divined the cause, and threw the bag down, -when Jack became perfectly quiet and docile; but instantly, however, -re-enacting the same scene, when the groom once more offered the bag -to the doctor. The experiment was repeated several times, and always -with the same singular result; and at length the attempt was given -up, when Jack trotted off on his journey, showing the best of tempers -throughout. Why he should have exhibited this extraordinary dislike to -carrying a small handbag, which was neither large in size nor heavy in -weight, it is impossible even to guess. - -On another occasion the groom, wishing to bring home with him a small -sack containing some household requisite, thought to lay it across the -front of his saddle; but Jack was too quick and too sharp for him. -Instantly rearing, and then kicking violently, he threw the groom off -on one side and the objectionable burden on the other. After this, no -further attempts were made to ruffle the customary serenity of Jack’s -rather peculiar temper. - -The same gentleman also possessed a beautiful bay mare called Jenny, -remarkable for her sweet temper and pretty loving ways. She was a -great favourite with the doctor’s daughters, and would ‘shake hands’ -when asked, and kiss them in the most engaging manner, with a sort -of nibbling motion of her black lips up and down the face. She would -follow any one she liked about the fields, answer to her name like a -dog, and would always salute any of her favourites on seeing them with -that pretty low ‘hummering’ sound so common with pet horses, but never -heard from those subject to ill-treatment. But, with all these graces, -the pretty and interesting Jenny had several peculiar antipathies, in -one of which she too somewhat resembled a dog Wag (to be noticed in a -future article), and that was a marked dislike to the singing voice of -one particular person, a lady, a relative of the doctor’s. This lady -often went to the stable to feed Jenny with lettuces or apples, and -they were always the best of friends; but so sure as she began to sing -anything, Jenny instantly forgot her good manners, lost all propriety, -and exhibited the usual signs of strong equine displeasure, although -she never took the smallest notice of the singing or whistling of any -other person, treating it apparently with indifference. One day, as the -doctor was driving this lady out, he suggested, by way of experiment, -that she should begin to sing. In a moment, Jenny’s ears were down -flat, and a great kick was delivered with hearty goodwill on to the -front of the carriage; and more would doubtless have followed, had not -the lady prudently stopped short in her vocal efforts; when Jenny was -herself again, and resumed her usual good behaviour. - -Another and very remarkable peculiarity of Jenny’s was her -unaccountable antipathy to the doctor’s wife. If that lady approached -her, she would grind her teeth savagely, and try to bite her in the -most spiteful manner. What is perhaps even more singular, she would -never, if possible, let the lady get into the carriage, if she knew -it. Jenny would turn her head, and keep a lookout behind her, in the -drollest manner possible; and the moment she caught sight of the lady -approaching the carriage for the purpose of getting in, Jenny would -immediately commence her troublesome tantrums of biting and kicking. So -strongly did she object to drawing her mistress, that more than once -she damaged the carriage with her powerful heels, so that the doctor -was obliged to request his wife to approach the carriage from behind, -whilst a groom held Jenny’s head, to prevent her looking round. Even -this was not always sufficient; for if the lady talked or laughed, -Jenny would actually recognise her voice, and the usual ‘scene’ would -be forthwith enacted. Now, the most singular part of this story is, -that this lady was, like all her family, a genuine lover of all -animals, especially horses. She was very fond of Jenny, and had tried -in every way to make friends with her, and therefore her dislike to -her mistress was all the more unaccountable, as there was not a shadow -of cause for it. We can all understand dislike on the part of any -animal where there has been any sort of ill-usage; but it is wholly -inexplicable when nothing but love and kindness has been invariably -practised towards that animal. - -Jenny I am afraid was a great pet, and like all pets, was full of -fads and fancies. One of these was certainly peculiar. Not far from -the doctor’s residence there was a particular gate opening into a -field. As soon as Jenny came near this gate, she would commence -her tantrums, rearing, kicking, plunging, jibing, and altogether -declining to pass it; and it was not until after the exercise of a -great amount of patience and perseverance, by repeatedly leading -her—after much opposition—up to the gate and making her see it and -smell it—thereby proving to her that it would do her no harm—that at -length she was brought to pass it quietly and without notice. What -could have occasioned this strange antipathy to one particular gate, -it is impossible to guess, for, until she came into the doctor’s -possession, she had never been in that part of the county, and -therefore could have had no unpleasant recollections of this gate in -any way. It is, however, possible that the gate in question might -have strongly resembled some other gate elsewhere with which were -associated disagreeable memories; for I well remember that, some years -ago, I often rode a fine young mare which had only recently come from -Newmarket, where she had been trained. At first, she could never be -induced to go down Rotten Row without a great deal of shying, jibing, -and rearing, and other signs of resistance and displeasure. And this -was subsequently explained by the fact, that the place where she was -trained and exercised at Newmarket was a long road with a range of -posts and rails, closely resembling Rotten Row; and doubtless the mare -was under the impression that this was either the same place, or that -she was about to be subjected to the same severe training which she had -undergone at Newmarket; hence her determined opposition. - -One more trait of Jenny’s odd antipathies must be mentioned before -I conclude, and that was her fixed aversion to men of the working -peasant class. She would never let such a man hold her by the bridle, -or even approach her, without trying to bite him, and jerking her head -away with every sign of anger and aversion whilst he stood near. But -she never exhibited any feelings of dislike to well-dressed, clean, -comfortable-looking persons, who might have done almost anything with -her, and with whom she would ‘shake hands,’ or kiss in the gentlest -possible manner. Of a truth, Jenny was certainly unique in her odd -fancies and peculiar behaviour in every way; a singular mixture of good -and evil—a spiteful, vindictive temper on the one hand, combined with -the utmost affection and docility on the other. - - - - -TWO DAYS IN A LIFETIME. - -A STORY IN EIGHT CHAPTERS. - - -CHAPTER VI. - -Five minutes later, Miss Brandon burst into the room in her usual -impulsive fashion. Lady Dimsdale was standing at one of the windows. It -was quite enough for Elsie to find there was some one to talk to—more -especially when that some one was Lady Dimsdale, whom she looked upon -as the most charming woman in the world. At once she began to rattle on -after her usual fashion. ‘Thank goodness, those hateful exercises are -over for to-day. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. Arma virumque -cano. How I do detest Latin! My grandmother didn’t know a word of it, -and she was the most delightful old lady I ever knew. Besides, where’s -the use of it? When Charley and I are married, I can’t talk to him in -Latin—nor even to the butcher’s boy, nor the fishmonger. Perhaps, if I -were to speak to my poodle in dog-Latin, he might understand me.’ Then, -with a sudden change of manner, she said: ‘Dear Lady Dimsdale, what is -the matter?’ for Laura had turned, and the traces of tears were still -visible around her eyes. ‘Why, I do believe you have been’—— - -‘Yes, crying—that’s the only word for it,’ answered Laura with a smile. - -‘Do tell me what it is. Nothing serious?’ - -‘Nothing more serious than the last chapter of a foolish love-story.’ -She had taken up a book instinctively. - -‘I’m awfully glad it’s nothing worse. Love-stories that make one cry -are delicious. I always feel better after a good cry.’ Her sharp eyes -were glancing over the title of the book in Lady Dimsdale’s hand. -‘“Buchan’s _Domestic Medicine_,”’ she read out aloud. ‘Dear Lady -Dimsdale, surely this is not the book that’—— She was suddenly silent. -The room had a bow-window, the casement of which stood wide open this -sunny morning. Elsie had heard voices on the terrace outside. ‘That’s -dear old nunky’s voice,’ she said. ‘And—yes—no—I do believe it is -though!’ She crossed to the window and peeped out from behind the -curtains. - -Stumping slowly along the terrace, assisted by his thick Malacca, came -Captain Bowood. By his side marched a dark-bearded military-looking -inspector of police, dressed in the regulation blue braided frock-coat -and peaked cap. They were engaged in earnest conversation. - -‘An inspector of police! What can be the matter? I do believe they are -coming here.’ So spoke Elsie; but when she looked round, expecting a -response, she found herself alone. Lady Dimsdale had slipped out of the -room. - -The voices came nearer. Elsie seated herself at the table, opened a -book, ruffled her hair, and pretended to be poring over her lessons. - -The door opened, and Captain Bowood, followed by the inspector, entered -the room. ‘Pheugh! Enough to frizzle a nigger,’ ejaculated the former, -as he mopped his forehead with his yellow bandana handkerchief. Then -perceiving Elsie, he said, as he pinched one of her ears, ‘Ha, Poppet, -you here?’ - -‘Yes, nunky; and dreadfully puzzled I am. I want to find out in what -year the Great Pyramid was built. Do, please, tell me.’ - -‘Ha, ha!—Listen to that, Mr Inspector.—If you had asked me the distance -from here to New York, now. Great Pyramid, eh?’ - -The inspector, pencil and notebook in hand, was examining the -fastenings of the window. ‘Very insecure, Captain Bowood,’ he said; -‘very insecure indeed. A burglar would make short work of them.’ - -Miss Brandon was eying him furtively. There was a puzzled look on her -face. ‘I could almost swear it was Charley’s voice; and yet’—— - -‘Come, come; you’ll frighten us out of our wits, if you talk like -that,’ answered the Captain. - -‘Many burglaries in this neighbourhood of late,’ remarked the inspector -sententiously. - -‘Just so, just so.’ This was said a little uneasily. - -‘Best to warn you in time, sir.’ - -‘O Charley, you naughty, naughty boy!’ remarked Miss Brandon under her -breath. ‘Even I did not know him at first.’ - -‘But if Mr Burglar chooses to pay us a visit, who’s to hinder him?’ -asked the Captain. - -The inspector shrugged his shoulders and smiled an inscrutable smile. - -‘You don’t mean to say that they intend to pay us a visit to-night? -Come now.’ - -‘Every reason to believe so, Captain.’ - -‘But, confound it! how do you know all this?’ - -‘Secret information. Know many things. Mrs Bowood keeps her jewel-case -in top left-hand drawer in her dressing-room. Know that.’ - -‘Bless my heart! How did you find that out?’ - -‘Secret information. Gold chronometer with inscription on it hidden -away at the bottom of your writing-desk. Know that.’ - -‘How the’—— - -‘Secret information.’ - -‘O Charley, Charley, you artful darling!’—this _sotto voce_ from Miss -Brandon. - -The Captain looked bewildered, as well he might. ‘This is really most -wonderful,’ he said. ‘But about those rascals who, you say, are going -to visit us to-night?’ - -‘Give ’em a warm reception, Captain. Leave that to me.’ - -‘Yes, yes. Warm reception. Good. Have some of your men in hiding, eh, -Mr Inspector?’ - -‘Half a dozen of ’em, Captain.’ - -‘Just so, just so. And I’ll be in hiding too. I’ve a horse-pistol -up-stairs nearly as long as my arm.’ - -‘Shan’t need that, sir.’ - -‘No good having a horse-pistol if one doesn’t make use of it now and -then.’ - -‘Half-a-dozen men—three inside the house, and three out,’ remarked the -inspector as he wrote down the particulars in his book. - -‘And I’ll make the seventh—don’t forget that!’ cried the Captain, -looking as fierce as some buccaneer of bygone days. ‘If there’s one -among the burglars more savage than the rest, leave him for me to -tackle.’ - -‘My poor, dear nunky, if you only knew!’ murmured Elsie under her -breath. - -‘Perhaps I had better lend you a pair of these, Captain; they might -prove useful in a scuffle,’ remarked the inspector as he produced a -pair of handcuffs from the tail-pocket of his coat. ‘The simplest -bracelets in the world. The easiest to get on, and the most difficult -to get off—till you know how. Allow me. This is how it’s done. What -could be more simple?’ - -Nothing apparently could be more simple, seeing that, before Captain -Bowood knew what had happened, he found himself securely handcuffed. - -‘Ha, ha—just so. Queer sensation—very,’ he exclaimed, turning redder in -the face than usual. ‘But I don’t care how soon you take them off, Mr -Inspector.’ - -‘No hurry, Captain, no hurry.’ - -‘Confound you! what do you mean by no hurry? What’—— But here the -Captain came to a sudden stop. - -The inspector’s black wig and whiskers had vanished, and the laughingly -impudent features of his peccant nephew were revealed to his astonished -gaze. - -‘Good-afternoon, my dear uncle. This is the second time to-day that I -have had the pleasure of seeing you.’ Then he called: ‘Elsie, dear!’ - -‘Here I am, Charley,’ came in immediate response. - -‘Come and kiss me.’ - -‘Yes, Charley.’ And with that Miss Brandon rose from her chair, and -with a slightly heightened colour and the demurest air possible, came -down the room and allowed her lover to lightly touch her lips with his. -It was a pretty picture. - -‘What—what! Why—why,’ spluttered the Captain. For a little while words -seemed to desert him. - -‘My dear uncle, pray, _pray_, do not allow yourself to get quite so red -in the face; at your time of life you really alarm me.’ - -‘You—you vile young jackanapes! You—you cockatrice!—And you, miss, you -shall smart for this. I’ll—I’ll—— Oh!’ - -‘Patience, good uncle; prithee, patience.’ - -‘Patience! O for a good horsewhip!’ - -‘When I called upon you this morning, sir,’ resumed Charles the -imperturbable, ‘I left unsaid the most important part of that which -I had come to say; it therefore became needful that I should see you -again.’ - -‘O for a horsewhip! Are you going to take these things off me, or are -you not?’ - -‘The object of my second visit, sir, is to inform you that Miss Brandon -and I are engaged to be married, and to beg of you to give us your -consent and blessing, and make two simple young creatures happy.’ - -‘Handcuffed like a common poacher on his way to jail! Oh, when once I -get free!’ - -‘We have made up our minds to get married; haven’t we, Elsie?’ - -‘We have—or else to die together,’ replied Miss Brandon, as she struck -a little tragic attitude. - -‘Think over what I have said, my dear uncle, and accord us your -consent.’ - -‘Or our deaths will lie at your door.’ - -‘Every night as the clock struck twelve, you would see us by your side.’ - -‘You would never more enjoy your rum-and-water and your pipe.’ - -‘I should tickle your ear with a ghostly feather, and wake you in the -middle of your first sleep.’ - -‘I shall go crazy—crazy!’ spluttered the Captain. He would have stamped -his foot, only he was afraid of the gout. - -‘Not quite, sir, I hope,’ replied young Summers, with a sudden change -of manner; and next moment, and without any action of his own in the -matter, the Captain found himself a free man. The first thing he did -was to make a sudden grasp at his cane; but Elsie was too quick for -him, or it might have fared ill with her sweetheart. - -Master Charley laughed. ‘I am sorry, my dear uncle, to have to leave -you now; but time is pressing. You will not forget what I have said, I -feel sure. I shall look for your answer to my request in the course of -three or four days; or would you prefer, sir, that I should wait upon -you for it in person?’ - -‘If you ever dare to set foot inside my door again, I’ll—I’ll -spiflicate you—yes, sir, spiflicate you!’ - -‘To what a terrible fate you doom me, good my lord!—Come, Elsie, you -may as well walk with me through the shrubbery.’ - -Miss Brandon going up suddenly to Captain Bowood, flung her arms round -his neck and kissed him impulsively. ‘You dear, crusty, cantankerous, -kind-hearted old thing, I can’t help loving you!’ she cried. - -‘Go along, you baggage. As bad as he is—every bit. Go along.’ - -‘_Au revoir_, uncle,’ said Mr Summers with his most courtly stage bow. -‘We shall meet again—at Philippi.’ - -A moment later, Captain Bowood found himself alone. ‘There’s -impudence!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s worse than that; it’s cheek—downright -cheek. Never bamboozled like it before. Handcuffed! What an old -nincompoop I must have looked! Good thing Sir Frederick or any of -the others didn’t see me. I should never have heard the last of it.’ -With that, the last trace of ill-humour vanished, and he burst into -a hearty, sailor-like guffaw. ‘Just the sort of trick I should have -gloried in when I was a young spark!’ He rose from his chair, took -his cane in his hand, and limped as far as the window, his gout being -rather troublesome this afternoon. ‘So, so. There they go, arm in -arm. Who would have thought of Don Carlos falling in love with Miss -Saucebox? But I don’t know that he could do better. She’s a good -girl—a little flighty just now; but that will cure itself by-and-by—and -she will have a nice little property when she comes of age. Must -pretend to set my face against it, though, and that will be sure to -make them fonder of one another. Ha, ha! we old sea-dogs know a thing -or two.’ And with that the Captain winked confidentially to himself two -or three times and went about his business. - - * * * * * - -When Sir Frederick Pinkerton followed Mrs Bowood and Mrs Boyd out of -the room where the interview had taken place, and left Lady Dimsdale -sitting there alone, he quitted the house at once, and sauntered in his -usual gingerly fashion through the flower-garden to an unfrequented -part of the grounds known as the Holly Walk, where there was not much -likelihood of his being interrupted. Like Lady Dimsdale, he wanted to -be alone. Just then, he had much to occupy his thoughts. To and fro he -paced the walk slowly and musingly, his hands behind his back, his eyes -bent on the ground. - -‘What tempts me to do this thing?’ he asked himself, not once, but -several times. ‘That I dislike the man is quite certain; why, then, -take upon myself to interfere between this woman and him? Certainly I -have nothing to thank Oscar Boyd for; why, then, mix myself up in a -matter that concerns me no more than it concerns the man in the moon? -If he had not appeared on the scene just when he did, I might perhaps -have won Lady Dimsdale for my wife. But now? Too late—too late! Even -when he and this woman shall have gone their way, he will live in -my lady’s memory, never probably to be forgotten. He is her hero of -romance. That he made love to her in years gone by, when they were -young together, there is little doubt; that he made love to her again -this morning, and met with no such rebuff as I did, seems equally -clear; and though she knows now that he can never become her husband, -yet she on her side will never forget him. In what way, then, am I -called upon to interfere in his affairs? Should I not be a fool for -my pains? And yet to let that woman claim him as her own, when a word -from me would—— No! _Noblesse oblige._ What should I think of myself -in years to come, if I were to permit this man’s life to be blasted -by so cruel a fraud? The thought would hardly be a pleasant one on -one’s deathbed.’ He shrugged his shoulders, and went on slowly pacing -the Holly Walk. At length he raised his head and said half aloud: ‘I -will do it, and at once; but it shall be on my own conditions, Lady -Dimsdale—on my own conditions.’ - -There was a gardener at work some distance away. He called the man to -him, and sent him with a message to the house. Ten minutes later, Lady -Dimsdale entered the Holly Walk. - -Sir Frederick approached her with one of his most elaborate bows. - -‘You wish to see me, Sir Frederick?’ she said inquiringly, but a little -doubtfully. She hoped that he was not about to re-open the subject that -had been discussed between them earlier in the day. - -‘I have taken the liberty of asking you to favour me with your company -for a few minutes—here, where we shall be safe from interruption. The -matter I am desirous of consulting you upon admits of no delay.’ - -She bowed, but said nothing. His words reassured her on one point, -while filling her with a vague uneasiness. The sunshade she held over -her head was lined with pink; it served its purpose in preventing the -Baronet from detecting how pale and wan was the face under it. - -They began to pace the walk slowly side by side. - -‘Equally with others, Lady Dimsdale, you are aware that, by a strange -turn of fortune, Mr Boyd’s wife, whom he believed to have been dead for -several years, has this morning reappeared?’ - -‘You were in the parlour, Sir Frederick, when I was introduced to Mrs -Boyd only half an hour ago.’ She answered him coldly and composedly -enough; but he could not tell how her heart was beating. - -‘Strangely enough, I happened to be in New Orleans about the time of Mr -Boyd’s marriage, and I know more about the facts of that unhappy affair -than he has probably told to any one in England. It is enough to say -that the reappearance of this woman is the greatest misfortune that -could have happened to him. Oscar Boyd was a miserable man before he -parted from her—he will be ten times more miserable in years to come.’ - -‘You have not asked me to meet you here, Sir Frederick, in order to -tell me this?’ - -‘This, and something more, Lady Dimsdale. Listen!’ He laid one finger -lightly on the sleeve of his companion’s dress, as if to emphasise her -attention. ‘I happen to be acquainted with a certain secret—it matters -not how it came into my possession—the telling of which—and it could -be told in half-a-dozen words—would relieve Mr Boyd of this woman at -once and for ever, would make a free man of him, as free to marry as in -those old days when he used to haunt that vicarage garden which I too -remember so well!’ - -Lady Dimsdale stopped in her walk and stared at him with wide-open -eyes. ‘You—possess—a secret that could do all this!’ - -‘I have stated no more than the simple truth.’ - -‘Then Mr Boyd is not this woman’s husband?’ The question burst from her -lips swiftly, impetuously. Next moment her eyes fell and a tell-tale -blush suffused her cheeks. But here again the pink-lined sunshade came -to her rescue. - -‘Mr Boyd is the husband of no other woman,’ answered the Baronet drily. - -‘With what object have you made _me_ the recipient of this confidence, -Sir Frederick?’ - -‘That I will presently explain. You are probably aware that Mr Boyd -leaves for London by the next train?’ - -Lady Dimsdale bowed. - -‘So that if my information is to be made available at all, no time must -be lost.’ - -‘I still fail to see why—— But that does not matter. As you say, there -is no time to lose. You will send for Mr Boyd at once, Sir Frederick. -You are a generous-minded man, and you will not fail to reveal to him a -secret which so nearly affects the happiness of his life.’ She spoke to -him appealingly, almost imploringly. - -He smiled a coldly disagreeable smile. ‘Pardon me, Lady Dimsdale, but -generosity is one of those virtues which I have never greatly cared -to cultivate. Had I endeavoured to do so, the soil would probably have -proved barren, and the results not worth the trouble. In any case, I -have never tried. I am a man of the world, that, and nothing more.’ - -‘But this secret, Sir Frederick—as between man and man, as between one -gentleman and another—you will not keep it to yourself? You will not. -No! I cannot believe that of you.’ - -He lifted his hat for a moment. ‘Lady Dimsdale flatters me.’ Then he -glanced at his watch. ‘Later even than I thought. This question must be -decided at once, or not at all. Lady Dimsdale, I am willing to reveal -my secret to Mr Boyd on one condition—and on one only.’ - -For a moment she hesitated, being still utterly at a loss to imagine -why the Baronet had taken her so strangely into his confidence. Then -she said: ‘May I ask what the condition in question is, Sir Frederick?’ - -‘It was to tell it to you that I asked you to favour me with your -presence here. Lady Dimsdale, my one condition is this: That when this -man—this Mr Oscar Boyd—shall be free to marry again, as he certainly -will be when my secret becomes known to him—you shall never consent to -become his wife, and that you shall never reveal to him the reason why -you decline to do so.’ - -‘Oh! This to me! Sir Frederick Pinkerton, you have no right to assume—— -Nothing, nothing can justify this language!’ - -He thought he had never seen her look so beautiful as she looked at -that moment, with flashing eyes, heaving bosom, and burning cheeks. - -He bowed and spread out his hands deprecatingly. ‘Pardon me, but I have -assumed nothing—nothing whatever. I have specified a certain condition -as the price of my secret. Call that condition a whim—the whim of an -eccentric elderly gentleman, who, having no wife to keep him within the -narrow grooves of common-sense, originates many strange ideas at times. -Call it by what name you will, Lady Dimsdale, it still remains what -it was. To apply a big word to a very small affair—you have heard my -ultimatum.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘I shall be in the library -for the next quarter of an hour. One word from you—Yes or No—and I -shall know how to act. On that one word hangs the future of your -friend, Mr Oscar Boyd.’ He saluted her with one of his most ceremonious -bows, and then turned and walked slowly away. - -There was a garden-seat close by, and to this Lady Dimsdale made her -way. She was torn by conflicting emotions. Indignation, grief, wonder, -curiosity, each and all held possession of her. ‘Was ever a woman -forced into such a cruel position before?’ she asked herself. ‘What -can this secret be? Is that woman not his wife? Yet Oscar recognised -her as such the moment he set eyes on her. Can it be possible that she -had a husband living when he married her, and that Sir Frederick is -aware of the fact? It is all a mystery. Oh, how cruel, how cruel of Sir -Frederick to force me into this position! What right has he to assume -that even if Oscar were free to-morrow, he would—— And yet—— Oh, it -is hard—hard! Why has this task been laid upon me? He will be free, -and yet he must never know by what means. But whose happiness ought I -to think of first—his or my own? His—a thousand times his! There is -but one answer possible, and Sir Frederick knows it. He understands -a woman’s heart. I must decide at once—now. There is not a moment to -lose. But one answer.’ Her eyes were dry, although her heart was full -of anguish. Tears would find their way later on. - -She quitted her seat, and near the end of the walk she found the same -gardener that the Baronet had made use of. She beckoned the man to -her, and as she slipped a coin into his hand, said to him: ‘Go to Sir -Frederick Pinkerton, whom you will find in the library, and say to him -that Lady Dimsdale’s answer is “Yes.”’ - -The man scratched his head and stared at her open-mouthed; so, for -safety’s sake, she gave him the message a second time. Then he seemed -to comprehend, and touching his cap, set off at a rapid pace in the -direction of the house. - -Lady Dimsdale took the same way slowly, immersed in bitter thoughts. -‘Farewell, Oscar, farewell!’ her heart kept repeating to itself. ‘Not -even when you are free, must you ever learn the truth.’ - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile, Mrs Boyd, after lunching heartily with kind, chatty Mrs -Bowood to keep her company, and after arranging her toilet, had gone -back to the room in which her husband had left her, and from which he -had forbidden her to stir till his return. She was somewhat surprised -not to find him there, but quite content to wait till he should think -it well to appear. There was a comfortable-looking couch in the room, -and after a hearty luncheon on a warm day, forty winks seem to follow -as a natural corollary; at least that was Estelle’s view of the present -state of affairs. But before settling down among the soft cushions of -the couch, she went up to the glass over the chimney-piece, and taking -a tiny box from her pocket, opened it, and, with the swan’s-down puff -which she found therein, just dashed her cheeks with the faintest -possible _soupçon_ of Circassian Bloom, and then half rubbed it off -with her handkerchief. - -‘A couple of glasses of champagne would have saved me the need of doing -this; but your cold thin claret has neither soul nor fire in it,’ she -remarked to herself. ‘How comfortable these English country-houses are. -I should like to stay here for a month. Only the people are so very -good and, oh! so very stupid, that I know I should tire of them in a -day or two, and say or do something that would make them fling up their -hands in horror.’ She yawned, gave a last glance at herself, and then -went and sat down on the couch. As she was re-arranging the pillows, -she found a handkerchief under one of them. She pounced on it in a -moment. In one corner was a monogram. She read the letters, ‘L. D.,’ -aloud. ‘My Lady Dimsdale’s, without a doubt,’ she said. ‘Damp, too. She -has been crying for the loss of her darling Oscar.’ She dropped the -handkerchief with a sneer and set her foot on it. ‘How sweet it is to -have one’s rival under one’s feet—sweeter still, when you know that she -loves him and you don’t! Lady Dimsdale will hardly care to let Monsieur -Oscar kiss her again. He is going away on a long journey with his -wife—with his wife, ha, ha! Fools! If they only knew!’ The echo of her -harsh, unwomanly laugh had scarcely died away, when the door opened, -and the man of whom she had been speaking stood before her. - -After bidding farewell to Lady Dimsdale, Mr Boyd had plunged at once -into a lonely part of the grounds, where he would be able to recover -himself in some measure, unseen by any one. Of a truth, he was very -wretched. It seemed almost impossible to believe that one short -hour—nay, even far less than that—should have sufficed to plunge him -from the heights of felicity into the lowest depths of misery. Yet, so -it was; and thus, alas, it is but too often in this world of unstable -things. But the necessity for action was imminent upon him; there would -be time enough hereafter for thinking and suffering. A few minutes -sufficed to enable him to lock down his feelings beyond the guess or -ken of others, and then he went in search of Captain Bowood. He found -his host and Mrs Bowood together. The latter was telling her husband -all about her recent interview with Mrs Boyd. The mistress of Rosemount -had never had a bird of such strange plumage under her roof before, and -had rarely been so puzzled as she was to-day. That this woman was a -lady, Mrs Bowood’s instincts declined to let her believe; but the fact -that she was Mr Boyd’s wife seemed to prove that she must be something -better than an adventuress. The one certain fact was, that she was a -guest at Rosemount, and as such must be made welcome. - -When Mr Boyd entered the room, Mrs Bowood was at once struck by the -change in his appearance. She felt instinctively that some great -calamity had overtaken this man, and her motherly heart was touched. -Accordingly, when Mr Boyd intimated to her and the Captain that it was -imperatively necessary that he and his wife should start for London by -the five o’clock train, she gave expression to her regret that such a -necessity should have arisen, but otherwise offered no opposition to -the proposed step, as, under ordinary circumstances, she would have -been sure to do. In matters such as these, the Captain always followed -his wife’s lead. Five minutes later, Oscar Boyd went in search of his -wife. - - - - -IN ST PETER’S. - - -To have spent a winter in Rome is so common an experience for English -people, that it seems as if there were nothing new to be said about -it, nothing out of the ordinary routine to be done during its course. -We all know we must lodge in or near the Piazza di Spagna; must make -the round of the studios; drive on the Pincio; go to the Trinità to -hear the nuns sing; have an audience of the Holy Father; drink the -Trevi water; muse in the Colosseum; wander with delighted bewilderment -through the sculpture-galleries of the Vatican; explore the ruins on -the Palatine; get tickets for the Cercola Artistica; attend Sunday -vespers at St Peter’s; and tire ourselves to death amongst the three -hundred and odd churches, each one with some special attraction, which -forbids us to slight it. These things are amongst the unwritten laws -of travel; English, Americans, and Germans are impelled alike by a -curious instinct of duty to carry them out to the letter. In so doing, -they jostle one another perpetually, see over and over again the same -faces, hear the same remarks, and alas! find only the same ideas. But -notwithstanding this, there are yet undiscovered corners in the old -city, and many quaint ceremonies are unknown to or overlooked by the -_forestieri_. An account of some of these latter may perhaps be found -interesting. - -A few winters ago, we learned, through the politeness of a cardinal’s -secretary, that certain services well worth attending would take place -in St Peter’s, commencing at about half-past seven on the mornings -of the Thursday, Friday, and Saturday in Holy-week. These were the -consecration of the chrism used in baptism and the oil for extreme -unction, the commemoration of the death and passion of our Lord, -and the kindling of the fire for lighting the lamps extinguished on -Holy-Thursday. As no public notice is given of the hours of these -ceremonies, we were glad of the information. - -The ‘functions’ formerly conducted in the Sistine Chapel were -transferred some years ago to the Capello Papale, which is in St -Peter’s, the third chapel on the left-hand side of the nave. It is -extremely small and inconvenient, being almost entirely taken up -with stalls for the cardinals, bishops, canons, and vicars lay and -choral. The pope’s own choir always sing here, but are assembled -in full strength only on festivals; then, however, their exquisite -unaccompanied singing is well worth hearing, and in the year of which -we speak, the soprani and alti were specially good. On Holy-Thursday -there is scarcely any cessation of worship in the great church all day; -and at 7.30 A.M. we are barely in time to watch the assembling of the -functionaries who are to assist at the ceremony of the consecration of -the oil. The chrism used in baptism is composed of balsam and oil; and -this and the oil for holy unction are considered extremely precious; -bishops and other dignitaries journey long distances to procure it, and -convey it to their respective dioceses and benefices. Their appearance -adds not a little to the effect of the usual assemblage of canons of St -Peter’s, for their vestments are much more varied in colour; the canons -wearing always violet silk robes, and gray or white fur capes when not -officiating; and their soft hue makes an excellent background for the -brilliant scarlet trains of the cardinals, two of whom are lighting up -the corner stalls with their crimson magnificence. - -A number of seats take up the space in the middle of the chapel, and -are arranged in a square, having a table in the centre. The choir -presently commence singing a Latin hymn, and a glittering procession -of canons and heads of orders enters; they take their places in the -square; the chalices with the oil and the balsam of the chrism are -placed on the table, and the officiating cardinal begins the ceremony. -He is an exceedingly handsome man, very tall, with clearly cut -features, and walks in a magnificent fashion; his great white silk -cope, stiff with its embroidery of gold, silver, and precious stones, -seems no encumbrance to him, and he looks a fitting president for -this august meeting. The cardinal blesses the first of the chalices -presented to him, saying the words of benediction in clear distinct -tones, the singing meanwhile continuing softly while he lays his hands -on all the cups placed before him. Then the choir cease, and each -cardinal, bishop, priest, and canon kneels in turn before the table, -saying three times, ‘Ave sancta chrisma.’ The sounds of the different -voices in which the words are said, as their various old, young, -short, tall, fat, or thin owners pronounce them, have a somewhat odd -effect, and it is a relief when the lovely singing is resumed, while -the cardinal’s clear tones pronounce blessings on the oil for extreme -unction. After this, the same ceremony is repeated, except that the -words three times said are, ‘Ave sanctum oleum.’ As there are at least -one hundred and thirty persons to perform this act of devotion, the -service becomes a little tedious; and if it were not for the novelty, -the exquisite singing, and the wonderful effects of light and colour -in the glowing morning atmosphere, we should not have been surprised -at the absence of our compatriots; but there is a sense of freshness -and strangeness in the service which makes us wonder the chapel is -not crowded. The small congregation consists of flower-sellers, women -in black veils—who always belong to the middle classes—beggars, and -shopkeepers from the long street leading to St Peter’s. The magnificent -gathering of officiating priests makes the smallness of the attendance -more noticeable. - -After the consecration service, a mass is celebrated, and during -the _Gloria in excelsis_, the bells are rung for the last time till -Saturday. - -No mass is sung on Good-Friday; therefore, two hosts are consecrated on -Holy-Thursday, one of which is placed in a magnificent jewelled pyx, -and carried in procession to a niche beneath an altar in a side-chapel; -the beautiful hymn, _Pange lingua_, being sung the while. The niche is -called a ‘sepulchre,’ and is covered with gold and silver ornaments, -and glitters with candles. All coverings are removed from the altars, -and all lights put out on this day, the next ceremony to the mass being -that of stripping and washing the high-altar. The bare marble of the -great table is exposed, and those who have taken part in the earlier -‘functions,’ walk in procession, and stand in a circle round it; -acolytes carrying purple glass bottles pour on it something that smells -like vinegar; and each dignitary, being provided with a tiny brush made -of curled shavings, goes in turn to sweep the surface, places his brush -on a tray, takes a sponge, with which he rubs the marble, and finally -replaces that by a napkin, with which it is dried. By this time the -morning is well on; the worshippers and onlookers in the great church -are many; but there is no crowding or pushing. As the space is so vast, -that all who wish can see, a few of the functionaries who keep order -are quite enough to make things go easily. - -At all these services, we are much impressed by the extreme ease with -which everything is conducted. There is a ‘master of ceremonies,’ and -he, one fancies, must have held rehearsals; for from the officiating -cardinal to the smallest acolyte, no one ever moves at the wrong time, -or steps into the wrong place; yet the marching and counter-marching, -the handing, giving, placing, taking, involved in such an elaborate -ceremonial must require nice and careful arrangement and extreme -foresight. The dresses of the priests who assist at these functions -are violet cassocks, and very short surplices edged with lace, plaited -into folds of minute patterns, involving laundry-work of no mean -description. Other priests, and all bishops and monsignore, wear the -same coloured cassocks, but with the addition of red pipings on cuffs -and collars and fronts. - -The function of the ‘washing of the altar’ being ended, there is a -pause; and one cannot but imagine that the cardinal retires to the -great sacristy with a feeling of relief that the pageant is over for -the time. The procession winds away to the left, and disappears through -the gray marble doors of the sacristy; and we go home to lunch, feeling -as if we had been spending a morning with our ancestors of three -centuries back. The doings of the last four or five hours do not seem -to agree with the appearance of the Via Babuino as our old coachman -rattles us up to the door of our lodgings. - -In the afternoon, we are again in St Peter’s; this time, to find it -almost crowded. At three, the ‘holy relics’ are exposed. These are—the -handkerchief given by St Veronica to the Saviour as He passed on His -way to the cross, and on which there is said to be the impression of -His face; the lance with which His side was pierced; the head of St -Andrew; and a portion of the true cross. They are presented to the -public gaze from a balcony at an immense height, on one of the four -great buttresses which support the dome. There is a rattle of small -drums, and priests with white vestments appear on the balcony, holding -up certain magnificent jewelled caskets of different shapes, amidst -the dazzling settings of which it is quite impossible to recognise any -object in particular. The kneeling throng, the vast dim church, the -clouds of incense, the roll of drums, the sudden appearance of the -glittering figures on the balcony, their disappearance, followed by -the noise of the crowds as they quickly move and talk, after the dead -silence during the exposure of the objects of veneration, combine to -make this a most striking and impressive scene. Then, in the Capello -Papale, follows the service of the Tenebræ, as it is called, with the -singing of the Lamentations and the Miserere. The quietness of the now -densely packed crowd, the soft music, and the glimmer of the few lights -left in the dim chapel, strike one with a novel effect, after the -somewhat careless and florid services usually conducted here. - -Emerging thence, the vast space of the cathedral looks larger than ever -in the twilight, and the brilliant line of lights round the shrine -of St Peter seem to glitter with double lustre; these, however, with -all others, are soon extinguished, and the great basilica remains in -darkness with covered crucifixes and stripped altars till Saturday -morning. The ‘crowd’ as it seemed within the small chapel, appears -nothing outside, and one by one the listeners disappear through the -heavy leathern curtain that screens the door, finding by contrast the -great piazza a scene of brilliant light, but quiet with what seems a -strange stillness in the midst of a crowded city. - -On Good-Friday morning we are again in the Pope’s Chapel at half-past -seven, and are in time to see the canons take their places in the -stalls. Three priests, habited only in black cassock, and close -surplice with no lace edging, advance to the altar and begin the -service. The first part of this consists simply of a reading in -Latin of the whole of the chapters from the gospel of St John which -relate to the passion. The priests take different parts: one reads -most beautifully the narrative; another speaks the words uttered by -our Saviour; the third, those used by Pilate; and the choir repeat -the words of the populace. It is startling in its simplicity, but -wonderfully dramatic; the dignified remonstrances of Pilate, and the -clear elocution of the reader of the history, making up an impressive -service, not the least part of its strangeness consisting in the -fact of there being no congregation; not a dozen persons besides -the priests and canons are present in the chapel. This ended, the -officiating bishop, who is clothed in purple vestments embroidered with -gold, kneels in prayer before the altar, while the priests prostrate -themselves. The bishop then rises; and the choir chant softly in a -minor key while he takes the crucifix from the altar, uncovers it, and -holds it up to the people. In the afternoon, the relics are exposed, -Lamentations and Miserere sung after Tenebræ, as on the preceding days; -but the church is dark, bare, and silent. - -The gloom of Friday is forgotten in the brilliant sunshine of Saturday -morning, and we feel inspired with the freshness and life of a new day, -as we once more gain the great steps leading to the basilica, watch the -rainbow on the fountains, and the dancing lights in the waters of the -large basins in the piazza. The obelisk in the centre is tipped with -red gold, and the clear blue sky makes the figures on the _loggia_ and -colonnades stand out with lifelike distinctness. This morning we are -called to join in an unquestionable festival, the early ceremonial of -rekindling the lights being one of the most cheerful ‘functions’ in -which it is possible to participate. - -This service commences outside the cathedral; and ascending the steps -to the _loggia_ or porch, we find it already occupied by an imposing -array of priests and bishops. The handsome cardinal again officiates; -he is seated with his back to the piazza, just within the pillars -of the porch, and facing the brazen centre-doors of the church. In -front of him is an enormous brasier, in which burns a bright fire of -coals, branches, and leaves, which has been lighted by a spark struck -from a flint outside the church. He wears magnificent purple and gold -vestments; his finely embroidered cope and jewelled mitre glitter in -the sun. Around him are acolytes, some of whom tend the fire, while -others carry censers; priests, canons, and bishops all gorgeously -apparelled, and performing their parts in the service with the usual -precision and alacrity. Two priests stand with their backs to the great -bronze doors; one bearing a massive gold cross, the other holding a -bamboo with a transverse bar on the top, and on this are three candles. -After some chanting, the cardinal rises; and an acolyte fills a censer -with live coals from the brasier, and brings it for benediction; -another presents five large cones of incense covered with gold; these -are also blessed and sprinkled with holy-water; then incense is put -on the hot ashes in the censer; and as the smoke ascends, the great -bronze doors, so rarely unclosed, are thrown open, and the procession -enters the cathedral. The effect is strangely beautiful. The lovely -early morning light and sunshine, the great building empty of living -thing, the gorgeous procession throwing a line of brilliant colour into -the dim soft mist of the nave, the choir chanting as the priests walk, -their voices echoing in the great space—all form a combination which -must touch the least impressionable spectator, and which cannot but be -photographed on the memory to its smallest detail. At the door, there -is a pause while one of the candles on the bamboo is lighted; a second -flame is kindled in the nave, and the third at the altar in the choir -chapel. Thence, light is immediately sent to the other churches in -Rome, where also darkness has reigned since Thursday afternoon. - -A venerable canon now ascends a platform, and from a very high desk -reads some chapters, recites prayers, and then lights the great -Easter candle which stands beside him. This is a huge pillar of wax, -decorated with beautifully painted wreaths of flowers, and is placed in -a magnificent silver candlestick. He takes the five cones of incense -which the cardinal had blessed in the porch, and fixes them on the -candle in the form of a cross. During his reading, the candles and -lamps all over the church are relighted, and when it is over, all who -formed the procession, bearing bouquets of lovely flowers, and small -brushes like those used on Holy-Thursday, march to the baptistery, -where the cardinal blesses the font, pours on the water in the huge -basin chrism and oil, and sprinkles water to the four points of the -compass—typifying the quarters of the globe. - -On the return of the procession to the choir chapel, the cardinal and -others prostrate themselves before the altar while some beautiful -litanies are chanted. Then follows a pause, during which the priests -retire to the sacristy to take off their embroidered vestments. They -return wearing only surplices edged with handsome lace over their -cassocks. The cardinal has a plain cope of white silk and gold. - -After this, is the mass; and at the _Gloria_ the bells ring out a grand -peal, all pictures are uncovered, and the organ is played for the first -time during many days. The great church resumes its wonted cheerful -aspect, and light and colour hold again their places. - -The afternoon ceremonies consist only of a procession of the cardinal -to worship at special altars, the display of the holy relics, and the -singing of a fine _Alleluia_ and psalm, instead of the usual vespers. - -Some pause is needed, one feels, before the cathedral is filled by -the crowds who attend the Easter-Sunday mass; for no greater contrast -can be imagined than that between the scenes of the quiet morning -functions, with the numerous priests and few people, the stillness -and peace of the hours we have been describing, and those enacted by -the thronging crowds of foreign sightseers at the great festivals, -who, pushing, gesticulating, standing on tiptoe, and asking irrelevant -questions in audible voices, seem to look on these sacred services as -spectacles devised for their gratification, rather than as expressions -of the worship of a large section of their fellow-creatures; thus -exemplifying the rapidity with which ignorance becomes irreverence. - - - - -AMONG THE ADVERTISERS AGAIN. - - -Can it ever be said that there is nothing in the papers, when -advertisers are always to the fore, providing matter for admiration, -wonder, amusement, or speculation? One day a gentleman announces -the loss of his heart between the stalls and boxes of the Haymarket -Theatre; the next, we have ‘R. N.’ telling ‘Dearest E.’—‘If you -have the slightest inclination to become first-mate on board the -screw-steamer, say so, and I will ask papa;’ and by-and-by we are -trying to guess how the necessity arose for the following: ‘St James’s -Theatre, Friday.—The Gentleman to whom a Lady offered her hand, -apologises for not being able to take it.’ - -Does any one want two thousand pounds? That nice little sum is to be -obtained by merely introducing a certain New-Yorker to ‘the Pontess;’ -or if he or she be dead, to his or her heirs. ‘There is a doubt whether -the cognomen was, or is, borne by a woman, a man, or a child; if by -the last, it must have been born prior to the spring of 1873.’ If the -Pontess-seeker fails in his quest from not knowing exactly what it is -that he wants, an advertiser in the _Times_ is likely to have the same -fortune from knowing, and letting those interested know, exactly what -it is that he does not want. Needing the services of a married pair as -coachman and cook, this outspoken gentleman stipulates that the latter -must not grumble at her mistress being her own housekeeper; nor expect -fat joints to be ordered to swell her perquisites; nor be imbued with -the idea that because plenty may be around, she is bound to swell the -tradesmen’s bills by as much waste as possible. ‘No couple need apply -that expect the work to be put out, are fond of change, or who dictate -to their employers how much company may be kept.’ - -When two of a trade fall out, they are apt to disclose secrets which it -were wiser to keep to themselves. Disgusted by the success of a rival -whose advertising boards bore the representation of a venerable man -sitting cross-legged at his work, a San Francisco tailor advertised: -‘Don’t be humbugged by hoary-headed patriarchs who picture themselves -cross-legged, and advertise pants made to order, three, four, and five -dollars a pair. Do you know how it’s done? When you go into one of -these stores that cover up their shop-windows with sample lengths of -cassimere, marked “Pants to order, three dollars fifty cents and four -dollars;” after you have made a selection of the piece of cloth you -want your pants made from, the pompous individual who is chief engineer -of the big tailor shears, lays them softly on the smoothest part of -his cutting-table, unrolls his tape-line, and proceeds to measure his -victim all over the body. The several measurements are all carefully -entered in a book by the other humbug. The customer is then told that -his pants will be finished in about twenty-four or thirty-six hours; -all depends upon how long it takes to shrink the cloth. That’s the -end of the first act. Part second.—The customer no sooner leaves the -store than the merchant-tailor calls his shopboy Jim, and sends him -around to some wholesale jobber, and says: “Get me a pair of pants, -pattern thirty-six,” which is the shoddy imitation of the piece of -cassimere that your pants are to be made of. “Get thirty-four round -the waist, and thirty-three in the leg.” They are pulled out of a pile -of a hundred pairs just like them, made by Chinese cheap labour. All -the carefully made measurements and other claptrap are the bait on the -hook. That’s the way it’s done.’ - -Traders sometimes give themselves away, as Americans say, innocently -enough, a Paris grocer advertising Madeira at two francs, Old Madeira -at three francs, and genuine Madeira at ten francs, a bottle. A -Bordeaux wine-merchant, after stating the price per cask and bottle -of ‘the most varied and superior growths of Bordeaux and Burgundy,’ -concludes by announcing that he has also a stock of natural wine to be -sold by private treaty. A sacrificing draper funnily tempts ladies to -rid him of three hundred baptiste robes by averring ‘they will not last -over two days;’ and the proprietor of somebody’s Methuselah Pills can -give them no higher praise than, ‘Thousands have taken them, and are -living still.’ - -When continental advertisers, bent upon lightening British purses, -rashly adventure to attack Englishmen in their own tongue, the -result is often disastrously comical. The proprietor of a ‘milk-cur’ -establishment in Aix-la-Chapelle, ‘foundet before twenty years of -orders from the magistrat,’ boasts that his quality of ‘Suisse and his -experiences causes him to deliver a milk pure and nutritive, obtained -by sounds cow’s and by a natural forage.’ One Parisian hosier informs -his hoped-for patrons he possesses patent machinery for cutting -‘sirths’—Franco-English, we presume, for shirts. Another proclaims his -resolve to sell his wares dirty cheap; and a dealer in butter, eggs, -and cheeses, whose ‘produces’ arrive every day ‘from the farms of the -establishment without intermedial,’ requests would-be customers to -send orders by unpaid letters, as ‘the house does not recognise any -traveller.’ A Hamburg firm notifies that their ‘universal binocle of -field is also preferable for the use in the field, like in the theatre, -and had to the last degree of perfection concerning to rigouressness -and pureness of the glass;’ while they are ready to supply all comers -with ‘A Glass of Field for the Marine 52ctm opjectiv opening in extra -shout lac-leather étui and strap, at sh 35s 6d.’ This is a specimen of -their ‘English young man’s’ powers of composition that would justify -the enterprising opticians in imitating the Frenchman whose shop-window -was graced with a placard, bearing the strange device, ‘English spoken -here a few.’ - -An Italian, speaking French well and a little English, with whom ‘wage -is no object,’ advertising in a London paper for an engagement as an -indoor servant, puts down his height as ‘fifty-seven feet seven.’ But -he manages his little English to better purpose than his countryman of -Milan, who offers the bestest comforts to travellers, at his hotel, -which he describes as ‘situated in the centre of an immence parck, -with most magnificient views of the Alp chain, and an English church -residing in the hotel’—the latter being furthermore provided with -‘baths of mineral waters in elegant private cabins and shower rooms, -and two basins for bathin’; one for gentlemen, the oter for ladies;’ -while it contains a hundred and fifty rooms, ‘all exposed to the -south-west dining-groom.’ - -Such an exposure might well cause the Milanese host’s visitors to -become ‘persons dependent upon the headache, or who have copious -perspirations,’ whom a M. Lejeune invites ‘to come and visit without -buying his new fabrication,’ with the chance of meeting ‘the -hat-makers, who endeavour by caoutchouc, gummed linen and others, to -prevent hats from becoming dirt;’ eager to hear the inventor of the new -fabrication demonstrate ‘how much all those preparations are injurious, -and excite, on contrary, to perspiration.’ Equally anxious to attract -British custom is a doctor-dentist who, ‘after many years consecrated -to serious experiences, has perfected the laying of artificial teeth -by wholly new proceedings. He makes himself most difficulty works; it -is the best guaranty, and, thanks to his peculiar proceeding, his work -joins to elegancy, solidity, and duration.’ Considering all things, our -doctor-dentist’s derangement of sentences is quite as commendable as -that of the Belfast gentleman desirous of letting ‘the House at present -occupied, and since erected by J. H——, Esq.;’ who might pair off with -the worthy responsible for—‘To be sold, _six_ cows—No. 1, a beautiful -cow, calved eight days, with splendid calf at foot, a good milker; -No. 2, a cow to calve in about fourteen days, and great promise. The -_other two_ cows are calved about twenty-one days, and _will speak for -themselves_.’ - -By a fortuitous concurrence of antagonistic lines, the _Times_ one -morning gave mothers the startling information that - - JOSEPH GILLOTT’S STEEL PENS - THE BEST FOOD FOR INFANTS - IS PREPARED SOLELY BY - SAVORY AND MOORE - -—a hint as likely to be taken as that of a public benefactor who -announced in the _Standard_: ‘Incredible as it may seem, I have ground -to hope that half a glass of cold water, taken immediately after every -meal, will be found to be the divinely appointed antidote for every -kind of medicine.’ - -Another benevolent individual kindly tells us how to make coffee: - - Placed in the parted straining-top let stand - The moistened coffee, till the grain expand, - Before the fire; then boiling water pour, - And quaff the nectar of the Indian shore. - -But he is not quite so generous as he seems, since he is careful -to inform us he is in possession of an equally excellent recipe -for bringing out the flavour of tea, which he will forward for -five shillings-worth of stamps. Urged by an equally uncontrollable -desire to serve his fellow-creatures, a ‘magister in palmystery and -conditionalist’ offers, with the aid of guardian spirits, to obtain for -any one a glimpse at the past and present; and, on certain conditions, -of the future; but with less wisdom than a magister of palmystery -should display, he winds up with the prosaic notification, ‘Boots and -shoes made to order.’ - -The wants of the majority of advertisers are intelligible enough; -but it needs some special knowledge to understand what may be -meant by the good people who hanker for a portable mechanic, an -efficient handwriter, a peerless feeder, a first-class ventilator on -human hair-nets, a practical cutter by measure on ladies’ waists, -a youth used to wriggling, and a boy to kick Gordon. Nor is the -position required by a respectable young lady as ‘figure in a -large establishment,’ altogether clear to our mind; and we may be -doing injustice to the newspaper proprietor requiring ‘a sporting -compositor,’ by inferring he wants a man clever alike at ‘tips’ and -types. - -It does not say much for American theatrical ‘combinations,’ that the -managers of one of them ostentatiously proclaim: ‘We pay our salaries -regularly every Tuesday; by so doing, we avoid lawsuits, are not -compelled to constantly change our people, and always carry our watches -in our pockets.’ Neither would America appear to be quite such a land -of liberty as it is supposed to be, since a gentleman advertises his -want of a furnished room where he can have perfect independence; while -we have native testimony to our cousins’ curiosity in a quiet young -lady desiring a handsome furnished apartment ‘with non-inquisitive -parties;’ and a married couple seeking three or four furnished rooms -‘for very light housekeeping, where people are not inquisitive.’ Can -it be the same pair who want a competent Protestant girl ‘to take -entire charge of a bottled baby?’ If so, their anxiety to abide with -non-curious folk is easily comprehended. - -Very whimsical desires find expression in the advertising columns of -the day. A lady of companionable habits, wishing to meet with a lady -or gentleman requiring a companion, would prefer to act as such to -‘one who, from circumstances, is compelled to lead a retired life.’ -A stylish and elegant widow, a good singer and musician, possessing -energy, business knowledge, and means of her own, ready, ‘for the -sake of a social home,’ to undertake the supervision of a widower’s -establishment, thinks it well to add, goodness knows why, ‘a Radical -preferred.’ Somebody in search of a middle-aged man willing to travel, -stipulates for a misanthrope with bitter experience of the wickedness -of mankind; displaying as pleasant a taste as the proprietor of a -wonderful discovery for relieving pain and curing disease without -medicine, who wants a partner in the shape of a consumptive or -asthmatical gentleman. - -Your jocular man, lacking an outlet for his wit, will often pay -for the privilege of airing his humour in public. Here are a few -examples. ‘Wanted, a good Liberal candidate for the Kilmarnock Burghs. -Several inferior ones given in exchange.’—‘Wanted a Thin Man who has -been used to collecting debts, to crawl through keyholes and find -debtors who are never at home. Salary, nothing the first year; to -be doubled each year afterwards.’—‘Wanted, Twelve-feet planks at -the corners of all the streets in Melbourne, until the Corporation -can find some other means of crossing the metropolitan creeks. The -planks and the Corporation may be tied up to the lamp-posts in the -dry weather.’—‘Wanted, a Cultured Gentleman used to milking goats; a -University man preferred.’—‘Correspondence is solicited from Bearded -Ladies, Circassians, and other female curiosities, who, in return for a -true heart and devoted husband, would travel during the summer months, -and allow him to take the money at the door.’—‘Wanted, a Coachman, -the ugliest in the city; he must not, however, have a moustache nor -red hair, as those are very taking qualities in certain households at -present. As he will not be required to take care of his employer’s -daughter, and is simply engaged to see to the horses, he will only be -allowed twenty dollars per month.’ - -A great deal might be said about pictorial advertisements, if the -impossibility of reproducing them did not stand in the way. As it is, -we must content ourselves with showing how an advertisement can be -illustrated without the help of draughtsman or engraver. By arranging -ordinary printers’ types thus: - -[Illustration] - -an ingenious advertising agent presents the public with portraits of -the man who does not and the man who does advertise, and says: ‘Try it, -and see how you will look yourself.’ - - - - -A STRANGE INSTITUTION. - - -Amongst the oral traditions of the past in Cambridge, there is handed -down to the modern undergraduate an account of a secret Society which -was established in the university at a remote period of time, and which -was called the Lie Society. At the weekly meetings of the members, an -ingenious falsehood was fabricated, which frequently referred to some -person locally known, and which was probably not altogether free from -scandal. It was the duty of all the members to propagate this invented -story as much as possible by relating it to every one they met. Each -member had to make a note of the altered form in which the lie thus -circulated came round to him individually, and these were read out at -the next meeting with all the copious additions and changes the story -had received passing from one to the other, often to such an extent -as to leave but little of the original fabric left. After a time the -Society began to languish, and soon after disappeared altogether. - -In the dim past, and before the present stringent regulations were made -as to examinations in the Senate House, another secret Society was -organised, called the Beavers, which was for the purpose of enabling -members, when being examined, to help each other by a system of -signals. With this view, one of the members of the Beavers was told off -by lot to perform various duties assigned to him, such as engaging the -attention of the examiners, and giving information as to the papers by -preconcerted signs. This Society soon collapsed. To one of its members -is credited the ingenious watch-faced Euclid, and the edition of -Little-go-classics on sleeve-links. - - - - -MY HOME IN ANNANDALE REVISITED. - - - I leave with joy the smoky town, - As pining captive quits his cell, - O’er shining sea and purple fell, - Again to see the sun go down: - - As once behind great Penmanmawr, - A ball of fire, o’er Conway Bay - He silent hung, then sank away, - And beauteous shone the evening star. - - My village home at length I reach, - And stand beside my father’s door; - His feet are on its step no more: - From texts like this, Time loves to preach. - - Daylight is dying in the west; - The leaden night-clouds blot the sky; - Across the fields, the pewit’s cry - Only makes deeper nature’s rest. - - The water-wheel stands at the mill, - The fisher leaves the sandy shore, - By garden gate and unlatched door - Lassies and lads are meeting still. - - Beside me stand the kirk and manse, - On this green knoll among the trees; - The summer burn still croons to these; - But where are those who loved me once? - - Only a sound of breaking waves, - All through the night, comes from the sea: - But those who kindly thought of me, - Are sleeping in these quiet graves. - - No sounds of earth can wake the dead! - I vainly yearn for what hath been: - The faces I in youth have seen, - With the lost years away have fled. - - The faintest breath that stirs the air - Will take the dead leaf from the tree; - Thus, one by one, have gone from me - Those who my young companions were. - - A stranger in my native place, - Wearing the silver mask of years, - None meet me now with smiles or tears, - Or in the man the boy can trace. - - My trees cut down, have left the place - Vacant and silent where they grew; - From fields and farms, that once I knew, - I miss each well-remembered face. - - This price, returning, I must pay, - With wandering foot who loved to roam: - Thrice happy he who finds a home - And constant friends, when far away. - - As relics from a holy shrine, - Dear names are treasured in my heart; - Death only for an hour can part; - And all I loved, will yet be mine. - - With blinding tears, I turn away. - Young hearts round this new life can twine; - But from my path has passed for aye - The light and love of auld langsyne. - - KIRTLE. - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, -and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. - - * * * * * - -_All Rights Reserved._ - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 6, VOL. I, FEBRUARY 9, -1884 *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 6, Vol. I, February 9, 1884</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 03, 2021 [eBook #64975]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 6, VOL. I, FEBRUARY 9, 1884 ***</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">{81}</span></p> - -<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br /> -OF<br /> -POPULAR<br /> -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<p class='center'> - -<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> - -<a href="#CIRCULATING-LIBRARY_CRITICS">CIRCULATING-LIBRARY CRITICS.</a><br /> -<a href="#BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</a><br /> -<a href="#CURIOUS_ANTIPATHIES_IN_ANIMALS">CURIOUS ANTIPATHIES IN ANIMALS.</a><br /> -<a href="#TWO_DAYS_IN_A_LIFETIME">TWO DAYS IN A LIFETIME.</a><br /> -<a href="#IN_ST_PETERS">IN ST PETER’S.</a><br /> -<a href="#AMONG_THE_ADVERTISERS_AGAIN">AMONG THE ADVERTISERS AGAIN.</a><br /> -<a href="#A_STRANGE_INSTITUTION">A STRANGE INSTITUTION.</a><br /> -<a href="#MY_HOME_IN_ANNANDALE_REVISITED">MY HOME IN ANNANDALE REVISITED.</a><br /> - -<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> - -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="header" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/header.jpg" alt="Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science, -and Art. Fifth Series. Established by William and Robert Chambers, 1832. Conducted by R. Chambers (Secundus)." /> -</div> - - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="center"> -<div class="header"> -<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 6.—Vol. I.</span></p> -<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p> -<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1884.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CIRCULATING-LIBRARY_CRITICS">CIRCULATING-LIBRARY CRITICS.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> appears to be a mania with some people to -criticise everything which comes in their way, no -matter whether it be the last new bonnet of Mrs -Smith, the pug dog possessed by Mr Jones, or -the last new novel by Mr Brown; and as a true -specimen of the ready-made critic, we might cite -those interesting individuals who, having more -time upon their hands than they can comfortably -get rid of, endeavour to dispose of some of the -surplus stock by subscribing to a circulating -library, and diligently ‘cutting-up’ and otherwise -abusing every author they read. Novels, -of course, are the principal dish of these readers; -and it must candidly be admitted that some of -the notes pencilled in the margins are not altogether -uncalled for; though some of them are -decidedly personal, not to say unpleasant; while -others, on the contrary, only raise a smile, and -if particularly ridiculous, are underlined by some -sarcastic reader, in order to call more attention -to the blunder, which has probably been committed -by some indolent and not very well-informed -critic.</p> - -<p>But taken as a whole, this criticism, although -in some cases severe, is but the echo of public -opinion, and as such, is entitled to consideration, -no matter how humble the source may appear -from which it springs; and we know of nothing -more enjoyable than a well-read book, which has -been some ten or twelve months in circulation. -And such a book would without doubt prove of -great service to its author, could he by any means -get hold of a copy; for he would then have the -opportunity of judging for himself how his work -was appreciated by the public; and although -some of the remarks would doubtless cause him -annoyance, he should remember that they are -the candid opinion of the readers through whose -hands the work has passed. And if he has good -sense and a desire to please the public, he would -avail himself of those critical remarks which -seemed to be just, and alter the text in any -future editions. It is an author’s place to -write his work to the best of his ability, and -that of his readers to criticise it after it has -appeared in print. Whether the book be good -or bad, the author may be sure that he will -have a faithful and industrious army of critics -in the shape of subscribers to circulating libraries, -who will diligently search out all its little defects, -and display them in the margin for the edification -of the next reader, who in turn will try his -best to discover something which the other has -passed over, and triumphantly display it in a -similar manner. Although ‘the stone that is -rolling’ is said to gather no moss, it is a far -different thing with a novel; for the faster it -passes from hand to hand, the more and more -abundant becomes its crop; and at a seaside -watering-place, the writer has seen blank sheets -of letter-paper inserted between some of the -leaves, because the margins were already too -crowded, to admit of some reader adding his mite -to the evidence there accumulated!</p> - -<p>This is why we suppose it might be advantageous -to an author to get hold of a copy of -his work which has been through a like ordeal; -and let him remember at the same time that his -book has probably travelled through the hands -of some people who are intimately acquainted -with certain subjects upon which it treats, and -whose opinion is not to be lightly passed over. -As some of the novelists of the present day seem -to think the law a machine which they can work -upon as they choose, without the slightest regard -to facts, it might be recommended to them either -to study the subject seriously, or submit any -notes which may appear upon this subject in -the margins of their works, to an experienced -lawyer; and in nine cases out of ten, the author -will find that the readers’ notes are correct. This -may be taken as a proof that people, although -they may pass rough criticism upon the characters, -situation, and general plot of a novel, are -not so eager to criticise points which touch upon -the law, physic, &c., unless they thoroughly -understand the subject. As an instance of this, -we have heard of a doctor who would never read<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">{82}</span> -a new novel by a certain author, because in a -former work this gentleman had murdered a -man in a manner which my friend described as -being ‘utterly ridiculous;’ for the poison administered, -and of which the character in the novel -died, would not in reality ‘have killed a cat.’</p> - -<p>These remarks may serve to show that the -public, although they may accept a taking title, -a pretty cover, and a pound or so of toned paper, -as a novel, will also exercise their right of picking -its contents to pieces as soon as possible. To -show with what diligence some of them do so, -we quote the following: ‘The red rose actually -<i>died</i> the captain’s cheeks.’ The word in italics -is underlined in the book, and altered in the -margin to <i>dyed</i>. This, of course, is merely a -printer’s error; but it serves to show how the -circulating-library critic delights in ‘cutting-up’ -the work of other people’s brains, and exposing -to the best advantage any little defect he may -discover. Then, again, in the same work, in -describing the scene of a shipwreck, the author -makes use of the following words: ‘Quantities -of chips, and pieces of wood, and bits of <i>iron, were -floating about</i>.’ The words in italics are underlined -in pencil by some incredulous reader, who -could not quite appreciate the joke, and took -this method of calling the next reader’s attention -to it. The words might have been a mere slip -of the pen; but, as they stand underlined in the -book, it is impossible to overlook them now.</p> - -<p>A little farther on in the same work, an unmarried -gentleman is supposed to have made his -will, bequeathing all his property to friends settled -in the colonies; and his relatives at his decease -are disputing the same, when this paragraph -occurs, and is supposed to be uttered by a <i>lawyer</i>: -‘But had he lived to marry Lady A——, he -would surely have cancelled this will!’ Probably -had the gentleman lived, he would have -done so; but our pencil-critic shows that such -an act would have been altogether unnecessary, -by writing against the paragraph: ‘The act of -marrying would have rendered it null.’ This is -strictly and legally correct; and as the words -are supposed to be spoken by a lawyer, it shows -that the opinion of these gentlemen is not always -to be implicitly relied upon, especially when they -air them in a novel.</p> - -<p>To turn now to the criticising of situations, -we find our amateur critic is quite as hard -upon them as he is upon the characters, and will -not allow a novelist to make use of situations -which it is scarcely probable would happen in -real life. A noble lord is forced through some -miraculous circumstances which would rival the -adventures narrated in the <i>Arabian Nights</i>, to -associate with poachers, who are well known to -the police; and after some time has elapsed, he -at length regains the property, which has wrongfully -been kept from him by his uncle; and to -celebrate this happy event, he gives what is -styled in the novel a ‘levée,’ and invites thereto -the whole country-side, <i>including the poachers</i>, -and also the police of the town. Our critic could -not quite appreciate the novelty of this situation, -and therefore pencils in the margin: ‘Is it likely -the poachers would have ventured there?’ After -studying the facts of the case, and reducing the -subject to practical life, which is evidently the -meaning of our critic, and also bearing in mind -that the police and poachers were in the same -room, and that several of the latter were ‘wanted’ -for various offences, we may take that bit of -criticism as sound.</p> - -<p>If our voluntary critics will read novels, they -must expect novel things; but as far as our -observation goes, this is the very thing they -criticise most. They will not allow a young and -delicate lady to elope with a handsome Captain -on a stormy night with nothing to protect her -from the weather but a flimsy ball-dress, under -any consideration whatever; but feelingly suggest -in the margin that the gentleman should either -offer her his ulster or procure an umbrella; a -piece of advice for which I am sure the young -lady’s parents would devoutly thank them, if -they only had the pleasure of their acquaintance.</p> - -<p>We might easily add to these examples; but -the above is sufficient to show that the novelist -who sits down to write a work of fiction merely -for the sake of airing an opinion, or to please -a certain person, neither caring in what language -he expresses himself nor how absurd the book may -be, may be sure of a warm reception when his -work falls into the hands of the circulating-library -critics.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak x-ebookmaker-important" id="BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>CHAPTER IX.—SLANDER’S SHAFT.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> were still at breakfast when the postman -arrived, and Madge was surprised to find amongst -the letters two from the Manor. Both were -addressed in Miss Hadleigh’s large angular writing: -one was for her uncle, the other for herself.</p> - -<p>As Madge had long conducted her uncle’s -correspondence, she attended to his letters first; -but remembering that still unexplained quarrel, -misunderstanding, or whatever it was, between -him and Mr Hadleigh, she discreetly kept the -letter from Ringsford back till she had disposed -of the others. These were all on business, and of -a most satisfactory nature: good prices for grain, -good prices for sheep and cattle, and reports of -a deficient harvest in America, whilst that of -Willowmere was excellent. Uncle Dick was in -capital humour, and disposed to be on good terms -with everybody. It is wonderful how prosperous -all the world looks when our own affairs are -thriving; and how merciful we can be in our -judgment as to the cause of our neighbour’s -failure.</p> - -<p>Then Madge—sly Madge—opened the Ringsford -letter, and read a formal invitation to dinner at -the Manor a fortnight hence, on the eve of Mr -Philip Hadleigh’s departure.</p> - -<p>‘You will go, of course, uncle?’ said Madge, -looking up with a coaxing smile.—‘And you will -break through your rule of not going to parties<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">{83}</span> -for once, aunt? You know we may not see -Philip for a long, long time.’</p> - -<p>Aunt Hessy smiled, and looked inquiringly at -her husband. Dick Crawshay was not a man to -bear malice; but it was evident that he did not -relish this invitation. He was not frowning, but -his face was not quite so cheerful as it had been -a moment before.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know,’ he said, rising. ‘I hate these -sort of things at Ringsford. They’ve always a -lot of people that don’t know anything’ (about -farming and cattle, he meant); ‘and when I’m -there, I always feel as uncomfortable as a bull -in a china-shop that didn’t want to break the -crockery. Certain, I have spoken to some young -fools that knew all about betting lists, but not -one that knew the points of a horse—except -Wrentham. They only want me there because -they want you, Madge; and if it wasn’t for you, -I’d say no straight off.’</p> - -<p>‘But you mustn’t do that, uncle; at least wait -till we see what is in my letter.’</p> - -<p>‘You can tell me about it when I come in. -That new reaping-machine ain’t doing what I -expected of it, and I want to give it a fair trial -under my own eyes.’</p> - -<p>With that he went out, preceded by the dogs; -for they had made for the door the moment their -master rose to his feet, and as it opened, almost -tumbled over each other in their haste to be first -afield.</p> - -<p>‘I hope he will go,’ said Madge thoughtfully; -adding, after a pause: ‘We must try to persuade -him, aunt.’</p> - -<p>‘Why are you so anxious about this, child? -I never knew you to be very eager to go to -Ringsford yourself.’</p> - -<p>‘Because I am about to disappoint Mr Hadleigh -in a matter which he considers of great importance.’</p> - -<p>Then she read the strange letter she had -received from him, and Dame Crawshay was surprised -almost as much as Madge herself by the -earnestness of the appeal it contained. She was -silent for several minutes, evidently occupied by -some serious reflections. At length:</p> - -<p>‘Thou knowest how I love the lad; but that -does not blind me to his faults—nay, it need not -startle thee to hear me say he has faults: we -all have our share of them. Perhaps it is lucky -for thee that what seems to me Philip’s worst -fault is that he has the impulsive way his father -speaks about.’</p> - -<p>‘But all his impulses are good-natured ones.’</p> - -<p>‘I do not doubt it; but that makes it the -more needful he should have some experience of -the world’s ways before tying himself and you -down to a hard-and-fast line. Nothing but -experience will ever teach us that the hard-and-fast -line of life is the easiest in the end. There’s -a heap of truth in what Mr Hadleigh says about -Philip, though he doesn’t seem to me to have -found the surest way of keeping him right.’</p> - -<p>‘What would you advise, then?’ was the eager -question.</p> - -<p>‘Thou must settle this matter for thyself, -Madge; but I will tell thee that there is one -thing Mr Hadleigh is quite wrong about.’</p> - -<p>‘What is that?’</p> - -<p>‘In saying that Mr Shield would try to keep -Philip from <i>you</i>.’</p> - -<p>The emphasis on the last word and the curious, -half-sad, half-pleased smile which accompanied it, -caused Madge to ask wonderingly:</p> - -<p>‘Did you know Mr Shield?’</p> - -<p>‘Ay, long ago, before he went abroad.’</p> - -<p>‘Have you never seen him since?’</p> - -<p>‘Once—only once, and that was a sad time, -although we were not five minutes together. He -heard only a bit of the truth: he would not -stay to hear it all, and I daresay he has had -many a sorry hour for it since.’</p> - -<p>She ceased, and leaning back on her chair, -lapsed into a dream of sorrowful memories. -Madge did not like to disturb her, for she was -suddenly amazed by the suspicion that once upon -a time Austin Shield had been Aunt Hessy’s -lover.</p> - -<p>But the active dame was not given to wool-gathering, -and looking up quickly, she caught -the expression of her niece, and guessed its -meaning.</p> - -<p>‘Nay, thou art mistaken,’ she said, shaking -her head, and that curious smile again appeared -on her face; ‘there has only been one man -that was ever more than another to me, and -that’s thy uncle.... But I’ll tell thee a secret, -child; it can do no harm. Hast forgotten -what I was telling thee and Philip in the garden -yesterday?’</p> - -<p>‘About the two lovers? O no.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, the man was Mr Austin Shield, and the -girl was thy mother.’</p> - -<p>‘My mother!’ was the ejaculation of the -astounded Madge.</p> - -<p>‘Yes. It was a silly business on her part, -poor soul; but she was cruelly deceived. She -had been told lies about him; and there were -so many things which made them look like truth, -that she believed them.’</p> - -<p>‘What could she have been told that could -make her forget him?’</p> - -<p>‘She never did forget him—she never could -forget him; and she told the man she married -so. What she was told was, that Austin had -forgotten her, and taken somebody else to wife. -At the same time no letters came from him. -She waited for months, watching every post; but -there was never a sign from him. She fretted -and fretted; and father fretted to see her getting -so bad on account of a man who was not worth -thinking about. He had broken his word, and -that was enough to make father turn his back -on him for ever.’</p> - -<p>‘But how did my mother come to—to marry -so soon?’</p> - -<p>‘She was kind of persuaded into it by father, -and by her wish to please him. He was a kind -good man; but he was strict in his notions of -things. He considered that it was sinful of -her to be thinking of a man who had done her -such wrong. Then Mr Heathcote was a great -friend of father’s—he was a deacon in our chapel—and -he asked sister to be his wife. He was -quiet and well-to-do then; and father was on his -side, though he was twenty years older than your -mother. Father thought that his age would make -him the better guide for one who was so weak -as to keep on mourning for a base man. He was -never done speaking about the happy home that -was offered her, and in every prayer asked the -Lord to turn her heart into the right path.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">{84}</span> -At last she consented: but she told Mr Heathcote -everything; and he said he was content, and that -he would try his best to make her content -too, by-and-by. Father was glad—and that did -cheer poor sister a bit, for she was fond of father. -So she married.’</p> - -<p>‘And then?’</p> - -<p>Only the subdued voice, the wide, startled eyes, -indicated the agitation of the daughter, who was -listening to this piteous story of a mother’s -suffering.</p> - -<p>‘And then there came a letter from Austin -Shield, and he came himself almost as soon as -the letter. He had been “up country,” as he -called it, for more than a year, and he had been -lucky beyond all his expectations. But there -were no posts in the wild places he had been -staying at. He had written to warn us not -to expect to hear of him for many months; but -the vessel that was carrying that message home -to us—eh, deary, what sorrow it would have -saved us—was wrecked in a fog on some big -rock near the Scilly Isles; and although a-many -of the mail-bags were fished up out of the -sea, the one with sister’s letter in it was never -found.’</p> - -<p>‘What did my poor mother do?’</p> - -<p>‘She sat and shivered and moaned; but she -could not speak. I saw him when he came, and -told him that he must not see her any more, for -she was married. I wasn’t able to tell him how -it happened, for the sight of his face feared me -so. It was like white stone, and his eyes were -black. Before I could get my tongue again, he -gave me a look that I can never forget, and walked -away.... I found out where he was, some time -afterwards, and wrote telling him all about it. -He answered me, saying: “Thank you. I understand. -God bless you all.” We never had -another word direct from him; but we often -heard about him; and some time after your -mother went to rest, we learned that he had really -got married; and the news pleased me vastly, -for it helped me to think that maybe he was -comfortable and resigned at last. I hope he -is; but he has no family, and his sending for -Philip looks as if he wants somebody to console -him.’</p> - -<p>‘But who was it spread the lies about him -at the first?’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, that we never knew. It was cleverly -done; the story was in everybody’s mouth; but -nobody could tell where it had come from.’</p> - -<p>The feelings of Madge as she listened to her -aunt were of a complicated nature: there was -the painful sympathy evoked by the knowledge -that it was her own mother who had been so -wickedly deceived; then it seemed as if the -events related had happened to some one else; -and again there was a mysterious sense of awe -as she recognised how closely the past and the -present were linked together. Philip was the -near relation of the man her mother had loved, -and was to be parted from her on his account -for an indefinite period.</p> - -<p>Who could tell what Fate might lie in this -coincidence?</p> - -<p>She pitied the lovers; and her indignation rose -to passion at thought of the slanderers who had -caused them so much misery. Then came confused -thoughts about her father: he, too, must -have loved as well as Mr Shield; and he had -been generous.</p> - -<p>Gentle hands were laid upon her bowed head, -and looking up, she met the tender eyes of Aunt -Hessy.</p> - -<p>‘I have troubled you, child; but I have told -you this so that you may understand why I -cannot counsel you to bid Philip stay or go.’</p> - -<p>A soft light beamed on Madge’s face; a sweet -thought filled her heart. She would bid Philip -go to help and comfort the man her mother had -loved.</p> - - -<h3>CHAPTER X.—LIGHT AND SHADOW.</h3> - -<p>As soon as she found that Madge was calm and -ready to proceed with the duties of the day, -Aunt Hessy bustled out to look after the maidens -in the dairy and the kitchen. The other affairs -of the house were attended to by Madge assisted -by Jenny Wodrow, an active girl, who had -wisely given up straw-plaiting at Luton for -domestic service at Willowmere.</p> - -<p>When clearing the breakfast-table, Madge -found Miss Hadleigh’s letter, which she had -forgotten in the new interests and speculations -excited by her aunt’s communication.</p> - -<p>Miss Hadleigh was one of those young ladies -who fancy that in personal intercourse with -others dignity is best represented by the assumption -of a languid air of indifference to everything, -whilst they compensate themselves for -this effort by ‘gushing’ over pages of note-paper. -Of course she began with ‘My dearest Madge:’ -everybody was her ‘dearest;’ and how she found -a superlative sufficient to mark the degree of -her regard for her betrothed is a problem in -the gymnastics of language.</p> - -<p>‘You know all about dearest Phil going to -leave us in about a fortnight or three weeks, -and goodness only knows when he may come -home again. Well, we are going to have a <i>little</i> -dinner-party all to his honour and glory, as -you would see by the card I have addressed to -your uncle. Mind, it is a <i>little</i> and very select -party. There will be nobody present except the -most intimate and most esteemed friends of the -Family.’ (Family written with a very large -capital F.)</p> - -<p>‘Now the party cannot be <i>complete</i> without -you and your dear uncle and aunt; and I write -this <i>special</i> supplement to the card to implore -you to keep yourselves free for Tuesday the -28th, and to tell you that we will take <i>no</i> excuse -from any of you. Carrie and Bertha want to -have some friends in after dinner, so that they -might get up a dance. Of course, in my position -I do not care for these things now; but to please -the girls, it might be arranged. Would <i>you</i> like -it?—because, if you did, that would settle the -matter at once. We have not told Phil yet, -because he always makes fun of <i>everything</i> we -do to try and amuse him. Papa has been consulted, -and as usual leaves it <i>all</i> to us.—Please -do write soon, darling, and believe me ever -yours most affectionately,</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Beatrice Hadleigh</span>.’<br /> -</p> - -<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—If you don’t mind, dear, I wish you -<i>would</i> tell me what colour you are to wear, so -that I might have something to harmonise with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">{85}</span> -it. We might have a symphony all to ourselves, -as the æsthetes call it.’</p> - -<p>From this it appeared that Philip’s sisters were -not aware of their father’s desire to keep him at -home. There would be no difficulty in replying -to Miss Hadleigh—even to the extent of revealing -the colour of her dress—when Uncle Dick had -consented to go.</p> - -<p>When the immediate household cares were -despatched, Madge sat down at her desk to write -to Mr Hadleigh. She was quite clear about what -she had to say; but she paused, seeking the -gentlest way of saying it.</p> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Mr Hadleigh</span>,’ she began at last, ‘Your -letter puts a great temptation in my way; and -I should be glad to avoid doing anything to -displease you. But your son has given me a -reason for his going, which leaves him no alternative -but to go, and me no alternative but to pray -that he may return safely and well.’</p> - -<p>When she had signed and sealed up this brief -epistle, a mountain seemed to roll off her shoulders; -her head became clear again: she <i>knew</i> that what -Philip and her mother would have wished had -been done. A special messenger was sent off with -it to Ringsford; for although the distance between -the two places was only about three miles, the -letter would not have been delivered until next -day, had it gone by the ordinary post.</p> - -<p class="p2">Mr Hadleigh read these few lines without any -sign of disappointment. He read them more than -once, and found in them something so quietly -decisive, that he would have considered it an -easier task to conquer Philip in his most obstinate -mood, than to move this girl one hair’s-breadth -from her resolve.</p> - -<p>He refolded the paper carefully and placed it -in his pocket. Then he rang the bell.</p> - -<p>‘Bid Toomey be ready to drive me over to -catch the ten o’clock train,’ he said quietly to the -servant who answered his summons.</p> - -<p>‘A pity, a pity,’ he repeated to himself. ‘Fools -both—they will not accept happiness when it is -offered them. A pity, a pity.... They will -have their way.’</p> - -<p>The carriage conveyed him to Dunthorpe Station -in good time for the train; and the train being -a ‘fast,’ landed him at Liverpool Street Station -before eleven o’clock.</p> - -<p>He walked slowly along Broad Street, a singular -contrast to the hurry and bustle of the other -passengers. He was not going in the direction -of his own offices; and he did not look as if he -were going on any particular business anywhere. -He had the air of a man who was taking an -enforced constitutional, and who by mistake had -wandered into the city instead of into the -park.</p> - -<p>He turned into Cornhill, and then into Golden -Alley, which must have obtained its name when -gold was only known in quartz; for it was a -dull, gloomy-looking place, with dust-stained -windows and metal plates up the sides of the -doorways, so begrimed that it required an effort -of the sight to decipher the names on them. But -it was quiet and eminently respectable. Standing -in Golden Alley, one had the sense of being -in the midst of steady-going, long-established -firms, who had no need of outward show to attract -customers.</p> - -<p>Mr Hadleigh halted for a moment at one of -the doors, and looked at a leaden-like plate, -bearing the simple inscription, <span class="smcap">Gribble & Co.</span> -He ascended one flight of stairs, and entered an -office in which two clerks were busy at their -desks, whilst a youth at another desk near the -door was addressing envelopes with the eager -rapidity of one who is paid so much per thousand.</p> - -<p>No one paid any attention to the opening of -the door.</p> - -<p>‘Is Mr Wrentham in?’ inquired Mr Hadleigh.</p> - -<p>At the sound of his voice, one of the clerks -advanced obsequiously.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, sir. He is engaged at present; but I will -send in your name.’</p> - -<p>He knew who the visitor was; and after rapidly -writing the name on a slip of paper, took it into -an inner room. Mr Hadleigh glanced over some -bills which were lying on the counter announcing -the dates of sailing of a number of A1 clippers -and first-class screw-steamers to all parts of the -world.</p> - -<p>The clerk reappeared, and with a polite, ‘Will -you walk in, sir?’ held the door of the inner room -open till Mr Hadleigh passed in, and then closed -it.</p> - -<p>Mr Wrentham rose from his table, holding out -his hand. ‘Glad to see you here, Mr Hadleigh—very -glad. I hope it is business that brings -you?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes—important business,’ was the answer.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CURIOUS_ANTIPATHIES_IN_ANIMALS">CURIOUS ANTIPATHIES IN ANIMALS.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>I. HORSES.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">My</span> late father-in-law, a physician in extensive -practice, once possessed a horse named Jack, which -was celebrated for his many peculiarities and his -great sagacity. One of his antipathies was a -decided hatred to one particular melody, the well-known -Irish air, <i>Drops of Brandy</i>. If any one -began to whistle or hum this air, Jack would -instantly show fight by laying his ears back, grinding -his teeth, biting and kicking, but always -recovering his good temper when the music ceased. -No other melody or music of any kind ever affected -him; you might whistle or sing as long as you -liked, provided you did not attempt the objectionable -Irish air. One of the doctor’s nephews -and Jack were great friends. The lad could do -almost anything with him; but if he presumed -to whistle the objectionable melody of Erin, Jack -would show his displeasure by instantly pulling -off the lad’s cap and biting it savagely, but never -attempting the smallest personal injury to the -boy himself, and always exhibiting his love when -the sounds ceased; thus saying, as plainly as a -horse could say: ‘We are great friends, and I -love you very much; but pray, don’t make that -odious noise, to which I entertain a very strong -objection.’</p> - -<p>Jack had another and very peculiar antipathy—he -never would permit anything bulky to be -carried by his rider. This came out for the first -time one day when the doctor was going on a -visit, and having to sleep at his friend’s, intended<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">{86}</span> -to take a small handbag with him. On the groom -handing this up to the doctor, after he was -mounted, Jack—who had been an attentive -observer of the whole proceeding by craning his -head round—at once exhibited his strong displeasure -by rearing, kicking, buck-jumping, and -jibing—so utterly unlike his usual steady-going -ways, that the doctor at once divined the cause, -and threw the bag down, when Jack became -perfectly quiet and docile; but instantly, however, -re-enacting the same scene, when the groom once -more offered the bag to the doctor. The experiment -was repeated several times, and always with -the same singular result; and at length the -attempt was given up, when Jack trotted off on -his journey, showing the best of tempers throughout. -Why he should have exhibited this extraordinary -dislike to carrying a small handbag, which -was neither large in size nor heavy in weight, it -is impossible even to guess.</p> - -<p>On another occasion the groom, wishing to bring -home with him a small sack containing some -household requisite, thought to lay it across the -front of his saddle; but Jack was too quick and -too sharp for him. Instantly rearing, and then -kicking violently, he threw the groom off on -one side and the objectionable burden on the -other. After this, no further attempts were made -to ruffle the customary serenity of Jack’s rather -peculiar temper.</p> - -<p>The same gentleman also possessed a beautiful -bay mare called Jenny, remarkable for her -sweet temper and pretty loving ways. She was -a great favourite with the doctor’s daughters, and -would ‘shake hands’ when asked, and kiss them -in the most engaging manner, with a sort of -nibbling motion of her black lips up and down -the face. She would follow any one she liked -about the fields, answer to her name like a dog, -and would always salute any of her favourites -on seeing them with that pretty low ‘hummering’ -sound so common with pet horses, but never -heard from those subject to ill-treatment. But, -with all these graces, the pretty and interesting -Jenny had several peculiar antipathies, in one -of which she too somewhat resembled a dog -Wag (to be noticed in a future article), and that -was a marked dislike to the singing voice of -one particular person, a lady, a relative of the -doctor’s. This lady often went to the stable to -feed Jenny with lettuces or apples, and they -were always the best of friends; but so sure as -she began to sing anything, Jenny instantly forgot -her good manners, lost all propriety, and exhibited -the usual signs of strong equine displeasure, -although she never took the smallest notice of -the singing or whistling of any other person, -treating it apparently with indifference. One -day, as the doctor was driving this lady out, he -suggested, by way of experiment, that she should -begin to sing. In a moment, Jenny’s ears were -down flat, and a great kick was delivered with -hearty goodwill on to the front of the carriage; -and more would doubtless have followed, had -not the lady prudently stopped short in her -vocal efforts; when Jenny was herself again, and -resumed her usual good behaviour.</p> - -<p>Another and very remarkable peculiarity of -Jenny’s was her unaccountable antipathy to the -doctor’s wife. If that lady approached her, she -would grind her teeth savagely, and try to bite -her in the most spiteful manner. What is perhaps -even more singular, she would never, if -possible, let the lady get into the carriage, if she -knew it. Jenny would turn her head, and keep -a lookout behind her, in the drollest manner -possible; and the moment she caught sight of the -lady approaching the carriage for the purpose of -getting in, Jenny would immediately commence -her troublesome tantrums of biting and kicking. -So strongly did she object to drawing her mistress, -that more than once she damaged the carriage -with her powerful heels, so that the doctor was -obliged to request his wife to approach the carriage -from behind, whilst a groom held Jenny’s -head, to prevent her looking round. Even this -was not always sufficient; for if the lady talked -or laughed, Jenny would actually recognise her -voice, and the usual ‘scene’ would be forthwith -enacted. Now, the most singular part of this -story is, that this lady was, like all her family, a -genuine lover of all animals, especially horses. -She was very fond of Jenny, and had tried in -every way to make friends with her, and therefore -her dislike to her mistress was all the more unaccountable, -as there was not a shadow of cause for -it. We can all understand dislike on the part of -any animal where there has been any sort of ill-usage; -but it is wholly inexplicable when nothing -but love and kindness has been invariably practised -towards that animal.</p> - -<p>Jenny I am afraid was a great pet, and like -all pets, was full of fads and fancies. One of these -was certainly peculiar. Not far from the doctor’s -residence there was a particular gate opening into -a field. As soon as Jenny came near this gate, -she would commence her tantrums, rearing, kicking, -plunging, jibing, and altogether declining to -pass it; and it was not until after the exercise -of a great amount of patience and perseverance, -by repeatedly leading her—after much opposition—up -to the gate and making her see it and smell -it—thereby proving to her that it would do her -no harm—that at length she was brought to pass -it quietly and without notice. What could have -occasioned this strange antipathy to one particular -gate, it is impossible to guess, for, until she came -into the doctor’s possession, she had never been -in that part of the county, and therefore could -have had no unpleasant recollections of this gate -in any way. It is, however, possible that the -gate in question might have strongly resembled -some other gate elsewhere with which were -associated disagreeable memories; for I well -remember that, some years ago, I often rode -a fine young mare which had only recently -come from Newmarket, where she had been -trained. At first, she could never be induced -to go down Rotten Row without a great deal of -shying, jibing, and rearing, and other signs of -resistance and displeasure. And this was subsequently -explained by the fact, that the place -where she was trained and exercised at Newmarket -was a long road with a range of posts -and rails, closely resembling Rotten Row; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">{87}</span> -doubtless the mare was under the impression that -this was either the same place, or that she was -about to be subjected to the same severe training -which she had undergone at Newmarket; hence -her determined opposition.</p> - -<p>One more trait of Jenny’s odd antipathies must -be mentioned before I conclude, and that was her -fixed aversion to men of the working peasant class. -She would never let such a man hold her by the -bridle, or even approach her, without trying to -bite him, and jerking her head away with every -sign of anger and aversion whilst he stood near. -But she never exhibited any feelings of dislike -to well-dressed, clean, comfortable-looking persons, -who might have done almost anything with her, -and with whom she would ‘shake hands,’ or kiss -in the gentlest possible manner. Of a truth, -Jenny was certainly unique in her odd fancies -and peculiar behaviour in every way; a singular -mixture of good and evil—a spiteful, vindictive -temper on the one hand, combined with the utmost -affection and docility on the other.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TWO_DAYS_IN_A_LIFETIME">TWO DAYS IN A LIFETIME.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="ph3">A STORY IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.</p> - - -<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Five</span> minutes later, Miss Brandon burst into -the room in her usual impulsive fashion. Lady -Dimsdale was standing at one of the windows. -It was quite enough for Elsie to find there was -some one to talk to—more especially when that -some one was Lady Dimsdale, whom she looked -upon as the most charming woman in the world. -At once she began to rattle on after her usual -fashion. ‘Thank goodness, those hateful exercises -are over for to-day. Dulce et decorum est pro -patria mori. Arma virumque cano. How I do -detest Latin! My grandmother didn’t know -a word of it, and she was the most delightful -old lady I ever knew. Besides, where’s the use -of it? When Charley and I are married, I can’t -talk to him in Latin—nor even to the butcher’s -boy, nor the fishmonger. Perhaps, if I were to -speak to my poodle in dog-Latin, he might understand -me.’ Then, with a sudden change of -manner, she said: ‘Dear Lady Dimsdale, what -is the matter?’ for Laura had turned, and the -traces of tears were still visible around her eyes. -‘Why, I do believe you have been’——</p> - -<p>‘Yes, crying—that’s the only word for it,’ -answered Laura with a smile.</p> - -<p>‘Do tell me what it is. Nothing serious?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing more serious than the last chapter -of a foolish love-story.’ She had taken up a -book instinctively.</p> - -<p>‘I’m awfully glad it’s nothing worse. Love-stories -that make one cry are delicious. I always -feel better after a good cry.’ Her sharp eyes were -glancing over the title of the book in Lady -Dimsdale’s hand. ‘“Buchan’s <i>Domestic Medicine</i>,”’ -she read out aloud. ‘Dear Lady Dimsdale, surely -this is not the book that’—— She was suddenly -silent. The room had a bow-window, the casement -of which stood wide open this sunny -morning. Elsie had heard voices on the terrace -outside. ‘That’s dear old nunky’s voice,’ she -said. ‘And—yes—no—I do believe it is though!’ -She crossed to the window and peeped out from -behind the curtains.</p> - -<p>Stumping slowly along the terrace, assisted by -his thick Malacca, came Captain Bowood. By -his side marched a dark-bearded military-looking -inspector of police, dressed in the regulation blue -braided frock-coat and peaked cap. They were -engaged in earnest conversation.</p> - -<p>‘An inspector of police! What can be the -matter? I do believe they are coming here.’ -So spoke Elsie; but when she looked round, -expecting a response, she found herself alone. -Lady Dimsdale had slipped out of the room.</p> - -<p>The voices came nearer. Elsie seated herself -at the table, opened a book, ruffled her hair, and -pretended to be poring over her lessons.</p> - -<p>The door opened, and Captain Bowood, followed -by the inspector, entered the room. ‘Pheugh! -Enough to frizzle a nigger,’ ejaculated the former, -as he mopped his forehead with his yellow -bandana handkerchief. Then perceiving Elsie, -he said, as he pinched one of her ears, ‘Ha, -Poppet, you here?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, nunky; and dreadfully puzzled I am. -I want to find out in what year the Great -Pyramid was built. Do, please, tell me.’</p> - -<p>‘Ha, ha!—Listen to that, Mr Inspector.—If -you had asked me the distance from here to -New York, now. Great Pyramid, eh?’</p> - -<p>The inspector, pencil and notebook in hand, -was examining the fastenings of the window. -‘Very insecure, Captain Bowood,’ he said; ‘very -insecure indeed. A burglar would make short -work of them.’</p> - -<p>Miss Brandon was eying him furtively. There -was a puzzled look on her face. ‘I could almost -swear it was Charley’s voice; and yet’——</p> - -<p>‘Come, come; you’ll frighten us out of our -wits, if you talk like that,’ answered the Captain.</p> - -<p>‘Many burglaries in this neighbourhood of -late,’ remarked the inspector sententiously.</p> - -<p>‘Just so, just so.’ This was said a little -uneasily.</p> - -<p>‘Best to warn you in time, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘O Charley, you naughty, naughty boy!’ -remarked Miss Brandon under her breath. ‘Even -I did not know him at first.’</p> - -<p>‘But if Mr Burglar chooses to pay us a visit, -who’s to hinder him?’ asked the Captain.</p> - -<p>The inspector shrugged his shoulders and -smiled an inscrutable smile.</p> - -<p>‘You don’t mean to say that they intend to -pay us a visit to-night? Come now.’</p> - -<p>‘Every reason to believe so, Captain.’</p> - -<p>‘But, confound it! how do you know all -this?’</p> - -<p>‘Secret information. Know many things. Mrs -Bowood keeps her jewel-case in top left-hand -drawer in her dressing-room. Know that.’</p> - -<p>‘Bless my heart! How did you find that out?’</p> - -<p>‘Secret information. Gold chronometer with -inscription on it hidden away at the bottom of -your writing-desk. Know that.’</p> - -<p>‘How the’——</p> - -<p>‘Secret information.’</p> - -<p>‘O Charley, Charley, you artful darling!’—this -<i>sotto voce</i> from Miss Brandon.</p> - -<p>The Captain looked bewildered, as well he -might. ‘This is really most wonderful,’ he said. -‘But about those rascals who, you say, are going -to visit us to-night?’</p> - -<p>‘Give ’em a warm reception, Captain. Leave -that to me.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">{88}</span></p> - -<p>‘Yes, yes. Warm reception. Good. Have -some of your men in hiding, eh, Mr Inspector?’</p> - -<p>‘Half a dozen of ’em, Captain.’</p> - -<p>‘Just so, just so. And I’ll be in hiding too. -I’ve a horse-pistol up-stairs nearly as long as my -arm.’</p> - -<p>‘Shan’t need that, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘No good having a horse-pistol if one doesn’t -make use of it now and then.’</p> - -<p>‘Half-a-dozen men—three inside the house, and -three out,’ remarked the inspector as he wrote -down the particulars in his book.</p> - -<p>‘And I’ll make the seventh—don’t forget -that!’ cried the Captain, looking as fierce as some -buccaneer of bygone days. ‘If there’s one among -the burglars more savage than the rest, leave him -for me to tackle.’</p> - -<p>‘My poor, dear nunky, if you only knew!’ -murmured Elsie under her breath.</p> - -<p>‘Perhaps I had better lend you a pair of these, -Captain; they might prove useful in a scuffle,’ -remarked the inspector as he produced a pair of -handcuffs from the tail-pocket of his coat. ‘The -simplest bracelets in the world. The easiest to -get on, and the most difficult to get off—till you -know how. Allow me. This is how it’s done. -What could be more simple?’</p> - -<p>Nothing apparently could be more simple, -seeing that, before Captain Bowood knew what had -happened, he found himself securely handcuffed.</p> - -<p>‘Ha, ha—just so. Queer sensation—very,’ he -exclaimed, turning redder in the face than usual. -‘But I don’t care how soon you take them off, -Mr Inspector.’</p> - -<p>‘No hurry, Captain, no hurry.’</p> - -<p>‘Confound you! what do you mean by no -hurry? What’—— But here the Captain came -to a sudden stop.</p> - -<p>The inspector’s black wig and whiskers had -vanished, and the laughingly impudent features -of his peccant nephew were revealed to his -astonished gaze.</p> - -<p>‘Good-afternoon, my dear uncle. This is the -second time to-day that I have had the pleasure -of seeing you.’ Then he called: ‘Elsie, dear!’</p> - -<p>‘Here I am, Charley,’ came in immediate -response.</p> - -<p>‘Come and kiss me.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, Charley.’ And with that Miss Brandon -rose from her chair, and with a slightly heightened -colour and the demurest air possible, came down -the room and allowed her lover to lightly touch -her lips with his. It was a pretty picture.</p> - -<p>‘What—what! Why—why,’ spluttered the -Captain. For a little while words seemed to -desert him.</p> - -<p>‘My dear uncle, pray, <i>pray</i>, do not allow -yourself to get quite so red in the face; at your -time of life you really alarm me.’</p> - -<p>‘You—you vile young jackanapes! You—you -cockatrice!—And you, miss, you shall smart for -this. I’ll—I’ll—— Oh!’</p> - -<p>‘Patience, good uncle; prithee, patience.’</p> - -<p>‘Patience! O for a good horsewhip!’</p> - -<p>‘When I called upon you this morning, sir,’ -resumed Charles the imperturbable, ‘I left unsaid -the most important part of that which I had -come to say; it therefore became needful that -I should see you again.’</p> - -<p>‘O for a horsewhip! Are you going to take -these things off me, or are you not?’</p> - -<p>‘The object of my second visit, sir, is to inform -you that Miss Brandon and I are engaged to be -married, and to beg of you to give us your consent -and blessing, and make two simple young creatures -happy.’</p> - -<p>‘Handcuffed like a common poacher on his way -to jail! Oh, when once I get free!’</p> - -<p>‘We have made up our minds to get married; -haven’t we, Elsie?’</p> - -<p>‘We have—or else to die together,’ replied -Miss Brandon, as she struck a little tragic -attitude.</p> - -<p>‘Think over what I have said, my dear uncle, -and accord us your consent.’</p> - -<p>‘Or our deaths will lie at your door.’</p> - -<p>‘Every night as the clock struck twelve, you -would see us by your side.’</p> - -<p>‘You would never more enjoy your rum-and-water -and your pipe.’</p> - -<p>‘I should tickle your ear with a ghostly feather, -and wake you in the middle of your first sleep.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall go crazy—crazy!’ spluttered the -Captain. He would have stamped his foot, only -he was afraid of the gout.</p> - -<p>‘Not quite, sir, I hope,’ replied young Summers, -with a sudden change of manner; and next -moment, and without any action of his own in -the matter, the Captain found himself a free -man. The first thing he did was to make a -sudden grasp at his cane; but Elsie was too -quick for him, or it might have fared ill with -her sweetheart.</p> - -<p>Master Charley laughed. ‘I am sorry, my -dear uncle, to have to leave you now; but time -is pressing. You will not forget what I have -said, I feel sure. I shall look for your answer to -my request in the course of three or four days; -or would you prefer, sir, that I should wait upon -you for it in person?’</p> - -<p>‘If you ever dare to set foot inside my door -again, I’ll—I’ll spiflicate you—yes, sir, spiflicate -you!’</p> - -<p>‘To what a terrible fate you doom me, good -my lord!—Come, Elsie, you may as well walk -with me through the shrubbery.’</p> - -<p>Miss Brandon going up suddenly to Captain -Bowood, flung her arms round his neck and -kissed him impulsively. ‘You dear, crusty, -cantankerous, kind-hearted old thing, I can’t -help loving you!’ she cried.</p> - -<p>‘Go along, you baggage. As bad as he is—every -bit. Go along.’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Au revoir</i>, uncle,’ said Mr Summers with his -most courtly stage bow. ‘We shall meet again—at -Philippi.’</p> - -<p>A moment later, Captain Bowood found himself -alone. ‘There’s impudence!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s -worse than that; it’s cheek—downright cheek. -Never bamboozled like it before. Handcuffed! -What an old nincompoop I must have looked! -Good thing Sir Frederick or any of the others -didn’t see me. I should never have heard the -last of it.’ With that, the last trace of ill-humour -vanished, and he burst into a hearty, sailor-like -guffaw. ‘Just the sort of trick I should have -gloried in when I was a young spark!’ He rose -from his chair, took his cane in his hand, and -limped as far as the window, his gout being rather -troublesome this afternoon. ‘So, so. There they -go, arm in arm. Who would have thought of -Don Carlos falling in love with Miss Saucebox?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">{89}</span> -But I don’t know that he could do better. She’s -a good girl—a little flighty just now; but that -will cure itself by-and-by—and she will have -a nice little property when she comes of age. -Must pretend to set my face against it, though, -and that will be sure to make them fonder of -one another. Ha, ha! we old sea-dogs know a -thing or two.’ And with that the Captain winked -confidentially to himself two or three times and -went about his business.</p> - -<p class="p2">When Sir Frederick Pinkerton followed Mrs -Bowood and Mrs Boyd out of the room where -the interview had taken place, and left Lady -Dimsdale sitting there alone, he quitted the house -at once, and sauntered in his usual gingerly -fashion through the flower-garden to an unfrequented -part of the grounds known as the -Holly Walk, where there was not much likelihood -of his being interrupted. Like Lady Dimsdale, he -wanted to be alone. Just then, he had much to -occupy his thoughts. To and fro he paced the -walk slowly and musingly, his hands behind his -back, his eyes bent on the ground.</p> - -<p>‘What tempts me to do this thing?’ he asked -himself, not once, but several times. ‘That I -dislike the man is quite certain; why, then, take -upon myself to interfere between this woman and -him? Certainly I have nothing to thank Oscar -Boyd for; why, then, mix myself up in a matter -that concerns me no more than it concerns the -man in the moon? If he had not appeared on -the scene just when he did, I might perhaps have -won Lady Dimsdale for my wife. But now? Too -late—too late! Even when he and this woman -shall have gone their way, he will live in my -lady’s memory, never probably to be forgotten. -He is her hero of romance. That he made love -to her in years gone by, when they were young -together, there is little doubt; that he made love -to her again this morning, and met with no such -rebuff as I did, seems equally clear; and though -she knows now that he can never become her -husband, yet she on her side will never forget -him. In what way, then, am I called upon to -interfere in his affairs? Should I not be a fool -for my pains? And yet to let that woman claim -him as her own, when a word from me would—— No! -<i>Noblesse oblige.</i> What should I think of -myself in years to come, if I were to permit this -man’s life to be blasted by so cruel a fraud? The -thought would hardly be a pleasant one on one’s -deathbed.’ He shrugged his shoulders, and went -on slowly pacing the Holly Walk. At length he -raised his head and said half aloud: ‘I will do -it, and at once; but it shall be on my own -conditions, Lady Dimsdale—on my own conditions.’</p> - -<p>There was a gardener at work some distance -away. He called the man to him, and sent him -with a message to the house. Ten minutes later, -Lady Dimsdale entered the Holly Walk.</p> - -<p>Sir Frederick approached her with one of his -most elaborate bows.</p> - -<p>‘You wish to see me, Sir Frederick?’ she said -inquiringly, but a little doubtfully. She hoped -that he was not about to re-open the subject -that had been discussed between them earlier in -the day.</p> - -<p>‘I have taken the liberty of asking you to -favour me with your company for a few minutes—here, -where we shall be safe from interruption. -The matter I am desirous of consulting you upon -admits of no delay.’</p> - -<p>She bowed, but said nothing. His words -reassured her on one point, while filling her -with a vague uneasiness. The sunshade she held -over her head was lined with pink; it served its -purpose in preventing the Baronet from detecting -how pale and wan was the face under it.</p> - -<p>They began to pace the walk slowly side by -side.</p> - -<p>‘Equally with others, Lady Dimsdale, you are -aware that, by a strange turn of fortune, Mr Boyd’s -wife, whom he believed to have been dead for -several years, has this morning reappeared?’</p> - -<p>‘You were in the parlour, Sir Frederick, when -I was introduced to Mrs Boyd only half an hour -ago.’ She answered him coldly and composedly -enough; but he could not tell how her heart was -beating.</p> - -<p>‘Strangely enough, I happened to be in New -Orleans about the time of Mr Boyd’s marriage, -and I know more about the facts of that unhappy -affair than he has probably told to any one in -England. It is enough to say that the reappearance -of this woman is the greatest misfortune that -could have happened to him. Oscar Boyd was -a miserable man before he parted from her—he -will be ten times more miserable in years to -come.’</p> - -<p>‘You have not asked me to meet you here, -Sir Frederick, in order to tell me this?’</p> - -<p>‘This, and something more, Lady Dimsdale. -Listen!’ He laid one finger lightly on the sleeve -of his companion’s dress, as if to emphasise her -attention. ‘I happen to be acquainted with a -certain secret—it matters not how it came into -my possession—the telling of which—and it could -be told in half-a-dozen words—would relieve Mr -Boyd of this woman at once and for ever, would -make a free man of him, as free to marry as in -those old days when he used to haunt that -vicarage garden which I too remember so well!’</p> - -<p>Lady Dimsdale stopped in her walk and stared -at him with wide-open eyes. ‘You—possess—a -secret that could do all this!’</p> - -<p>‘I have stated no more than the simple truth.’</p> - -<p>‘Then Mr Boyd is not this woman’s husband?’ -The question burst from her lips swiftly, impetuously. -Next moment her eyes fell and a tell-tale -blush suffused her cheeks. But here again the -pink-lined sunshade came to her rescue.</p> - -<p>‘Mr Boyd is the husband of no other woman,’ -answered the Baronet drily.</p> - -<p>‘With what object have you made <i>me</i> the -recipient of this confidence, Sir Frederick?’</p> - -<p>‘That I will presently explain. You are -probably aware that Mr Boyd leaves for London -by the next train?’</p> - -<p>Lady Dimsdale bowed.</p> - -<p>‘So that if my information is to be made available -at all, no time must be lost.’</p> - -<p>‘I still fail to see why—— But that does not -matter. As you say, there is no time to lose. -You will send for Mr Boyd at once, Sir Frederick. -You are a generous-minded man, and you will -not fail to reveal to him a secret which so nearly -affects the happiness of his life.’ She spoke to -him appealingly, almost imploringly.</p> - -<p>He smiled a coldly disagreeable smile. ‘Pardon -me, Lady Dimsdale, but generosity is one of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">{90}</span> -those virtues which I have never greatly cared -to cultivate. Had I endeavoured to do so, the -soil would probably have proved barren, and the -results not worth the trouble. In any case, I -have never tried. I am a man of the world, -that, and nothing more.’</p> - -<p>‘But this secret, Sir Frederick—as between -man and man, as between one gentleman and -another—you will not keep it to yourself? You -will not. No! I cannot believe that of you.’</p> - -<p>He lifted his hat for a moment. ‘Lady Dimsdale -flatters me.’ Then he glanced at his watch. -‘Later even than I thought. This question must -be decided at once, or not at all. Lady Dimsdale, -I am willing to reveal my secret to Mr Boyd on -one condition—and on one only.’</p> - -<p>For a moment she hesitated, being still utterly -at a loss to imagine why the Baronet had taken -her so strangely into his confidence. Then she -said: ‘May I ask what the condition in question -is, Sir Frederick?’</p> - -<p>‘It was to tell it to you that I asked you to -favour me with your presence here. Lady Dimsdale, -my one condition is this: That when this -man—this Mr Oscar Boyd—shall be free to marry -again, as he certainly will be when my secret -becomes known to him—you shall never consent -to become his wife, and that you shall never -reveal to him the reason why you decline to -do so.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! This to me! Sir Frederick Pinkerton, -you have no right to assume—— Nothing, -nothing can justify this language!’</p> - -<p>He thought he had never seen her look so -beautiful as she looked at that moment, with -flashing eyes, heaving bosom, and burning -cheeks.</p> - -<p>He bowed and spread out his hands deprecatingly. -‘Pardon me, but I have assumed nothing—nothing -whatever. I have specified a certain -condition as the price of my secret. Call that -condition a whim—the whim of an eccentric -elderly gentleman, who, having no wife to keep -him within the narrow grooves of common-sense, -originates many strange ideas at times. Call it -by what name you will, Lady Dimsdale, it still -remains what it was. To apply a big word to a -very small affair—you have heard my ultimatum.’ -He glanced at his watch again. ‘I shall be in -the library for the next quarter of an hour. One -word from you—Yes or No—and I shall know -how to act. On that one word hangs the future -of your friend, Mr Oscar Boyd.’ He saluted her -with one of his most ceremonious bows, and then -turned and walked slowly away.</p> - -<p>There was a garden-seat close by, and to this -Lady Dimsdale made her way. She was torn -by conflicting emotions. Indignation, grief, -wonder, curiosity, each and all held possession of -her. ‘Was ever a woman forced into such a -cruel position before?’ she asked herself. ‘What -can this secret be? Is that woman not his wife? -Yet Oscar recognised her as such the moment he -set eyes on her. Can it be possible that she had -a husband living when he married her, and that -Sir Frederick is aware of the fact? It is all a -mystery. Oh, how cruel, how cruel of Sir -Frederick to force me into this position! What -right has he to assume that even if Oscar were -free to-morrow, he would—— And yet—— Oh, -it is hard—hard! Why has this task been laid -upon me? He will be free, and yet he must -never know by what means. But whose happiness -ought I to think of first—his or my own? His—a -thousand times his! There is but one answer -possible, and Sir Frederick knows it. He understands -a woman’s heart. I must decide at once—now. -There is not a moment to lose. But one -answer.’ Her eyes were dry, although her heart -was full of anguish. Tears would find their way -later on.</p> - -<p>She quitted her seat, and near the end of the -walk she found the same gardener that the -Baronet had made use of. She beckoned the man -to her, and as she slipped a coin into his hand, -said to him: ‘Go to Sir Frederick Pinkerton, -whom you will find in the library, and say to -him that Lady Dimsdale’s answer is “Yes.”’</p> - -<p>The man scratched his head and stared at her -open-mouthed; so, for safety’s sake, she gave him -the message a second time. Then he seemed -to comprehend, and touching his cap, set off at -a rapid pace in the direction of the house.</p> - -<p>Lady Dimsdale took the same way slowly, -immersed in bitter thoughts. ‘Farewell, Oscar, -farewell!’ her heart kept repeating to itself. ‘Not -even when you are free, must you ever learn -the truth.’</p> - - -<p class="p2">Meanwhile, Mrs Boyd, after lunching heartily -with kind, chatty Mrs Bowood to keep her company, -and after arranging her toilet, had gone -back to the room in which her husband had left -her, and from which he had forbidden her to -stir till his return. She was somewhat surprised -not to find him there, but quite content to wait -till he should think it well to appear. There was -a comfortable-looking couch in the room, and -after a hearty luncheon on a warm day, forty -winks seem to follow as a natural corollary; at -least that was Estelle’s view of the present state of -affairs. But before settling down among the soft -cushions of the couch, she went up to the glass -over the chimney-piece, and taking a tiny box -from her pocket, opened it, and, with the swan’s-down -puff which she found therein, just dashed -her cheeks with the faintest possible <i>soupçon</i> of -Circassian Bloom, and then half rubbed it off with -her handkerchief.</p> - -<p>‘A couple of glasses of champagne would have -saved me the need of doing this; but your cold -thin claret has neither soul nor fire in it,’ she -remarked to herself. ‘How comfortable these -English country-houses are. I should like to stay -here for a month. Only the people are so very -good and, oh! so very stupid, that I know I -should tire of them in a day or two, and say -or do something that would make them fling -up their hands in horror.’ She yawned, gave -a last glance at herself, and then went and sat -down on the couch. As she was re-arranging -the pillows, she found a handkerchief under one -of them. She pounced on it in a moment. In -one corner was a monogram. She read the letters, -‘L. D.,’ aloud. ‘My Lady Dimsdale’s, without -a doubt,’ she said. ‘Damp, too. She has been -crying for the loss of her darling Oscar.’ She -dropped the handkerchief with a sneer and set -her foot on it. ‘How sweet it is to have one’s -rival under one’s feet—sweeter still, when you -know that she loves him and you don’t! Lady -Dimsdale will hardly care to let Monsieur Oscar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">{91}</span> -kiss her again. He is going away on a long -journey with his wife—with his wife, ha, ha! -Fools! If they only knew!’ The echo of her -harsh, unwomanly laugh had scarcely died away, -when the door opened, and the man of whom she -had been speaking stood before her.</p> - -<p>After bidding farewell to Lady Dimsdale, Mr -Boyd had plunged at once into a lonely part -of the grounds, where he would be able to recover -himself in some measure, unseen by any one. -Of a truth, he was very wretched. It seemed -almost impossible to believe that one short hour—nay, -even far less than that—should have sufficed -to plunge him from the heights of felicity into the -lowest depths of misery. Yet, so it was; and -thus, alas, it is but too often in this world of -unstable things. But the necessity for action -was imminent upon him; there would be time -enough hereafter for thinking and suffering. A -few minutes sufficed to enable him to lock down -his feelings beyond the guess or ken of others, -and then he went in search of Captain Bowood. -He found his host and Mrs Bowood together. The -latter was telling her husband all about her recent -interview with Mrs Boyd. The mistress of Rosemount -had never had a bird of such strange -plumage under her roof before, and had rarely -been so puzzled as she was to-day. That this -woman was a lady, Mrs Bowood’s instincts declined -to let her believe; but the fact that she was Mr -Boyd’s wife seemed to prove that she must be -something better than an adventuress. The one -certain fact was, that she was a guest at Rosemount, -and as such must be made welcome.</p> - -<p>When Mr Boyd entered the room, Mrs Bowood -was at once struck by the change in his appearance. -She felt instinctively that some great -calamity had overtaken this man, and her motherly -heart was touched. Accordingly, when Mr Boyd -intimated to her and the Captain that it was -imperatively necessary that he and his wife should -start for London by the five o’clock train, she -gave expression to her regret that such a necessity -should have arisen, but otherwise offered no opposition -to the proposed step, as, under ordinary -circumstances, she would have been sure to do. -In matters such as these, the Captain always -followed his wife’s lead. Five minutes later, -Oscar Boyd went in search of his wife.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IN_ST_PETERS">IN ST PETER’S.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">To</span> have spent a winter in Rome is so common -an experience for English people, that it seems -as if there were nothing new to be said about it, -nothing out of the ordinary routine to be done -during its course. We all know we must lodge -in or near the Piazza di Spagna; must make the -round of the studios; drive on the Pincio; go -to the Trinità to hear the nuns sing; have an -audience of the Holy Father; drink the Trevi -water; muse in the Colosseum; wander with -delighted bewilderment through the sculpture-galleries -of the Vatican; explore the ruins on -the Palatine; get tickets for the Cercola Artistica; -attend Sunday vespers at St Peter’s; and -tire ourselves to death amongst the three hundred -and odd churches, each one with some special -attraction, which forbids us to slight it. These -things are amongst the unwritten laws of travel; -English, Americans, and Germans are impelled -alike by a curious instinct of duty to carry them -out to the letter. In so doing, they jostle one -another perpetually, see over and over again the -same faces, hear the same remarks, and alas! -find only the same ideas. But notwithstanding -this, there are yet undiscovered corners in the old -city, and many quaint ceremonies are unknown -to or overlooked by the <i>forestieri</i>. An account -of some of these latter may perhaps be found -interesting.</p> - -<p>A few winters ago, we learned, through the -politeness of a cardinal’s secretary, that certain -services well worth attending would take place -in St Peter’s, commencing at about half-past seven -on the mornings of the Thursday, Friday, and -Saturday in Holy-week. These were the consecration -of the chrism used in baptism and the -oil for extreme unction, the commemoration of -the death and passion of our Lord, and the -kindling of the fire for lighting the lamps extinguished -on Holy-Thursday. As no public notice -is given of the hours of these ceremonies, we were -glad of the information.</p> - -<p>The ‘functions’ formerly conducted in the Sistine -Chapel were transferred some years ago to -the Capello Papale, which is in St Peter’s, the -third chapel on the left-hand side of the nave. -It is extremely small and inconvenient, being -almost entirely taken up with stalls for the -cardinals, bishops, canons, and vicars lay and -choral. The pope’s own choir always sing here, -but are assembled in full strength only on festivals; -then, however, their exquisite unaccompanied -singing is well worth hearing, and in the -year of which we speak, the soprani and alti were -specially good. On Holy-Thursday there is scarcely -any cessation of worship in the great church all -day; and at 7.30 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> we are barely in time to -watch the assembling of the functionaries who -are to assist at the ceremony of the consecration -of the oil. The chrism used in baptism is composed -of balsam and oil; and this and the oil for -holy unction are considered extremely precious; -bishops and other dignitaries journey long distances -to procure it, and convey it to their respective -dioceses and benefices. Their appearance adds -not a little to the effect of the usual assemblage -of canons of St Peter’s, for their vestments are -much more varied in colour; the canons wearing -always violet silk robes, and gray or white fur -capes when not officiating; and their soft hue -makes an excellent background for the brilliant -scarlet trains of the cardinals, two of whom are -lighting up the corner stalls with their crimson -magnificence.</p> - -<p>A number of seats take up the space in the -middle of the chapel, and are arranged in a square, -having a table in the centre. The choir presently -commence singing a Latin hymn, and a glittering -procession of canons and heads of orders enters; -they take their places in the square; the chalices -with the oil and the balsam of the chrism are -placed on the table, and the officiating cardinal -begins the ceremony. He is an exceedingly handsome -man, very tall, with clearly cut features, -and walks in a magnificent fashion; his great -white silk cope, stiff with its embroidery of gold,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">{92}</span> -silver, and precious stones, seems no encumbrance -to him, and he looks a fitting president for this -august meeting. The cardinal blesses the first of -the chalices presented to him, saying the words -of benediction in clear distinct tones, the singing -meanwhile continuing softly while he lays his -hands on all the cups placed before him. Then -the choir cease, and each cardinal, bishop, priest, -and canon kneels in turn before the table, saying -three times, ‘Ave sancta chrisma.’ The sounds -of the different voices in which the words are -said, as their various old, young, short, tall, fat, -or thin owners pronounce them, have a somewhat -odd effect, and it is a relief when the lovely singing -is resumed, while the cardinal’s clear tones pronounce -blessings on the oil for extreme unction. -After this, the same ceremony is repeated, except -that the words three times said are, ‘Ave sanctum -oleum.’ As there are at least one hundred and -thirty persons to perform this act of devotion, -the service becomes a little tedious; and if it were -not for the novelty, the exquisite singing, and the -wonderful effects of light and colour in the glowing -morning atmosphere, we should not have been -surprised at the absence of our compatriots; but -there is a sense of freshness and strangeness in -the service which makes us wonder the chapel -is not crowded. The small congregation consists -of flower-sellers, women in black veils—who -always belong to the middle classes—beggars, and -shopkeepers from the long street leading to St -Peter’s. The magnificent gathering of officiating -priests makes the smallness of the attendance more -noticeable.</p> - -<p>After the consecration service, a mass is celebrated, -and during the <i>Gloria in excelsis</i>, the bells -are rung for the last time till Saturday.</p> - -<p>No mass is sung on Good-Friday; therefore, two -hosts are consecrated on Holy-Thursday, one of -which is placed in a magnificent jewelled pyx, -and carried in procession to a niche beneath an -altar in a side-chapel; the beautiful hymn, <i>Pange -lingua</i>, being sung the while. The niche is called -a ‘sepulchre,’ and is covered with gold and silver -ornaments, and glitters with candles. All coverings -are removed from the altars, and all lights -put out on this day, the next ceremony to the -mass being that of stripping and washing the -high-altar. The bare marble of the great table -is exposed, and those who have taken part in -the earlier ‘functions,’ walk in procession, and -stand in a circle round it; acolytes carrying purple -glass bottles pour on it something that smells like -vinegar; and each dignitary, being provided with -a tiny brush made of curled shavings, goes in turn -to sweep the surface, places his brush on a tray, -takes a sponge, with which he rubs the marble, -and finally replaces that by a napkin, with which -it is dried. By this time the morning is well on; -the worshippers and onlookers in the great church -are many; but there is no crowding or pushing. -As the space is so vast, that all who wish can see, -a few of the functionaries who keep order are -quite enough to make things go easily.</p> - -<p>At all these services, we are much impressed -by the extreme ease with which everything is -conducted. There is a ‘master of ceremonies,’ and -he, one fancies, must have held rehearsals; for -from the officiating cardinal to the smallest -acolyte, no one ever moves at the wrong time, -or steps into the wrong place; yet the marching -and counter-marching, the handing, giving, -placing, taking, involved in such an elaborate -ceremonial must require nice and careful arrangement -and extreme foresight. The dresses of the -priests who assist at these functions are violet -cassocks, and very short surplices edged with lace, -plaited into folds of minute patterns, involving -laundry-work of no mean description. Other -priests, and all bishops and monsignore, wear the -same coloured cassocks, but with the addition of -red pipings on cuffs and collars and fronts.</p> - -<p>The function of the ‘washing of the altar’ -being ended, there is a pause; and one cannot -but imagine that the cardinal retires to the great -sacristy with a feeling of relief that the pageant -is over for the time. The procession winds away -to the left, and disappears through the gray marble -doors of the sacristy; and we go home to lunch, -feeling as if we had been spending a morning -with our ancestors of three centuries back. The -doings of the last four or five hours do not -seem to agree with the appearance of the Via -Babuino as our old coachman rattles us up to -the door of our lodgings.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon, we are again in St Peter’s; -this time, to find it almost crowded. At -three, the ‘holy relics’ are exposed. These -are—the handkerchief given by St Veronica -to the Saviour as He passed on His way to -the cross, and on which there is said to be the -impression of His face; the lance with which -His side was pierced; the head of St Andrew; -and a portion of the true cross. They are presented -to the public gaze from a balcony at an -immense height, on one of the four great buttresses -which support the dome. There is a rattle of -small drums, and priests with white vestments -appear on the balcony, holding up certain magnificent -jewelled caskets of different shapes, amidst -the dazzling settings of which it is quite impossible -to recognise any object in particular. The -kneeling throng, the vast dim church, the clouds -of incense, the roll of drums, the sudden appearance -of the glittering figures on the balcony, their -disappearance, followed by the noise of the crowds -as they quickly move and talk, after the dead -silence during the exposure of the objects of -veneration, combine to make this a most striking -and impressive scene. Then, in the Capello -Papale, follows the service of the Tenebræ, as it -is called, with the singing of the Lamentations -and the Miserere. The quietness of the now -densely packed crowd, the soft music, and the -glimmer of the few lights left in the dim chapel, -strike one with a novel effect, after the somewhat -careless and florid services usually conducted -here.</p> - -<p>Emerging thence, the vast space of the cathedral -looks larger than ever in the twilight, and the -brilliant line of lights round the shrine of St -Peter seem to glitter with double lustre; these, -however, with all others, are soon extinguished, -and the great basilica remains in darkness with -covered crucifixes and stripped altars till Saturday -morning. The ‘crowd’ as it seemed within the -small chapel, appears nothing outside, and one -by one the listeners disappear through the heavy -leathern curtain that screens the door, finding by -contrast the great piazza a scene of brilliant light, -but quiet with what seems a strange stillness in -the midst of a crowded city.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">{93}</span></p> - -<p>On Good-Friday morning we are again in the -Pope’s Chapel at half-past seven, and are in time -to see the canons take their places in the stalls. -Three priests, habited only in black cassock, and -close surplice with no lace edging, advance to the -altar and begin the service. The first part of this -consists simply of a reading in Latin of the whole -of the chapters from the gospel of St John which -relate to the passion. The priests take different -parts: one reads most beautifully the narrative; -another speaks the words uttered by our Saviour; -the third, those used by Pilate; and the choir -repeat the words of the populace. It is startling -in its simplicity, but wonderfully dramatic; -the dignified remonstrances of Pilate, and the -clear elocution of the reader of the history, -making up an impressive service, not the least -part of its strangeness consisting in the fact -of there being no congregation; not a dozen persons -besides the priests and canons are present -in the chapel. This ended, the officiating bishop, -who is clothed in purple vestments embroidered -with gold, kneels in prayer before the altar, -while the priests prostrate themselves. The -bishop then rises; and the choir chant softly in -a minor key while he takes the crucifix from the -altar, uncovers it, and holds it up to the people. -In the afternoon, the relics are exposed, Lamentations -and Miserere sung after Tenebræ, as on -the preceding days; but the church is dark, -bare, and silent.</p> - -<p>The gloom of Friday is forgotten in the brilliant -sunshine of Saturday morning, and we feel -inspired with the freshness and life of a new -day, as we once more gain the great steps leading -to the basilica, watch the rainbow on the -fountains, and the dancing lights in the waters -of the large basins in the piazza. The obelisk -in the centre is tipped with red gold, and the -clear blue sky makes the figures on the <i>loggia</i> -and colonnades stand out with lifelike distinctness. -This morning we are called to join in an -unquestionable festival, the early ceremonial of -rekindling the lights being one of the most -cheerful ‘functions’ in which it is possible to -participate.</p> - -<p>This service commences outside the cathedral; -and ascending the steps to the <i>loggia</i> or porch, -we find it already occupied by an imposing array -of priests and bishops. The handsome cardinal -again officiates; he is seated with his back to the -piazza, just within the pillars of the porch, and -facing the brazen centre-doors of the church. -In front of him is an enormous brasier, in which -burns a bright fire of coals, branches, and leaves, -which has been lighted by a spark struck from -a flint outside the church. He wears magnificent -purple and gold vestments; his finely embroidered -cope and jewelled mitre glitter in the sun. -Around him are acolytes, some of whom tend -the fire, while others carry censers; priests, -canons, and bishops all gorgeously apparelled, -and performing their parts in the service with -the usual precision and alacrity. Two priests -stand with their backs to the great bronze doors; -one bearing a massive gold cross, the other -holding a bamboo with a transverse bar on the -top, and on this are three candles. After some -chanting, the cardinal rises; and an acolyte fills -a censer with live coals from the brasier, and -brings it for benediction; another presents five -large cones of incense covered with gold; these -are also blessed and sprinkled with holy-water; -then incense is put on the hot ashes in the censer; -and as the smoke ascends, the great bronze doors, -so rarely unclosed, are thrown open, and the -procession enters the cathedral. The effect is -strangely beautiful. The lovely early morning -light and sunshine, the great building empty of -living thing, the gorgeous procession throwing a -line of brilliant colour into the dim soft mist of -the nave, the choir chanting as the priests walk, -their voices echoing in the great space—all form -a combination which must touch the least impressionable -spectator, and which cannot but be -photographed on the memory to its smallest detail. -At the door, there is a pause while one of the -candles on the bamboo is lighted; a second flame -is kindled in the nave, and the third at the altar -in the choir chapel. Thence, light is immediately -sent to the other churches in Rome, where -also darkness has reigned since Thursday afternoon.</p> - -<p>A venerable canon now ascends a platform, and -from a very high desk reads some chapters, recites -prayers, and then lights the great Easter candle -which stands beside him. This is a huge pillar -of wax, decorated with beautifully painted wreaths -of flowers, and is placed in a magnificent silver -candlestick. He takes the five cones of incense -which the cardinal had blessed in the porch, and -fixes them on the candle in the form of a cross. -During his reading, the candles and lamps all -over the church are relighted, and when it is -over, all who formed the procession, bearing -bouquets of lovely flowers, and small brushes like -those used on Holy-Thursday, march to the -baptistery, where the cardinal blesses the font, -pours on the water in the huge basin chrism and -oil, and sprinkles water to the four points of the -compass—typifying the quarters of the globe.</p> - -<p>On the return of the procession to the choir -chapel, the cardinal and others prostrate themselves -before the altar while some beautiful -litanies are chanted. Then follows a pause, -during which the priests retire to the sacristy -to take off their embroidered vestments. They -return wearing only surplices edged with handsome -lace over their cassocks. The cardinal has -a plain cope of white silk and gold.</p> - -<p>After this, is the mass; and at the <i>Gloria</i> the bells -ring out a grand peal, all pictures are uncovered, -and the organ is played for the first time during -many days. The great church resumes its wonted -cheerful aspect, and light and colour hold again -their places.</p> - -<p>The afternoon ceremonies consist only of a -procession of the cardinal to worship at special -altars, the display of the holy relics, and the -singing of a fine <i>Alleluia</i> and psalm, instead of -the usual vespers.</p> - -<p>Some pause is needed, one feels, before the -cathedral is filled by the crowds who attend the -Easter-Sunday mass; for no greater contrast can -be imagined than that between the scenes of the -quiet morning functions, with the numerous -priests and few people, the stillness and peace -of the hours we have been describing, and those -enacted by the thronging crowds of foreign sightseers -at the great festivals, who, pushing, gesticulating, -standing on tiptoe, and asking irrelevant -questions in audible voices, seem to look on these<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">{94}</span> -sacred services as spectacles devised for their -gratification, rather than as expressions of the -worship of a large section of their fellow-creatures; -thus exemplifying the rapidity with which ignorance -becomes irreverence.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="AMONG_THE_ADVERTISERS_AGAIN">AMONG THE ADVERTISERS AGAIN.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Can</span> it ever be said that there is nothing in the -papers, when advertisers are always to the fore, -providing matter for admiration, wonder, amusement, -or speculation? One day a gentleman -announces the loss of his heart between the stalls -and boxes of the Haymarket Theatre; the next, -we have ‘R. N.’ telling ‘Dearest E.’—‘If you -have the slightest inclination to become first-mate -on board the screw-steamer, say so, and I will -ask papa;’ and by-and-by we are trying to guess -how the necessity arose for the following: ‘St -James’s Theatre, Friday.—The Gentleman to -whom a Lady offered her hand, apologises for not -being able to take it.’</p> - -<p>Does any one want two thousand pounds? -That nice little sum is to be obtained by merely -introducing a certain New-Yorker to ‘the Pontess;’ -or if he or she be dead, to his or her heirs. ‘There -is a doubt whether the cognomen was, or is, borne -by a woman, a man, or a child; if by the last, -it must have been born prior to the spring of -1873.’ If the Pontess-seeker fails in his quest -from not knowing exactly what it is that he -wants, an advertiser in the <i>Times</i> is likely to -have the same fortune from knowing, and letting -those interested know, exactly what it is that he -does not want. Needing the services of a married -pair as coachman and cook, this outspoken gentleman -stipulates that the latter must not grumble -at her mistress being her own housekeeper; nor -expect fat joints to be ordered to swell her perquisites; -nor be imbued with the idea that -because plenty may be around, she is bound to -swell the tradesmen’s bills by as much waste as -possible. ‘No couple need apply that expect the -work to be put out, are fond of change, or who -dictate to their employers how much company -may be kept.’</p> - -<p>When two of a trade fall out, they are apt to -disclose secrets which it were wiser to keep to -themselves. Disgusted by the success of a rival -whose advertising boards bore the representation -of a venerable man sitting cross-legged at his work, -a San Francisco tailor advertised: ‘Don’t be humbugged -by hoary-headed patriarchs who picture -themselves cross-legged, and advertise pants made -to order, three, four, and five dollars a pair. Do -you know how it’s done? When you go into one -of these stores that cover up their shop-windows -with sample lengths of cassimere, marked “Pants -to order, three dollars fifty cents and four dollars;” -after you have made a selection of the piece -of cloth you want your pants made from, the -pompous individual who is chief engineer of the -big tailor shears, lays them softly on the smoothest -part of his cutting-table, unrolls his tape-line, -and proceeds to measure his victim all over the -body. The several measurements are all carefully -entered in a book by the other humbug. The -customer is then told that his pants will be -finished in about twenty-four or thirty-six hours; -all depends upon how long it takes to shrink the -cloth. That’s the end of the first act. Part -second.—The customer no sooner leaves the store -than the merchant-tailor calls his shopboy Jim, -and sends him around to some wholesale jobber, -and says: “Get me a pair of pants, pattern thirty-six,” -which is the shoddy imitation of the piece -of cassimere that your pants are to be made of. -“Get thirty-four round the waist, and thirty-three -in the leg.” They are pulled out of a pile of a -hundred pairs just like them, made by Chinese -cheap labour. All the carefully made measurements -and other claptrap are the bait on the hook. -That’s the way it’s done.’</p> - -<p>Traders sometimes give themselves away, as -Americans say, innocently enough, a Paris -grocer advertising Madeira at two francs, Old -Madeira at three francs, and genuine Madeira -at ten francs, a bottle. A Bordeaux wine-merchant, -after stating the price per cask and bottle -of ‘the most varied and superior growths of -Bordeaux and Burgundy,’ concludes by announcing -that he has also a stock of natural wine to -be sold by private treaty. A sacrificing draper -funnily tempts ladies to rid him of three hundred -baptiste robes by averring ‘they will not last over -two days;’ and the proprietor of somebody’s -Methuselah Pills can give them no higher praise -than, ‘Thousands have taken them, and are living -still.’</p> - -<p>When continental advertisers, bent upon -lightening British purses, rashly adventure to -attack Englishmen in their own tongue, the -result is often disastrously comical. The proprietor -of a ‘milk-cur’ establishment in Aix-la-Chapelle, -‘foundet before twenty years of orders -from the magistrat,’ boasts that his quality of -‘Suisse and his experiences causes him to deliver -a milk pure and nutritive, obtained by sounds -cow’s and by a natural forage.’ One Parisian -hosier informs his hoped-for patrons he possesses -patent machinery for cutting ‘sirths’—Franco-English, -we presume, for shirts. Another proclaims -his resolve to sell his wares dirty cheap; -and a dealer in butter, eggs, and cheeses, whose -‘produces’ arrive every day ‘from the farms of -the establishment without intermedial,’ requests -would-be customers to send orders by unpaid -letters, as ‘the house does not recognise any -traveller.’ A Hamburg firm notifies that their -‘universal binocle of field is also preferable for -the use in the field, like in the theatre, and had -to the last degree of perfection concerning to -rigouressness and pureness of the glass;’ while -they are ready to supply all comers with ‘A -Glass of Field for the Marine 52ctm opjectiv -opening in extra shout lac-leather étui and strap, -at sh 35s 6d.’ This is a specimen of their ‘English -young man’s’ powers of composition that would -justify the enterprising opticians in imitating the -Frenchman whose shop-window was graced with -a placard, bearing the strange device, ‘English -spoken here a few.’</p> - -<p>An Italian, speaking French well and a little -English, with whom ‘wage is no object,’ advertising -in a London paper for an engagement as -an indoor servant, puts down his height as ‘fifty-seven -feet seven.’ But he manages his little -English to better purpose than his countryman of -Milan, who offers the bestest comforts to travellers, -at his hotel, which he describes as ‘situated in the -centre of an immence parck, with most magnificient -views of the Alp chain, and an English church<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">{95}</span> -residing in the hotel’—the latter being furthermore -provided with ‘baths of mineral waters -in elegant private cabins and shower rooms, -and two basins for bathin’; one for gentlemen, -the oter for ladies;’ while it contains a hundred -and fifty rooms, ‘all exposed to the south-west -dining-groom.’</p> - -<p>Such an exposure might well cause the Milanese -host’s visitors to become ‘persons dependent upon -the headache, or who have copious perspirations,’ -whom a M. Lejeune invites ‘to come and visit -without buying his new fabrication,’ with the -chance of meeting ‘the hat-makers, who endeavour -by caoutchouc, gummed linen and others, to prevent -hats from becoming dirt;’ eager to hear -the inventor of the new fabrication demonstrate -‘how much all those preparations are injurious, -and excite, on contrary, to perspiration.’ Equally -anxious to attract British custom is a doctor-dentist -who, ‘after many years consecrated to -serious experiences, has perfected the laying of -artificial teeth by wholly new proceedings. He -makes himself most difficulty works; it is the -best guaranty, and, thanks to his peculiar proceeding, -his work joins to elegancy, solidity, and -duration.’ Considering all things, our doctor-dentist’s -derangement of sentences is quite as -commendable as that of the Belfast gentleman -desirous of letting ‘the House at present occupied, -and since erected by J. H——, Esq.;’ who might -pair off with the worthy responsible for—‘To -be sold, <i>six</i> cows—No. 1, a beautiful cow, calved -eight days, with splendid calf at foot, a good -milker; No. 2, a cow to calve in about fourteen -days, and great promise. The <i>other two</i> cows are -calved about twenty-one days, and <i>will speak for -themselves</i>.’</p> - -<p>By a fortuitous concurrence of antagonistic -lines, the <i>Times</i> one morning gave mothers the -startling information that</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Joseph Gillott’s Steel Pens<br /> -The Best Food for Infants<br /> -Is Prepared solely by<br /> -Savory and Moore</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>—a hint as likely to be taken as that of a public -benefactor who announced in the <i>Standard</i>: -‘Incredible as it may seem, I have ground to -hope that half a glass of cold water, taken -immediately after every meal, will be found to -be the divinely appointed antidote for every kind -of medicine.’</p> - -<p>Another benevolent individual kindly tells us -how to make coffee:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Placed in the parted straining-top let stand</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The moistened coffee, till the grain expand,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Before the fire; then boiling water pour,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And quaff the nectar of the Indian shore.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But he is not quite so generous as he seems, since -he is careful to inform us he is in possession -of an equally excellent recipe for bringing out -the flavour of tea, which he will forward for five -shillings-worth of stamps. Urged by an equally -uncontrollable desire to serve his fellow-creatures, -a ‘magister in palmystery and conditionalist’ -offers, with the aid of guardian spirits, to obtain -for any one a glimpse at the past and present; -and, on certain conditions, of the future; but -with less wisdom than a magister of palmystery -should display, he winds up with the prosaic -notification, ‘Boots and shoes made to order.’</p> - -<p>The wants of the majority of advertisers are -intelligible enough; but it needs some special -knowledge to understand what may be meant -by the good people who hanker for a portable -mechanic, an efficient handwriter, a peerless feeder, -a first-class ventilator on human hair-nets, a -practical cutter by measure on ladies’ waists, a -youth used to wriggling, and a boy to kick -Gordon. Nor is the position required by a -respectable young lady as ‘figure in a large -establishment,’ altogether clear to our mind; and -we may be doing injustice to the newspaper -proprietor requiring ‘a sporting compositor,’ by -inferring he wants a man clever alike at ‘tips’ -and types.</p> - -<p>It does not say much for American theatrical -‘combinations,’ that the managers of one of them -ostentatiously proclaim: ‘We pay our salaries -regularly every Tuesday; by so doing, we avoid -lawsuits, are not compelled to constantly change -our people, and always carry our watches in our -pockets.’ Neither would America appear to be -quite such a land of liberty as it is supposed to -be, since a gentleman advertises his want of a -furnished room where he can have perfect independence; -while we have native testimony to -our cousins’ curiosity in a quiet young lady -desiring a handsome furnished apartment ‘with -non-inquisitive parties;’ and a married couple -seeking three or four furnished rooms ‘for very -light housekeeping, where people are not inquisitive.’ -Can it be the same pair who want a competent -Protestant girl ‘to take entire charge of -a bottled baby?’ If so, their anxiety to abide -with non-curious folk is easily comprehended.</p> - -<p>Very whimsical desires find expression in the -advertising columns of the day. A lady of companionable -habits, wishing to meet with a lady -or gentleman requiring a companion, would prefer -to act as such to ‘one who, from circumstances, -is compelled to lead a retired life.’ A stylish and -elegant widow, a good singer and musician, possessing -energy, business knowledge, and means -of her own, ready, ‘for the sake of a social home,’ -to undertake the supervision of a widower’s establishment, -thinks it well to add, goodness knows -why, ‘a Radical preferred.’ Somebody in search -of a middle-aged man willing to travel, stipulates -for a misanthrope with bitter experience of the -wickedness of mankind; displaying as pleasant -a taste as the proprietor of a wonderful discovery -for relieving pain and curing disease without -medicine, who wants a partner in the shape of -a consumptive or asthmatical gentleman.</p> - -<p>Your jocular man, lacking an outlet for his -wit, will often pay for the privilege of airing his -humour in public. Here are a few examples. -‘Wanted, a good Liberal candidate for the -Kilmarnock Burghs. Several inferior ones given -in exchange.’—‘Wanted a Thin Man who has been -used to collecting debts, to crawl through keyholes -and find debtors who are never at home. -Salary, nothing the first year; to be doubled each -year afterwards.’—‘Wanted, Twelve-feet planks -at the corners of all the streets in Melbourne, -until the Corporation can find some other means -of crossing the metropolitan creeks. The planks -and the Corporation may be tied up to the lamp-posts -in the dry weather.’—‘Wanted, a Cultured<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">{96}</span> -Gentleman used to milking goats; a University -man preferred.’—‘Correspondence is solicited from -Bearded Ladies, Circassians, and other female -curiosities, who, in return for a true heart and -devoted husband, would travel during the summer -months, and allow him to take the money at the -door.’—‘Wanted, a Coachman, the ugliest in the -city; he must not, however, have a moustache -nor red hair, as those are very taking qualities -in certain households at present. As he will -not be required to take care of his employer’s -daughter, and is simply engaged to see to the -horses, he will only be allowed twenty dollars per -month.’</p> - -<p>A great deal might be said about pictorial -advertisements, if the impossibility of reproducing -them did not stand in the way. As it is, we -must content ourselves with showing how an -advertisement can be illustrated without the help -of draughtsman or engraver. By arranging ordinary -printers’ types thus:</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p_096" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_p_096.jpg" alt="Punctation symbols arranged to look like faces" /> -</div> - -<p>an ingenious advertising agent presents the public -with portraits of the man who does not and the -man who does advertise, and says: ‘Try it, and -see how you will look yourself.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_STRANGE_INSTITUTION">A STRANGE INSTITUTION.</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Amongst the oral traditions of the past in -Cambridge, there is handed down to the modern -undergraduate an account of a secret Society -which was established in the university at a -remote period of time, and which was called the -Lie Society. At the weekly meetings of the -members, an ingenious falsehood was fabricated, -which frequently referred to some person locally -known, and which was probably not altogether -free from scandal. It was the duty of all the -members to propagate this invented story as -much as possible by relating it to every one they -met. Each member had to make a note of the -altered form in which the lie thus circulated -came round to him individually, and these were -read out at the next meeting with all the copious -additions and changes the story had received -passing from one to the other, often to such an -extent as to leave but little of the original -fabric left. After a time the Society began -to languish, and soon after disappeared altogether.</p> - -<p>In the dim past, and before the present -stringent regulations were made as to examinations -in the Senate House, another secret Society -was organised, called the Beavers, which was for -the purpose of enabling members, when being -examined, to help each other by a system of -signals. With this view, one of the members of -the Beavers was told off by lot to perform -various duties assigned to him, such as engaging -the attention of the examiners, and giving information -as to the papers by preconcerted signs. -This Society soon collapsed. To one of its -members is credited the ingenious watch-faced -Euclid, and the edition of Little-go-classics on -sleeve-links.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MY_HOME_IN_ANNANDALE_REVISITED">MY HOME IN ANNANDALE REVISITED.</h2> -</div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">I leave</span> with joy the smoky town,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As pining captive quits his cell,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O’er shining sea and purple fell,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Again to see the sun go down:</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">As once behind great Penmanmawr,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A ball of fire, o’er Conway Bay</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He silent hung, then sank away,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And beauteous shone the evening star.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">My village home at length I reach,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And stand beside my father’s door;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His feet are on its step no more:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">From texts like this, Time loves to preach.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Daylight is dying in the west;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The leaden night-clouds blot the sky;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Across the fields, the pewit’s cry</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Only makes deeper nature’s rest.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The water-wheel stands at the mill,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The fisher leaves the sandy shore,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">By garden gate and unlatched door</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lassies and lads are meeting still.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Beside me stand the kirk and manse,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">On this green knoll among the trees;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The summer burn still croons to these;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But where are those who loved me once?</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Only a sound of breaking waves,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">All through the night, comes from the sea:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But those who kindly thought of me,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Are sleeping in these quiet graves.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">No sounds of earth can wake the dead!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I vainly yearn for what hath been:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The faces I in youth have seen,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With the lost years away have fled.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The faintest breath that stirs the air</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Will take the dead leaf from the tree;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thus, one by one, have gone from me</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Those who my young companions were.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A stranger in my native place,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wearing the silver mask of years,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">None meet me now with smiles or tears,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Or in the man the boy can trace.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">My trees cut down, have left the place</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Vacant and silent where they grew;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">From fields and farms, that once I knew,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I miss each well-remembered face.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">This price, returning, I must pay,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With wandering foot who loved to roam:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thrice happy he who finds a home</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And constant friends, when far away.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">As relics from a holy shrine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dear names are treasured in my heart;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Death only for an hour can part;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And all I loved, will yet be mine.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">With blinding tears, I turn away.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Young hearts round this new life can twine;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But from my path has passed for aye</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The light and love of auld langsyne.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Kirtle.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. & R. Chambers</span>, 47 Paternoster -Row, <span class="smcap">London</span>, and 339 High Street, <span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center"><i>All Rights Reserved.</i></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 6, VOL. I, FEBRUARY 9, 1884 ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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