diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/65338-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65338-0.txt | 2147 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 2147 deletions
diff --git a/old/65338-0.txt b/old/65338-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 36dba1e..0000000 --- a/old/65338-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2147 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 14, Vol. I, April 5, 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. 14, Vol. I, April 5, 1884 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: May 14, 2021 [eBook #65338] - -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. 14, VOL. I, APRIL 5, -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. 14.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, APRIL 5, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -GOLD. - - -The fable of Midas, whose touch transformed even his food into gold, -testifies that the ancients felt the limits, while they adored the -virtues of the wonderful metal. Since the morning of the world, gold -has been the chief object of desire of mankind; and it is highly -probable that a very large percentage would still make the same -selection as the son of Gordius, were the opportunity afforded, even -with the knowledge of all it implied. For from the days of Midas until -now this gold, - - Bright and yellow, hard and cold, - Molten, graven, hammered, and rolled; - Heavy to get and light to hold, - -has been - - Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold, - Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled; - Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old - To the very verge of the churchyard mould. - -No other material object has retained in a like degree the united -devotion of man in all ages. And not merely because gold is the synonym -of money. By money we mean that by which the riches of the world can -be expressed and transferred. But money may exist in various forms. It -may be rock-salt, as in Abyssinia; cowries and beads, as in Africa; -tobacco, as formerly in Virginia. Gold is greater than money, because -gold includes money, and makes money possible. Upon gold rests the -whole superstructure of the wealth of the world. Let us consider for a -moment why this is, and how this is. - -And first of all, it is desirable because it is scarce. Abundance -begets cheapness, and rarity the reverse. That is most valuable -which involves the greatest amount of effort to acquire. But we -must not jump from this to the conclusion that were gold to become -as plentiful as iron, and be as easily obtained, it would recede in -value to the equivalent of iron, bulk for bulk. Gold has an intrinsic -value superior to that of all other metals because it has _useful_ -properties possessed by none other. It is more durable than any, and -is practically indestructible, as Egyptian excavations and Schliemann’s -discoveries in Greece have shown. It may be melted and remelted without -losing in weight. It resists the action of acids, but is readily -fusible. It is so malleable that a grain of it may be beaten out to -cover fifty-six square inches with leaves—used in gilding and in -other ways innumerable—only the twenty-eight thousand two-hundredth -of an inch in thickness. It is so ductile that a grain of it may be -drawn out in wire five hundred feet in length. The splendour of its -appearance excels that of all other metals. Its supereminent claims -were symbolised by the Jews in the golden breastplates of the priests, -as they are by the Christian in his highest hopes of a Golden City -hereafter. We signalise the sacredness of the marriage-tie with the -gold-ring. - -Professors of what Carlyle called the ‘dismal science’ have not -unfrequently expressed a contempt for gold; but in doing so, they have -regarded it merely as the correlative of money. As money, according to -them, is merely a counter with little or no intrinsic value, therefore -gold has no intrinsic value beyond its adaptability in the arts. John -Stuart Mill held that were the supply of gold suddenly doubled, no one -would be the richer, for the only effect would be to double the price -of everything. Stanley Jevons went so far as to say that the gold -produced in Australia and California represented ‘a great and almost -dead loss of labour.’ He held that ‘gold is one of the last things -which can be considered wealth in itself,’ and that ‘it is only so far -as the cheapening of gold renders it more available for gilding and for -plate, for purposes of ornament and use other than money, that we can -be said to gain directly from gold discoveries.’ Another writer, Bonamy -Price, asserts that it is a ‘wonderful apostasy,’ a ‘fallacy full of -emptiness and absurdity,’ to suppose that gold is precious except as -a tool. We might multiply quotations all tending to show that while -a certain class of philosophers admit a limited value in gold as a -metal, they claim that it loses the value immediately it is transformed -into a coin. - -This contention is not tenable in reason. It is directly against the -concentrated faith of the ages. Gold is desirable for the sake of -its own special virtues, and it becomes additionally valuable when -employed as the medium of exchange among nations. It is because of the -universal desire of nations to possess it, that it enjoys its supremacy -as money. By its comparative indestructibility it commands and enjoys -the proud privilege of being the universal standard of value of the -world. It is, therefore, elevated, instead of being degraded, by the -impress of the mint stamp, for to its own intrinsic value is added -that of being the passport of nations. This is a dignity attained by -no other metal. It has been urged that the government guarantee of a -solvent nation stamped upon a piece of tin, or wood, or paper, will -form a counter quite as valuable as gold for a medium of exchange. So -it might, but the circulation would only be within certain limits. A -Scotch bank-note is passed from hand to hand with even more confidence -than a sovereign—in Scotland. But take one to England and observe the -difficulty and often impossibility of changing it. The pound-note is -worth a sovereign, but its circulating value is local. Even with a Bank -of England note, travellers on the continent occasionally experience -some difficulty in effecting a satisfactory exchange. But is there a -country in the most rudimentary condition of commerce, where an English -sovereign, or a French napoleon, or an American eagle, cannot be at -once exchanged at the price of solid gold? - -It is true that a nation may form a currency of anything, but only a -currency of the precious metal can be of universal circulation; and -that is simply because the metal is precious. - -Now, when Bonamy Price said that gold is only wealth in the same sense -as a cart is—namely, as a vehicle for fetching that which we desire, he -said merely what could be said of wheat or cotton, or any other product -of nature and labour usually esteemed wealth. You cannot eat gold, nor -can you clothe yourself with wheat; and the trouble of Midas would have -been quite as great had his touch transformed everything into cotton -shirts. Wealth does not consist in mere possession, but in possessing -that which can be used. Wheat and cotton constitute wealth, because one -can not only consume them, but in almost all circumstances can exchange -them for other things which we desire. But they are perishable, which -gold is not—at least for all practical purposes. At the ordinary rate -of abrasion, a sovereign in circulation will last many years without -any very perceptible loss of weight. Gold, as a possession, is a -high form of wealth, because one can either use it or exchange it at -pleasure. The fact of there being cases where a man would give all the -gold he possesses for a drink of water, does not prove that gold then -becomes valueless, but simply that something else has become for the -time-being more valuable. - -Again, if it be true, as Jevons says, that gold is one of the last -things to be regarded as wealth, and the labour expended in its -production almost a dead loss, and therefore a wrong to the human race, -the world should be very much poorer for all the enormous production -of the last half-century. On the contrary, the world has gone on -increasing in the appliances of wealth, in conditions of comfort, and -in diffusion of education. - -The addition to the world’s stock of gold has permitted the creation -of an enormous amount of gold-certificates, as bank-notes and bills -of exchange may be regarded, the existence of which has facilitated -commercial operations which otherwise would not have been possible. In -theory, we exchange our coal and iron for the cotton, wheat, &c., of -other countries; but as we cannot mete out the exactly equal values -in ‘kind,’ we settle the difference nominally in gold, but actually -in paper representing gold. But the gold must nevertheless exist, or -the operation would be impossible. It is as when a man buys, let us -say, five hundred tons of pig-iron in Glasgow. He does not actually -receive into his hands five hundred tons of iron, but he receives a -warrant which entitles him to obtain such iron when and how he pleases. -Though the purchaser may never see the iron which he has bought, the -iron must be there, and producible at his demand. On the faith of the -transaction, he knows that he has command over five hundred tons of -iron; none of which may perhaps, save the ‘sample,’ have come under his -cognisance. - -Of course there is no complete analogy between an iron warrant and a -paper currency, but it serves for the moment as a simple illustration. -To discuss the differences would lead us beyond the design of the -present paper. - -Probably one great reason why gold so early in the history of the world -assumed its leading position as a standard of value is, that it is -found in a pure state. So also is silver, which is the nearest rival of -gold. Primitive races used these metals long before the art of smelting -was discovered. These two metals were both rare, both found pure, both -easily refined, both admitting of a splendid polish, both malleable -and ductile, both durable. Silver is more destructible than gold, less -durable, less rare, and even less useful in some respects. It has, -therefore, always had a lower value than gold. - -It has been shown by several writers, among whom may be named William -Newmarch and Professor Fawcett, that up to the year 1848, the world -had outgrown its supplies of the precious metals, and that commerce -was languishing for want of the wherewithal to adjust the exchanges of -communities. Previous to that year, the principal sources of supply -were South America, the West Coast of Africa, Russia in Europe and -Asia, and the islands of the Malay Archipelago. According to the -calculations of M. Chevalier, the total production of both gold and -silver from these sources between 1492 and 1848 was equal in value to -seventeen hundred and forty millions sterling. The importation of gold, -however, was small; and the total stock of the metal in Christendom in -1848 is estimated to have been only five hundred and sixty millions -sterling. The production since that year has been very remarkable. -Most of us are familiar with the gilded obelisks or pyramids erected -in various International Exhibitions to illustrate the bulk of gold -yielded in different quarters of the globe; but these things only -arrest the eye for the moment. Let us look at the figures. In 1848 -Californian gold began to come forward; and in 1851 the Australian -fields were opened. Between 1849 and 1875 the production of the world -is estimated at six hundred and sixteen millions sterling, so that in -twenty-seven years the stock of gold was more than doubled. The average -annual supply previous to 1848 was eight millions sterling; in 1852 the -production was thirty-six and a half millions sterling. An Australian -authority estimates the yield of the colonies from 1851 to 1881 as two -hundred and seventy-seven millions sterling; and Mr Hogarth Patterson -gives the total production of the world between 1849 and 1880 as seven -hundred and ten millions sterling. The old sources of supply have not, -we believe, increased in yield, so, if we calculate their production on -the average at eight millions annually, we shall easily arrive at the -donation of the American and Australian mines. - -The statisticians of the United States Mint estimate that the total -production of gold in the world during the four hundred years ending -in 1882 was ten thousand three hundred and ninety-four tons, equal -in value to £1,442,359,572. During the same period the production -of silver was one hundred and ninety-one thousand seven hundred and -thirty-one tons, of the value of £1,716,463,795. On the basis of the -last three years, the average annual production of gold in the world -is now twenty-one and a half millions sterling. Taking 1881 as an -illustration, the largest contributors were— - -United States £6,940,000 -Australasia 6,225,000 -Russia 5,710,200 -Mexico 197,000 -Germany 48,200 -Chili 25,754 -Colombia 800,000 -Austria 248,000 -Venezuela 455,000 -Canada 219,000 - -We need not give the smaller contributions of other countries. There -are twenty gold-yielding countries in all, but eight of them yield an -aggregate of little over half a million sterling. - -As regards the employment of gold, it is estimated that fifteen million -pounds-worth annually is required for ornament and employment in the -arts and manufactures. This, on the production of 1881, would leave -only six and a half million pounds-worth for coining purposes each year. - -No greater proof of the universal desire of man to possess gold could -be afforded than by the heterogeneous mass of peoples who flocked to -the gold-diggings. Men of every colour, of every religion, and from -every clime, were drawn thither by the attraction of the yellow metal. -It is not too much to say that nothing else could have concentrated on -one object so many diverse elements. And it may be said further, that -but for the discoveries of gold, the rich wheat-plains of California -and the verdant pastures of Australia might have been lying to this day -waste and unproductive. - -Mr Hogarth Patterson has attempted to prove that to this increase in -our supplies of gold is due the unparalleled expansion of the commerce -of the world within the present generation. We do not need to accept -this extreme view, while we can clearly perceive that the volume of -gold has not proved the dead-weight to strangle us, which other writers -had predicted. Mr Patterson may to a certain extent be mixing up -cause and effect, but he is nearer the truth than those who refuse to -consider gold as one of the first elements of wealth. - -But the increase in the supply of gold has had another effect. It has, -concurrently with an increase in the production of silver, helped to -reduce the relative value of the latter metal. The consequences are -curious. Previous to 1816, silver was what is termed a legal tender -in England to any amount; but in that year the sovereign was made the -sole standard of the pound sterling. In other words, if one man be -owing another, say, a hundred pounds, the latter is not legally bound -to accept payment doled out in either silver or copper. Other countries -have since de-monetised silver, which has thus become so depreciated -in relation to gold, that Mr Leighton Jordan, in an able book called -_The Standard of Value_, affirms that the interest on the National -Debt has now to be paid in a currency fifteen to twenty per cent. more -valuable than was in the option of the lender prior to 1816. According -to the bi-metallists, the de-monetisation of silver has depreciated the -metal, and unduly appreciated gold, or at all events has prevented the -cheapening of the latter metal, which should have resulted from the -greater abundance of silver. - -Against the plea for a dual standard there is a great deal to be -urged. The question, however, is too wide to be entered upon at this -stage, and we will content ourselves with stating one great objection -to bi-metallism, and that is, that it would be inoperative unless -its adoption were universal; and that so deeply is gold rooted in -the affections of mankind, the universal adoption of silver also, -is practically hopeless. Into the world of commerce, into the arena -of industry, into the storehouses of wealth, ‘’tis Gold which buys -admittance.’ - - - - -BY MEAD AND STREAM. - -BY CHARLES GIBBON. - - -CHAPTER XXI.—DREAMS. - -And there was a night of happy wonderment at Willowmere—for, of -course, it was to Madge that Philip first carried his story of the -Golconda mine which had been thrown open to him. The joy of Ali Baba -when the secret of the robbers’ cave was revealed to him was great—and -selfish. He thought of what a good time he would have, and how he would -triumph over his ungracious brother. Philip’s joy was greater; for his -treasure-trove set him dreaming fine dreams of being able to ‘hurry up’ -the millennium. On his way from the city his mind was filled with a -hailstorm of projects of which he had hitherto had no conception. - -Naturally his imagination grew on what it fed; and as he earnestly -strove to shape into words his visions of the noble works that could, -would, and should be done in the near future, his pulse quickened and -his cheeks glowed with enthusiasm. - -They were in the oak parlour; the day’s work done; and the soothing -atmosphere of an orderly household filling the room with the sense -of contented ease. Aunt Hessy was sewing, and spoke little. Uncle -Dick smoked one of his long churchwardens—a box of which came to him -regularly every Christmas from a Yorkshire friend—and listened with -genial interest, commenting in his own way on Philip’s schemes. - -After the first breathless moment of astonishment, Madge’s eyes were as -bright with enthusiasm as her lover’s: her face was alternately flushed -and pale. She approved of everything he said; and she, too, was seeing -great possibilities in this new Golconda. - -‘The world,’ quoth Philip, ‘is big enough for us all; and there is -work enough for everybody who is willing to work. It is not work which -fails, but workers. We have classified and divided our labour until -we have fallen into a social system of caste as rigid as that of the -Hindu, but without his excuse. Men won’t turn their hands to whatever -may be offered nowadays. They clamour that they starve for want of a -job, when they mean that they cannot get the job which pleases them -best. Everybody wants exactly what is “in his line,” and won’t see that -he might get on well enough in another line till he found room again in -his own.’ - -‘Human nature has a weakness for wanting the things it likes best, and -that it’s most in the way of doing,’ said Uncle Dick, pressing down the -tobacco in the bowl of his pipe with a careful movement of the left -hand’s little finger. - -‘But human nature need not starve because it cannot get what it likes -best,’ retorted Philip warmly. ‘If men will do with their might what -their hands can find to do, they will soon discover that there is a -heap of work lying undone in the world.’ - -And so, taking this principle as the basis of his argument, he went on -to expound his views of the future conservative democracy of Universal -Co-operation. - -The first step to be taken was to start some enterprise in which every -class of workmen should find employment—the skilled mechanic and the -unskilled labourer; the inventor, the man of brains, and the mechanical -clerk; the spinner, the weaver, the tailor; the butcher, the baker, the -candlestick-maker—all would be required. Their banner would bear the -homely legend, ‘Willing to work,’ and no man or boy who enlisted under -it should ever again have a right to say: ‘I have got no work to do.’ - -There would be no drones in the hive; for every man would reap the full -reward of what he produced according to its market value. No man should -be paid for spending so many hours daily in a fixed place. That was an -erroneous system—the incubator of strikes and of the absurd rules of -trades-unions, by which the dull sluggard was enabled to hold down to -his own level the quick-witted and industrious. Every man should have -a direct interest in doing the best he could, and the most he could or -the most he cared to do. Hear him!—the young heart beating with the -fond hopes which others have proved so futile; and Madge listening with -a smile of joyful conviction and confidence. - -‘Another thing we shall sweep away altogether—the petty deceits—the -petty strivings to overreach another by lies and tricks of trade, as -they are called.’ - -‘And how may you be going to do that, I’d like to learn?’ was the -sceptical query of the yeoman. - -‘By making men feel that it isn’t worth while to tell lies or invent -tricks.’ - -‘Seems to me you want to invent a new world,’ said Uncle Dick, a placid -wreath of smoke encircling his brow, and a contented smile intimating -that he was pretty well content to take things as they were. - -‘Not at all,’ rejoined Philip. ‘I only want to bring the best of this -world uppermost.’ - -‘But doesn’t the best find its own way uppermost?’ interposed Aunt -Hessy; ‘cream does, and butter does.’ - -‘So does froth, and it ain’t the best part of the beer, mother,’ said -Uncle Dick with his genial guffaw; ‘and for the matter of that, so does -scum.’ - -‘They have their uses, though, like everything else,’ was the dame’s -prompt check. - -‘Not a doubt, and there’s where the mystery lies: things have to be a -bit mixed in this world; and they get mixed somehow in spite of you. -There ain’t nobody has found out yet a better plan of mixing them than -nature herself.’ - -That was the counter-check; and Madge gave the checkmate. - -‘But Philip does not want to alter the natural order of things: he only -wants to help people to understand it, and be happy in obeying it.’ - -This pretty exposition of Philip’s purpose seemed to satisfy everybody, -and so it was an evening of happy wonderment at Willowmere. - -As he was about to go away, Aunt Hessy asked Philip how his uncle -looked. - -‘Oh—a good hearty sort of man,’ was the somewhat awkward answer, -for he did not like to own even to himself that he had been somehow -disappointed by the appearance and manner of Mr Shield; ‘but awfully -quick and gruff. You will like him, though.’ - -‘I like him already,’ she said, smiling. - - -CHAPTER XXII.—HOME AGAIN. - -Three passengers and the newspapers were brought to Dunthorpe station -by the early London train on Wednesday morning. One of the passengers -was a tall old gentleman, with straight silvery hair, a clean-shaven -fresh face, and an expression of gentle kindliness which was habitual. -But there was a firmness about the lips and chin which indicated that -his benevolence was not to be trifled with easily. He stooped a little, -but it was the stoop of one accustomed to much reading and thinking, -not of any physical weakness, for his frame was stalwart, his step -steady and resolute. - -He asked the porter who took his travelling-bag in charge if there was -any conveyance from Kingshope waiting. - -‘There’s only one fly, sir, and that’s from the _King’s Head_ for Mr -Beecham. That you, sir?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘Then here you are, sir: it’s old Jerry Mogridge who’s driving, and -he can’t get off the seat easy owing to the rheumatics. The Harvest -Festival is on at Kingshope to-day, and there wasn’t another man to -spare. But you couldn’t have a surer driver than old Jerry, though he -be failed a bit.’ - -Mr Beecham took his place in the fly; and after inquiring if the -gentleman was comfortable, old Jerry drove away at an easy pace—indeed, -the well-fed, steady-going old mare could not move at any other than an -easy pace. A touch of the whip brought her to a stand-still until she -had been coaxed into good-humour again. It was the boast of the _King’s -Head_ landlord that this was a mare ‘safe for a baby to drive.’ - -There was something in Mr Beecham’s expression—an occasional dancing -of the eyes—as he gazed round on the rich undulating landscape, which -suggested that he had been familiar with the scene in former days, and -was at intervals recognising some well-remembered spot. - -September was closing, and stray trees by the roadside were shorn -of many leaves, and had a somewhat ragged, scarecrow look, although -some of them still flaunted tufts of foliage on high branches, as -if in defiance of bitter blasts. But in the Forest, where the trees -were massed, the foliage was still luxuriant. The eyes rested first -on a delicate green fringed with pale yellow, having a background of -deepening green, shading into dark purple and black in the densest -hollows. - -The day was fine, and as the sun had cleared away the morning haze, -there was a softness in the air that made one think of spring-time. But -the falling of the many-coloured leaves, and the sweet odours which -they yielded under the wheels, told that this softness was that of the -twilight of the year; and the mysterious whisperings of the winds in -the tree-tops were warnings of the mighty deeds they meant to do by sea -and land before many days were over. - -‘You have been about Kingshope a long time?’ said Mr Beecham, as the -mare was crawling—it could not be called walking—up a long stretch of -rising ground. - -‘More’n eighty year, man and boy,’ answered old Jerry with cheerful -pride. ‘Ain’t many about as can say that much, sir.’ - -‘I should think not. And I suppose you know everybody here about?’ - -‘Everybody, and their fathers afore ’em.’ As Jerry said this, he -turned, and leaning over the back of his seat, peered at the stranger. -Then he put a question uneasily: ‘You never ’longed to these parts, -sir?’ - -‘No, I do not exactly belong to these parts; but I have been here -before.’ - -‘Ah—thought you couldn’t have ’longed here, or I’d have known you, -though it was ever so many years gone by,’ said old Jerry, much -relieved at this proof that his memory had not failed him. ‘Asking -pardon, sir, I didn’t get right hold of your name. Was it Oakem, sir?’ - -‘Something of that kind,’ said the stranger, smiling at the mistake. -‘Beecham is the name.’ - -‘Beecham,’ mumbled Jerry, repeating the name several times and trying -to associate it with some family of the district. ‘Don’t know any one -of that name here away. May-happen your friends are called by another.’ - -‘I have no friends of that name here.’ - -‘Hope it ain’t makin’ too bold, sir, but may-happen you’re a-goin’ to -stay with some of the Kingshope families?’ - -‘I am going to stay at the _King’s Head_, for a few days,’ Mr Beecham -replied, good-naturedly amused by Jerry’s inquisitiveness; but wishing -to divert his garrulity into another channel, he put a question in -turn: ‘Shall we be in time for the Harvest Service in the church -to-day?’ - -‘Time and to spare—barrin’ th’ old mare’s tantrums, and she don’t try -them on with me. You’ll see the whole county at the church to-day, sir. -Parson’s got it turned into a reg’lar holiday, and there’s been mighty -fine goings-on a-deckin’ the old place up. Meetings morn and even, and -a deal more courtin’ nor prayin’, is what I says. Hows’ever it’s to be -a rare thanksgivin’ time this un, and the best of it is there’s some’at -to be thankful for.’ - -Jerry nodded confidentially to the stranger, as if he were letting him -into a secret. - -‘Is that such a rare occurrence?’ - -‘Well, sir,’ replied Jerry cautiously, and peering round again with the -manner of one who is afraid of being discovered in the promulgation of -seditious doctrines, ‘there be times when it is mighty hard to find -out what we are to be thankful for, when the rot has got hold of the -taters, and them big rains have laid wheat and barley all flat and -tangled, and the stuff ain’t barely worth the cuttin’ and the leadin’ -and the threshin’, and wages ain’t high and ain’t easy to get—them be -times when it takes parson a deal of argyfying to make some people -pretend they’re grateful for the mercies. But Parson Haven knows how -to do it, bless ye. He gives ’em a short sermon and a long feed, and -there’s real thanksgivin’ after, whats’ever the harvest has been like.’ - -Jerry chuckled with the pleasures of retrospection, as well as of -anticipation, and made a great ado putting on the skid as they began to -descend towards the village. - -Mr Beecham listened to this gossip with the interest of an exile -returned to his native land. Whilst everywhere he meets the signs of -change, he also finds countless trifles which revive the past. Even the -comparison of what is, with what has been, has its pleasure, although -it be mingled with an element of sadness. The sweetest memories are -always touched with tender regret. We rejoice that sorrow has passed: -who rejoices that time has passed? - -He watched with kindly eyes the people making their way across the -stubble or round by the church. The latter was a sturdy old building -with a solid square tower, that looked as if it had foundations strong -enough to hold it firmly in its place whatever theological or political -storms might blow. - -Old Jerry Mogridge had reason to be proud of that morning’s work, and -made his cronies of the taproom stare with his descriptions of the -strange gentleman’s friendly ways and liberal hand. - -After seeing his rooms at the _King’s Head_, Mr Beecham sauntered -slowly towards the church. When he reached the porch, he paused, as if -undecided whether or not to enter. The people had assembled and the -bells had ceased ringing. He passed in, and despite the courtesy of an -ancient verger, who would fain have given the stranger a conspicuous -place, he took a seat near the door. - -The ordinary aspect of the inside of Kingshope church was somewhat -bare and cold-looking: at present it was aglow with sunbeams and rich -colours. The pillars were bound with wisps of straw and wreaths of -ground ivy, while the capitals were sheaves of wheat and barley, with -a scarlet poppy here and there, and clusters of dahlias of many hues. -On the broad window ledges, half-hidden in green leaves, lay the yellow -succulent marrow, the purple grape, the ruddy tomato—bright-cheeked -apples and juicy pears: giant sunflowers and ferns guarded the -reading-desk; and on the altar was a pile of peaches and grapes, -flanked by early Christmas roses—deep-red, orange, white and -straw-coloured. - -But the pulpit attracted most attention on this bright day. Madge -and Philip had been visited by an inspiration; and, with the vicar’s -sanction and the aid of Pansy and Caleb, had carried it into effect. -The entire pulpit and canopy were woven over with wheat and barley, -giving it the appearance of a stack with the top uplifted. Round the -front of the stack-pulpit were embroidered, in the bright scarlet -fruit-sprays of the barberry, the opening words of the anthem for the -day, ‘The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof.’ There was a -feeling of elation in the air, to which the organist gave expression by -playing the Hallelujah Chorus as the opening number. And then it was -with full hearts and vigorous lungs that all joined in the hymn, - - Come, ye thankful people, come, - Raise the song of harvest home. - -As he listened to the voices, rising and falling in grateful cadence, -old times, old faces, old scenes, rose out of the midst of the past, -and the stranger dreamed. Was there any significance to him in what -he saw and heard? Was it not a generous welcome to the wanderer home? -Home! His thoughts shaped themselves into words, and they were sung in -his brain all the time he sat there dreamily wondering at their meaning: - -‘Home again, in the twilight of the year and of my life.’ - -He could see the Willowmere pew, and his eyes rested long on Dame -Crawshay’s placid face; still longer on that of Madge. On the other -side he could see the Manor pew, which was occupied by the three -ladies, Alfred Crowell and Philip. Mr Hadleigh and Coutts were not -there. Coutts considered it hard enough to be expected to go to church -on Sunday (he did not often go); but only imbeciles, he thought, -and their kin—women—went on a week-day, except on the occasion of a -marriage or a funeral. - -Mr Beecham’s gaze rested alternately on Philip and Madge. They occupied -him throughout the service. He retained his seat whilst the people were -passing out, his eyes shaded by his hand, but his fingers parted, so -that he could observe the lovers as they walked by him. He rose and -followed slowly, watching them with dreamy eyes; and still that phrase -was singing in his brain: - -‘Home again, in the twilight of the year and of my life.’ But he added -something now: ‘It is still morning with them.’ - - - - -INDIAN SNAKES. - -A REMINISCENCE. - - -We have it on good authority, apropos of the climate of India and the -chances of life there, that the British soldier who now serves one -year in Bengal encounters as much risk in the mere fact of dwelling -there, as in fighting three battles such as Waterloo (see Dr Moore’s -_Health in the Tropics_); and that the mortality amongst children -up to fifteen years of age is eighty-four per thousand, as against -twenty-two per thousand in twenty-four large towns of England. -Statistics such as these tell their own tale. A soldier’s life, as -compared with a civilian’s, whether official or unofficial, is by no -means an unhealthy one, regulated as it is by all that experience and -scientific sanitation can suggest. But what, after all, are the risks -to life in a battle such as Waterloo? We can form some notion of this -by a sort of analogy, if we are content to accept the statement of -Marshal Saxe, said to be a high authority on such matters, who lays -it down as a truth, that for each man killed in battle the weight of -an average-sized man is expended in lead. This is said to have been -verified at Solferino, where the Austrians fired eight million four -hundred thousand rounds, and killed two thousand of the enemy, which -gives four thousand two hundred rounds per man killed. Taking a bullet -at one ounce weight, we have four thousand two hundred ounces, or -over eighteen stone—about equal to one average man and a half; so the -Marshal was under the mark. If these figures are reliable, it would -seem that in battles, as with pugnacious dogs, there is noise out of -all proportion to the amount of damage done; and the risks to life in -war, as compared with those incidental to ordinary life in Bengal, -need not seriously alarm us. The weapons of precision now in use have -wrought a change, perhaps, to the great saving of lead. Still, these -are stubborn figures to deal with; and a mortality of eighty-four per -thousand children, and a proportionately high rate for adults, in the -Indian plains, shows that, all precautions notwithstanding, the white -man in the tropics or under an Eastern sun is in the wrong place. - -It is estimated that nine to ten thousand _natives_ are killed -annually in Bengal alone by snakes; and throughout India, at a rough -calculation—probably very much under the mark—twenty thousand persons -lose their lives from this cause every year. There is no perceptible -diminution in the number of these deadly reptiles; on the contrary, -they are seemingly increasing, notwithstanding that government puts -a price on the head of every snake destroyed; and small though the -reward may be, indigent peasants are not slow to avail themselves -of it, and a snake that ventures to show itself rarely survives the -discovery. The cry of _Sámp!_ (snake) has a magical effect on the most -apathetic and inert of natives. - -Those whose experience of snakes is acquired in the ‘Zoo,’ can form but -a faint idea of the rapidity with which the indolent-looking ophidian -can move when so inclined; and were one to escape from its glass cage -in that interesting collection, the agility of its movements would only -be equalled by that of the astonished spectators towards the outer -air. Were the habits of the snake family more aggressive and less -retiring than they are, this sprightliness would be inconvenient beyond -measure; and but for this tendency to shun man and escape from him at -all times, the bill of mortality, which Sir Joseph Fayrer has shown us -is frightfully large, would be infinitely greater than it is. Happily, -self-preservation is an instinct as strong in serpents as in the hares -of our fields. - -But to return to the European in India and his share of risk incurred. -There are obvious reasons why so large a percentage of our Aryan -brethren fall victims. Barefooted and barelegged, and with that belief -in _kismet_ (fate) which, sometimes to his advantage, oftener to his -prejudice as a man of the world, imbues the soul of ‘the mild Hindu,’ -he trusts his bronzed nether limbs unhesitatingly in places where -snakes are known to abound, and it is only a question whether or not -he happens to touch one. With that sublime indifference to the danger, -acquired by custom and a familiarity with it from his babyhood, he -coils himself up, with or without his scanty garment of cotton stuff, -on the bare earthen floor of his mud-hut, or beneath the spreading -branches of a tree, and falls into a sleep, from which neither -mosquitoes nor the chorus of predatory jackals, nor the screech-owls in -the branches above, can rouse him. Many a time, perhaps, he has seen a -snake killed on that very spot. But what does it matter to Ramcherrun -or Bojoo? Are not snakes in other places too? In one minute he is -snoring out the watch of night. He dreams of his rice and paddy fields, -mortgaged at ninety per cent. interest, and ever likely to remain so; -he dreams of his _mahájon_ (banker), whose superior knowledge of the -three Rs enabled that rascal to so circumvent his neighbours. Then -he turns over, and rolls quietly on the top of the deadly krait; or -stretching out his brown hand, grasps the tender back of a passing -cobra, which bites him, and he dies! The gods had it so. His time was -come—_kismet! kismet!!_ Toolsi Kándoo is re-thatching his house, and -in uplifting the old rotten grass, squeezes a roof-snake (_sankor_) -reposing therein, which resents the intrusion with its sharp teeth, -and Toolsi is gathered to his fathers. Then there is Sirikisson Beldar -cutting bamboos for his new roof, or the jungle grasses which are to -furnish his house with matting, and the foe is molested, and makes his -bite felt—before retreating to safer quarters. Gidari Teli has gone in -the gloaming or in the darker night to fill his _lota_ at the village -well hard by, and returns only to tell his child-wife to run for the -_byd_ (native doctor), who will apply his nostrums, and the Brahmin -to sing his incantations and perform sundry mystical rites whilst he, -poor Gidari, passes away to the happy land. But even of white men there -are few indeed who, after some years in the Indian plains, return home -without a lively recollection of one or more escapes, for which at the -moment they were thankful to Providence. - -In large towns like Bombay or Calcutta, snakes are not unknown; whilst -in and about the bungalows of most, if not all country stations, they -are common, and pay visits to these habitations at inconveniently short -intervals. There are few bungalows the thatched roof of which is not -the occasional abode of one objectionable species—the _sankor_, or -roof-snake; whilst round about, in the hollows of old trees, or beneath -the flooring of the rooms, or in the garden hard by, come at intervals -specimens more or less dangerous to human life. It will serve to show -the nature of the danger from this source, if I relate a few of my own -personal experiences during a residence of some years in Bengal. - -Of the many snakes killed by me—some hundreds—I retain the liveliest -recollection of the first my eyes beheld. I was then living in a small -three-roomed bungalow, the flooring of which was almost on a level with -the ground outside. Amongst other annoyances, the place was infested -with rats; and being so low, the number of little toads that made -free use of every room was incredible. My _sweeper_ would in a short -time fill and refill a _gylah_ (a sort of round earthen pot capable -of holding more than a gallon) up to the brim with toads. We called -them frogs, but they were really toads of a jumping kind; and the only -thing to be said in their favour was their capacity for swallowing -mosquitoes, beetles, and other kinds of creeping and flying insects. -But as a set-off against this advantage comes the fact that snakes -with equal avidity swallow and relish toads, and are ever in quest -of these dainty morsels. The rats, however, troubled me most. They -destroyed my shoes, drank up the oil of my night-lamp—a very primitive -arrangement, known as the _tel-buttee_, that carries one back to the -time of Moses—sometimes extinguishing the light in the process; and -made sad havoc of my cotton-stuffed pillows, the contents of which I -would often discover, after an absence of a few days from home, strewn -about the floor, and the pillow-cases ruthlessly destroyed; and it was -not an uncommon thing to find a fat rat, which had effected an entrance -through the mosquito curtains, nibbling away within an inch of my nose -as I lay in bed. They held high revels in an old sideboard stored -with sundry eatables, and so loud was the noise amongst the crockery -therein, that often I had to get up and put the rebels to flight. In -desperation, I determined one night to try what smoke would do to keep -them out. Accordingly, I placed a piece of smouldering brown paper -in the cupboard, watching, stick in hand, for the first rodent that -should be caught in the act of sliding down the leg-supports on which -this piece of furniture stood. I had not long to wait. Out came rat -No. 1, and met his death on the spot. Chuckling over my success, I -stood expectant of No. 2; but in place of him, came a brown snake about -twenty-four inches long, close to my bare feet. This was much more than -I bargained for. My stick was down on him in a second; but, unluckily, -so was the _tel-buttee_, held in the other hand; and the brown snake -and I were together in total darkness, a most unpleasant predicament -for both of us. - -I knew nothing of the habits of this or any other specimen of the -snake family, so that, as a matter of course, a bite, to be followed -by death in fifteen minutes, seemed to me quite inevitable! And I -did, on the spur of the moment, about the very worst thing I could -have done under the circumstances, that is, groped for the door at -all hazards, and shouted for a light. It was five minutes before this -could be obtained; the sleeping Hindu will stand a lot of waking, and -is some time collecting his wits from the realms of slumber; and the -snake was gone. We found a hole in the corner of the room, through -which the experienced eyes of my servants at once discovered he had -made his exit. But as this only led into an inner wall dividing the -rooms, I had the discomfort of knowing that he shared my bungalow, and -would certainly come again some other day. And so he did—or one like -him—three days later, and was squeezed to death in the hinges of the -door, and in broad daylight. - -My next snake, I remember, was a large cobra—whose bite is certain -death. Being fresh to the country, and determined not to be imposed -upon, I had not grown to the habit of handing over all my belongings -to the care of native servants, of whose language I scarcely knew a -word, and of whose integrity and honesty I had heard none but the worst -reports; and I strove manfully to keep a tight hand over everything -and every one, and, from personal observation, to know how I stood -in regard to supplies and household requisites of all kinds; and in -particular, for financial reasons, to guard jealously my stock of -wines and beer—expensive commodities in the East, and apt to disappear -miraculously. In a word, I kept the keys of my own stores, and did not -intrust them absolutely, as I afterwards saw the wisdom of doing, to -my _khansama_ (butler); and it was my custom then to issue a certain -number of bottles of wine or beer or tinned meats, &c., from out the -_go-down_ or storeroom, as occasion required. One end of the bungalow -veranda was bricked up, to form a small storeroom for such commodities; -and it had ever been my custom to enter this somewhat dark chamber with -caution, owing to its being rather a favourite haunt of scorpions and -centipedes; and the latter being my pet aversion, I always kept a sharp -lookout. On one occasion, however, I was pushing aside a large empty -box which had contained brandy, when, to my horror, I saw a large snake -reposing therein. Escaping with great rapidity, he coiled at bay on the -floor, with hood expanded and eyes glistening savagely at me. Seizing -the box, I threw it at him and on him; whilst my servant ran to the -other end of the veranda for a stick, with which he was soon and easily -despatched. On another occasion, I remember, in opening a bathroom -door, a small but deadly snake, by some means or other perched on the -top of it, fell straight on to my wrist, and thence to the floor; -and similarly, whilst seated one morning on a pony, inspecting some -repairs in an outbuilding used as a stable, the same species of snake -fell from the bamboo and thatch of the inner roof right on to my head, -thence to my left arm and the saddle-bow, and so to the ground, where -he escaped in some straw. Some time later, in picking up a handful -of fresh-cut grass to give a favourite Cabul horse, I felt something -moving in my hand; and dropping the grass, out wriggled a _krait_, a -snake that for deadly poison ranks nearly next to the cobra. - -I have heard of snakes, though I have never seen one, lying concealed -beneath bed-clothes and under pillows. Twice, however, on awaking in -the morning I have found that I have been honoured with the company -during the night of an adder in my bedroom; and one morning, on taking -my seat at my writing-desk, I discovered a very large cobra—nearly four -and a half feet long—lying at full length at my feet close against the -wall. He made for the open door, and I killed him in the veranda with -a riding-whip; whilst the natives, as usual in such emergencies, were -rushing wildly about, and searching in the most unlikely corners for -a more effective weapon. It was always a salutary habit of mine, for -which I have to thank the sagacity of an old and faithful attendant, -to shake my riding-boots, preparatory to putting a foot into one—to -eject a possible toad ensconced therein; or, as would frequently -happen, old Ramcherrun boldly thrust his bronze fingers in for the like -precaution; and _when_ there happened to be a toad or frog inside, how -the old rascal used to make me laugh at the precipitate way in which -he would withdraw his hand, exclaiming, with a startled countenance: -‘Kuchh hai bhitar!’ (There is something inside.) On one occasion, as -luck would have it, he adopted the shaking process, when out dropped a -small snake, which I identified as a roof-snake (_sankor_). After this, -I took care where I put my boots and shoes at night, and Ramcherrun, -where he put his fingers. - -Snakes are frequently found in what would seem to be the most unlikely -places. As an instance, a lady of my district very nearly put her hand -on a live cobra in reaching an ornament from the mantel-piece; the -reptile was lying quietly next the wall, behind a clock. How he got -there, was a mystery never solved. A friend of mine, who had set a -country-made wooden trap for rats, caught a cobra instead, much to the -horror of his _mehtur_ (sweeper). But, more curious still, a snake was -discovered by a lady whom I knew, a few years ago, on a drawing-room -table of a station bungalow. It was of a small venomous species, and -was hiding beneath a child’s picture-book. On this occasion, the lady -on taking up the book was bitten; but after suffering considerable -pain, recovered. - -Some very odd notions and superstitions regarding snakes obtain amongst -the natives. There is a large snake called the _dharmin_, said to be a -cross between the cobra and some other species. It is said to refrain -from biting; but when pursued, strikes with its tail, which, according -to the natives, can inflict painful and even dangerous wounds; and -the belief obtains that this snake is quite innocuous on Sundays and -Thursdays! It is considered unlucky to speak of any venomous snake by -its proper name—nicknames or roundabout expressions being considered -preferable; just as the correct word for cholera morbus is avoided, -as in the highest degree dangerous to employ, and likely to bring the -disease. Many natives who walk about after dusk repeatedly strike the -ground before them with their _lathee_ (a bamboo staff), and go at a -slow pace; and the _dâk_-runners or rural postmen, who run stages of -five or six miles carrying the mail-bags; invariably carry a number of -loose iron rings on their shoulder-pole, to make a jingling sound as -they trot along. There are several versions of the object of this; the -primary object being no doubt to scare away snakes and other noxious -animals; but the noise also gives warning to the next stage-runner of -the approach of the mail-bags. - -Snakes are said to avoid approaching a naked light or flame of any -kind. This is an error, as I have more than once discovered, and very -nearly to my cost. I perceived, on one occasion, almost encircling the -oil-lamp on the floor of one of my dressing-rooms, what appeared to be -a stream of spilt oil as it were staining the matting; and I was in the -act of lowering the candle which I carried, for a closer inspection, -when the dark line moved off within three inches of my shoeless feet. -It was a black snake, three feet long, called the _bahrá sámp_, -literally _deaf_ adder or snake. - -Strange as it may seem, there are people—few though they may be—who -never saw a snake in India. I was lately solemnly assured by a friend -who had spent three years in the Mofussil, frequently camping out, -that he had never once seen one dead or alive. At one bungalow where I -resided a few years—a bungalow admirably situated, and well raised from -the ground—I killed, or saw killed, during three months of one monsoon -rains, between eighty and ninety poisonous snakes on the premises, of -which more than one-third were either in the rooms or the veranda. My -successor, who lived there about twelve months, encountered no more -than four snakes! He was succeeded by a man who, in June, July, and -August, killed over one hundred. One bungalow in a station may be -infested with them, whilst another, a couple of hundred yards off, is -completely free. Places the most likely-looking for the habitation -of snakes, on account of jungle and dense vegetation close by, are -often the most free of them. And so it often is with those pests the -mosquitoes. Vast numbers of fowls are destroyed by snakes, and the -cook-room is a place which seemingly has great attractions. The largest -cobras I ever saw I have killed—sometimes shot—in the _bawarchi-khána_ -(cook-house). - -I have spoken of the fondness of snakes for frogs and toads. There is -a well-known cry of a very plaintive and peculiar description often -heard, especially during the rains, uttered by these unfortunate -frogs when being set at by a snake. ‘Beng bolta hai, kodárwand!’ (A -frog is shouting) was the information frequently imparted to me by -my little servant-boy Nubbee, as I lay beneath the punka enjoying my -post-prandial cigar, ever ready, as he knew me to be, to kill the -snake and save the frog. Out we would sally, he holding my kerosene -table-lamp, and I armed with a polo-stick; and we rarely failed to find -amongst the bushes adjacent to the bungalow the object of our search—a -krait or a _ghoman_ (cobra) besetting a terrified frog, that had not -shrieked in vain, and which, by a timely rescue, lived to return to the -bosom of its family once more. - - - - -A WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE. - - -IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I. - -It had been raining steadily all day. It was still raining as I -stood at the corner of a great London thoroughfare on that wretched -November night. The gutter babbled, the pavement glistened, humanity -was obliterated by silk and alpaca; but the night-wind was cool and -fresh to me, after a day spent in a hot police court, heavy with -the steam of indigo-dyed constables, of damp criminals, and their -frowsy friends and foes. I was later than usual. That was why I stood -hesitating, and turning over and over the few shillings in my pocket, -painfully gathered by a long day’s labour as a young and struggling -legal practitioner. I thought of my poor little sick wife, waiting so -longingly for me in the dull lodgings miles away. I also considered -the difficulty of earning two shillings, and the speed with which that -sum disappeared when invested in cabs. I thought of the slowness and -uncertainty of the ’bus, crowded inside and out; again of the anxious -eyes watching the clock; and my mind was made up. I called a hansom -from the rank just opposite to me, and jumped in, after giving my -directions to so much of the driver as I could make out between his hat -and his collar. - -I felt tired, hungry, and depressed, so that I was glad to drop off -to sleep, and forget weariness and worry for a little while; and I -remained unconscious of bad pavement and rattling rain, blurred glass -and misty lights, until the stoppage of the cab roused me. Thinking -that I had arrived at my journey’s end, and wondering why the glass -was not raised, I smote lustily on the roof with my umbrella. But the -voice of the driver came down to me through the trap in a confidential -wheeze; and at the same time I saw that there was a great crowd ahead, -and heard that there were shouts and confusion, and that my cab was one -of a mass of vehicles all wedged together by some impassable obstacle. - -‘P’liceman says, sir,’ explained cabby, ‘as there’s bin a gas main -hexploded and blowed up the street, and nothin’ can’t get this way. -There’s bin a many pussons hinjured, sir. I’ll have to go round the -back streets.’ - -‘All right,’ I replied. ‘Go ahead, then.’ - -Down slammed the trap; the cab was turned and manœuvred out of the -press; and I soon found myself traversing a maze of those unknown -byways, lined with frowsy lodging-houses and the dead walls of -factories and warehouses, which hem in our main thoroughfares. I was -broad awake now, excited by the news of the accident, speculating on -its causes, and thinking of the scenes of agony and sorrow to which it -had given rise, and of my own fortunate escape. The hansom I was in was -an unusually well-appointed one for those days. It was clean and well -cushioned; it had a mat on the floor instead of mouldy straw. Against -one side was a metal match-holder, with a roughened surface; bearing, -as the occasional street lamps showed me, the words ‘Please strike a -light. Do not injure the cab.’ On each side of the door was a small -mirror, placed so as to face the driver; so that I could see reflected -therein, through the windows, those parts of the street which the cab -had just passed. - -We careered up one dreary lane and down another, until, having just -turned to the left into a rather wider thoroughfare, we were once more -brought up. This time it was a heavy dray discharging goods at the -back entrance of a warehouse. It was drawn up carelessly, occupying, -in fact, more room than it should in that ill-lighted place. We were -almost into it before we could pull up. To avoid accident, the cabman -threw his horse half across the road; and in this position proceeded -gently but firmly to expostulate with the drayman after the manner of -cabmen on such occasions. The surly fellow would take no notice, and -made no attempt for some minutes to give us room. I was too listless to -interfere, and lay back in the cab, leaving the driver to get over the -difficulty as he might. - -In the right-hand glass, owing to our slanting position across the -road, I could see reflected, a few yards off, the corner of the street -out of which we had just turned, with the lamp which stood there, and -above the lamp the name of the street, which, though reversewise on the -mirror, I made out to be ‘Hauraki Street.’ The queer name attracted -me; and I was wondering what colonial experiences could have led the -builder to select it, when I saw the reflected figure of a man come -into the light of the lamp along the road in which we stood. He was -young, but dishevelled and dirty, and evidently wet through. His -clothes, bad as their condition was, looked somehow as if their wearer -had been, or ought now to be, in a better condition of body than his -present one. He stared desolately about him for a while, as if to -see whether there could be any other creature so miserable as to be -lounging purposelessly about, without an umbrella, in such a place on -such a night. A neighbouring clock struck eight, and he seemed to turn -his head and listen till the clangour ceased. Then he inspected the -sleeves of his coat, as people always do when unduly damp, and drew -one of them across his forehead, taking off his hat for the purpose, -as though hot from exercise. Then he carefully produced from inside -the sodden and melancholy hat a folded piece of paper and a clay-pipe. -He filled the pipe from the paper, restored the latter to the hat, -and put the hat on his head. Then he looked helplessly at the pipe. I -guessed that the poor wretch had neither a match nor a penny to buy -one. A thought seemed to strike him. He looked up suddenly at the lamp, -and I saw his face for the first time. I am an observer of faces. This -one was peculiarly short and broad, with a projecting sharp-pointed -chin, a long slit of a mouth, turned down at the corners; as it was -now half open in perplexity, it disclosed a conspicuous blank, caused -by the loss of one or more front teeth. The eyes were small and dark, -and half-shut with a curious prying air. This was all I noticed; for -now the man began awkwardly and laboriously to ‘swarm’ the lamp-post; -evidently with the view of getting a light for his pipe. Having got -about half-way to the top, he incautiously stopped to rest, and -instantly slid to the bottom. Patiently he began all over again; and -I now saw that if he was not altogether tipsy, he was something very -like it. This time his efforts were so ill-judged that he caved in the -melancholy hat against the cross-bar of the lamp; and the last I saw of -him as my picture vanished at the whisking round of the hansom, he was -blindly waving his pipe at the lamp-glass, his head buried in the wreck -of his hat, as he vainly endeavoured to introduce the pipe through the -opening underneath, and beginning once more to slide impotently down -the shaft. - -I got home without further adventure in time not to be missed by my -little invalid; but for several days the queer street-name abode with -me, as the merest trifles _will_ haunt an overanxious mind, such as -mine then was. I repeated it to myself hundreds of times; I made it -into a sort of idiotic refrain or chorus, with which I kept time to -my own footsteps on my daily tramps. I tried to make rhymes to it, -with indifferent success; and altogether it was some weeks before the -tiresome phantom finally departed. - -Also, I often wondered whether the drenched young man with the crushed -hat had managed to get a light after all. - - * * * * * - -Twelve years had gone, and with them my troubles—such troubles at least -as had been with me at the time of the beginning of this story. I was -now a prosperous solicitor, with a large and varied practice, and -with a comfortable home on the northern heights of London, wherein to -cherish the dear wife, no longer sick, who had been my loving companion -through the years of scarcity. The firm’s practice was a varied one; -but personally I devoted myself to that branch of it in which I had -begun my professional life—the criminal law. In this I had fairly won -myself a name both as an advocate and a lawyer—often very different -things—which tended to make me a richer man every day. And I am glad -to be able to say that I had added to this reputation another yet more -valuable—that of being an honourable and honest man. - -Late one afternoon, as I sat in my office after a long day at the -Central Criminal Court, making preparations for my homeward flight, a -stranger was shown in to me. He sat down and began his story, to which -I at first listened with professional attention and indifference. But -I soon became a trifle more interested; for this, as it seemed, was a -tale of long-deferred vengeance, falling after the lapse of years upon -the right head; such as we lawyers meet with more often in sensational -novels—of which we are particularly fond—than in the course of practice. - -Some dozen years ago, he said, there had lived in a remote suburb of -London an elderly maiden lady, named Miss Harden, the only daughter -of a retired merchant skipper, who had got together a very tolerable -sum of money for a man of his class. Dying, he had left it all to his -only living relative and friend, his daughter; and on the interest -thereof she managed to live comfortably, and even to save quite a third -of her income. These moneys she—being, like many maiden ladies, of -a suspicious nature—always declined to invest in any way, but kept -them in an oaken cupboard in her sitting-room, which cupboard she was -accustomed to glorify for its impregnable nature, when the danger she -ran by keeping so much money about the house was represented to her. -Perhaps she was fortified in her obstinacy by the consideration that -she was not entirely alone and unprotected, though most people thought -that such protection as she had was worse than none. It consisted in -the presence of an orphaned nephew, to whose mother, on her deathbed, -Miss Harden had solemnly promised that she would never forsake the -child. She had been as good as her word, and better—or worse; for she -had treated the boy with such foolish indulgence that he had grown -up as pretty a specimen of the blackguard as could be found in the -neighbourhood. After being expelled from school, he had never attempted -to improve himself or earn his own living in any way, except by betting -(and losing), and by making free with certain cash of his first and -only employer; which questionable attempt at providing for himself -would certainly have led to his being for some time provided for by his -country, but for the tears and prayers of his aunt, and the sacrifice -of a round sum out of her hoardings. From that time he lived with her, -and she cherished and endured him as only women can. Scolding him -when he came home tipsy at night, putting him carefully to bed, and -forgiving him the next morning, only to scold and put him to bed again -the same evening; so, with little difference, went on their lives for -years. - -But at last this loving patience began to wear out, and as the aunt -got older and more irritable, the nephew’s little ways caused louder -and more frequent disagreements. One morning, things came to a climax. -She caught him actually trying to set free the imprisoned secrets of -the impregnable cupboard with a pocket-knife. Being interrupted and -violently abused—the old lady was very ready with her tongue—he turned -and struck her. She did then and there what she had threatened often -of late; ordered him out of the house, and what was more, saw him out. -There was rather a scene at the street-door, and the lookers-on heard -him say, in answer to her vows that she would never see him again, -‘When you do see me again, you’ll be sorry enough;’ or words to that -effect. The last time he was known to have been in the neighbourhood -was about three o’clock that afternoon, in a public-house close by, -which he used to haunt. He was then in a maudlin state, and was -descanting to a mixed audience on his wrongs and on the meanness of his -relative. He further produced the knife with which he had attempted the -cupboard, and was foolish enough to say that ‘he wished he had tried it -on the old woman herself, and he would too, before the day was out.’ - -All this greatly amused his rough hearers, who supplied him well with -liquor, and generally kept the game alive, until the landlord, becoming -jealous of the reputation of his house, turned him out of doors. From -that moment he disappeared; but the same night a horrible murder was -committed. The aunt had sent her one servant out for half an hour. The -girl left at a quarter to eight, and returned at a quarter past, to -find the poor old maid lying dead on the floor, while the oak cupboard -was open and empty. Screaming with horror, the girl called in help; and -one among the crowd that filled the house before the police came picked -up on the floor a knife, which he identified as the very one which -the nephew, whom he knew well, had exhibited that afternoon at the -public-house. He repeated this evidence at the subsequent inquest, and -it was confirmed by many others who knew both the knife and its owner. -A verdict of wilful murder was returned against the nephew, whom we -will call John Harden, but who had disappeared completely and entirely. -Inquiries, advertisements, and the minute description of him which was -posted, together with the offer of a heavy government reward for his -apprehension, throughout the three kingdoms—all were useless. In the -course of time the affair died out, except as an occasional remembrance -in the minds of those who had been most intimately connected with it. - -But on the afternoon of the very day on which the stranger waited upon -me, John Harden had been recognised in the Strand by my informant. -He wore a well-fitting suit of dark clothes, and was, in fact, the -confidential servant of a retired Australian millionaire, who had come -to England to spend the rest of his days there. On being addressed by -his name, he had at first appeared surprised, though in no way alarmed; -but almost immediately admitted that he had formerly gone by that name, -though he had for years borne another. His accuser straightway gave -him into the custody of the nearest constable, charging him with the -murder. Then indeed the unfortunate man showed the greatest horror and -disturbance of mind, protesting that he did not even know his aunt was -dead; that he had intended to go and see her as soon as he could be -relieved from attendance on his master; that he had even written to -her several times, but having received no reply, had concluded that -she was determined to renounce him entirely. He was locked up at the -station for the night, and was to be brought before the magistrate in -the morning; and my informant’s object in coming to me was to instruct -me to prosecute, not being content to leave that duty to the police. -He was, it seemed, the very man who had, as already stated, picked up -the knife with which the murder had been committed; and he expressed -himself as being extremely anxious that justice should be done, and -that the murderer should not escape. He stated that, though badly -enough off twelve years ago, he had since succeeded in trade; that he -knew the poor old lady well, having done many an odd job about the -house for her; and that he was willing, for justice’ sake, to put his -hand as reasonably far into his pocket as could be expected. As he -sat opposite to me, his face burning with indignation, I could not -help thinking that it would be well for the country and the lawyers if -all citizens were as prompt as my new client to spend their means in -exposing and punishing crime in which they had no individual interest. -I said something to this effect, and my remarks were received with a -proper pride, tempered by modesty. ‘He hoped he knowed his dooty as a -man, and tried to do it.’ - -It so happened that I was obliged to leave town next day, to attend -to certain matters connected with an estate of which I was a trustee, -in another part of the country. I told him this, adding that the -magistrate would certainly send the case for trial, and that I should -be back in town in time for the next Old Bailey sessions, and that I -would be responsible that the case should receive proper attention in -the meantime. He merely said that he left the matter in my hands, and -that if I said it would be all right, he was content, and so departed, -engaging to attend to have his evidence taken down next morning. I -went to the office of a brother practitioner on whom I knew I could -rely, handed him my written instructions, requested him to take up the -case and work it until my return, and then did what every business man -should be able to do—wiped the subject altogether out of my mind for -the present. - - - - -LITERARY SELF-ESTIMATES. - - -The question, Can an author rightly criticise his own work? has been -variously answered. Gibbon emphatically says in his Autobiography that -a writer himself is the best judge of his own performance, since no -one has so deeply meditated on the subject, and no one is so sincerely -interested in the event. Samuel Johnson did not go quite so far as -this. In his Life of Dryden, he writes that, in the preface to one of -his plays, Dryden ‘discusses a curious question, whether an author can -judge well of his own productions; and determines, very justly, that of -the plan and disposition, and all that can be reduced to principles of -science, the author may depend upon his own opinion; but that in those -parts where fancy predominates, self-love may easily deceive. He might -have observed, that what is good only because it pleases, cannot be -pronounced good till it has been found to please.’ - -Certainly, from some points of view, nobody can be a better judge of an -author’s productions than the author himself. He alone knows fully the -difficulties he had to contend with; he alone knows the places where -he wrote with full knowledge and deep insight, and the places where he -wrote carelessly and with no clear understanding; he alone can tell -exactly how much he owes to other writers, and how far his work is the -result of his own toil and thought. But that merciful dispensation of -providence which prevents us from seeing ourselves as others see us, -frequently so far affects an author’s judgment of his own writings, -that it has become almost a commonplace of criticism that the greatest -of writers occasionally prefer their own least worthy works. They are -apt to measure the value of what they have done not by its intrinsic -merit, but by the difficulty of doing it; and knowing the pains it has -cost them, and being, as Hazlitt says, apprehensive that it is not -proportionately admired by others, who know nothing of what it cost -them, they praise it extravagantly. Moreover, severe criticism often -tempts an author to praise some neglected work of his above what he -is conscious to be its real deserts; just as, when her chickens are -attacked by the kite, the fond hen rushes straightway to defend the one -which seems most in danger. - -Milton’s preference of _Paradise Regained_ to _Paradise Lost_ has -often been instanced as an example of the false judgments writers form -of their works. As a matter of fact, however, this opinion attributed -to Milton is overstated. As has recently been pointed out by Mr Mark -Pattison, all we know about the matter is, that Milton ‘could not bear -to hear with patience’ that it was inferior to _Paradise Lost_. Of a -writer who formed the most exaggerated and erroneous notions about the -merits of his works, no better example could be given than Southey. -He was indeed, as Macaulay remarked in his Diary, arrogant beyond any -man in literary history; for his self-conceit was proof against the -severest admonitions, and the utter failure of one of his books only -confirmed him in his belief of its excellence. When William Taylor -asked him who was to read his massive quartos on Brazil, he replied: -‘That one day he should by other means have made such a reputation that -it would be thought a matter of course to read them.’ About _Kehama_, -he wrote: ‘I was perfectly aware that I was planting acorns while my -contemporaries were planting Turkey beans. The oak will grow; and -though I may never sit under its shade, my children will.’ To one of -his contemporaries, he writes in 1805: ‘No further news of the sale -of _Madoc_. The reviews will probably hurt it for a while; that is -all they can do. Unquestionably the poem will stand and flourish. I -am perfectly satisfied with the execution—now, eight months after -its publication, in my cool judgment. William Taylor has said it is -the best English poem that has left the press since _Paradise Lost_. -Indeed, this is not exaggerated praise, for there is no competition.’ -On another occasion Southey writes: ‘_Thalaba_ is finished. You will, -I trust, find the Paradise a rich poetical picture, a proof that I -can employ magnificence and luxury of language when I think them in -place. One overwhelming propensity has formed my destiny, and marred -all prospects of rank or wealth; but it has made me happy, and it will -make me immortal.’ In a letter written in 1815, he modestly remarks -that nothing could be more absurd than thinking of comparing any of his -pieces with _Paradise Lost_; but that with Tasso, with Virgil, with -Homer, there might be fair grounds of comparison! Nor did he think -more meanly of himself as an historian, for he predicted that he would -stand above Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon; nay, he went even further, and -challenged comparison with the Father of History. ‘I have flattered -myself,’ he says, ‘that my _History of Brazil_ might in more points -than one be compared to Herodotus, and will hereafter stand in the same -relation to the history of that large portion of the new world as his -History does to that of the old.’ - -Southey’s friend and admirer, Walter Savage Landor, resembled him in -the exalted notions he entertained of the value of his own productions. -‘I have published,’ he says in the conversation with Hare, ‘five -volumes of _Imaginary Conversations_; cut the most of them through the -middle, and there will remain in the decimal fraction enough to satisfy -my appetite for fame. I shall dine late, but the dining-room will be -well lighted, the guests few and select.’ ‘Be patient!’ he says in -another place. ‘From the higher heavens of poetry it is long before the -radiance of the brightest star can reach the world below. We hear that -one man finds out one beauty, another man finds out another, placing -his observatory and instruments on the poet’s grave. The worms must -have eaten us before we rightly know what we are. It is only when we -are skeletons that we are boxed, and ticketed, and shown. Be it so! I -shall not be tired of waiting.’ Knowing, he again writes, that in two -thousand years there have not been five volumes of prose (the work of -one man) equal to his _Conversations_, he could indeed afford to wait. -If conscious of earthly things, we fear he may be waiting still. - -With better reason than Southey and Landor, Wordsworth nourished in his -breast a sublime self-complacency, and, in spite of adverse criticisms, -wrote calmly on, ‘in the full assurance that his poems would be -unpopular, and in the full assurance that they would be immortal.’ To a -friend who wrote condoling with him about the severity with which his -poems were criticised in the _Edinburgh Review_, he replied: ‘Trouble -not yourself about their present reception; of what moment is that -compared with what I trust is their destiny? To console the afflicted; -to add sunshine to daylight, by making the happy happier; to teach the -young and gracious of every age to see, to think, and to feel, and -therefore to become more actively and securely virtuous—this is their -office, which I trust they will faithfully perform long after we—that -is, all that is mortal of us—are mouldering in our graves.’ Again: ‘I -doubt not that you will share with me an invincible confidence that my -writings, and among them these little poems, will co-operate with the -benign tendencies in human nature and society, wherever found, and that -they will, in their degree, be efficacious in making men happier and -wiser.’ - -Byron, to whom Macaulay denied the possession of any high critical -faculty, was no better judge of his own poetry than he was of other -people’s. His _Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage_ he thought inferior to his -_Hints from Horace_, a feeble imitation of Pope and Johnson, which he -repeatedly designed to publish, and was withheld from doing only by -the solicitations of his friends, whom, to his astonishment, he could -never bring to think of the matter as he did. Scott, who had few of -the weaknesses common to literary men, was free from any tendency -to unduly estimate his own writings. He always said that his poetry -would never live, and was not to be compared with that of many of -his contemporaries. He felt that though Wordsworth, Coleridge, and -Shelley were then comparatively neglected, the time would come when -they would be recognised as having possessed more of the sacred fire of -inspiration than he. ‘I promise you,’ he says in an epistle to an old -friend, ‘my oaks will outlast my laurels; and I pique myself more on my -compositions for manure, than on any other compositions to which I was -ever accessory.’ This was, of course, in great part badinage. But he -repeatedly, both in writing and conversation, placed literature below -some other professions, and especially the military, of whose greatest -representative then living, the Duke of Wellington, his admiration knew -no bounds. - -‘There are two things,’ said Dr Johnson to Reynolds, ‘which I am -confident I can do very well: one is an introduction to any literary -work, stating what it is to contain, and how it should be executed in -the most perfect manner; the other is a conclusion proving from various -causes why the execution has not been equal to what the author promised -to himself and the public.’ The Doctor was, on the whole, a very honest -critic of his own productions. ‘I showed him,’ writes Boswell, ‘as a -curiosity that I had discovered, his translation of Lobo’s Account of -Abyssinia, which Sir John Pringle had lent me, it being then little -known as one of his works. He said: “Take no notice of it,” or, -“Don’t talk of it.” He seemed to think it beneath him, though done -at six-and-twenty. I said to him: “Your style, sir, is much improved -since you translated this.” He answered with a sort of triumphant -smile: “Sir, I hope it is.”’ On one occasion, when some person read his -_Irene_ aloud, he left the room, saying he did not think it had been so -bad. Reviewing the _Rambler_ late in life, he shook his head, and said -it was ‘too wordy.’ - -A good specimen of honest, manly self-criticism is afforded by a letter -of Sydney Smith’s to Jeffrey, who had written to him complaining that -he treated grave subjects in too jocular a vein. ‘You must consider,’ -he writes, ‘that Edinburgh is a very grave place, and that you live -with philosophers who are very intolerant of nonsense. I write for the -London, not for the Scotch market, and perhaps more people read my -nonsense than your sense. The complaint was loud and universal about -the extreme dullness and lengthiness of the _Edinburgh Review_. Too -much, I admit, would not do of my style; but the proportion in which it -exists enlivens the _Review_, if you appeal to the whole public, and -not to the eight or ten grave Scotchmen with whom you live.... Almost -any one of the sensible men who write for the _Review_ could have done -a much wiser and more profound article than I have done upon the Game -Laws. I am quite certain nobody would obtain more readers for his essay -on such a subject, and I am equally certain that the principles are -right, and that there is no lack of sense in it.’ - -Macaulay also may be ranked among the writers who have formed correct -judgments of their own works. ‘I have written,’ he wrote with great -candour, to Macvey Napier, ‘several things on historical, political, -and moral questions, of which, on the fullest reconsideration, I am -not ashamed, and by which I should be willing to be estimated. But -I have never written a page of criticism on poetry or the fine arts -which I would not burn if I had the power. I leave it to yourself to -make the comparison. I am sure that on reflection you will agree with -me. Hazlitt used to say of himself, “I am nothing if not critical.” -The case with me is directly the reverse. I have a strong and acute -enjoyment of great works of the imagination; but I have never -habituated myself to dissect them.’ Not less sound was his estimate -of his great History. A fortnight before its publication, he wrote -in his Diary: ‘The state of my own mind is this: when I compare my -own work with what I imagine history ought to be, I feel dejected and -ashamed; but when I compare it with some Histories which have a high -repute, I feel re-assured.’ At a subsequent stage of the publication, -he writes: ‘I dawdled over my book most of the day, sometimes in good, -sometimes in bad spirits about it. On the whole, I think that it must -do. The only competition, so far as I perceive, it has to dread is that -of the two former volumes. Certainly no other History of William’s -reign is either so trustworthy or so agreeable.’ The following entry -is interesting: ‘I looked through ——’s two volumes. He is, I see, an -imitator of me. But I am a very unsafe model. My manner is, I think, -and the world thinks, on the whole a good one; but it is very near to a -bad manner indeed, and those characteristics of my style which are most -easily copied are the most questionable.’ - -Of all classes of writers, perhaps the most vain are amateur poets and -great classical scholars. An amusing instance of conceit in one of the -former class is given in Cyrus Redding’s _Recollections_. Once meeting -with Colton, the author of _Lacon_, they entered into conversation, -and Colton invited him to his house, and quoted many lines from a poem -he was composing called _Hypocrisy_. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘do you think any -lines of Pope more euphonical than these?’ - -His conceit at first surprised Redding; but seeing his weak side, he -flattered him. ‘Really, they are very good, and very like’—— - -‘There, sir; I think these will convince you I write verses of some -merit.’ - -This anecdote reminds one of a certain amateur versifier whom -Thomas Davidson, the ‘Scottish Probationer,’ once met with in his -peregrinations, who used to read to his suffering auditor long poems of -his own composition. When Davidson did violence to his conscience by -praising any of them, the poetaster complacently remarked: ‘Yes, it’s -capital.’ How differently puerile vanity like this affects one, from -the lofty words some great writers have used of their own works. How -fine, for example, is the address of Bacon: ‘Those are the Meditations -of Francis of Verulam, which that posterity should be possessed of, -he deemed _their_ interest.’ Horace, in one of his finest odes, says -of himself: ‘I have erected a monument more durable than brass, and -more lofty than the regal height of the pyramids.’ In a similar strain, -Shakspeare writes in one of his sonnets: - - Not marble, nor the gilded monuments - Of princes, shall outlive this lofty rhyme; - But you shall shine more bright in these contents - Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. - -It would fail us to repeat all the anecdotes that might be told of the -vanity of scholars. Richard Bentley, whom Macaulay calls the greatest -scholar that has appeared in Europe since the revival of learning, -always spoke, wrote, and acted as if he considered a great scholar the -greatest of men. In the preface to his edition of Horace, he describes -at some length the characteristics of the ideal critic, and pretty -plainly indicates that he regarded himself as that model individual. -If, in scholarship, Samuel Parr was inferior to Bentley, his vanity -was at least equally colossal. ‘Shepherd,’ he once said to one of his -friends, ‘the age of great scholars is past. I am the only one now -remaining of that race of men.’ ‘No man’s horse carries more Latin -than mine,’ he one day observed to an acquaintance with whom he was -out riding. In signal contrast to the opinions these two worthies -entertained of themselves was the verdict which Porson, the greatest -Greek scholar England has seen, passed on himself. Being once asked why -he had produced so little original matter, he replied: ‘I doubt if I -could produce any original work which could command the attention of -posterity. I can only be known by my notes; and I am quite satisfied -if, three hundred years hence, it shall be said that one Porson lived -towards the close of the eighteenth century who did a good deal for the -text of Euripides.’ - - - - -BURIED ALIVE. - - -Of all the horrible and appalling calamities that can befall mortal -man, we can imagine none more ghastly than that of being buried alive, -and well authenticated records have placed beyond a doubt that it has -occasionally happened. The case of the lady whose ring, cut from her -finger by midnight violators of her tomb, was the means of saving her -from a dreadful fate, has been often told. Her son, the eminent Dr L——, -born many years after his mother had been buried, was the physician and -friend of the family of the writer, one of whose earliest recollections -is the hearing the story from the lips of an aged relative, while -forming one of a group of small listeners gathered round and hanging -with ’bated breath on the narration. Children love to have the same -stories told over and over again in the same words. They like to know -what is coming—to watch with thrills of expectation for each detail. -And these details, graphically given by one who had them from the very -actors in the scene, were weird and vivid. The vault at midnight—the -cutting off of the finger—the ghastly terror of the ruffians, when -the dead woman sat up in her coffin and blood began to flow—the -familiar knock coming to the house-door in the dead of night, heard -by terrified maids, who, thinking their mistress’s ghost was there, -buried their faces, trembling, in their pillows. The bereaved husband -lying sleepless in his grief, heard it too, and started at the sound. -‘If my dear wife were not gone,’ he thought, ‘I should say that was her -knock;’ and when, more faintly, it again smote his ear, rising at last -and going to the door, he was confronted by the resuscitated woman. All -this was listened to with an interest intensified by the fact of its -being true. - -A curious coincidence respecting this event is that an exactly -similar story is recorded in the annals of the family of the Earls of -Mount-Edgcumbe. In them we read that the mother of Richard Edgcumbe, -created first Baron in 1742, being at the time young and childless, -died, apparently, at their seat, Cothele, near Plymouth. She was -buried with a valuable ring on her finger; and the cutting this off -by violators of the tomb, as in the case of Mrs L——, restored her to -consciousness. Five years afterwards, she gave birth to a son. - -In the year 1838, a remarkable instance of burying alive occurred at -Cambray, in France. M. Marbois, a farmer residing at Sisoy, in that -neighbourhood, had reared a large family, and acquired by his industry -and good conduct, wealth and consideration, so that he was chosen -principal churchwarden of his parish, and appointed deputy-mayor. He -had lived in harmony with his family, until the subject of a marriage -his eldest son wished to contract, became the cause of a quarrel, -and brought on fierce disputes between him and his children. Marbois -was a man of violent passions; opposition made him frantic; and on -one occasion, when the dispute ran higher than usual, he became so -infuriated that he rose up and pronounced a fearful malediction upon -his family. No sooner had the words passed his lips, than his whole -frame suddenly collapsed; his face grew livid, his eyes fixed, his -limbs stiffened, and he fell to the ground. Medical aid was called in; -but all pulsation had ceased. Soon the body became cold, and his death -was decidedly pronounced—the cause, a stoppage of the heart’s action -produced by violent excitement. This occurred on the 13th of January; -and on the 16th the interment took place. There had been a severe -frost, and the extreme hardness of the ground prevented the grave from -being properly dug. It was therefore left shallow, with the intention -of deepening it when the thaw should come. By the 23d the ground became -sufficiently softened, and men were set to work to raise the body and -finish the grave. On lifting the coffin, they fancied that they heard -a sigh, and on listening attentively, they found the sounds of life -repeated. Breaking open the coffin, and perceiving that faint actions -of pulsation and respiration were going on to a certain extent, the men -hurried off with the body to the house of the parish doctor, by whose -efforts Marbois was at last restored to consciousness. - -When the resuscitated man was able to recall what had taken place, he -became overwhelmed with contrition, regarding the fate from which he -so narrowly escaped as the deserved punishment of his sin. He sent for -the clergyman of Sisoy, whom he entreated to mediate with his children, -expressing his anxiety to make his peace with them and to recall his -malediction. The result was a return to mutual understanding and the -re-establishment of harmony in the household. - -The distinguished physician Sir Henry Marsh, used to describe an event -which occurred at the beginning of his medical career, many years -before he had reached the eminence to which he afterwards attained. He -was called in by the family doctor—a country practitioner—to attend -upon Colonel H——, struck down suddenly by apoplexy. The fit was a -severe one. All efforts to save the sick man proved unavailing; he -never rallied, and at the end of a few days, to all appearance breathed -his last. On the morning of the funeral, the two medical attendants -deemed it right, as a last attention, to go and take leave of the -remains of their patient before the coffin was screwed down. The -family doctor, a jovial florid personage, on whom professional cares -sat lightly, had been a friend, and ofttimes boon-companion, of the -deceased. A bottle of port and glasses stood on a table near the coffin. - -‘Ah, my poor friend!’ he said, pouring out a bumper and tossing it -off; ‘this was his favourite drink. Rare wine, too. He knew what was -good, and never spared it. Many a generous glass we have had together. -I’ll drink another to his memory,’ he cried; and another, and another -followed, until the wine rapidly gulped down, and at so unwonted an -hour, began to tell upon the man, and make his eyes glisten and his -speech grow thick. - -‘Why should you not pledge me now for the last time?’ exclaimed the -excited doctor, while he approached the corpse, and, to Sir Henry’s -inexpressible disgust at such revolting levity, pressed the glass to -the pale lips. The contents went down the colonel’s throat! - -Sir Henry stood amazed; his eyes, which he was turning away from the -unbecoming spectacle, were riveted on the corpse. - -The jovial doctor, sobered in a moment, staggered back. ‘Can a dead man -drink?’ he cried. - -‘Give him more—more!’ exclaimed Sir Henry, recovering his presence of -mind and seizing the bottle. - -A tinge so slight that only a medical eye could have detected it, began -faintly to suffuse the white face. The doctor tore away the shroud and -placed his hand upon the heart. There was no movement; but they lifted -the body out of the coffin and proceeded to adopt the measures proper -for resuscitation. - -Meanwhile, the hearse stood at the door; the funeral guests were -assembling outside—carriages arriving; while within, all was commotion -and suspense—servants hurrying to and fro fetching hot bricks, -stimulants, restoratives, in obedience to the doctors’ commands; the -latter plying every means skill could devise to keep the flickering -spark of life from dying out; and the startled family, half paralysed -by the sudden revulsion, standing around, gathered in anxious, silent -groups. - -Breathlessly they watched for tidings. For a long time the result -seemed doubtful—doubtful whether the hearse before the door, the gaping -coffin, the graveclothes lying scattered about and trampled under foot, -all the grim paraphernalia of death, hastily discarded in the first -wild moment of hope—might not yet be needed to fulfil their mournful -office. But no! Breath, pulsation, consciousness, were slowly returning. - -Colonel H—— was given back to his family and home, filling again -the place that it was thought would know him no more. And not until -five-and-twenty years had passed away after that memorable morning, -were his friends summoned—this time to pay him the last tribute. - -A young officer returned from China related, apropos of burying alive, -the following experience. - -‘On our passage home,’ he said, ‘we had in the transport, besides our -own troops, a large draft of French soldiers. Disease soon broke out -among the closely packed men, and deaths were of daily occurrence. The -French dealt summarily with their dead. As soon as a poor fellow had -breathed his last, he was stripped, a twenty-pound shot tied to his -heels, and his body thrust through a porthole into the sea. John Bull’s -prejudices rebelled against such rapid proceedings. When we lost any of -our comrades, they were allowed to lie for twelve hours covered with -the Union-jack, and the burial service was read over them before they -were committed to the deep. One day, a French sergeant, who had just -fallen a victim to the pestilence, was brought up on deck in the sheet -in which he had died, to be thrown overboard. The twenty-pound shot -had been fastened to his feet and the sheet removed, when, in pushing -him through the porthole, he was caught by a protruding hook or nail -at the side, and stuck fast. A few more vigorous thrusts sent the body -further through; and in so doing, the flesh was torn by the hook, and -blood began to flow. The attention of the bystanders was attracted to -this; and, moreover, they fancied that they saw about the corpse other -startling symptoms. “The man’s alive!” flew from mouth to mouth. In an -instant, willing hands were pressing eagerly to the rescue, and before -the body could touch the water, it was caught and brought up on deck. - -‘The French sergeant was one of the soundest men on board the -transport-ship when we landed.’ - - - - -CAMEO-CUTTING. - - -The best American artist in cameo-cutting has recently, says a -contemporary, been interviewed upon his costly art. He was found -pounding up diamonds with a pestle and mortar. This, he explained, -was not the only costly part of cameo-making, which takes eyesight, -a great deal of time and patience, and years of experience. Then the -onyx stones, from which the cameos are made, are expensive, costing -sometimes as much as fifty dollars. The choicest have a layer of -cream-coloured stone on a dark chocolate-coloured base. But many -persons like the red, orange, black, or shell pink stones just as well. -They are found in the Uruguay Mountains and in Brazil. The onyx is a -half-precious stone of the quartz family. It is taken to Europe, and -cut into oval or oblong shapes, and Americans have to pay ten per cent. -duty to get it through the custom-house. The cameo-cutter turned to -his lathe by the window, and, rubbing some of the diamond dust, which -he had mixed with sperm oil, on the end of a small drill, began his -work. He was making for a cabinet piece a large cameo, two by two and -a half inches, one of the largest ever cut, of an old gentleman in -Germany, whose portrait was placed before him. ‘I have one hundred and -twenty-five of these soft iron drills,’ he remarked; ‘they are made -soft so as to catch the diamond dust, which is the only thing that will -cut a cameo. A cameo is indestructible, except you take a hammer and -smash it. It is an old art, and was practised by the Romans, Greeks, -and Egyptians. Dr Schliemann found some cameos in good preservation -that were probably three thousand years old. It takes several weeks -to cut a large piece like this. Afterwards, it has to be polished -with tripoli, first being smoothed with emery and oil, using the -lead instruments similar to those for cutting. It is easier to cut a -profile than a full-face portrait. Some people prefer intaglios, in -which the portrait is depressed instead of raised. They are made on -sards and cornelians, the former being a dark-reddish brown, and the -latter a clear red. They are harder to make than cameos. I have to take -impressions of the work in wax as I go on. I usually cut portraits -from photographs, but sometimes have done them from life, and also -from casts of dead persons.’ Among portraits which the artist had cut -are those of ex-President Hayes, Mrs Hayes, William Cullen Bryant, -Bayard Taylor, Peter Cooper, and others. A large cameo copy of Gerôme’s -‘Cleopatra before Cæsar’ was valued at fifteen hundred dollars. - - - - -ANGEL VISITORS. - - - In the graveyard gray and chill, - Veiled in shadow, hushed and still, - ’Neath one drooping cypress tree, - They are laid, my darlings three— - Merry Robin, brave and bold; - Baby May, with locks of gold; - Darling Dolly, shy and fair, - With the grave-dust on her hair. - Now their joyous feet no more - Patter o’er the cottage floor; - Still they hover near, I know— - Lovely spirits, white as snow! - - Ringing sounds of boyish mirth - Never round my childless hearth - In the morning light are heard, - Welcoming the early bird; - In the evening, drear and long, - Never maiden’s vesper song - Bids discordant voices cease, - Fills the slumberous hush with peace; - Yet when bowed in tearful prayer, - Lo! they mount the silent stair! - Whispering, fluttering, to and fro— - Lovely spirits, white as snow! - - Heavenly wisdom in their eyes, - Downward from the starlit skies, - On the moonbeams pale they glide, - Smiling angels side by side! - Folded in their loving arms, - Swiftly fade life’s vague alarms. - When I feel their flowery breath - Fan my cheek, I long for death. - How my heart in rapture sings, - Listening to their rustling wings, - Making music sweet and low— - Lovely spirits, white as snow! - - When the faint, uncertain glow - Of my taper burning low, - Dimly shows each vacant place, - Treasured curl and pictured face, - With a world of longing pain, - Empty hands are clasped in vain! - Then lie patient on my knee, - Till they come, my darlings three! - Bidding earthly sounds grow dumb, - In their shimmering robes they come, - Wondering at their mother’s woe— - Lovely spirits, white as snow! - - When I slumber, they are near, - Whispering in my dreaming ear, - Shedding beams of heavenly light - From their pinions silvery bright! - Ah! such holy truths they speak, - Kissing lip, and brow, and cheek! - ‘Peace!’ they murmur o’er and o’er; - ‘We are with you evermore! - Angels count the mourner’s hours; - Every cross is crowned with flowers.’ - God has taught them this, I know— - Lovely spirits, white as snow! - - FANNY FORRESTER. - - * * * * * - -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. 14, VOL. I, APRIL 5, -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. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |