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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c71850c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65598 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65598) diff --git a/old/65598-0.txt b/old/65598-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0e7da55..0000000 --- a/old/65598-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2122 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular -Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 19, Vol. I, May 10, -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. 19, Vol. I, May 10, 1884 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: June 12, 2021 [eBook #65598] - -Language: English - -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. 19, VOL. I, MAY 10, -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. 19.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, MAY 10, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -‘CORNERS.’ - - -The modern ‘Corner’ is unlike that into which the historical John -Horner, Esq., retired, in this respect, that those who venture into -one seldom succeed in bringing out a plum or anything else but -discomfiture. They may plunge not only their thumbs but their whole -hands and arms into the ‘pie’ they essay to monopolise; but as a rule, -with almost no exceptions, they have to draw back empty-handed. - -The word ‘Corner’ in its commercial application is of American origin, -and along with that other mysterious word ‘Syndicate,’ is doubtless -sufficiently perplexing to non-commercial readers. The prominence -and the frequency of the appearance of both words in the newspapers -indicate a strange commercial tendency of the day. That tendency is to -amalgamate the hazardous element of speculation with the legitimate -fabric of steady industry. Once upon a time, speculators formed a -distinct class, apart from sober merchants and plodding manufacturers. -They had their uses; for none but shallow thinkers will dismiss -speculation in one general sweep as immoral and evil; but they were a -distinctly marked class by themselves; not distinctly marked, perhaps, -to the outer world, but clearly enough defined for those engaged in -commercial pursuits. But now there exists no such definite line of -demarcation. The speculative element enters into every branch of trade -industry; and by the speculative element we do not mean the perfectly -legitimate exercise of foresight or experience which enables a business -man to anticipate events which raise or depress the market values of -the commodities in which he is interested, but the desire and attempt -to be the motor, or one of the motors, in such movements. It is one -thing to buy heavily of a commodity because your instinct or your -information or your experience teaches you that a comparative scarcity, -and consequent dearness, of the commodity will shortly occur. It is -quite another thing to buy up a commodity for the purpose of creating -a scarcity for your own benefit. It is one thing, again, to sell out -as quickly as you can such stocks as you hold of a commodity which you -see reason to think will be depressed in value later on. It is another -thing to sell in advance a commodity which you do not possess, in the -hope of buying it cheaper; or to sell out heavily what you do possess, -in order to frighten others to sell also, that you may buy back again -at a still lower price than you sold. - -There must always be some amount of speculation in every department -of commerce and industry. The shipbuilder, for instance, must to some -extent speculate on a continuance or otherwise of the level of wages, -or of the prices of iron, at the time he makes a contract for a vessel. -The manufacturer who buys a quantity of raw cotton must speculate on -the chances of the market enabling him to sell the products of the -cotton when manufactured. The merchant must speculate on the solvency -of his buyers, and his sellers even, when he concurrently buys and -sells a cargo of goods. And so on all through the gamut of commerce. -But these are the ordinary daily risks of trade, which it is the -business of a trader to estimate and provide for. Quite other is the -form of a speculation of modern development. We do not say it is of -modern origin, for men have not varied very much either in character or -in practice since commerce began; but its development is modern, and -its application is modern. - -This modern phase has made current two curious words—‘Corner’ and -‘Syndicate.’ The latter is of Latin origin, and was not unknown in -old-world commerce. Then it meant the combination of a number of -merchants for the consummation of a venture beyond the means or the -inclinations of any one of them. The Dutch merchants were fond of -forming syndicates for large trading purposes; and the East India -Company, Hudson’s Bay Company, and many other concerns of our own -time which have now attained the dimensions and the dignity of public -corporations, had a similar origin. The syndicate system had in it -the germ of the joint-stock Company system; but although each member -subscribed a certain amount, which he would advance, or for which he -would be liable, his liability could not always be restricted thereto. -The uncertainty in this respect evolved the limited liability principle -now so common. But the syndicates of to-day are of somewhat different -character; they are usually combinations of capitalists to bring -about changes in the markets for commodities or stocks for a specific -purpose. In this manner they are the parents of ‘Corners.’ - -The word Corner is probably also of Latin origin. It suggests _cornu_, -a horn—a thing which terminates in an angle, where is a secret and -retired place. The phrase ‘To make a Corner,’ however, is one of -purely American origin, and it is suggestive enough. It implies the -concentrating of some object into a limited area, from which there -shall be but one egress, of which the Cornerers hold the key. It -suggests something like the gathering of a Highland sheep-farm, where -the animals are irresistibly driven in from widely distributed spots -to one small ‘fank.’ It suggests the bag or drawer of the thrifty -housewife, into which is gathered all actually or potentially useful -articles. It suggests the commonplace book of the wide-reading and -much-writing journalist. It suggests also the old teapot, the lucky -stocking, and the Savings-bank. But it is different from all these. - -For there are two kinds of Corners, in the commercial sense. There -is the Corner into which you may drive others, and the Corner into -which you may retire yourself. Of the former, the best illustration -we can recall is that of the operation in the Stock of the Hannibal -and St Joseph Railroad, which took place in New York a year or so -ago. Certain astute and light-principled men in Wall Street became -aware that another habitué of the same circle was selling this Stock -rather heavily, in the belief that it was too high, and would soon -be lower. In short, he was doing what in the lingo of the mart is -called ‘bearing.’ The railroad is a small one, and the amount of Stock -comparatively small. It was easy enough, therefore, for a few of his -competitors to form a ‘syndicate’ to buy up all the stock in existence, -so that when the period came for the seller to implement his sales, the -wherewithal was unobtainable except from them. We need scarcely say -that the operators in the Stock markets daily buy and sell securities -which they intend neither to take nor to give; they merely propose to -take or to pay the difference in price which may exist at a certain -future day of settlement. But it is always in the option of a buyer to -insist on the delivery of the actual stock, if he really wants it; and -then the seller must provide it, at whatever cost. The cunning buyers -of the Hannibal stock did not want it, and indeed they paid for much of -it far beyond its real value, because every purchase they made raised -its price in the market. What they wanted was to place the original -seller, or ‘bear,’ in a Corner; and this they effectually did. They -forced up the price to, let us say, three hundred dollars—we forget the -exact figures, but they are immaterial—of what the seller had sold at, -say, ninety dollars. And worse than that, when the day of settlement -came, the seller could not obtain stock at any price whatever. He was -completely ‘cornered,’ and had eventually to pay the difference which -the keen ‘bulls’ chose to exact. But with the sequel comes the moral. -Having exacted all they could out of the unfortunate seller, they found -_themselves_ in a Corner. They were possessed of a quantity of Stock -which they did not want, and which nobody else wanted at anything like -the prices they had paid for it. They had to sell, and with every sale -the price came tumbling down, so that ultimately, we believe, their -loss upon their own purchases exceeded considerably what they had -extracted from the poor man they put in ‘a Corner.’ - -Then there is the Corner into which you go yourself. Messrs John -Horner and Company of Chicago form the impression that, let us say, -pigs’ bristles might, could, would, or should advance in price. They -determine that bristles shall; and set to work to buy all they can -lay their hands on, and to contract for future delivery of as much -as they can get any one to sell. Of course, the price advances, and -this the more rapidly in proportion as their purchases extend; but the -unfortunate thing—for them—is, that they are themselves the principal, -if not the sole, purchasers at the enhanced rates. By-and-by they -become the masters of all, or nearly all, the available supply of pigs’ -bristles; they have ‘made a Corner,’ and in the American phraseology, -they ‘control’ the market. But markets are rather unmanageable affairs, -after all, as Messrs John Horner and Company find when they have to -realise in order to pay for their later purchases; or when, if they -have been rich enough to pay and lie out of the money, they want to -realise their profit. - -The effect is still more pronounced when the Corner is attempted -in one of the staples of commerce, such as wheat or cotton, the -supplies of which are not confined to one spot, and are practically -illimitable. For such huge Corners as these, combinations of several -firms are needed in order to provide the money; and the reverse, when -it comes, is therefore more widespread and disastrous. The Wheat -Corner in Chicago, at the beginning of 1882, was a remarkable instance -of audacity and also of recklessness in this species of speculation; -and the effects of the tremendous collapse have not yet worn off. -A still more recent example was the Lard Corner in the same city, -which collapsed in June of last year, and the sweeping out of which -brought down several firms in other parts of the States. But we must -not conclude that operations of this kind are confined to America; -we have them in this country also; and not very long ago, a bold and -very nearly successful Corner was made in Liverpool in cotton, which -produced a good deal of moralising and very heavy losses. - -It is often a delicate matter to define what is legitimate and what is -illegitimate speculation; but of the moral aspect of Corners there can -be little doubt. They are bold and entirely selfish attempts to produce -artificial scarcity, to the prejudice of the many, and for the benefit -of the few. They essay to overset the operation of the inevitable and -just law of supply and demand. They are therefore wrong in morals, -and false in economics. They are not examples of trading, in the -proper meaning of the term; they are merely specimens of inordinate -gambling. They disorganise commerce, because they divert streams of -commodities from ordinary channels, which it has taken the labour -of years to create; and they disorganise finance, by deranging the -exchanges between countries, through the concentration of commodities -and money which should be circulating. Their immediate effect is to -inflict a large loss upon the commercial centres, not only directly -of the countries in which they occur, but also indirectly upon other -countries. This is readily capable of demonstration, but is too -technical a question to enter upon here. - -In the old days of British commerce, the practice called ‘forestalling’ -was a penal offence. Forestalling is defined by M’Culloch as ‘the -buying or contracting for any cattle, provision, or merchandise on -its way to the market, or dissuading persons from sending their goods -there, or persuading them to raise the price, or spreading any false -rumour with intent to enhance the value of any article.’ The penalties -enacted by various statutes were very severe; but they were repealed -in 1772. There was also a practice described in the old statutes as -‘engrossing,’ which meant simply the buying up of corn and other -provisions in order to raise the prices thereof. Although the Acts -referring to this practice were repealed, we believe that ‘engrossing’ -is still an indictable offence at common law. As a matter of fact, -however, no indictment is ever made, and if made, no conviction would -ever follow. In his exhaustive article on the Corn-laws, Mr M’Culloch -showed very ably how the speculations of merchants who buy up corn in -times of abundance react to the benefit of the community in times of -scarcity; and how in times of scarcity similar speculations operate to -prevent waste and to induce economy. But there is some considerable -difference between the operations referred to by M’Culloch and those -which we have under review just now. - -The unwholesome effects of Corners, and the dangerous features they -lend to commerce, are so powerfully felt in the United States, that -the legislative bodies of the States of Illinois and New York—States -where the evil is most prevalent—have been seriously considering how -to counteract them. Each assembly had before it a Bill for rendering -these operations illegal, and punishable by heavy penalties. It is -exceedingly doubtful, however, if either of the Bills will ever -become law; and it is not by any means manifest that legislation on -the subject is desirable. The hand of the law is rarely interposed -to stay the stream of commerce without producing more evils than it -seeks to prevent. That stream often gets into muddy and unhealthy, -even dangerous channels; but it has a recuperative power within -itself greater than any which can be applied extraneously. The moral -effects of Corners are bad upon all engaged in them, and they inflict -hardship and loss upon many innocent people, as a consequence of the -solidarity of all social affairs. The commercial effects also are bad, -as we have shown; and herein lies the chief hope of reform. We cannot -recall a single instance of a Corner—and we have been acquainted with -the inner history of a good many of the species—which did not result -in overthrow and disaster, sooner or later, to those in it. Either -the operation attempted is too gigantic for the means at command; or -success in the first steps feeds the appetite for gain, and blinds -the operators to the attendant risks, so that they go too far; or -they become timid, and do not go far enough. In the glow of extensive -buying, the effects of the ultimate sales are always under-estimated. -The object of a Corner is to buy in order to sell at some future time; -and when the selling begins, the downfall of prices is always more -rapid than the advance, and then the Corner is swept clean not only -of the commodities, but also of those who put them in. And as there -is about almost every evil some germ of good, we must not forget that -the effect of a Corner is often to stimulate supplies of the commodity -‘cornered,’ in other regions, and the world is benefited by the -increase of productive wealth. This, however, is an accident, and in -no way justifies the creation of Corners, which are dark, malodorous, -unhealthy, and altogether detestable features in the commercial -structure. Public opinion, and the conviction that not only will he -not bring out a plum, but that also he may possibly have to leave his -skin behind him, will ultimately, we hope, have more effect in keeping -the modern John Horner out of a Corner, than legislative enactment is -likely to do. - - - - -BY MEAD AND STREAM. - - -CHAPTER XXVII.—WHY IS SHE SO? - -There never was a man who felt more buoyant on learning that his name -had been set down in a will for a handsome legacy than Philip felt -on learning that he had been cut out of one. First, it was the right -thing to do: he was sure of that, the circumstances considered; next, -it had helped to render this interview, which he had expected to be so -painful, a pleasant one. Thus he was enabled to speed with a gay heart -to Madge, carrying the happy tidings, that in spite of the awkward -position he occupied between his uncle and father, he seemed to be more -in accord with the latter, and certainly much more in his confidence, -than he had been at any previous time. - -He took a short-cut through the Forest—the way was too well known to -him for him to lose it; and besides, the evening was not dark to his -young eyes, although some black flying clouds helped the skeleton trees -to make curious silhouettes across his path. Then swiftly down by the -river-side, catching glimpses of stars flickering in the rippling -water, and his steps keeping time to its patter, as it broke upon the -stones or bulging sedges. - -As he was crossing the stile at the foot of the meadow, he caught the -sound of whispering voices from the direction of the ‘dancing beeches.’ -A lovers’ tryst, no doubt, and the voices were very earnest. He smiled, -and quickened his pace without looking back. He, too, was a lover. - -At the house he found Aunt Hessy alone in the oak parlour, where -the customary substantial tea was laid, instead of in the ordinary -living-room. That was suggestive of company. Aunt Hessy had on her -Sunday cap and gown. That also was suggestive of company. - -‘Going to have some friends with you to-night?’ he said gaily. - -‘Thou art a friend, and here,’ she answered, with her quiet welcoming -smile; ‘but I do expect another—that is, Mr Beecham.’ - -‘What! you have persuaded the shy gentleman to become your guest at -last? Do you know how I account for his shyness?—he saw you at church, -and fell in love with you. That’s how it is, and he won’t come here -because he was afraid of you. Lovers are always shy—at first.’ - -‘Thou art a foolish lad, Philip, and yet no shining example of the -shyness of lovers. Were they all like thee, no maiden would lose a -sweetheart for lack of boldness on his part. Art not ashamed?’ - -‘I am, Aunt Hessy,’ he answered with his boyish laugh, ‘ashamed that -you cannot understand how we are all your lovers—and ought to be.’ - -‘That will do.’ But although she spoke with much decision in her tone, -there was no displeasure in her comely face. She understood him. - -‘I won’t say another word, except to ask you how you have conquered Mr -Beecham?’ - -‘Ah, but we are not sure that we have conquered him yet. He was with -Dick this morning, and gave him some help with the cattle. Dick is in -the barn with them now, for he is afraid there’s trouble coming to -them.’ - -‘And I suppose he is angrier than ever about the live-stock brought -into the market from abroad?’ - -‘It is making him anxious, and with reason. Well, he wanted his friend -to come and take dinner; but Mr Beecham said he would rather come in -some evening soon and take tea with us. So, in the afternoon I sent -Madge off to the village, and bade her _make_ him come this evening. I -don’t know what’s come of her. She’s been away more than three hours, -and she is not one to loiter on the road.’ - -‘Which way do you think they’ll come?’ asked Philip, rising quickly -from his seat. - -‘By the meadows, of course. She never comes round by the road except -when driving.’ - -‘I’ll go and meet them.’ - -But before he could move, they heard the front-door open. - -‘That’s her,’ said the dame, gladly expectant. - -Madge entered the parlour alone; and Philip was surprised to note that -she seemed to be a little startled by something—his presence perhaps. -Next, he was surprised to note that she looked pale and excited. - -‘Thou hast not persuaded our friend to come to us, then,’ said the -dame, disappointed, and not observing Madge so closely as Philip. - -‘Has anything happened Madge?—What has frightened you?’ he said -quickly, taking her hands and gazing into her eyes. - -‘Nothing has frightened me, Philip,’ she answered hurriedly, and with a -remote sign of irritability at her present condition being noticed. ‘I -have been running up the meadows, and I daresay I am flushed a little.’ - -‘Flushed!—Why, you are as white as if you had seen a ghost.’ - -‘Well, perhaps I have seen a ghost. Would you like to go and look for -it?’ - -She withdrew her hands and went to her aunt. - -Philip stood still, surprised and puzzled, and a little distressed. -It was such a new experience to see Madge nervous and irritable—she -who was always so calm and clear-sighted when other people lost their -heads—that he did not know what to make of it. And then there was such -impatience in the way she had snapped up what he considered a very -natural remark for any one who looked at her steadily for a moment. Her -eyes had not met his in the usual clear, trustful way: they seemed to -avoid his gaze, and she had turned from him as if he annoyed her! Why -was she so? - -‘I had to wait some time for Mr Beecham, aunt,’ Madge said. Her voice -was husky, and unlike any sound Philip had heard her produce before. -‘Then we were talking a long time together, and that is what has made -me so late. He says he cannot come this evening. I told him how much -you wished him to come, and he said he would have liked very much to -do so, but could not.... I am afraid I have caught a cold.... I did my -best to get him to come, but he would not.... My head is aching, aunt; -I think I shall go up-stairs.’ - -The dame was now as much surprised as Philip by the curious manner of -her niece; but she did not show it. She lifted off the girl’s hat, -passed her hand gently over the hot brow, and said soothingly: ‘Yes, -child, you had better go up-stairs; and I will come to you in a few -minutes. I don’t believe you have changed your boots since the morning. -Go up-stairs at once.’ - -‘I will try and come down again, Philip,’ she said, tenderly touching -his arm as she passed, to console him for that little irritability. - -‘All right, Madge; I’ll wait,’ he answered cheerfully. - -She passed out, and there was a yelping of dogs heard at the same time. -In rushed Dash and Rover and Tip, followed by their master. - -‘I am as hungry as a hawk, mother, and so are the dogs,’ exclaimed -Uncle Dick, after saluting Philip. ‘I can’t wait for anybody.—Sit down, -lad, and eat.’ - -The dame served them, and then quietly left the room. - -Philip ate, and heard Uncle Dick speaking as if from a far distance; -but all the time he was perpetually asking himself—‘Why is she so?’ - - - - -SUICIDE. - - -The term ‘suicide’ is almost universally applied to all acts of -self-destruction, and equally indiscriminately to all perpetrators -thereof, no distinction being made as to their state of mind at the -time of killing themselves. It is in this popularly understood sense -that we have used the word throughout this article. From a legal point -of view, however, the term can only be correctly employed to denote -the self-murder (_felonia de se_) of a sane and legally responsible -person. A lunatic cannot in a legal sense commit suicide, though he may -destroy himself. A suicide, or _felo de se_, is in the eye of the law -a criminal, and was formerly ‘punished’ by being buried at midnight at -the meeting of four cross-roads, a stake being driven through the body. -Since 1823, this _post mortem_ punishment has been limited to simple -interment at night in unconsecrated ground without any of the rites of -Christian burial; and even this has but seldom to be carried out, owing -to the charity, and perhaps also to the want of knowledge, of coroners’ -juries, who generally find that the act has been committed during a fit -of temporary insanity. - -Among the ancients, suicide was very frequently resorted to, sometimes -for the most trivial reasons, and was considered part of their code of -religion and honour. By the Romans especially, it was regarded quite in -the light of a national custom, and by their laws a man was justified -in killing himself when worn out by lasting pain or lingering disease, -or burdened with a load of debt, or even from sheer weariness of life -(_tædium vitæ_). His will was valid; and if intestate, his heirs -succeeded him. Among the illustrious individuals of former times who -quitted this world voluntarily and prematurely, we find the names of -Demosthenes, Antony and Cleopatra, Cato, Hannibal, Cassius and Brutus, -and many others. Suicide was looked upon as a cardinal virtue by the -Stoics, whose founder, Zeno, hanged himself at the ripe old age of -ninety-eight. The custom was also highly commended by Lucretius and -the Epicureans. The philosophers of old spoke of it as ‘a justifiable -escape from the miseries of life;’ and as ‘the greatest indulgence -given to man;’ Diogenes even going so far as to declare that ‘the -nearer to suicide the nearest to virtue.’ - -The ideas of the ancients concerning this practice underwent a great -change after the time of Constantine the Great, with the advancement -of the Christian religion, which has always discouraged suicide, and -regarded it as one of the degrees of murder. During the middle ages, -when religious sentiment was predominant, instances of self-destruction -were few and far between, these few being mostly caused by the monotony -of monastic life; but with the Renaissance was revived a modified -form of Stoicism, with, of course, a return of suicide. In More’s -_Utopia_, the inhabitants of the happy republic, when, from sickness -or old age, they are become a burden to themselves and to all about -them, are exhorted—but in nowise compelled—by their priests to deliver -themselves voluntarily from their ‘prison and torture,’ or to allow -others to effect their deliverance. To the somewhat melancholy tendency -of the Elizabethan period and the psychological studies of Shakspeare, -succeeded a long period of calm; but towards the end of the eighteenth -century began, with _Werther_—who has been called ‘Hamlet’s posthumous -child’—the era of modern suicidal melancholy. This differs essentially -from the suicidal era of the ancients, being psychical rather than -physical. Whereas theirs was born of sheer exhaustion and satiety, with -want of belief in a future state of existence, that of the present -day is the melancholy of a restless and unceasingly analysing soul, -eternally brooding over the insoluble problems ‘Whence?’ and ‘Whither?’ -which disordered state not unfrequently leads to incapacity for action, -and finally to inability to live. - -It is a very prevalent but erroneous belief that suicide is invariably -preceded by insanity. Self-destruction is always an _unnatural_ -act, and a violation of the laws of nature, but is not, therefore, -necessarily an _insane_ act. On the contrary, a large minority—some -authorities say the majority—of suicidal acts are perpetrated by -persons who cannot be called other than sane, though their mental -state is indisputably more or less abnormal at the time, and the -organic action of the brain and nervous system sometimes in a state -of excitement bordering on real pathological irritation. Dr Wynter -affirms the suicidal impulse to be ‘an inexplicable phenomenon on the -borderlands of insanity;’ the power of the will to conquer any impulse -is the sole difference between a healthy and an unsound mind. But -self-destruction is not, as a rule, the outcome of a mere impulse, -but an act of longer or shorter deliberation, and brought about by -some cause, which may be either real or imaginary; and here we have -the simple test for distinguishing between sane and insane suicides, -namely, the absence or presence of delusions. Outside of insanity, -the passions and emotions are generally at the root of self-murder; -remorse, dread of exposure and punishment, long wearing sorrow or -disease, or hopeless poverty, are the usual causes for an act which -is generally regarded with far too great equanimity, and occasionally -even with commiseration, being looked upon as ‘a catastrophe rather -than a crime,’ although condemned by the religion and laws of the land. -With lunatics, the causes inciting to the act are mainly if not wholly -imaginary, or delusional; they often fancy they hear voices perpetually -urging them to destroy themselves, and these supposed supernatural -commands they generally obey sooner or later. Men in prosperous -circumstances have frequently been known to make away with themselves -from _fear_ of poverty and want; others have perhaps committed some -trifling act of delinquency, which they magnify into an unpardonable -offence, only to be expiated by death. Some insane persons will kill -those dear to them, especially their own children, before destroying -themselves, probably with the view of preserving them from so wretched -a lot as they conceive their own to be. There is usually previous ill -health and depression, with great desire for solitude, in these cases -of suicide by the insane, many of which could be prevented by the -timely exercise of proper care and supervision, as is clearly shown by -their mostly occurring among those lunatics who are not under proper -restraint. - -_Melancholia_ is the name given to that form of delusional insanity, -or partial moral mania, which chiefly manifests itself in a desire for -self-destruction. Hypochondriacs may be said to be in the first stage -of this, and in the first stage very fortunately most of them remain. -They feel death would be a blessing, and are constantly talking about -killing themselves; but they are very irresolute, and if they do summon -up courage enough to make the attempt, it is generally abortive, and is -not repeated. - -Equally devoid of foundation is the assertion so persistently made -by foreigners, and at last almost believed in by ourselves, that -England is the land of suicide. Frenchmen especially seem seriously to -entertain the idea that we are always ready to blow out our brains in -a fit of the spleen, caused by our much-maligned climate, and general -dullness and lack of amusement! In point of fact, Paris itself is the -headquarters of self-destruction, and its Morgue one of the principal -and most frequented show-places of the city. The cases there are much -more numerous in proportion to the number of the population than in -this country, and have been variously estimated at from three to five -times as many; but there is not the publicity afforded them in the -Parisian press that is given them by our own widely circulated daily -and weekly papers. As a proof that climate has but little connection -with the tendency to commit suicide, it may be pointed out that the -inhabitants of damp and foggy Holland, a ‘country that draws fifty foot -of water,’ are by no means addicted to self-slaughter. The buoyant, -light-hearted Irish are, with the exception perhaps of the Neapolitans, -the least suicidal people in Europe. - -In what may be designated, as compared with European countries, -the topsy-turvy nations of China and Japan, suicide is quite an -institution, and is apparently looked upon as a fine art; so much so, -that in the latter country the sons of people of quality exercise -themselves in their youth for five or six years, in order that they -may kill themselves, in case of need, with grace and elegance. If a -functionary of the Japanese government has incurred disgrace, he is -allowed to put an end to his own life, which spares him the ignominy -of punishment at the hands of others, and secures the reversion of his -place to his son. All government officials are provided with a habit -of ceremony, made of hempen cloth, necessary for such an occasion; -the sight of this garment must serve, we should think, as a perpetual -_memento mori_, and as a warning not to stray from the right path. -As soon as the order commanding suicide has been communicated to a -culprit, he invites his friends to a feast, and takes formal leave of -them; then, the order of the court having been read over to him, he -makes his ‘last dying speech and confession,’ draws his sabre, and -cuts himself across the body or rips himself up, when a confidential -servant at once strikes off his head. In China also, the regulations -for self-destruction are rigorously defined and carried out; a mandarin -who can boast of the peacock’s feather is graciously allowed to choke -himself by swallowing gold-leaf; while one of less lofty rank, who -is only able to sport a red button on his cap, is obliged to rest -content with the permission to strangle himself with a silken cord. -In India, the voluntary self-immolation of widows on their deceased -husbands’ funeral pyres was, until recently, a universal practice, -and still takes place occasionally in secret, though very properly -discouraged by the government. In some parts of the East Indies the -natives vow suicide in return for boons solicited from their idols; -and in fulfilment of this vow, fling themselves from lofty precipices, -and are dashed to pieces. Or they will destroy themselves after having -had a quarrel with any one, in order that their blood may lie at their -adversary’s door. - -Contrary to the generally received opinion, the spring and summer -are the seasons when suicides most abound. The months of March, -June, and July are those chiefly affected by males for this purpose; -while females seem to prefer September, the much-abused November, -and January. The time of day chosen for the deed is usually either -early morning or early evening. The tendency to suicide varies with -the occupation, and is said to be twice as great among artisans as -it is among labourers; it is certainly much greater in cities than -in rural districts, and increases with the increase of civilisation -and education. The fact that married people are much less prone to -self-destruction than the unmarried may be accounted for by the theory -of natural selection, as it is usually, and especially with women, -only the more healthy both in mind and body who enter the married -state; while the fact of suicides among males being always so much -more numerous than among females is perhaps to a certain extent to -be explained by the former having a wider choice of means at their -disposal, and ready at hand. Women, as a rule, prefer to put an end to -their lives by drowning; and as they may have to travel a long distance -before being able to accomplish their design, it is not unlikely -that they may sometimes repent and alter their minds before their -journey’s end. Again, people who throw themselves into the water are -not unfrequently rescued before life is extinct, and restored. Unless -insane, they are probably cured by the attempt, and will not renew it, -the mind having regained its self-control. Suicide is but rarely met -with in old people, and is also very uncommon in children, although -instances are recorded of quite young children hanging or drowning -themselves on being reproved or punished for some venial fault. - -An ill-directed education and certain objectionable descriptions of -literature favour the disposition to self-destruction. The propensity -is most strongly marked in those persons who are of a bilious or of a -nervous temperament. - -Some would-be suicides resolve to kill themselves in a particular way, -and may have to wait years for an opportunity; others will make use of -the first mode of destruction that presents itself. Taylor says: ‘The -sight of a weapon or of a particular spot where a previous suicide -has been committed, will often induce a person, who may hitherto have -been unsuspected of any such disposition, at once to destroy himself.’ -Individuals conscious of their liability to commit self-murder would do -well, therefore, to avoid that ‘sight of means to do ill deeds’ which -might lead to the ‘ill deed’ being ‘done’ in a sudden fit of depression -or frenzy. - -The publicity afforded by newspapers to any remarkable case of suicide, -with full description of details, has unquestionably a pernicious -effect, not only by suggesting a means to those already predisposed -to the act, but also by its tending to lessen the natural horror of -self-murder inherent in the human mind. Example has avowedly a great -influence in exciting the propensity to suicide; and a man who cannot -justify the rash act to his own conscience, will find excuses for it -in the examples of others. This imitative propensity may even amount -to an epidemic, as at Versailles in 1793, when no fewer than thirteen -hundred persons destroyed themselves. Some years ago, the Hôtel des -Invalides, Paris, was the scene of one of these outbreaks; one of the -invalids hanged himself on a crossbar of the institution; and in the -ensuing fortnight, six or seven others followed his example on the same -bar, the epidemic being only stopped by the governor having the passage -closed. - -Insane people will sometimes display great ingenuity and perseverance -in the means by which they choose to put an end to themselves. They are -very determined; and if frustrated in one attempt, will make others, -perhaps all in different ways; and unless very strictly guarded, will -generally succeed at last in effecting their purpose. An instance of -almost incredible determination to die is that of a French gentleman -who dug a trench in a wood and lay in it sixteen days, writing down -in a journal each day the state of his feelings. From this journal it -appeared that he suffered greatly, at first from hunger, and afterwards -from thirst and cold. He left his trench, and got a little water from -the pump of an inn near the wood on the sixth night; and this he -continued to do until the tenth day, when he was too weak to stir. -He ceased to write on the fifteenth day; and on the sixteenth he was -discovered by a countryman, who tried—but in vain—to restore him. He -died on the eighteenth day. - -The heredity of suicide, though not universally conceded, is -admitted by most authorities, and according to some, the tendency to -self-destruction is more disposed to be hereditary than any other -form of insanity. Certainly a great number of those who put an end to -their own lives are members of families in which instances of suicide -or insanity have previously occurred, and the propensity is usually -most strong at some particular age. Dr Gall mentions the case of a -Frenchman of property who killed himself, leaving a large sum of money -to be divided among his seven children. None of these met with any real -misfortunes in life, but all succumbed, before attaining their fortieth -year, to the mania for suicide. - -Intemperance, the root of half the idiocy and a considerable percentage -of the insanity of the country, is also largely contributory to the -rapidly increasing number of cases of self-murder. In the French -classification, which is ‘generally admitted to be pretty true of all -countries,’ fifteen per cent. are put down to drink; while thirty-four -per cent. are attributed to insanity, twenty-three per cent. to grief, -and twenty-eight per cent. to various other causes. - -Suicide, whether regarded as a crime or a disease, is in all cases a -rash, ill-advised act of impatience. Napoleon—who, when his misfortunes -reached a climax, declared he had not ‘enough of the Roman in him’ for -suicide—described it as an act of cowardice, a running away from the -enemy before being defeated. Perhaps the best safeguards against it -are domestic ties and the sense of responsibility and accountability. -Very few instances of self-destruction occur among prudent hard-working -heads of families who have insured their lives. - - - - -CHEWTON-ABBOT. - - -IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II. - -Mrs Abbot drove home in her stately carriage thinking deeply. Her mind -was tolerably easy. She knew there was little chance of a young man’s -love living through years of absence and silence. Frank would go into -the great world, and gaze on many a fair face during that time; till -the beautiful face of Millicent Keene—for even Mrs Abbot could not -gainsay the girl’s beauty—would gradually fade from his thoughts. He -would taste the cup of ambition; he would see what power and station -meant in the world, and would soon laugh to scorn his boyish dream. He -would very quickly realise the difference between Abbot of Chewton Hall -and plain Frank Abbot, who had to earn the bread to keep a wife, be she -ever so charming. In fact, the thoughts of Mrs Abbot in her carriage -and Miss Keene on her sofa were almost identical, although the words -which expressed them differed. - -Save for one thing, Mrs Abbot’s reflections were very comforting. The -drawback was that she felt lowered in her own eyes. She had made a -mistake, and had been treated with contumely. The victory was hers, but -she had not won it herself. It was not her cleverness, but the girl’s -right-mindedness which would bring about the separation. She blamed -herself for having misread the girl’s character, and found her honest -indignation at the imputation that her love for Frank was influenced by -his possessions, mortifying to think of. Still, matters had turned out -well. She would have the satisfaction of telling her husband that all -was, or would be, at an end—that the hope of the Abbots would not marry -nobody’s daughter. So busy was she with these thoughts, that she did -not notice, when some three miles outside the smoky town of Bristol, -a horseman approaching. Upon seeing him, her coachman gathered up the -reins preparatory to stopping his horses; but, as the rider made a -negative gesture, he simply touched his hat and drove on; whilst Frank -Abbot and his mother passed, neither apparently noticing the other. - -He was a handsome young fellow, and without a cent to his name might -have given many a wealthy competitor long odds in the race for a girl’s -heart. Tall and broad-shouldered—clever face, with deep-set eyes, large -chin, and firm lips. He sat his horse gracefully, looking every inch -a gentleman and an Englishman. Not, one would say, the man to win a -woman’s love, and throw it aside at the bidding of father or mother. -Not the man to do a thing hastily and repent the deed at his leisure. -Rather, a man who, when once engaged in a pursuit, would follow it -steadfastly to the end, whatever that end might be. It was scarcely -right that Millicent Keene should allow fear to mingle with her grief -at the approaching long separation from her lover. She should have -looked into that handsome powerful face and understood that years -would only mould the boy’s intention into the man’s determination. - -Naturally, he was at the present moment rather down-hearted. His -mother, having learned his secret, had refused him sympathy or aid. Too -well he knew she was to be swayed neither by entreaty nor argument. He -was now riding over to Clifton to reiterate his love to Millicent, and -to consult as to future steps. As he passed the carriage, he wondered -what had brought his mother in that direction. She had not mentioned -her intention of going to the town, nor had she asked for his escort -as usual. Could it be possible that she had driven over to visit -Millicent? If so, he knew it boded ill; so, pricking on as fast as he -could, he reached Clifton just as the girl had grown more calm and had -washed away the traces of her recent tears. - -Frank was terribly upset by her recital of the events of the morning. -Although she did not repeat the whole conversation, he knew his -mother well enough to be able to supply what Millicent passed lightly -over. The proposed separation was a thunderstroke to him. In vain he -entreated the girl to reconsider her determination. The promise was -made, and her pride alone would insure her keeping it. Of course Frank -vowed, after the usual manner of lovers, that love would grow stronger -in absence; and as he thoroughly believed what he vowed, his vows were -very consoling to the girl. He declared he also would go to Australia; -marry Millicent, and take to sheep-farming, leaving the paternal acres -to shift for themselves. All this and many other wild things the -young fellow said; but the end was a sorrowful acquiescence in the -separation, tempered by the firm resolve of claiming her in four years’ -time in spite of any home opposition. Having settled this, the heir of -the Abbots rode home in a state of open rebellion against his parents. - -This they were quite prepared for, and had, like sensible people, made -up their minds to endure his onslaught passively. His mother made no -reply to his reproaches; his father took no notice of his implied -threats; but both longed for the time to come when Miss Keene would -sail to distant shores and the work of supplanting her might begin. - -About one thing Frank was firm, and Millicent, perhaps, did not try -to dissuade him from it. Until they were bound to part, he would see -her every day. Mr and Mrs Abbot knew why his horse was ordered every -morning, and whence that horse bore him at eve; but they said nothing. - -The fatal day came soon enough. Frank went down to Plymouth to see the -very last of his love; and the mighty steamship _Chimborazo_ bore away -across the deep seas one of the sweetest and truest girls that ever -won a man’s heart. A week after she sailed, Frank Abbot started on his -continental tour. - -‘I don’t care much about it,’ he said to himself, dolefully enough; -‘but it may help to make some of the time pass quicker. Four years, my -darling! How long it seems!’ - -‘He will see the world,’ said Mrs Abbot, ‘and learn that a pretty face -is not everything.’ - -‘He will fall in and out of love with a dozen girls before he -returns,’ said Mr Abbot cynically. - -It has been before stated that for many years there had been little -change in either the possessions or the position of the Abbots of -Chewton-Abbot; but, like other people, they had occasional windfalls. -Some years after Mr Abbot succeeded to the estate, a new branch of -a large railway passed through an outlying part of his land, and he -who made it a boast of never selling or mortgaging a single acre, was -compelled, by the demands of public convenience and commerce, to part -with what the railway wanted. Of course he obtained a good round sum as -compensation. This lay for a long time at his banker’s, waiting for any -contiguous land which might come into the market. After a while, as no -fields which he wished to add to his own were open to buyers, at his -wife’s suggestion he sought for another and more profitable investment, -and in an evil hour became the proprietor of fifty shares in a bank, -whose failure has now become historical. He bought these shares at a -premium; whilst he held them, they went to a much higher premium, but -no doubt the same tenacity which led him to cling to his acres made him -keep to the same investment. The high rate of interest also was very -useful, and kept another horse or two in the stables. - -We can all remember the astonishment we felt that black day when the -news of the stoppage of that particular bank was flashed from end to -end of the kingdom, and how, afterwards, the exposure of the reckless -conduct of its directors, and of the rotten state in which the concern -had been for years, sent a cold shudder down the back of every holder -of bank stock. - -Mr Abbot was not a man of business. He did not at once realise what -being the registered owner of these fifty shares meant. He denounced -the roguery of the directors, and vowed that if ever again he had money -to spare, into land it should go, nowhere else. He had an idea that -no more than the money which he had invested would be lost; but when, -after a few days, he gathered from the newspapers the true meaning of -unlimited liability, his heart grew sick within him. The rental of his -estate was about six thousand a year; so, when call after call was made -on the shareholders, William Abbot knew that he was a ruined man, and -lamented his folly for not having entailed the estates. Lands, house, -furniture, plate, all came to the hammer; and so far as county people -and landed gentry, the Abbots were extinct. Mrs Abbot had a jointure -of some five hundred a year, on which the unfortunate couple were fain -to live as best they could. They took a house at Weymouth, and in that -retired watering-place mourned their woes in genteel obscurity. - -So Frank Abbot came back from Switzerland to begin the world on his own -account, with nothing but a college degree, a perfect constitution, -and a few hundred pounds scraped together by the sale of his personal -effects. How should he earn his living? He was sorely tempted to -emigrate. He had the frame and muscles for hard work, and outdoor life -would suit him. Yet he shrank from the idea of giving up as beaten in -his native land. Other men had made their way; why should not he? He -felt a consciousness of a certain ability which necessity might force -into full play. His mother suggested the church. ‘A clergyman of good -family can always marry a rich wife, and that you are bound to do now.’ -Frank shrugged his broad shoulders, and thought sadly of his promised -wife, so many thousands of miles away. Eventually, he decided to read -for the bar. He knew it would be slow and dreary work to win success -there—that for many years he must be prepared to endure penury; but a -career might be made. If a hundred fail, one succeeds—why should he not -be that one? - -Millicent must be told the bad news. He had no right to keep a girl’s -love during all the years which must elapse before he could offer -her a home. He must at least release her from her vows. If—and as he -believed it would be—she refused to be released, they must wait and -hope. Now that the reality of marrying on nothing came home to him, he -saw what it meant—what misery it must entail. Now that the earning his -own living, of which he had spoken so bravely when there was no need -of his doing so, was forced upon him, he became quite aware of the -sacrifices he must make. He was no desponding coward, and indeed had -little doubt as to his ultimate success. He felt that he could bear -hardship himself; but he could not bear it if Millicent must also share -it. At anyrate it was right she should know the change in his fortunes. -So he wrote a few words: ‘MY DARLING—We are all ruined. I am going to -try and make a living as a barrister. Of course I must now release you -from every promise.’ He signed his name; but before sealing the letter, -could not help adding: ‘But I love you more than ever.’ Then he sent -the letter to Millicent’s aunt, and begged that it might be forwarded -to her niece. - -That letter never reached its destination. Whether it was mislaid or -misdirected—whether a mail-bag was lost either on the voyage or on -the long land journey—whether Miss Keene’s aunt, who had learned what -reverses had befallen the Abbots, simply threw it on the fire, will -never be known. All that can be said is, Millicent never received it; -and after months had passed, Frank, who was looking eagerly for the -overdue answer, grew very miserable, and began to doubt the love of -woman. - - * * * * * - -Five long years have passed by. Frank Abbot is now a barrister of -nearly three years’ standing. He works hard, is frequently on circuit, -and if, as yet, he has not achieved any brilliant forensic triumph, -he is neither briefless nor without hope. Some small cases have been -intrusted to him, and he finds the number of these slowly but surely -increasing, and knows that if the opportunity comes, and if, when it -does come, he may be able to seize it and make the most of it, success -may soon be his. Even now he makes enough to supply the modest wants -to which he has tutored himself. But for some time after the last of -his little capital had vanished, he had been hardly pressed. Indeed, -in order to live at all, he had been compelled to accept some aid from -his parents’ reduced means. They gave this readily enough, as, with all -their faults, they loved their son. Even to this day, Frank looks back -with a shudder upon one or two years of his life. - -The five years have changed him from a boy to a man. He is handsome -as ever, but his look is more serious; his features express even more -character. He has given up all dreams of the woolsack; but is conscious -of possessing fair abilities, a good address, a commanding presence, -and a great deal of ready self-confidence. He feels that in a few -years’ time he may have a home to share, if the woman he loves is still -willing to share it. He has not again written to her. He has heard -nothing from her, although the time by which he promised to claim her -has long passed. He is, however, resolved that as soon as he sees the -future fairly promising, he will seek her, and learn whether she is -still true to him; or whether the sweetest episode of his life must -be linked with the memory of a woman’s faithlessness and inconstancy. -He sighs as he thinks of the time which has elapsed since she waved -him that last farewell at Plymouth. ‘She may be married, years ago,’ -he says, ‘and have three or four children by now.’ Then he thinks of -her steadfast eyes, and knows that he wrongs her—blames himself for -his mistrust. To sum up, Frank Abbot’s constancy remains firm; but he -is obliged to do what thousands of other men must do, hope for better -days, working, meanwhile, with might and main to bring the dawn of -those better days near. - -Does he regret the loss of his fortune much? Of course he does, being -neither a fool nor of a superhuman nature. Many a day, as he sits in -wig and gown in the stifling court, listening to learned arguments on -cases in which he has not the remotest interest, his soul longs for a -day with the pheasants, a run with the Duke’s hounds, or a ride round -the home-farm; and he anathematises all joint-stock banks as roundly as -his father may be supposed to have done. But, nevertheless, Frank is -not a soured man. He is somewhat grave and self-contained, but pleasant -company enough to the few men whom he chooses to call his friends. - -He has not been near Chewton Hall since the family downfall. It had -been bought, with a great part of the furniture, by a rich London -merchant, whose name, although he had heard it at the time of the sale, -had slipped from his mind. Frank cared little who held it. He knew it -is only in romances that a ruined family regains possession of its -kingdom. Some day he intended to run down and have a look at the old -place which he had loved so well; although he feared the sight would -not improve the tenor of his mind, or make him less inclined to rail at -Fortune. - -Just about this time Frank made a new acquaintance. It was long -vacation. The Lord Chief-justice was yachting; his brother-judges, -Queen’s Counsel, and learned leaders, were recruiting their jaded -energies as it best pleased them; gay juniors had thrown their wigs -into their boxes, and were away on various holiday pursuits. Frank, -however, who had recently succeeded in getting some occasional work -on a journal, and who hoped to get more, was still in London. One -morning, a gentleman, who wished to see Mr Abbot, was shown into his -chambers. The visitor was a tall middle-aged man, strongly built, well -dressed, and with pleasant features. He looked like one who had led -a hard life, and lines on his brow told of trouble. His hands were -large and brown—it was evident they had not been idle in their day. -Not, perhaps, quite a gentleman, as we conventionally use, or abuse, -that word, but a noticeable, out-of-the-common man. He gave Frank a -sharp quick glance, as if trying to gauge his intellect and powers. -Apparently satisfied, he took the chair offered him, and explained -his errand. He had a lawsuit pending, and wished Mr Abbot to conduct -the case. Frank interposed smilingly, and told his new client that it -was etiquette for his instructions to come through a solicitor. He -explained that a barrister and the man whose cause he pleaded must -communicate through a third party. His visitor apologised for his -ignorance about such matters, and said he would see his solicitor. -However, after the apology was accepted, instead of bowing himself out, -Mr John Jones—for by that name he called himself—entered into a general -kind of conversation with Frank. He spoke easily and pleasantly on a -variety of topics, and when at last he left the room, shook hands most -cordially with the young man, and hoped he should meet him again soon. - -‘Wonder who he is?’ said Frank, laughing over the sudden friendliness -this stranger had exhibited. ‘Anyway, I hope he’ll make his solicitors -send me that brief.’ - -However, no brief came; but for the next few days Frank Abbot was -always tumbling across Mr John Jones. He met him in the street as he -went to and from his chambers. Mr Jones always stopped him, shook -hands, and as often as not, turned and walked beside him. Frank began -to like the man. He was very amusing, and seemed to know every country -under the sun. Indeed, he declared he was a greater stranger to London -than to any other capital. He was a great smoker; and as soon as he -found that Frank did not object to the smell of good tobacco in his -chambers, scarcely a day went by without his paying him a visit and -having a long chat over a cigar. Frank was bound to think that Mr -John Jones had taken a great liking to him. Perhaps, the man wanted a -friend. As he said, he knew no one in London, and no one knew him. - -So young Abbot drifted into intimacy with this lonely man, and soon -quite looked forward to the sound of his cheerful voice and the -fragrance of those particularly good cigars he smoked. He even, at Mr -Jones’ urgent request, ran down to the seaside for a couple of days -with him, and found the time pass very pleasantly in his society. - -Although the young man was very reticent on the subject of his family’s -misfortune, Mr Jones had somehow arrived at the conclusion that he was -not rolling in wealth. He made no secret of the fact that he himself -was absurdly rich. ‘I say, Abbot,’ he remarked one day, ‘if you want -any money to push yourself up with, let me know.’ Perhaps Mr Jones -fancied that judgeships were to be bought. - -‘I don’t want any,’ said Frank shortly. - -‘Don’t take offence. I said, if you do. Your pride—the worst part of -you. It’s very hard a man can only help a fellow like you by dying and -leaving him money. I don’t want to die just yet.’ - -Frank laughed. ‘I want no money left me. I shouldn’t take yours if you -left it to me.’ - -‘Well, you’ll have to some day, you see.’ Then Mr John Jones lit -another cigar from the stump of the old one, and went his way; leaving -Frank more puzzled than ever with his new friend. - -But the next day an event occurred which drove Mr John Jones, money, -and everything save one thing, out of his head: Millicent Keene was in -England—in London! - -When he saw her letter lying on his table, Frank Abbot feared it could -not be real. It would fade away like a fairy bank-note. No; before him -lay a few lines in her handwriting: ‘MY DEAR FRANK—I have returned at -last. I am at No. 4 Caxton Place.—Yours, MILLICENT KEENE.’ - -Early as it was, he rushed out of his office, jumped into a cab, and -sped away to the address she gave him. - -We may pass over the raptures, the embraces, the renewed vows, the -general delicious character of that long-deferred meeting. We may -suppose the explanation of the lost letter accounting for the girl’s -silence; and we may picture her sympathy with her lover’s misfortunes, -and her approval of the manly way in which he had gone to work to -retrieve them, in some degree. Let us imagine them very very happy, -sitting hand in hand in a room at No. 4 Caxton Place; Millicent, -by-the-by, looking more beautiful than ever, her charms not lessened by -the look of joy in her dark eyes. - -Their first transports are over. They have descended to mundane things. -In fact, Frank is now telling her that he believes he can count on so -many hundreds a year. What does his darling think? - -Miss Keene purses up her pretty mouth and knits her brows. To judge by -appearances, she might be the most mercenary young woman. Frank waits -her reply anxiously. - -‘I think we may manage,’ she says. ‘I have been accustomed to poverty -all my life, you know.’ - -Frank would have vowed to work his fingers to the bones before she -should want anything; but remembering just in time that his profession -worked with the tongue instead of the hands, checked himself. He -thanked her with a kiss. - -‘When shall we be married?’ he said. - -She looked up at him shyly. ‘Would you think it very dreadful if I said -the sooner the better? In fact, Frank, I have come from Australia to -marry you. If you had forgotten me, I should have gone straight back.’ - -‘Next week?’ asked Frank, scarcely believing his own happiness. ‘Will -next week be too soon? One advantage of being poor and living in -lodgings is, that we can be married without any bother “about a house.”’ - -Millicent gave him to understand that next week would do. She was -staying with some distant relative. No one’s consent had to be asked. -She had told her father all. The day Frank chose, she would be his wife. - -‘How is your father? I forgot to ask,’ said Frank. - -‘Much the same as ever,’ answered Millicent in a way which inferred -that Mr Keene’s struggles to redeem fortune were as great as before. - -Then she dismissed Frank until to-morrow. He went home walking on air, -and, like a dutiful son, wrote to Mrs Abbot, telling her that Millicent -had returned, and next week would marry him. Mrs Abbot’s reply may be -given here: - -‘MY DEAR FRANK—I _say_ nothing. I am too much _horrified_. If any -young man was ever called upon to marry money and build up the fallen -fortunes of a family, it is you. My last hope is gone. The obstinacy of -your character I know too well. If I thought I could turn you from your -purpose, I would come and _kneel at your feet_. If I knew Miss Keene’s -address, I would make one last appeal to her. She, I believe, was a -sensible young woman.—Your affectionate MOTHER.’ - - - - -COMMON ERRORS IN DOMESTIC MEDICINE. - -BY AN OLD PRACTITIONER. - - -Among the various passions which are inherent in the human breast, none -is stronger or more evident than the desire which every one manifests -to practise the healing art in some form or other, either on himself -or—more frequently—on his fellow-creatures; a propensity which betrays -itself in the gratuitous administration of physic, the infliction of -minor surgery, or, if these suggestions be not favourably received -by the patient, in copious advice of a hygienic nature. This is -particularly the case with the gentler sex. Every woman is a physician -at heart, and nothing is more refreshing than to sit and listen to -two ladies in confidential medical conversation respecting the merits -of their favourite nostrums. It is to them that homœopathy especially -appeals. What more delightful spectacle can be found than that of a -fair amateur ‘doctress’ with her book, her case of phials and little -gold spoon, dispensing globules to her family, to her servants, to -her neighbours, to any one and every one; and to enjoy at the same -time the sweet reflection that she is not doing a particle of harm! -Nevertheless, there are some not unfrequent mistakes in the application -of so-called household remedies, excellent in themselves; and to call -attention to these, and to a few popular fallacies on the subject of -health and disease, is the object of the present paper. - -Let us commence with that finest of domestic institutions, the -poultice—bread, linseed, or mustard—soothing, fomenting, or -stimulating, according to circumstances. There are few remedies in the -pharmacopœia of wider beneficial application in surgery and medicine -than this; yet terrible mischief often follows its injudicious use. A -man has a cough, or his child wheezes with a ‘tightness on the chest,’ -and on goes a poultice straightway. So far, so good; in all probability -they wake up next morning greatly relieved. But the father is off -to his daily business, and the child runs about and plays as usual, -while—since they feel so much better—neither takes any precaution, by -extra clothing or otherwise, to guard against the consequences of the -poultice itself. The skin and subjacent tissues have been rendered -lax by the heat and moisture, the blood-vessels are dilated, and the -circulation of the part increased; to use a common expression, the -‘pores’ are open, and there is thus a tenfold liability to catch cold, -especially in winter-time, when these things most frequently happen. -Ordinary colds which are said to have ‘run’ into congestion of the -lungs, bronchitis, or pneumonia, may often be traced to their serious -or fatal termination through the _undefended_ use of a poultice. - -It should be borne in mind that a common poultice—such as is made of -linseed meal or bread—is merely a vehicle for the application of damp -heat—a continuous fomentation, in fact—and has no specific curative -action. A muslin bag filled with bran, or flannels dipped in hot water, -have precisely the same effect, but are not so conveniently employed, -as they have to be more frequently renewed. A poultice should always be -thoroughly mixed and homogeneous in consistence throughout; just so wet -as to permit of its retaining the mould of the cup when turned out, but -not wet enough to exude water by its own weight when lightly applied. -A _hot_ poultice should never be allowed to remain on after its outer -part is less than the temperature of the blood, nor must it get dry -and caked. As a general rule, it may be said that bread makes a better -cataplasm than linseed meal, but requires to be changed oftener. There -are, of course, special medical reasons in occasional cases for the -preference of one or the other, but such instances scarcely come within -the scope of this article. Well-mashed carrots make a capital soothing -application, and a poultice composed of tea-leaves is, owing to its -slight astringent action, generally suitable when one is required about -the region of the eye. An abominable mixture of soap and sugar is very -popular as a local remedy in some parts of England, and is credited -with great ‘drawing’ properties. On the other hand, it is good to know -that the old-fashioned liniment of hartshorn and oil is one of the -best embrocations ever invented under ordinary circumstances, and that -therapeutical research amongst all the drugs that the vegetable and -mineral kingdoms afford has never discovered an improvement on salt and -water as a gargle for simple sore throat. - -What British home would _be_ a home without its little roll of sticking -or court plaster? How often is it that little tearful eyes look mistily -down on a poor scratched finger, held carefully out in the other hand, -as if there were some danger of its coming off, while mamma cuts a thin -yellow strip and wraps it round the injured member with comforting -words, all lamentation being temporarily reduced to an occasional sob -in the interest of the operation. That the sticking-plaster exercises -a fine moral effect in such a case, there can be no doubt; but I fear -there is as little doubt that it often does more harm than good from a -physical point of view, and this arises from the fallacious belief in -it as a healing agent. The only real service that sticking-plaster does -is to hold two cut surfaces together while Nature’s process necessary -for their union is being completed, acting for a slight wound as -stitches do in a deep one. But to cover an abrasion or raw surface with -it is worse than useless, as it only irritates it. The plea is often -advanced that it serves to keep dust and dirt off. A bit of wet linen -rag, however, would be far better for that purpose. - -Most of the ordinary household cures for chilblains are well enough in -their way, but an unfortunate mistake is often committed in applying -certain of them, which are fit only for the chilblains in their -early stage, to broken ones, setting up thereby great inflammation -and producing very painful sores. A broken chilblain is a little -ulcer, and must be treated as such. As for the thousand-and-one -remedies in vogue for corns, it is wonderful that they should exist -at all, since nine people out of ten could cure their own without any -application whatever, by wearing properly fitting boots and shoes. It -is irregularity of pressure which creates corns; boots which are too -big being as productive of the tiny torments as tight ones. A wet rag -covered with oiled silk—to retain the moisture—and bound round the -corn, is one of the best cures. - -A very common but reprehensible practice is that of holding a burn as -close to the grate as possible, ‘to draw the fire out’—not out of the -fireplace—but from the injured part. It is quite feasible to conceive -that such a proceeding may give ease by deadening sensation in some -instances; but it by no means follows that it does good or expedites -recovery—indeed, we shall see that in such a case the loss of sensation -really proves further damage to the tissues. Burns have been divided -by surgeons into six classes: (1) Simple scorching, sufficient only -to redden the surface. (2) Blistering; the cuticle raised and forming -little bladders of water. (3) The skin denuded of its cuticle. This is -the most painful stage of all, as it leaves the nerve-ends exposed. (4) -Destruction of the entire thickness of the skin; painless or nearly -so, because the sensitive nerve-bulbs are destroyed. (5) Destruction -of all the soft parts; and (6) charring of the bone—two conditions -very difficult to imagine as co-existent with any remnant of life. -It can thus be readily understood how a burn of the third order of -magnitude can be converted by additional heat into the fourth, and -temporary relief from pain purchased by transforming a trifling injury -into a serious one, liable to be followed by severe illness and -permanent deformity. A most mysterious cause of death after burns is -the ulceration and bursting of a certain blood-vessel in the stomach. -The connection between the two has never been discovered. People talk -about this or that being good for a burn, but not for a scald, or _vice -versâ_; but practically no distinction is to be drawn between the two, -further than that, as we know the highest temperature of water, we -know the utmost limit of injury in a scald, whereas there is no limit -to the possibilities of a burn. To keep the air from both is the main -object in treatment. Cook, who generally appears on the scene of the -disaster with her flour-dredge, is a very efficient surgeon for burns -and scalds of the first degree—this little scientific technicality will -comfort the sufferer marvellously; but where the skin is raised or -broken, something of an oily nature—Carron oil, for instance—should be -substituted. Cover it up with lots of cotton-wool, as though you wished -to keep it as warm as possible; and, mind, no soap and sugar on any -account! - -What is the origin of the popular idea that the finger-nails are -poisonous to a wound? It does not do a wound much good to scratch -it, or indeed touch it, but that is no reason why those useful -little shields of our finger-ends should be so libelled. Whence -comes the notion that to pierce a girl’s ears and compel her to wear -earrings improves her eyesight? Possibly this may have arisen from -the fact that medical men sometimes put blisters behind the ears as -counter-irritants, to relieve some chronic ophthalmic disorders. Why -is a glass of hot rum-and-water with a lump of butter in it not only -familiarly prescribed for but familiarly swallowed by catarrh-afflicted -mankind? Speaking of colds generally, we may remark in passing that -treacle posset, hot gruel, putting the feet in mustard-and-water, &c., -are all capital things, but that they effect only the one object of -inducing perspiration. There is nothing specifically curative about -any of them. It is a mistake, however, to give spirits, negus, or any -alcoholic fluids in influenza colds where there is much congestion of -the mucous membranes, as it increases the incidental headache. - -Some people fancy that a magnet will draw out a needle, broken off -short in the hand, even when it has passed in altogether out of sight. -When a medical practitioner is called upon to extract a broken needle, -he usually finds that it has been driven beyond reach by injudicious -squeezing and other futile home-attempts at extraction, for the -lightest touch makes a needle travel. A very troublesome class of -case this is, owing to the uncertainty of its exact situation, of the -direction of its long axis, and of its even being there at all—each -sufficient to create the disagreeable possibility of cutting into the -flesh without finding it. In such a state of affairs, one might as -well put a magnet in the mouth to draw one’s boots on, as to expect -to extract the needle by its influence. But a celebrated surgeon, Mr -Marshall, has devised an ingenious application of this force for the -purpose of detection. A powerful magnet is held upon the part which -contains the suspected needle for some time, so as to influence it. -Then a finely-hung polarised needle is suspended over it, and is -immediately deflected, if any metal be concealed beneath. Never press -or squeeze the flesh about a broken needle or bit of glass. If you -cannot lay hold of it with the fingers or scissors, or, still better, -a pair of tweezers, and pull it right out at once, keep quite still -until a doctor has seen it. By so doing, you may save yourself weeks or -months of pain, and even possible amputation of a limb. - -Tea if taken in excess is indigestible and nerve-destroying; but in -sickness this delightful fluid gives a temporary stimulus to the brain, -and though possessing no feeding qualities in itself, it prevents or -retards the waste of tissue—a property of considerable importance in -illness where but little food is taken. Above all, the fact of being -allowed one favourite beverage, albeit greatly diluted, when everything -else that pertains to the routine of daily life seems interdicted or -upset, has a beneficial effect on the patient, who welcomes his cup of -weak tea with something of the anticipation of that refreshment and -social enjoyment he derives from it under brighter circumstances. - -‘Is the bone broken, or only fractured, doctor?’ is an anxious -question often asked apropos of an injured limb. Broken and fractured -are synonymous terms in surgery, my dear madam—it is always a lady -who asks this—but I think I know what you mean. A fully developed -bone is rarely cracked—nearly always it snaps in two pieces—but -the soft cartilaginous bones of children sometimes sustain what is -called a ‘green-stick fracture,’ a name which almost explains itself, -meaning that the bone is broken through part of its thickness, but not -separated, as happens with the green bough of a tree. Many people have -a totally erroneous idea, when an arm or leg is badly bruised only, -that it would be better if it were broken. ‘Right across the muscle, -too!’ implies that an injury has been received across the upper arm -in the region of the biceps, that being the only ‘muscle’ which is -honoured by general public recognition. How many people know that -what they call their flesh, and the lean part of meat, is nothing but -muscles, the pulleys by which every action of the body is performed? -Common mistakes lie in trying to ‘walk off’ rheumatism, sprains, and -other things which should be kept entirely at rest; and in squeezing -collections of matter which have burst or been lanced, with a view to -hasten their healing by the more speedy emptying of their contents. - -Of late years, the Latin or other scientific equivalents for diseases -have crept into general use, with the curious result that in many cases -they are taken to mean different things. Scarlatina, for instance, not -only sounds much nicer than scarlet fever, but is often considered -to be that disease in a milder form; and the identity of pneumonia -with inflammation of the lungs, or of gastric with typhoid fever, or -of the various terms ending in ‘itis’ with the inflammation they are -intended to specify, is far from being universally recognised. Abscess -is a better word than ‘gathering;’ and though, on the other hand, -‘tumour’ seems very dreadful, we may find consolation in remembering -that after all it only means a swelling, whatever the nature may be, -from a gum-boil to a cancer. There is much in a name. Dipsomania sounds -much better than the other thing; and kleptomania by any other name -would not smell so sweet. Much in a name? I should think so. Read what -follows, if you doubt it. When a ship arrives in an English port from -abroad, before those on board are allowed to have any communication -with the shore, the ship must be declared healthy by the sanitary -authorities, who accordingly board her at once, inspect her bills of -health, and especially the list of those who have been ill during -the voyage. If any of these are entered on the sick-list as having -suffered from intermittent fever, printed forms have to be filled up, -declarations made and signed, certificates written out, all sorts of -questions answered about whether their bedding or clothing has been -destroyed; and the men themselves paraded on deck for inspection. -But if it is stated, instead, that they have suffered from ague—only -another word for intermittent fever—then no notice is taken of it! - -After all, there is very little rationale in any amateur system of -medicine; all its treatment is purely empirical, and has its root in -that love of mysticism which prevails in everything. Medicine, like -every other science, is built up of hard, unromantic facts, amenable -to the laws of logic and common-sense. The popular idea runs always on -specifics. Every bottle in a druggist’s shop is supposed to contain -a definite remedy for a definite disease; and the patient weaving of -link with link in a chain of logical inferences, of the correlation -of causes and effects, which constitutes medical science, is unknown. -‘What’s good for so-and-so?’ is a query constantly put to a doctor; and -if he answers honestly, he must confess that in nine cases out of ten -he can give no absolute reply, but must preface his words with, ‘That -depends!’ Take two very frequent illustrations by way of conclusion. -What is ‘good for’ indigestion? and what for a headache? But what is -indigestion? Not a disease, but a generic name for fifty different -diseases, all attended with the same symptoms in some measure, but -proceeding from not only different but often entirely opposite causes. -Thus, the pain may be produced by a deficiency or by an excess of the -gastric juice; and by any derangement, from a simple error in diet -to a cancer; and it requires the practised eye, ear, and hand of the -physician to detect and appreciate those minute differences which point -to the root of the evil. As for a headache, such a complaint hardly -exists _per se_, but is almost invariably a symptom only of some other -disorder; and we all know how many varying states of the body will give -us headache. Nevertheless, may the practice of domestic medicine and -the virtues which go with it long continue in our midst, and let no man -be so ill-advised as to banish the harmless little medicine-chest with -its associations from his hearth. - - - - -OUTWARD AND HOMEWARD BOUND. - - -Many a long journey by sea and land, in fair weather and in foul, has -fallen to my lot; but to none can I look back with such vivid delight -as to the first which found me turning from wintry England to seek a -perpetual summer beneath Eastern skies. - -I fancy every one’s first voyage by one of the P. and O. steam-packets -must be a matter of considerable amusement, from the novelty of -everything. Perhaps one of the most curious sights is the coming on -board of the Indian and Colonial mails. It seems scarcely possible -that such a multitude of boxes and sacks as those which lie heaped up -in such solid masses can really be all postal matter. A very great man -on board is the guardian of Her Majesty’s mails. A man of wondrous -authority—occasionally a thorn in the side of the captain, as being -the possessor of certain powers of interference or of counsel, rarely, -however, brought into action. Then as to fellow-passengers, there is no -type of man, woman, or child who is not here represented. Happily, when -outward bound, the proportion of children is very small. The return -voyage is very different. Perhaps ninety or a hundred children of all -sizes and ages, flying from oriental climates, in which young English -life cannot flourish, and all more or less spoilt by the care of ayahs -and native servants, whose sole idea of training is to give a child -whatever it cries for. Imagine the torture which must be inflicted -by such an army of babies on the older passengers, probably never, -at the best, much addicted to babiolatry, but now rendered doubly -irritable by long battles with sun and liver; for on a voyage homeward -there are generally a sad proportion of sickly folk; men conscious -of possessing a liver, and all manner of other complaints, or, worse -still, unconscious alike of life’s cares or pleasures. On our return to -England, there were no less than twelve lunatics on board, victims of -the combined influence of the sun and the system of incessant ‘pegs,’ -alias brandy and soda-water. - -Outward bound, we find abundant studies of character in ship-life, -where business is laid aside, and in general every one tries to make -the best of his neighbours. From the grave old Indian official, -returning to his high post in some distant corner of the empire, -down to the beardless Competition Wallah, still breathless from the -educational high-pressure to which he has been subjected, all minds -are naturally more or less tinged with thoughts of the land for which -they are bound; and we hear more of Indian and Colonial manners and -customs than we should do in a year in Britain. A considerable number -of the more energetic set to work at once to learn Hindustani or some -other oriental language—generally a fruitless struggle, as only an -exceptional few, with wondrous powers of abstraction, can find leisure -for any settled work. - -Among the small novelties which catch the unaccustomed eye, is the -setting of a great dinner-table in stormy weather. The table from -end to end is covered with skeleton frames of mahogany, laid over -the tablecloth. These are called ‘fiddles,’ and keep your plate from -rolling too far. As to your cup or wine-glass, it stands on a swinging -table opposite your nose, and preserves so perfect an equilibrium, that -in the wildest storm, not one drop of the contents is spilt. How the -stewards manage to wait, and the cooks to cook, for such a multitude, -in such a rolling and turmoil, and in such limited space, is a matter -for perpetual wonder and admiration. If you go for’ard, you will find -a regular town—butcher’s shop and baker’s shop, carpenter’s shop and -engineer’s shop, tailors and laundrymen—that is, sailors doing amateur -work; and as to the live-stock, there are sheep and pigs, and cows and -oxen, and poultry of every description; in short, a regular farmyard; -and I think some of the big children find as much amusement as the -little ones in that corner of the ship. - -One thing startling to a new traveller is the rapidity with which -time changes. He finds his watch going very wrong, and perhaps, for -the first day or two, is weak enough to alter it, till he finds it -simpler to count ‘bells’ after the manner of the sea. Speaking of -hours, one of the many small gambling devices to relieve the tedium -of the voyage is a system of sweepstakes as to the exact moment when -the vessel will drop anchor at any given port, tickets being issued -for every five or ten minutes of the expected forenoon or afternoon, -and the winnings being sometimes presented to a Sailors’ Orphan Fund. -Some of my fellow-travellers have told me that in long weary voyages -they had been driven to institute races for short distances, the steeds -being cheese-mites, or maggots carefully extracted from the nuts. These -races at last became positively exciting; and the same creatures being -preserved from day to day, were, if of approved speed, worth small -fortunes to their owners. A very swift maggot would sell for a large -sum! Fly loo was another favourite game, but happily, we have never had -occasion to try such singular amusements. There are games at Bull for -those who want exercise; and sedentary games and books, and singing -and chatting, for sociable folk. For my part, being an unsocial sort -of animal, I think that ‘to be talked to all day’ is the sum of human -misery, as much on board ship as on land. So, on my memorable first -voyage, when all was new and delightful, I soon discovered a quiet -nook on the top of the deck cabin, right astern, where, with infinite -satisfaction, I established myself, and there read in peace, no one -venturing to invade that haven of refuge save under a solemn vow of -silence. But when the light began to wane, the silence was no more; -for the sons and daughters of music there assembled, and as there were -several good voices and a first-rate leader, the glees and choruses -were sometimes very effective. - -Thus pleasantly day and night slipped by in quick succession. Casual -acquaintanceships ripened into lifelong friendships; and when at length -we reached our journey’s end, the joy of arrival was tempered by true -regret for the break-up of a pleasant party, and the dispersion of many -friends, of whom the majority in all probability might never meet again. - - * * * * * - -A brief year passed away—a year of ever-changing delight in the -wondrous Indian land, and ere we realised that our allotted twelve -months were over, we found ourselves numbered with _The Homeward -Bound_. Very different was our return journey from the last. Instead of -finding ourselves surrounded by a superabundance of bright energetic -life, our companions were almost all on the sick-list, as few people -who were not driven home by illness, would exchange an Indian winter -for the chilly frosts and snows of England. Instead of the continuous -sunshine of our outward journey, we had bitter winds and sharp storms, -and though we were too good sailors to be thereby affected, some of our -neighbours were wretched enough. - -But the saddest change of all was the long list of funerals, which, -commencing ere we left the deep-blue Indian Ocean, only ended as we -neared the English shores. Sometimes we heard the beautiful words of -the solemn funeral service read in the quiet moonlight, and sometimes -when we could scarcely distinguish a word for the howling of the storm -and roar of waters, and only knew by the sad, earnest faces of sailors -and soldiers crowding round, that the uncoffined clay, which lay so -still beneath the outspread Union-jack, was about to be committed to -the deep. The first who thus ‘fell asleep’ was a little child, on whom -the tropical sun had laid its fiery finger. Not all the ice of Himla -could cool the burning of that fevered, throbbing brow; and the wistful -baby-eyes looked vainly up, in piteous mute appeal, to those who knew -too bitterly how utterly powerless they were to help. But when the -red glowing sun sank below the mellow waters, that tender spirit rose -to its Home, far beyond the stars; and loving hands laid the tiny -marble form in a pure white shell, meet for so fair a pearl. Then kind, -warm-hearted British tars covered that little coffin with England’s -flag, and laid it down gently and reverently, standing round bareheaded -in the warm southern moonlight, while holy words were uttered as the -little white coffin sank down into the quiet depths of that wondrously -blue sea. - -A few more days went by, and again the Angel of Death was among us. -This time he came to call away a poor fellow with the frame of a -young giant, who but a few months before had left the Emerald Isle in -glowing health and strength, but who now wearily dragged himself along -sun-stricken, utterly unconscious that the shadow of the angel’s wing -already darkened over him; only craving once more to reach the old -home, where mother and sisters would welcome him. But when the sun -rose, one cold, bleak morning, we were told he had passed away in the -night. We were on the Red Sea; but it was bitterly cold and stormy, and -the dull, drear, wintry winds were echoing over bleak bare shores, and -sighing among the masts and rigging. Even the sea was leaden-hued; and -when the funeral service was read, and the body lowered into the sullen -waves, the pale sunrise was overclouded by a heavy drifting shower. It -was the saddest, dreariest funeral at which I was ever present. In the -cabin next to his was another victim of the sun—a handsome young bride, -with mind, alas! all unstrung. Of course she could not have known what -was passing so near, yet, through all those sad hours she kept on -crooning a low plaintive song, telling how - - Somebody’s darling, so young, and so fair, - Somebody’s darling lay dying there. - -An hour later we lay-to, off the wreck of the ill-fated _Carnatic_, the -property of the same Company as the ship in which we sailed; which, -but a few weeks previously, had, one Sunday night, in calmest weather, -diverged but a little from her course, and struck upon a hidden coral -reef. There she lay all the long day in the sunshine. So little was -danger suspected, that not even Her Majesty’s mails, or the precious -human lives on board, were landed on the island of Shadwan, which lay -at a distance of about three miles; and where all might have found a -safe refuge. Meals continued to be served with the usual wonderful -regularity; and between whiles, the passengers amused themselves with -angling for fish of dazzling colours, which swarmed all round the coral -rock. In short, the affair seems to have been treated in the light of -a summer picnic, till the dread moment when, at midnight, the vessel -suddenly parted mid-ships and went down. Thus, like another _Royal -George_, the good ship suddenly foundered in a calm sea, carrying with -her many a brave British heart. Some good swimmers, though carried down -with the swirl, struggled to the surface, and after many a hard blow -from floating spars and luggage, escaped with their lives; and a few -boats likewise got beyond the reach of the whirlpool. It was Tuesday -night before the survivors were all safe on the isle of Shadwan; and -of their goods, only one dressing-bag and one dry box of matches had -escaped. Some huge bales of dry cotton had, however, been cast ashore, -so tightly packed that the centre was still quite dry. This they heaped -up as material for a bonfire, wherewith to greet the first sail that -hove in sight; and while some stood by, ready to kindle the blaze, -others rowed out to sea again, taking with them their only rocket. -They had not long to wait. Soon a great steamer belonging to the same -Company drew near, and the Homeward-bound rescued the survivors of the -Outward-bound, whose journey sunward had been thus sadly damped at the -outset. All we saw of the wreck were the extreme tips of the masts -appearing above the waters, to mark where the divers were even then at -work, seeking to rescue property of all sorts. The mails had previously -been rescued, and many half-legible letters had reached India before we -had sailed thence. - -Strangely, in truth, fell our Christmas Eve, as we landed, on the dull -shore of Suez, where, on a little sandy island, so many of England’s -sons, ‘homeward-bound,’ sleep their last sleep beneath the burning sun; -and as we stood in the starlight, watching the last of our companions -hurrying on to Alexandria, it was hard indeed to realise that festive -Yule had found us in such dreary quarters. Nor—for it was before the -Suez Canal days—did it mend matters much to spend our Christmas Day -whirling across the Desert in an Egyptian railway. But when evening -brought us to the green banks of the Nile, we were content. - - - - -OCCASIONAL NOTES. - - -WHY DO WE NOW DRINK LESS COFFEE? - -For many years past it has been plainly apparent that there has been -a decline in the consumption of coffee; and while the use of spirits, -wine, tobacco, tea, and cocoa has considerably increased, that of -coffee has fallen off to a considerable extent. Dr Wallace, F.R.S.E., -in a paper read before the Society of Public Analysts, is of opinion -that the people of this country are losing their taste for coffee -because of the difficulty of obtaining it in a pure state. About the -time when the consumption per head was highest, coffee began to be -adulterated with chicory, and now this is done so universally, that -many people prefer the mixture to pure coffee, and few know the taste -of the genuine article. - -When travelling on the continent, the tourist enjoys the fragrant cup; -but the beverage supplied at the best hotels and restaurants in this -country is not coffee, but a mixture of that substance with chicory, -in the proportion of three-fourths to one-third of the whole, and -sometimes more. As Dr Wallace correctly says, this substance may be -described as chicory flavoured with coffee. Chicory being bitter, with -three times the colouring power of coffee, gives it the appearance of -great strength; but it should always be remembered that it contains no -caffeine, and wants the exhilarating qualities for which good coffee is -partaken. The sooner the public awakens to a sense of this fact, the -better. - -Pure coffee can be had; but it is only sold with a grudge, for -the grocer has his chief profit in the chicory with which it is -adulterated. To show where the profit lies, take the case of a -particular coffee sold in tins, which contains one part of coffee -to three parts of chicory, and is sold at one-and-fourpence per -pound. The coffee in a pound of it costs, retail, say sevenpence, the -chicory, say fourpence, tins, say threepence, profit twopence—total, -one-and-fourpence. But the purchaser gets no value except the -sevenpenceworth of coffee, the chicory only adding colour, bitterness, -and body, so that he pays one-and-fourpence for sevenpenceworth of -coffee. - -Amongst the other substances used to adulterate coffee in order to -yield a higher profit to the dealer, are burnt sugar or caramel, -dried and roasted figs, dried dates, date-stones, decayed ships’ -biscuits, beans, peas, acorns, malt, dandelion root, turnips, carrots, -parsnips, and mangold-wurzel, all of which are roasted in imitation of -coffee. There is little wonder, therefore, that coffee, which lends -itself so easily to unprincipled adulteration, is becoming unpopular. -According to Dr Wallace, the quantity used per head in 1843 was 1.1 lb., -increasing up to 1848, when it was 1.37 lb. It has since slowly but -steadily declined, especially since 1853, and is now only .89 lb.; a -decrease since 1843 of nineteen per cent., and since 1853 of fifty-four -per cent. About five pounds of tea per head are consumed to one of -coffee. In France, with a heavier duty, the consumption of coffee is -3.23 lbs. a head; Germany and Holland, 5.3 lbs.; Switzerland, 6.68 -lbs.; Italy, only 1.05 lb.; while Belgium is largest of all, being 9 -lbs. a head. The total consumption in Europe is about four hundred -thousand tons, of which Great Britain used fourteen thousand tons -in 1880. In the same year, about six thousand tons of chicory were -retained for home consumption, which is an index to the extent of the -adulteration. When the public taste ceases to lend itself to coffee -adulterated with chicory and other rubbish, and when folks have -acquired the art of making it properly, then the beverage might take -the high place in general estimation to which it is justly entitled. - - -ABNORMAL HUMANITY. - -A new phenomenon has lately appeared in Paris in the shape of a -man with a head resembling that of a calf. The similarity is said -to be wonderful. For his own sake, it is to be hoped that this -eccentric-looking person will prove as great a financial success as -his three recent celebrated predecessors—the Man-frog, the man with a -goose’s head, and the Man-dog, who have all retired into private life, -having made a nice little fortune. The Man-frog was first exhibited -in 1866, at a French country fête. He had a stout ill-shapen body, -covered with a skin like a leather bottle, and a face exactly like a -frog’s, large eyes, an enormous mouth, and the skin cold and clammy. He -attracted a good deal of attention from the Academy of Medicine, and a -delegate was deputed to make him an object of study. He went all over -France; and at the end of a few years, retired to his native place, -Puyre, in Gers. - -The man with the goose’s head was first shown at the Gingerbread Fair -in 1872. He was twenty years of age, had round eyes, a long and flat -nose the shape and size of a goose’s bill, an immensely long neck, -and was without a single hair on his head. He only wanted feathers to -make him complete. The effect of his interminably long neck twisting -about was extremely ludicrous, and was so much appreciated, that his -receipts were very large. He now passes under his proper name of Jean -Rondier, and is established at Dijon as a photographer. He is married; -and, thanks to enormously high collars and a wig, is now tolerably -presentable. - -The Man-dog came from Russia, and was for a long time exhibited in -Paris. He is now settled at Pesth, having established a bird-fancier’s -business there, which is decidedly flourishing. - - - - -THE SOLITARY SINGER. - - - Sweet singer!—sweet to hear when only one - Among the thousand voices of the spring - Thou carollest—how sweeter far, alone - And all unrivalled, art thou wont to fling - The spell of music o’er the list’ning air - From yon drear spray by winter’s blight left bare. - - Say what the burden of that patient strain - Which answer seeketh none, but ever forth - Is poured, and by itself its own refrain, - Still echo’d, findeth—save that from the North - Responsive plainings through the leafless tree - Mingle, methinks, with thine in sympathy. - - It cannot but be sad—a low-tuned sigh - For lost delights thy callow youth once knew, - When all the grove was blossom, all the sky - A smile above thee, and the glad hours flew - Unmarred from when thy notes brought in the day, - Till evening’s hush was mellowed by thy lay. - - It cannot all be sad—some sweet alloy - Of Hope would seem to tremble through thy song, - And serve, when all thy mates are mute, to buoy - Thy heart, though clouds across thy heaven throng, - Though strewn all blossom, and the rude winds’ brawl - Sound the sad dirge of twilight’s sombre fall. - - Whate’er it be, clear-throated, soft, and low, - It woos the stern hour with a lulling tone, - According well with streams that whispering flow - Ice-muffled, with the sound of sere leaves blown - In rustling eddies ’neath their parent shade, - Where Autumn’s glory by the wind is laid. - - * * * * * - -The Conductor of CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL begs to direct the attention of -CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice: - -_1st._ All communications should be addressed to the ‘Editor, 339 - High Street, Edinburgh.’ - -_2d._ For its return in case of ineligibility, postage-stamps - should accompany every manuscript. - -_3d._ MANUSCRIPTS should bear the author’s full _Christian_ name, - Surname, and Address, legibly written; and should be written on - white (not blue) paper, and on one side of the leaf only. - -_4th._ Offerings of Verse should invariably be accompanied by a - stamped and directed envelope. - -_If the above rules are complied with, the Editor will do his best to -insure the safe return of ineligible papers._ - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, -and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. - - * * * * * - -_All Rights Reserved._ - - * * * * * - -[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text. - -Page 294: generelly to generally—“generally abortive”.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 19, VOL. I, MAY 10, -1884 *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 19, Vol. I, May 10, 1884</p> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> -<div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Author:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Various </div> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 12, 2021 [eBook #65598]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em; white-space:nowrap;'>Produced by:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - </div> -</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 19, VOL. I, MAY 10, 1884 ***</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">{289}</span></p> - - -<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br /> -OF<br /> -POPULAR<br /> -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART</h1> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<p class='center'> - -<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> - -<a href="#CORNERS">‘CORNERS.’</a><br /> -<a href="#BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</a><br /> -<a href="#SUICIDE">SUICIDE.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHEWTON-ABBOT">CHEWTON-ABBOT.</a><br /> -<a href="#COMMON_ERRORS_IN_DOMESTIC">COMMON ERRORS IN DOMESTIC MEDICINE.</a><br /> -<a href="#OUTWARD_AND_HOMEWARD_BOUND">OUTWARD AND HOMEWARD BOUND.</a><br /> -<a href="#OCCASIONAL_NOTES">OCCASIONAL NOTES.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_SOLITARY_SINGER">THE SOLITARY SINGER.</a><br /> - -<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> - -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter w100" id="header" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/header.jpg" alt="Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science, -and Art. Fifth Series. Established by William and Robert Chambers, 1832. Conducted by R. Chambers (Secundus)." /> -</div> - - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="center"> -<div class="header"> -<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 19.—Vol. I.</span></p> -<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p> -<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, MAY 10, 1884.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CORNERS">‘CORNERS.’</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> modern ‘Corner’ is unlike that into which -the historical John Horner, Esq., retired, in this -respect, that those who venture into one seldom -succeed in bringing out a plum or anything else -but discomfiture. They may plunge not only -their thumbs but their whole hands and arms -into the ‘pie’ they essay to monopolise; but as a -rule, with almost no exceptions, they have to -draw back empty-handed.</p> - -<p>The word ‘Corner’ in its commercial application -is of American origin, and along with that -other mysterious word ‘Syndicate,’ is doubtless -sufficiently perplexing to non-commercial readers. -The prominence and the frequency of the appearance -of both words in the newspapers indicate -a strange commercial tendency of the day. That -tendency is to amalgamate the hazardous element -of speculation with the legitimate fabric of steady -industry. Once upon a time, speculators formed -a distinct class, apart from sober merchants and -plodding manufacturers. They had their uses; -for none but shallow thinkers will dismiss speculation -in one general sweep as immoral and evil; -but they were a distinctly marked class by themselves; -not distinctly marked, perhaps, to the -outer world, but clearly enough defined for those -engaged in commercial pursuits. But now there -exists no such definite line of demarcation. The -speculative element enters into every branch of -trade industry; and by the speculative element -we do not mean the perfectly legitimate exercise -of foresight or experience which enables a business -man to anticipate events which raise or depress -the market values of the commodities in which -he is interested, but the desire and attempt to -be the motor, or one of the motors, in such movements. -It is one thing to buy heavily of a -commodity because your instinct or your information -or your experience teaches you that a -comparative scarcity, and consequent dearness, of -the commodity will shortly occur. It is quite -another thing to buy up a commodity for the -purpose of creating a scarcity for your own -benefit. It is one thing, again, to sell out as -quickly as you can such stocks as you hold of -a commodity which you see reason to think will -be depressed in value later on. It is another -thing to sell in advance a commodity which you -do not possess, in the hope of buying it cheaper; -or to sell out heavily what you do possess, in -order to frighten others to sell also, that you -may buy back again at a still lower price than -you sold.</p> - -<p>There must always be some amount of speculation -in every department of commerce and -industry. The shipbuilder, for instance, must to -some extent speculate on a continuance or otherwise -of the level of wages, or of the prices of -iron, at the time he makes a contract for a -vessel. The manufacturer who buys a quantity -of raw cotton must speculate on the -chances of the market enabling him to sell the -products of the cotton when manufactured. The -merchant must speculate on the solvency of his -buyers, and his sellers even, when he concurrently -buys and sells a cargo of goods. And so on all -through the gamut of commerce. But these -are the ordinary daily risks of trade, which it is -the business of a trader to estimate and provide -for. Quite other is the form of a speculation of -modern development. We do not say it is of -modern origin, for men have not varied very -much either in character or in practice since -commerce began; but its development is modern, -and its application is modern.</p> - -<p>This modern phase has made current two -curious words—‘Corner’ and ‘Syndicate.’ The -latter is of Latin origin, and was not unknown -in old-world commerce. Then it meant the -combination of a number of merchants for the -consummation of a venture beyond the means -or the inclinations of any one of them. The -Dutch merchants were fond of forming syndicates -for large trading purposes; and the East India -Company, Hudson’s Bay Company, and many -other concerns of our own time which have now -attained the dimensions and the dignity of public -corporations, had a similar origin. The syndicate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">{290}</span> -system had in it the germ of the joint-stock -Company system; but although each member -subscribed a certain amount, which he would -advance, or for which he would be liable, his -liability could not always be restricted thereto. -The uncertainty in this respect evolved the -limited liability principle now so common. But -the syndicates of to-day are of somewhat different -character; they are usually combinations of capitalists -to bring about changes in the markets -for commodities or stocks for a specific purpose. -In this manner they are the parents of -‘Corners.’</p> - -<p>The word Corner is probably also of Latin -origin. It suggests <i>cornu</i>, a horn—a thing which -terminates in an angle, where is a secret and -retired place. The phrase ‘To make a Corner,’ -however, is one of purely American origin, and -it is suggestive enough. It implies the concentrating -of some object into a limited area, from -which there shall be but one egress, of which -the Cornerers hold the key. It suggests something -like the gathering of a Highland sheep-farm, -where the animals are irresistibly driven -in from widely distributed spots to one small -‘fank.’ It suggests the bag or drawer of the -thrifty housewife, into which is gathered all actually -or potentially useful articles. It suggests -the commonplace book of the wide-reading and -much-writing journalist. It suggests also the old -teapot, the lucky stocking, and the Savings-bank. -But it is different from all these.</p> - -<p>For there are two kinds of Corners, in the commercial -sense. There is the Corner into which -you may drive others, and the Corner into which -you may retire yourself. Of the former, the best -illustration we can recall is that of the operation -in the Stock of the Hannibal and St Joseph Railroad, -which took place in New York a year or so -ago. Certain astute and light-principled men in -Wall Street became aware that another habitué -of the same circle was selling this Stock rather -heavily, in the belief that it was too high, and -would soon be lower. In short, he was doing -what in the lingo of the mart is called ‘bearing.’ -The railroad is a small one, and the amount of -Stock comparatively small. It was easy enough, -therefore, for a few of his competitors to form a -‘syndicate’ to buy up all the stock in existence, -so that when the period came for the seller to -implement his sales, the wherewithal was unobtainable -except from them. We need scarcely say -that the operators in the Stock markets daily buy -and sell securities which they intend neither to take -nor to give; they merely propose to take or to pay -the difference in price which may exist at a certain -future day of settlement. But it is always in the -option of a buyer to insist on the delivery of the -actual stock, if he really wants it; and then the -seller must provide it, at whatever cost. The -cunning buyers of the Hannibal stock did not -want it, and indeed they paid for much of it far -beyond its real value, because every purchase they -made raised its price in the market. What they -wanted was to place the original seller, or ‘bear,’ -in a Corner; and this they effectually did. They -forced up the price to, let us say, three hundred -dollars—we forget the exact figures, but they are -immaterial—of what the seller had sold at, say, -ninety dollars. And worse than that, when the -day of settlement came, the seller could not obtain -stock at any price whatever. He was completely -‘cornered,’ and had eventually to pay the difference -which the keen ‘bulls’ chose to exact. But -with the sequel comes the moral. Having exacted -all they could out of the unfortunate seller, they -found <i>themselves</i> in a Corner. They were possessed -of a quantity of Stock which they did not -want, and which nobody else wanted at anything -like the prices they had paid for it. They had to -sell, and with every sale the price came tumbling -down, so that ultimately, we believe, their loss -upon their own purchases exceeded considerably -what they had extracted from the poor man they -put in ‘a Corner.’</p> - -<p>Then there is the Corner into which you go -yourself. Messrs John Horner and Company of -Chicago form the impression that, let us say, -pigs’ bristles might, could, would, or should -advance in price. They determine that bristles -shall; and set to work to buy all they can lay -their hands on, and to contract for future delivery -of as much as they can get any one to sell. Of -course, the price advances, and this the more -rapidly in proportion as their purchases extend; -but the unfortunate thing—for them—is, that -they are themselves the principal, if not the sole, -purchasers at the enhanced rates. By-and-by they -become the masters of all, or nearly all, the available -supply of pigs’ bristles; they have ‘made a -Corner,’ and in the American phraseology, they -‘control’ the market. But markets are rather -unmanageable affairs, after all, as Messrs John -Horner and Company find when they have to -realise in order to pay for their later purchases; -or when, if they have been rich enough to pay -and lie out of the money, they want to realise -their profit.</p> - -<p>The effect is still more pronounced when the -Corner is attempted in one of the staples of -commerce, such as wheat or cotton, the supplies -of which are not confined to one spot, and are -practically illimitable. For such huge Corners -as these, combinations of several firms are -needed in order to provide the money; and -the reverse, when it comes, is therefore more -widespread and disastrous. The Wheat Corner -in Chicago, at the beginning of 1882, was a -remarkable instance of audacity and also of recklessness -in this species of speculation; and the -effects of the tremendous collapse have not yet -worn off. A still more recent example was the -Lard Corner in the same city, which collapsed in -June of last year, and the sweeping out of which -brought down several firms in other parts of the -States. But we must not conclude that operations -of this kind are confined to America; we have -them in this country also; and not very long -ago, a bold and very nearly successful Corner -was made in Liverpool in cotton, which produced -a good deal of moralising and very heavy -losses.</p> - -<p>It is often a delicate matter to define what -is legitimate and what is illegitimate speculation; -but of the moral aspect of Corners there can -be little doubt. They are bold and entirely selfish -attempts to produce artificial scarcity, to the -prejudice of the many, and for the benefit of the -few. They essay to overset the operation of the -inevitable and just law of supply and demand. -They are therefore wrong in morals, and false -in economics. They are not examples of trading,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">{291}</span> -in the proper meaning of the term; they are -merely specimens of inordinate gambling. They -disorganise commerce, because they divert streams -of commodities from ordinary channels, which it -has taken the labour of years to create; and they -disorganise finance, by deranging the exchanges -between countries, through the concentration of -commodities and money which should be circulating. -Their immediate effect is to inflict a -large loss upon the commercial centres, not only -directly of the countries in which they occur, -but also indirectly upon other countries. This -is readily capable of demonstration, but is too -technical a question to enter upon here.</p> - -<p>In the old days of British commerce, the -practice called ‘forestalling’ was a penal offence. -Forestalling is defined by M’Culloch as ‘the -buying or contracting for any cattle, provision, -or merchandise on its way to the market, or -dissuading persons from sending their goods there, -or persuading them to raise the price, or spreading -any false rumour with intent to enhance the -value of any article.’ The penalties enacted by -various statutes were very severe; but they were -repealed in 1772. There was also a practice -described in the old statutes as ‘engrossing,’ which -meant simply the buying up of corn and other -provisions in order to raise the prices thereof. -Although the Acts referring to this practice were -repealed, we believe that ‘engrossing’ is still an -indictable offence at common law. As a matter -of fact, however, no indictment is ever made, -and if made, no conviction would ever follow. -In his exhaustive article on the Corn-laws, Mr -M’Culloch showed very ably how the speculations -of merchants who buy up corn in times of -abundance react to the benefit of the community -in times of scarcity; and how in times of scarcity -similar speculations operate to prevent waste and -to induce economy. But there is some considerable -difference between the operations referred -to by M’Culloch and those which we have under -review just now.</p> - -<p>The unwholesome effects of Corners, and the -dangerous features they lend to commerce, are -so powerfully felt in the United States, that -the legislative bodies of the States of Illinois -and New York—States where the evil is most -prevalent—have been seriously considering how -to counteract them. Each assembly had before -it a Bill for rendering these operations illegal, -and punishable by heavy penalties. It is exceedingly -doubtful, however, if either of the Bills -will ever become law; and it is not by any -means manifest that legislation on the subject is -desirable. The hand of the law is rarely interposed -to stay the stream of commerce without -producing more evils than it seeks to prevent. -That stream often gets into muddy and unhealthy, -even dangerous channels; but it has -a recuperative power within itself greater than -any which can be applied extraneously. The -moral effects of Corners are bad upon all engaged -in them, and they inflict hardship and loss -upon many innocent people, as a consequence -of the solidarity of all social affairs. The commercial -effects also are bad, as we have shown; -and herein lies the chief hope of reform. We -cannot recall a single instance of a Corner—and -we have been acquainted with the inner history -of a good many of the species—which did not -result in overthrow and disaster, sooner or later, -to those in it. Either the operation attempted -is too gigantic for the means at command; or -success in the first steps feeds the appetite for -gain, and blinds the operators to the attendant -risks, so that they go too far; or they become -timid, and do not go far enough. In the glow -of extensive buying, the effects of the ultimate -sales are always under-estimated. The object of -a Corner is to buy in order to sell at some -future time; and when the selling begins, the -downfall of prices is always more rapid than the -advance, and then the Corner is swept clean not -only of the commodities, but also of those who -put them in. And as there is about almost every -evil some germ of good, we must not forget that -the effect of a Corner is often to stimulate supplies -of the commodity ‘cornered,’ in other regions, -and the world is benefited by the increase of productive -wealth. This, however, is an accident, -and in no way justifies the creation of Corners, -which are dark, malodorous, unhealthy, and altogether -detestable features in the commercial structure. -Public opinion, and the conviction that not -only will he not bring out a plum, but that also -he may possibly have to leave his skin behind -him, will ultimately, we hope, have more effect -in keeping the modern John Horner out of a -Corner, than legislative enactment is likely to -do.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak x-ebookmaker-important" id="BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>CHAPTER XXVII.—WHY IS SHE SO?</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> never was a man who felt more buoyant -on learning that his name had been set down in -a will for a handsome legacy than Philip felt on -learning that he had been cut out of one. First, -it was the right thing to do: he was sure of that, -the circumstances considered; next, it had helped -to render this interview, which he had expected -to be so painful, a pleasant one. Thus he was -enabled to speed with a gay heart to Madge, -carrying the happy tidings, that in spite of the -awkward position he occupied between his uncle -and father, he seemed to be more in accord with -the latter, and certainly much more in his confidence, -than he had been at any previous -time.</p> - -<p>He took a short-cut through the Forest—the -way was too well known to him for him to lose -it; and besides, the evening was not dark to his -young eyes, although some black flying clouds -helped the skeleton trees to make curious silhouettes -across his path. Then swiftly down -by the river-side, catching glimpses of stars flickering -in the rippling water, and his steps keeping -time to its patter, as it broke upon the stones or -bulging sedges.</p> - -<p>As he was crossing the stile at the foot of the -meadow, he caught the sound of whispering voices -from the direction of the ‘dancing beeches.’ A -lovers’ tryst, no doubt, and the voices were very -earnest. He smiled, and quickened his pace -without looking back. He, too, was a lover.</p> - -<p>At the house he found Aunt Hessy alone in -the oak parlour, where the customary substantial -tea was laid, instead of in the ordinary living-room. -That was suggestive of company. Aunt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">{292}</span> -Hessy had on her Sunday cap and gown. That -also was suggestive of company.</p> - -<p>‘Going to have some friends with you to-night?’ -he said gaily.</p> - -<p>‘Thou art a friend, and here,’ she answered, -with her quiet welcoming smile; ‘but I do expect -another—that is, Mr Beecham.’</p> - -<p>‘What! you have persuaded the shy gentleman -to become your guest at last? Do you know how -I account for his shyness?—he saw you at church, -and fell in love with you. That’s how it is, and -he won’t come here because he was afraid of you. -Lovers are always shy—at first.’</p> - -<p>‘Thou art a foolish lad, Philip, and yet no -shining example of the shyness of lovers. Were -they all like thee, no maiden would lose a sweetheart -for lack of boldness on his part. Art not -ashamed?’</p> - -<p>‘I am, Aunt Hessy,’ he answered with his -boyish laugh, ‘ashamed that you cannot understand -how we are all your lovers—and ought -to be.’</p> - -<p>‘That will do.’ But although she spoke with -much decision in her tone, there was no displeasure -in her comely face. She understood -him.</p> - -<p>‘I won’t say another word, except to ask you -how you have conquered Mr Beecham?’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, but we are not sure that we have conquered -him yet. He was with Dick this morning, -and gave him some help with the cattle. Dick -is in the barn with them now, for he is afraid -there’s trouble coming to them.’</p> - -<p>‘And I suppose he is angrier than ever about -the live-stock brought into the market from -abroad?’</p> - -<p>‘It is making him anxious, and with reason. -Well, he wanted his friend to come and take -dinner; but Mr Beecham said he would rather -come in some evening soon and take tea with -us. So, in the afternoon I sent Madge off to the -village, and bade her <i>make</i> him come this evening. -I don’t know what’s come of her. She’s been -away more than three hours, and she is not one -to loiter on the road.’</p> - -<p>‘Which way do you think they’ll come?’ asked -Philip, rising quickly from his seat.</p> - -<p>‘By the meadows, of course. She never comes -round by the road except when driving.’</p> - -<p>‘I’ll go and meet them.’</p> - -<p>But before he could move, they heard the front-door -open.</p> - -<p>‘That’s her,’ said the dame, gladly expectant.</p> - -<p>Madge entered the parlour alone; and Philip -was surprised to note that she seemed to be a -little startled by something—his presence perhaps. -Next, he was surprised to note that she looked -pale and excited.</p> - -<p>‘Thou hast not persuaded our friend to come -to us, then,’ said the dame, disappointed, and not -observing Madge so closely as Philip.</p> - -<p>‘Has anything happened Madge?—What has -frightened you?’ he said quickly, taking her -hands and gazing into her eyes.</p> - -<p>‘Nothing has frightened me, Philip,’ she -answered hurriedly, and with a remote sign of -irritability at her present condition being noticed. -‘I have been running up the meadows, and -I daresay I am flushed a little.’</p> - -<p>‘Flushed!—Why, you are as white as if you -had seen a ghost.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, perhaps I have seen a ghost. Would -you like to go and look for it?’</p> - -<p>She withdrew her hands and went to her -aunt.</p> - -<p>Philip stood still, surprised and puzzled, and -a little distressed. It was such a new experience -to see Madge nervous and irritable—she who was -always so calm and clear-sighted when other -people lost their heads—that he did not know -what to make of it. And then there was such -impatience in the way she had snapped up what -he considered a very natural remark for any one -who looked at her steadily for a moment. Her -eyes had not met his in the usual clear, trustful -way: they seemed to avoid his gaze, and she had -turned from him as if he annoyed her! Why -was she so?</p> - -<p>‘I had to wait some time for Mr Beecham, -aunt,’ Madge said. Her voice was husky, and -unlike any sound Philip had heard her produce -before. ‘Then we were talking a long time -together, and that is what has made me so late. -He says he cannot come this evening. I told -him how much you wished him to come, and he -said he would have liked very much to do so, -but could not.... I am afraid I have caught -a cold.... I did my best to get him to come, -but he would not.... My head is aching, aunt; -I think I shall go up-stairs.’</p> - -<p>The dame was now as much surprised as Philip -by the curious manner of her niece; but she did -not show it. She lifted off the girl’s hat, passed -her hand gently over the hot brow, and said -soothingly: ‘Yes, child, you had better go up-stairs; -and I will come to you in a few minutes. -I don’t believe you have changed your boots since -the morning. Go up-stairs at once.’</p> - -<p>‘I will try and come down again, Philip,’ she -said, tenderly touching his arm as she passed, to -console him for that little irritability.</p> - -<p>‘All right, Madge; I’ll wait,’ he answered -cheerfully.</p> - -<p>She passed out, and there was a yelping of -dogs heard at the same time. In rushed Dash -and Rover and Tip, followed by their master.</p> - -<p>‘I am as hungry as a hawk, mother, and so -are the dogs,’ exclaimed Uncle Dick, after saluting -Philip. ‘I can’t wait for anybody.—Sit down, -lad, and eat.’</p> - -<p>The dame served them, and then quietly left -the room.</p> - -<p>Philip ate, and heard Uncle Dick speaking -as if from a far distance; but all the time he -was perpetually asking himself—‘Why is she -so?’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="SUICIDE">SUICIDE.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> term ‘suicide’ is almost universally applied -to all acts of self-destruction, and equally indiscriminately -to all perpetrators thereof, no distinction -being made as to their state of mind at -the time of killing themselves. It is in this -popularly understood sense that we have used -the word throughout this article. From a legal -point of view, however, the term can only be -correctly employed to denote the self-murder -(<i>felonia de se</i>) of a sane and legally responsible -person. A lunatic cannot in a legal sense commit -suicide, though he may destroy himself. A<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">{293}</span> -suicide, or <i>felo de se</i>, is in the eye of the law -a criminal, and was formerly ‘punished’ by -being buried at midnight at the meeting of four -cross-roads, a stake being driven through the -body. Since 1823, this <i>post mortem</i> punishment -has been limited to simple interment at night -in unconsecrated ground without any of the -rites of Christian burial; and even this has but -seldom to be carried out, owing to the charity, -and perhaps also to the want of knowledge, -of coroners’ juries, who generally find that the -act has been committed during a fit of temporary -insanity.</p> - -<p>Among the ancients, suicide was very frequently -resorted to, sometimes for the most trivial reasons, -and was considered part of their code of religion -and honour. By the Romans especially, it was -regarded quite in the light of a national custom, -and by their laws a man was justified in killing -himself when worn out by lasting pain or lingering -disease, or burdened with a load of debt, or -even from sheer weariness of life (<i>tædium vitæ</i>). -His will was valid; and if intestate, his heirs -succeeded him. Among the illustrious individuals -of former times who quitted this world -voluntarily and prematurely, we find the names -of Demosthenes, Antony and Cleopatra, Cato, -Hannibal, Cassius and Brutus, and many others. -Suicide was looked upon as a cardinal virtue -by the Stoics, whose founder, Zeno, hanged -himself at the ripe old age of ninety-eight. The -custom was also highly commended by Lucretius -and the Epicureans. The philosophers of old -spoke of it as ‘a justifiable escape from the -miseries of life;’ and as ‘the greatest indulgence -given to man;’ Diogenes even going so -far as to declare that ‘the nearer to suicide the -nearest to virtue.’</p> - -<p>The ideas of the ancients concerning this -practice underwent a great change after the -time of Constantine the Great, with the advancement -of the Christian religion, which has always -discouraged suicide, and regarded it as one of -the degrees of murder. During the middle -ages, when religious sentiment was predominant, -instances of self-destruction were few and far -between, these few being mostly caused by the -monotony of monastic life; but with the Renaissance -was revived a modified form of Stoicism, -with, of course, a return of suicide. In More’s -<i>Utopia</i>, the inhabitants of the happy republic, -when, from sickness or old age, they are become -a burden to themselves and to all about them, -are exhorted—but in nowise compelled—by their -priests to deliver themselves voluntarily from -their ‘prison and torture,’ or to allow others to -effect their deliverance. To the somewhat melancholy -tendency of the Elizabethan period and -the psychological studies of Shakspeare, succeeded -a long period of calm; but towards the end of -the eighteenth century began, with <i>Werther</i>—who -has been called ‘Hamlet’s posthumous -child’—the era of modern suicidal melancholy. -This differs essentially from the suicidal era of -the ancients, being psychical rather than physical. -Whereas theirs was born of sheer exhaustion and -satiety, with want of belief in a future state of -existence, that of the present day is the melancholy -of a restless and unceasingly analysing soul, -eternally brooding over the insoluble problems -‘Whence?’ and ‘Whither?’ which disordered -state not unfrequently leads to incapacity for -action, and finally to inability to live.</p> - -<p>It is a very prevalent but erroneous belief that -suicide is invariably preceded by insanity. Self-destruction -is always an <i>unnatural</i> act, and a -violation of the laws of nature, but is not, therefore, -necessarily an <i>insane</i> act. On the contrary, a -large minority—some authorities say the majority—of -suicidal acts are perpetrated by persons who -cannot be called other than sane, though their -mental state is indisputably more or less abnormal -at the time, and the organic action of the brain -and nervous system sometimes in a state of excitement -bordering on real pathological irritation. -Dr Wynter affirms the suicidal impulse to be -‘an inexplicable phenomenon on the borderlands -of insanity;’ the power of the will to conquer -any impulse is the sole difference between a -healthy and an unsound mind. But self-destruction -is not, as a rule, the outcome of a mere -impulse, but an act of longer or shorter deliberation, -and brought about by some cause, which -may be either real or imaginary; and here we -have the simple test for distinguishing between -sane and insane suicides, namely, the absence or -presence of delusions. Outside of insanity, the -passions and emotions are generally at the root -of self-murder; remorse, dread of exposure and -punishment, long wearing sorrow or disease, or -hopeless poverty, are the usual causes for an act -which is generally regarded with far too great -equanimity, and occasionally even with commiseration, -being looked upon as ‘a catastrophe -rather than a crime,’ although condemned by -the religion and laws of the land. With -lunatics, the causes inciting to the act are -mainly if not wholly imaginary, or delusional; -they often fancy they hear voices perpetually -urging them to destroy themselves, and these -supposed supernatural commands they generally -obey sooner or later. Men in prosperous -circumstances have frequently been known to -make away with themselves from <i>fear</i> of poverty -and want; others have perhaps committed some -trifling act of delinquency, which they magnify -into an unpardonable offence, only to be expiated -by death. Some insane persons will kill those -dear to them, especially their own children, before -destroying themselves, probably with the view of -preserving them from so wretched a lot as they -conceive their own to be. There is usually -previous ill health and depression, with great -desire for solitude, in these cases of suicide by -the insane, many of which could be prevented by -the timely exercise of proper care and supervision, -as is clearly shown by their mostly occurring -among those lunatics who are not under proper -restraint.</p> - -<p><i>Melancholia</i> is the name given to that form of -delusional insanity, or partial moral mania, which -chiefly manifests itself in a desire for self-destruction. -Hypochondriacs may be said to be in the -first stage of this, and in the first stage very fortunately -most of them remain. They feel death<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">{294}</span> -would be a blessing, and are constantly talking -about killing themselves; but they are very -irresolute, and if they do summon up courage -enough to make the attempt, it is generally abortive, -and is not repeated.</p> - -<p>Equally devoid of foundation is the assertion so -persistently made by foreigners, and at last almost -believed in by ourselves, that England is the land -of suicide. Frenchmen especially seem seriously -to entertain the idea that we are always ready to -blow out our brains in a fit of the spleen, caused -by our much-maligned climate, and general -dullness and lack of amusement! In point of -fact, Paris itself is the headquarters of self-destruction, -and its Morgue one of the principal -and most frequented show-places of the city. -The cases there are much more numerous in proportion -to the number of the population than in -this country, and have been variously estimated at -from three to five times as many; but there is -not the publicity afforded them in the Parisian -press that is given them by our own widely -circulated daily and weekly papers. As a proof -that climate has but little connection with the -tendency to commit suicide, it may be pointed out -that the inhabitants of damp and foggy Holland, -a ‘country that draws fifty foot of water,’ are by -no means addicted to self-slaughter. The buoyant, -light-hearted Irish are, with the exception perhaps -of the Neapolitans, the least suicidal people in -Europe.</p> - -<p>In what may be designated, as compared with -European countries, the topsy-turvy nations of -China and Japan, suicide is quite an institution, -and is apparently looked upon as a fine art; so -much so, that in the latter country the sons of -people of quality exercise themselves in their -youth for five or six years, in order that they -may kill themselves, in case of need, with grace -and elegance. If a functionary of the Japanese -government has incurred disgrace, he is allowed to -put an end to his own life, which spares him the -ignominy of punishment at the hands of others, -and secures the reversion of his place to his son. -All government officials are provided with a habit -of ceremony, made of hempen cloth, necessary for -such an occasion; the sight of this garment must -serve, we should think, as a perpetual <i>memento -mori</i>, and as a warning not to stray from the -right path. As soon as the order commanding -suicide has been communicated to a culprit, he -invites his friends to a feast, and takes formal -leave of them; then, the order of the court having -been read over to him, he makes his ‘last dying -speech and confession,’ draws his sabre, and cuts -himself across the body or rips himself up, when -a confidential servant at once strikes off his head. -In China also, the regulations for self-destruction -are rigorously defined and carried out; a mandarin -who can boast of the peacock’s feather is -graciously allowed to choke himself by swallowing -gold-leaf; while one of less lofty rank, who is -only able to sport a red button on his cap, is -obliged to rest content with the permission to -strangle himself with a silken cord. In India, -the voluntary self-immolation of widows on their -deceased husbands’ funeral pyres was, until -recently, a universal practice, and still takes -place occasionally in secret, though very properly -discouraged by the government. In some parts -of the East Indies the natives vow suicide in -return for boons solicited from their idols; and -in fulfilment of this vow, fling themselves from -lofty precipices, and are dashed to pieces. Or they -will destroy themselves after having had a quarrel -with any one, in order that their blood may lie -at their adversary’s door.</p> - -<p>Contrary to the generally received opinion, the -spring and summer are the seasons when suicides -most abound. The months of March, June, and -July are those chiefly affected by males for this -purpose; while females seem to prefer September, -the much-abused November, and January. The -time of day chosen for the deed is usually either -early morning or early evening. The tendency to -suicide varies with the occupation, and is said to -be twice as great among artisans as it is among -labourers; it is certainly much greater in cities -than in rural districts, and increases with the -increase of civilisation and education. The fact -that married people are much less prone to self-destruction -than the unmarried may be accounted -for by the theory of natural selection, as it is -usually, and especially with women, only the -more healthy both in mind and body who enter -the married state; while the fact of suicides -among males being always so much more numerous -than among females is perhaps to a certain extent -to be explained by the former having a wider -choice of means at their disposal, and ready at -hand. Women, as a rule, prefer to put an end -to their lives by drowning; and as they may -have to travel a long distance before being able -to accomplish their design, it is not unlikely that -they may sometimes repent and alter their minds -before their journey’s end. Again, people who -throw themselves into the water are not unfrequently -rescued before life is extinct, and restored. -Unless insane, they are probably cured by the -attempt, and will not renew it, the mind having -regained its self-control. Suicide is but rarely -met with in old people, and is also very uncommon -in children, although instances are recorded -of quite young children hanging or drowning -themselves on being reproved or punished for -some venial fault.</p> - -<p>An ill-directed education and certain objectionable -descriptions of literature favour the disposition -to self-destruction. The propensity is -most strongly marked in those persons who are of -a bilious or of a nervous temperament.</p> - -<p>Some would-be suicides resolve to kill themselves -in a particular way, and may have to wait -years for an opportunity; others will make use -of the first mode of destruction that presents -itself. Taylor says: ‘The sight of a weapon or -of a particular spot where a previous suicide has -been committed, will often induce a person, who -may hitherto have been unsuspected of any such -disposition, at once to destroy himself.’ Individuals -conscious of their liability to commit self-murder -would do well, therefore, to avoid that -‘sight of means to do ill deeds’ which might lead -to the ‘ill deed’ being ‘done’ in a sudden fit of -depression or frenzy.</p> - -<p>The publicity afforded by newspapers to any -remarkable case of suicide, with full description -of details, has unquestionably a pernicious effect, -not only by suggesting a means to those already -predisposed to the act, but also by its tending -to lessen the natural horror of self-murder -inherent in the human mind. Example has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">{295}</span> -avowedly a great influence in exciting the propensity -to suicide; and a man who cannot -justify the rash act to his own conscience, -will find excuses for it in the examples of -others. This imitative propensity may even -amount to an epidemic, as at Versailles in 1793, -when no fewer than thirteen hundred persons -destroyed themselves. Some years ago, the -Hôtel des Invalides, Paris, was the scene of one -of these outbreaks; one of the invalids hanged -himself on a crossbar of the institution; and in -the ensuing fortnight, six or seven others followed -his example on the same bar, the epidemic being -only stopped by the governor having the passage -closed.</p> - -<p>Insane people will sometimes display great ingenuity -and perseverance in the means by which -they choose to put an end to themselves. They -are very determined; and if frustrated in one -attempt, will make others, perhaps all in different -ways; and unless very strictly guarded, will generally -succeed at last in effecting their purpose. -An instance of almost incredible determination -to die is that of a French gentleman who dug -a trench in a wood and lay in it sixteen days, -writing down in a journal each day the state of -his feelings. From this journal it appeared that -he suffered greatly, at first from hunger, and -afterwards from thirst and cold. He left his -trench, and got a little water from the pump of -an inn near the wood on the sixth night; and -this he continued to do until the tenth day, when -he was too weak to stir. He ceased to write on -the fifteenth day; and on the sixteenth he was -discovered by a countryman, who tried—but in -vain—to restore him. He died on the eighteenth -day.</p> - -<p>The heredity of suicide, though not universally -conceded, is admitted by most authorities, and -according to some, the tendency to self-destruction -is more disposed to be hereditary than -any other form of insanity. Certainly a great -number of those who put an end to their own -lives are members of families in which instances -of suicide or insanity have previously occurred, -and the propensity is usually most strong at some -particular age. Dr Gall mentions the case of -a Frenchman of property who killed himself, -leaving a large sum of money to be divided -among his seven children. None of these met -with any real misfortunes in life, but all -succumbed, before attaining their fortieth year, -to the mania for suicide.</p> - -<p>Intemperance, the root of half the idiocy and -a considerable percentage of the insanity of the -country, is also largely contributory to the rapidly -increasing number of cases of self-murder. In -the French classification, which is ‘generally -admitted to be pretty true of all countries,’ fifteen -per cent. are put down to drink; while thirty-four -per cent. are attributed to insanity, twenty-three -per cent. to grief, and twenty-eight per -cent. to various other causes.</p> - -<p>Suicide, whether regarded as a crime or a -disease, is in all cases a rash, ill-advised act of -impatience. Napoleon—who, when his misfortunes -reached a climax, declared he had not -‘enough of the Roman in him’ for suicide—described -it as an act of cowardice, a running -away from the enemy before being defeated. -Perhaps the best safeguards against it are domestic -ties and the sense of responsibility and accountability. -Very few instances of self-destruction -occur among prudent hard-working heads of -families who have insured their lives.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHEWTON-ABBOT">CHEWTON-ABBOT.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3 title="CHAPTER II.">IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs Abbot</span> drove home in her stately carriage -thinking deeply. Her mind was tolerably easy. -She knew there was little chance of a young -man’s love living through years of absence and -silence. Frank would go into the great world, -and gaze on many a fair face during that time; -till the beautiful face of Millicent Keene—for -even Mrs Abbot could not gainsay the girl’s -beauty—would gradually fade from his thoughts. -He would taste the cup of ambition; he would -see what power and station meant in the world, -and would soon laugh to scorn his boyish dream. -He would very quickly realise the difference -between Abbot of Chewton Hall and plain -Frank Abbot, who had to earn the bread to -keep a wife, be she ever so charming. In fact, -the thoughts of Mrs Abbot in her carriage and -Miss Keene on her sofa were almost identical, -although the words which expressed them -differed.</p> - -<p>Save for one thing, Mrs Abbot’s reflections -were very comforting. The drawback was that -she felt lowered in her own eyes. She had made -a mistake, and had been treated with contumely. -The victory was hers, but she had not won it -herself. It was not her cleverness, but the girl’s -right-mindedness which would bring about the -separation. She blamed herself for having misread -the girl’s character, and found her honest -indignation at the imputation that her love for -Frank was influenced by his possessions, mortifying -to think of. Still, matters had turned out -well. She would have the satisfaction of telling -her husband that all was, or would be, at an end—that -the hope of the Abbots would not marry -nobody’s daughter. So busy was she with these -thoughts, that she did not notice, when some -three miles outside the smoky town of Bristol, -a horseman approaching. Upon seeing him, her -coachman gathered up the reins preparatory to -stopping his horses; but, as the rider made a -negative gesture, he simply touched his hat and -drove on; whilst Frank Abbot and his mother -passed, neither apparently noticing the other.</p> - -<p>He was a handsome young fellow, and without -a cent to his name might have given many a -wealthy competitor long odds in the race for a -girl’s heart. Tall and broad-shouldered—clever -face, with deep-set eyes, large chin, and firm lips. -He sat his horse gracefully, looking every inch -a gentleman and an Englishman. Not, one would -say, the man to win a woman’s love, and throw -it aside at the bidding of father or mother. Not -the man to do a thing hastily and repent the -deed at his leisure. Rather, a man who, when -once engaged in a pursuit, would follow it steadfastly -to the end, whatever that end might be. -It was scarcely right that Millicent Keene should -allow fear to mingle with her grief at the -approaching long separation from her lover. She -should have looked into that handsome powerful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">{296}</span> -face and understood that years would only -mould the boy’s intention into the man’s determination.</p> - -<p>Naturally, he was at the present moment rather -down-hearted. His mother, having learned his -secret, had refused him sympathy or aid. Too -well he knew she was to be swayed neither by -entreaty nor argument. He was now riding over -to Clifton to reiterate his love to Millicent, and -to consult as to future steps. As he passed the -carriage, he wondered what had brought his -mother in that direction. She had not mentioned -her intention of going to the town, nor had she -asked for his escort as usual. Could it be possible -that she had driven over to visit Millicent? If -so, he knew it boded ill; so, pricking on as fast -as he could, he reached Clifton just as the girl -had grown more calm and had washed away the -traces of her recent tears.</p> - -<p>Frank was terribly upset by her recital of the -events of the morning. Although she did not -repeat the whole conversation, he knew his -mother well enough to be able to supply what -Millicent passed lightly over. The proposed -separation was a thunderstroke to him. In vain -he entreated the girl to reconsider her determination. -The promise was made, and her pride -alone would insure her keeping it. Of course -Frank vowed, after the usual manner of lovers, -that love would grow stronger in absence; and -as he thoroughly believed what he vowed, his -vows were very consoling to the girl. He declared -he also would go to Australia; marry Millicent, -and take to sheep-farming, leaving the paternal -acres to shift for themselves. All this and many -other wild things the young fellow said; but the -end was a sorrowful acquiescence in the separation, -tempered by the firm resolve of claiming -her in four years’ time in spite of any home -opposition. Having settled this, the heir of the -Abbots rode home in a state of open rebellion -against his parents.</p> - -<p>This they were quite prepared for, and had, -like sensible people, made up their minds to -endure his onslaught passively. His mother -made no reply to his reproaches; his father took -no notice of his implied threats; but both longed -for the time to come when Miss Keene would -sail to distant shores and the work of supplanting -her might begin.</p> - -<p>About one thing Frank was firm, and Millicent, -perhaps, did not try to dissuade him from it. -Until they were bound to part, he would see -her every day. Mr and Mrs Abbot knew why -his horse was ordered every morning, and whence -that horse bore him at eve; but they said -nothing.</p> - -<p>The fatal day came soon enough. Frank went -down to Plymouth to see the very last of his -love; and the mighty steamship <i>Chimborazo</i> bore -away across the deep seas one of the sweetest -and truest girls that ever won a man’s heart. A -week after she sailed, Frank Abbot started on -his continental tour.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t care much about it,’ he said to himself, -dolefully enough; ‘but it may help to make some -of the time pass quicker. Four years, my darling! -How long it seems!’</p> - -<p>‘He will see the world,’ said Mrs Abbot, ‘and -learn that a pretty face is not everything.’</p> - -<p>‘He will fall in and out of love with a -dozen girls before he returns,’ said Mr Abbot -cynically.</p> - -<p>It has been before stated that for many years -there had been little change in either the possessions -or the position of the Abbots of Chewton-Abbot; -but, like other people, they had occasional -windfalls. Some years after Mr Abbot succeeded -to the estate, a new branch of a large railway -passed through an outlying part of his land, and -he who made it a boast of never selling or mortgaging -a single acre, was compelled, by the demands -of public convenience and commerce, to part with -what the railway wanted. Of course he obtained -a good round sum as compensation. This lay for -a long time at his banker’s, waiting for any contiguous -land which might come into the market. -After a while, as no fields which he wished to -add to his own were open to buyers, at his wife’s -suggestion he sought for another and more profitable -investment, and in an evil hour became the -proprietor of fifty shares in a bank, whose failure -has now become historical. He bought these -shares at a premium; whilst he held them, they -went to a much higher premium, but no doubt -the same tenacity which led him to cling to his -acres made him keep to the same investment. -The high rate of interest also was very useful, -and kept another horse or two in the stables.</p> - -<p>We can all remember the astonishment we felt -that black day when the news of the stoppage of -that particular bank was flashed from end to end -of the kingdom, and how, afterwards, the exposure -of the reckless conduct of its directors, and of the -rotten state in which the concern had been for -years, sent a cold shudder down the back of every -holder of bank stock.</p> - -<p>Mr Abbot was not a man of business. He did -not at once realise what being the registered owner -of these fifty shares meant. He denounced the -roguery of the directors, and vowed that if ever -again he had money to spare, into land it should -go, nowhere else. He had an idea that no more -than the money which he had invested would be -lost; but when, after a few days, he gathered from -the newspapers the true meaning of unlimited -liability, his heart grew sick within him. The -rental of his estate was about six thousand a -year; so, when call after call was made on the -shareholders, William Abbot knew that he was -a ruined man, and lamented his folly for not -having entailed the estates. Lands, house, furniture, -plate, all came to the hammer; and so -far as county people and landed gentry, the -Abbots were extinct. Mrs Abbot had a jointure -of some five hundred a year, on which the unfortunate -couple were fain to live as best they could. -They took a house at Weymouth, and in that -retired watering-place mourned their woes in -genteel obscurity.</p> - -<p>So Frank Abbot came back from Switzerland -to begin the world on his own account, with -nothing but a college degree, a perfect constitution, -and a few hundred pounds scraped together -by the sale of his personal effects. How should -he earn his living? He was sorely tempted to -emigrate. He had the frame and muscles for -hard work, and outdoor life would suit him. -Yet he shrank from the idea of giving up as -beaten in his native land. Other men had made -their way; why should not he? He felt a consciousness -of a certain ability which necessity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">{297}</span> -might force into full play. His mother suggested -the church. ‘A clergyman of good family can -always marry a rich wife, and that you are -bound to do now.’ Frank shrugged his broad -shoulders, and thought sadly of his promised wife, -so many thousands of miles away. Eventually, -he decided to read for the bar. He knew it -would be slow and dreary work to win success -there—that for many years he must be prepared -to endure penury; but a career might be made. -If a hundred fail, one succeeds—why should he -not be that one?</p> - -<p>Millicent must be told the bad news. He had -no right to keep a girl’s love during all the years -which must elapse before he could offer her a -home. He must at least release her from her vows. -If—and as he believed it would be—she refused -to be released, they must wait and hope. Now that -the reality of marrying on nothing came home -to him, he saw what it meant—what misery it -must entail. Now that the earning his own -living, of which he had spoken so bravely when -there was no need of his doing so, was forced upon -him, he became quite aware of the sacrifices he -must make. He was no desponding coward, and -indeed had little doubt as to his ultimate success. -He felt that he could bear hardship himself; but -he could not bear it if Millicent must also share -it. At anyrate it was right she should know -the change in his fortunes. So he wrote a few -words: ‘<span class="smcap">My Darling</span>—We are all ruined. I am -going to try and make a living as a barrister. -Of course I must now release you from every -promise.’ He signed his name; but before sealing -the letter, could not help adding: ‘But I love -you more than ever.’ Then he sent the letter to -Millicent’s aunt, and begged that it might be -forwarded to her niece.</p> - -<p>That letter never reached its destination. -Whether it was mislaid or misdirected—whether -a mail-bag was lost either on the voyage or on -the long land journey—whether Miss Keene’s aunt, -who had learned what reverses had befallen the -Abbots, simply threw it on the fire, will never -be known. All that can be said is, Millicent -never received it; and after months had passed, -Frank, who was looking eagerly for the overdue -answer, grew very miserable, and began to doubt -the love of woman.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Five long years have passed by. Frank Abbot -is now a barrister of nearly three years’ standing. -He works hard, is frequently on circuit, and if, as -yet, he has not achieved any brilliant forensic -triumph, he is neither briefless nor without hope. -Some small cases have been intrusted to him, and -he finds the number of these slowly but surely -increasing, and knows that if the opportunity -comes, and if, when it does come, he may be able -to seize it and make the most of it, success may soon -be his. Even now he makes enough to supply -the modest wants to which he has tutored himself. -But for some time after the last of his little capital -had vanished, he had been hardly pressed. Indeed, -in order to live at all, he had been compelled -to accept some aid from his parents’ reduced -means. They gave this readily enough, as, with -all their faults, they loved their son. Even to -this day, Frank looks back with a shudder upon -one or two years of his life.</p> - -<p>The five years have changed him from a boy -to a man. He is handsome as ever, but his look -is more serious; his features express even more -character. He has given up all dreams of the -woolsack; but is conscious of possessing fair -abilities, a good address, a commanding presence, -and a great deal of ready self-confidence. He feels -that in a few years’ time he may have a home -to share, if the woman he loves is still willing -to share it. He has not again written to her. He -has heard nothing from her, although the time -by which he promised to claim her has long -passed. He is, however, resolved that as soon as -he sees the future fairly promising, he will seek -her, and learn whether she is still true to him; or -whether the sweetest episode of his life must be -linked with the memory of a woman’s faithlessness -and inconstancy. He sighs as he thinks of the -time which has elapsed since she waved him that -last farewell at Plymouth. ‘She may be married, -years ago,’ he says, ‘and have three or four -children by now.’ Then he thinks of her steadfast -eyes, and knows that he wrongs her—blames -himself for his mistrust. To sum up, Frank -Abbot’s constancy remains firm; but he is obliged -to do what thousands of other men must do, -hope for better days, working, meanwhile, with -might and main to bring the dawn of those better -days near.</p> - -<p>Does he regret the loss of his fortune much? -Of course he does, being neither a fool nor of a -superhuman nature. Many a day, as he sits in -wig and gown in the stifling court, listening to -learned arguments on cases in which he has not -the remotest interest, his soul longs for a day -with the pheasants, a run with the Duke’s hounds, -or a ride round the home-farm; and he anathematises -all joint-stock banks as roundly as his father -may be supposed to have done. But, nevertheless, -Frank is not a soured man. He is somewhat -grave and self-contained, but pleasant company -enough to the few men whom he chooses to call -his friends.</p> - -<p>He has not been near Chewton Hall since the -family downfall. It had been bought, with a -great part of the furniture, by a rich London -merchant, whose name, although he had heard -it at the time of the sale, had slipped from his -mind. Frank cared little who held it. He knew -it is only in romances that a ruined family -regains possession of its kingdom. Some day -he intended to run down and have a look at the -old place which he had loved so well; although -he feared the sight would not improve the tenor -of his mind, or make him less inclined to rail at -Fortune.</p> - -<p>Just about this time Frank made a new -acquaintance. It was long vacation. The Lord -Chief-justice was yachting; his brother-judges, -Queen’s Counsel, and learned leaders, were recruiting -their jaded energies as it best pleased them; -gay juniors had thrown their wigs into their -boxes, and were away on various holiday pursuits. -Frank, however, who had recently succeeded in -getting some occasional work on a journal, and -who hoped to get more, was still in London. -One morning, a gentleman, who wished to see -Mr Abbot, was shown into his chambers. The -visitor was a tall middle-aged man, strongly built, -well dressed, and with pleasant features. He -looked like one who had led a hard life, and lines -on his brow told of trouble. His hands were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">{298}</span> -large and brown—it was evident they had not -been idle in their day. Not, perhaps, quite a -gentleman, as we conventionally use, or abuse, -that word, but a noticeable, out-of-the-common -man. He gave Frank a sharp quick glance, as if -trying to gauge his intellect and powers. Apparently -satisfied, he took the chair offered him, and -explained his errand. He had a lawsuit pending, -and wished Mr Abbot to conduct the case. Frank -interposed smilingly, and told his new client that -it was etiquette for his instructions to come -through a solicitor. He explained that a barrister -and the man whose cause he pleaded must communicate -through a third party. His visitor -apologised for his ignorance about such matters, -and said he would see his solicitor. However, -after the apology was accepted, instead of bowing -himself out, Mr John Jones—for by that name he -called himself—entered into a general kind of -conversation with Frank. He spoke easily and -pleasantly on a variety of topics, and when at -last he left the room, shook hands most cordially -with the young man, and hoped he should meet -him again soon.</p> - -<p>‘Wonder who he is?’ said Frank, laughing over -the sudden friendliness this stranger had exhibited. -‘Anyway, I hope he’ll make his solicitors send -me that brief.’</p> - -<p>However, no brief came; but for the next few -days Frank Abbot was always tumbling across -Mr John Jones. He met him in the street as he -went to and from his chambers. Mr Jones always -stopped him, shook hands, and as often as not, -turned and walked beside him. Frank began to -like the man. He was very amusing, and seemed -to know every country under the sun. Indeed, -he declared he was a greater stranger to London -than to any other capital. He was a great -smoker; and as soon as he found that Frank did -not object to the smell of good tobacco in his -chambers, scarcely a day went by without his -paying him a visit and having a long chat over -a cigar. Frank was bound to think that Mr -John Jones had taken a great liking to him. -Perhaps, the man wanted a friend. As he said, -he knew no one in London, and no one knew -him.</p> - -<p>So young Abbot drifted into intimacy with -this lonely man, and soon quite looked forward -to the sound of his cheerful voice and the fragrance -of those particularly good cigars he smoked. He -even, at Mr Jones’ urgent request, ran down to -the seaside for a couple of days with him, and -found the time pass very pleasantly in his society.</p> - -<p>Although the young man was very reticent -on the subject of his family’s misfortune, Mr -Jones had somehow arrived at the conclusion -that he was not rolling in wealth. He made no -secret of the fact that he himself was absurdly -rich. ‘I say, Abbot,’ he remarked one day, ‘if -you want any money to push yourself up with, -let me know.’ Perhaps Mr Jones fancied that -judgeships were to be bought.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t want any,’ said Frank shortly.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t take offence. I said, if you do. Your -pride—the worst part of you. It’s very hard a -man can only help a fellow like you by dying -and leaving him money. I don’t want to die -just yet.’</p> - -<p>Frank laughed. ‘I want no money left me. -I shouldn’t take yours if you left it to me.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, you’ll have to some day, you see.’ -Then Mr John Jones lit another cigar from the -stump of the old one, and went his way; leaving -Frank more puzzled than ever with his new -friend.</p> - -<p>But the next day an event occurred which -drove Mr John Jones, money, and everything -save one thing, out of his head: Millicent Keene -was in England—in London!</p> - -<p>When he saw her letter lying on his table, -Frank Abbot feared it could not be real. It -would fade away like a fairy bank-note. No; -before him lay a few lines in her handwriting: -‘<span class="smcap">My dear Frank</span>—I have returned at last. I -am at No. 4 Caxton Place.—Yours, <span class="smcap">Millicent -Keene</span>.’</p> - -<p>Early as it was, he rushed out of his office, -jumped into a cab, and sped away to the address -she gave him.</p> - -<p>We may pass over the raptures, the embraces, -the renewed vows, the general delicious character -of that long-deferred meeting. We may suppose -the explanation of the lost letter accounting for -the girl’s silence; and we may picture her sympathy -with her lover’s misfortunes, and her approval -of the manly way in which he had gone to work -to retrieve them, in some degree. Let us imagine -them very very happy, sitting hand in hand in -a room at No. 4 Caxton Place; Millicent, by-the-by, -looking more beautiful than ever, her charms -not lessened by the look of joy in her dark -eyes.</p> - -<p>Their first transports are over. They have -descended to mundane things. In fact, Frank -is now telling her that he believes he can count -on so many hundreds a year. What does his -darling think?</p> - -<p>Miss Keene purses up her pretty mouth and -knits her brows. To judge by appearances, she -might be the most mercenary young woman. -Frank waits her reply anxiously.</p> - -<p>‘I think we may manage,’ she says. ‘I have -been accustomed to poverty all my life, you -know.’</p> - -<p>Frank would have vowed to work his fingers -to the bones before she should want anything; -but remembering just in time that his profession -worked with the tongue instead of the -hands, checked himself. He thanked her with -a kiss.</p> - -<p>‘When shall we be married?’ he said.</p> - -<p>She looked up at him shyly. ‘Would you -think it very dreadful if I said the sooner the -better? In fact, Frank, I have come from -Australia to marry you. If you had forgotten -me, I should have gone straight back.’</p> - -<p>‘Next week?’ asked Frank, scarcely believing -his own happiness. ‘Will next week be too -soon? One advantage of being poor and living -in lodgings is, that we can be married without -any bother “about a house.”’</p> - -<p>Millicent gave him to understand that next -week would do. She was staying with some -distant relative. No one’s consent had to be -asked. She had told her father all. The day -Frank chose, she would be his wife.</p> - -<p>‘How is your father? I forgot to ask,’ said -Frank.</p> - -<p>‘Much the same as ever,’ answered Millicent in -a way which inferred that Mr Keene’s struggles to -redeem fortune were as great as before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">{299}</span></p> - -<p>Then she dismissed Frank until to-morrow. -He went home walking on air, and, like a dutiful -son, wrote to Mrs Abbot, telling her that Millicent -had returned, and next week would marry him. -Mrs Abbot’s reply may be given here:</p> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Frank</span>—I <i>say</i> nothing. I am too -much <i>horrified</i>. If any young man was ever -called upon to marry money and build up the -fallen fortunes of a family, it is you. My last -hope is gone. The obstinacy of your character -I know too well. If I thought I could turn you -from your purpose, I would come and <i>kneel at -your feet</i>. If I knew Miss Keene’s address, I -would make one last appeal to her. She, I believe, -was a sensible young woman.—Your affectionate -<span class="smcap">Mother</span>.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="COMMON_ERRORS_IN_DOMESTIC">COMMON ERRORS IN DOMESTIC -MEDICINE.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="ph3">BY AN OLD PRACTITIONER.</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Among</span> the various passions which are inherent -in the human breast, none is stronger or more -evident than the desire which every one manifests -to practise the healing art in some form or other, -either on himself or—more frequently—on his -fellow-creatures; a propensity which betrays itself -in the gratuitous administration of physic, the -infliction of minor surgery, or, if these suggestions -be not favourably received by the patient, -in copious advice of a hygienic nature. This is -particularly the case with the gentler sex. Every -woman is a physician at heart, and nothing is -more refreshing than to sit and listen to two -ladies in confidential medical conversation respecting -the merits of their favourite nostrums. It -is to them that homœopathy especially appeals. -What more delightful spectacle can be found than -that of a fair amateur ‘doctress’ with her book, -her case of phials and little gold spoon, dispensing -globules to her family, to her servants, to her -neighbours, to any one and every one; and to -enjoy at the same time the sweet reflection that -she is not doing a particle of harm! Nevertheless, -there are some not unfrequent mistakes in the -application of so-called household remedies, excellent -in themselves; and to call attention to these, -and to a few popular fallacies on the subject of -health and disease, is the object of the present -paper.</p> - -<p>Let us commence with that finest of domestic -institutions, the poultice—bread, linseed, or mustard—soothing, -fomenting, or stimulating, according -to circumstances. There are few remedies in -the pharmacopœia of wider beneficial application -in surgery and medicine than this; yet terrible -mischief often follows its injudicious use. A man -has a cough, or his child wheezes with a ‘tightness -on the chest,’ and on goes a poultice straightway. -So far, so good; in all probability they wake -up next morning greatly relieved. But the father -is off to his daily business, and the child runs -about and plays as usual, while—since they feel -so much better—neither takes any precaution, -by extra clothing or otherwise, to guard against -the consequences of the poultice itself. The skin -and subjacent tissues have been rendered lax by -the heat and moisture, the blood-vessels are -dilated, and the circulation of the part increased; -to use a common expression, the ‘pores’ are open, -and there is thus a tenfold liability to catch cold, -especially in winter-time, when these things most -frequently happen. Ordinary colds which are -said to have ‘run’ into congestion of the lungs, -bronchitis, or pneumonia, may often be traced to -their serious or fatal termination through the -<i>undefended</i> use of a poultice.</p> - -<p>It should be borne in mind that a common -poultice—such as is made of linseed meal or bread—is -merely a vehicle for the application of damp -heat—a continuous fomentation, in fact—and has -no specific curative action. A muslin bag filled -with bran, or flannels dipped in hot water, have -precisely the same effect, but are not so conveniently -employed, as they have to be more -frequently renewed. A poultice should always -be thoroughly mixed and homogeneous in consistence -throughout; just so wet as to permit of -its retaining the mould of the cup when turned -out, but not wet enough to exude water by its -own weight when lightly applied. A <i>hot</i> poultice -should never be allowed to remain on after its -outer part is less than the temperature of the -blood, nor must it get dry and caked. As a -general rule, it may be said that bread makes a -better cataplasm than linseed meal, but requires -to be changed oftener. There are, of course, -special medical reasons in occasional cases for the -preference of one or the other, but such instances -scarcely come within the scope of this article. -Well-mashed carrots make a capital soothing -application, and a poultice composed of tea-leaves -is, owing to its slight astringent action, generally -suitable when one is required about the region -of the eye. An abominable mixture of soap and -sugar is very popular as a local remedy in some -parts of England, and is credited with great -‘drawing’ properties. On the other hand, it is -good to know that the old-fashioned liniment of -hartshorn and oil is one of the best embrocations -ever invented under ordinary circumstances, and -that therapeutical research amongst all the drugs -that the vegetable and mineral kingdoms afford -has never discovered an improvement on salt and -water as a gargle for simple sore throat.</p> - -<p>What British home would <i>be</i> a home without -its little roll of sticking or court plaster? How -often is it that little tearful eyes look mistily -down on a poor scratched finger, held carefully -out in the other hand, as if there were some -danger of its coming off, while mamma cuts a -thin yellow strip and wraps it round the injured -member with comforting words, all lamentation -being temporarily reduced to an occasional sob -in the interest of the operation. That the -sticking-plaster exercises a fine moral effect in -such a case, there can be no doubt; but I fear -there is as little doubt that it often does more -harm than good from a physical point of view, -and this arises from the fallacious belief in it as a -healing agent. The only real service that sticking-plaster -does is to hold two cut surfaces together -while Nature’s process necessary for their union -is being completed, acting for a slight wound as -stitches do in a deep one. But to cover an abrasion -or raw surface with it is worse than useless, as it -only irritates it. The plea is often advanced that -it serves to keep dust and dirt off. A bit of wet -linen rag, however, would be far better for that -purpose.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">{300}</span></p> - -<p>Most of the ordinary household cures for -chilblains are well enough in their way, but an -unfortunate mistake is often committed in applying -certain of them, which are fit only for the -chilblains in their early stage, to broken ones, -setting up thereby great inflammation and producing -very painful sores. A broken chilblain -is a little ulcer, and must be treated as such. -As for the thousand-and-one remedies in vogue -for corns, it is wonderful that they should exist -at all, since nine people out of ten could cure -their own without any application whatever, by -wearing properly fitting boots and shoes. It is -irregularity of pressure which creates corns; boots -which are too big being as productive of the -tiny torments as tight ones. A wet rag covered -with oiled silk—to retain the moisture—and -bound round the corn, is one of the best -cures.</p> - -<p>A very common but reprehensible practice is -that of holding a burn as close to the grate as -possible, ‘to draw the fire out’—not out of the -fireplace—but from the injured part. It is -quite feasible to conceive that such a proceeding -may give ease by deadening sensation in some -instances; but it by no means follows that it -does good or expedites recovery—indeed, we -shall see that in such a case the loss of -sensation really proves further damage to the -tissues. Burns have been divided by surgeons -into six classes: (1) Simple scorching, sufficient -only to redden the surface. (2) Blistering; the -cuticle raised and forming little bladders of water. -(3) The skin denuded of its cuticle. This is the -most painful stage of all, as it leaves the nerve-ends -exposed. (4) Destruction of the entire -thickness of the skin; painless or nearly so, -because the sensitive nerve-bulbs are destroyed. -(5) Destruction of all the soft parts; and (6) -charring of the bone—two conditions very difficult -to imagine as co-existent with any remnant of -life. It can thus be readily understood how a -burn of the third order of magnitude can be -converted by additional heat into the fourth, and -temporary relief from pain purchased by transforming -a trifling injury into a serious one, liable -to be followed by severe illness and permanent -deformity. A most mysterious cause of death -after burns is the ulceration and bursting of a -certain blood-vessel in the stomach. The connection -between the two has never been discovered. -People talk about this or that being good for a -burn, but not for a scald, or <i>vice versâ</i>; but -practically no distinction is to be drawn between -the two, further than that, as we know the -highest temperature of water, we know the utmost -limit of injury in a scald, whereas there is no -limit to the possibilities of a burn. To keep the -air from both is the main object in treatment. -Cook, who generally appears on the scene of the -disaster with her flour-dredge, is a very efficient -surgeon for burns and scalds of the first degree—this -little scientific technicality will comfort the -sufferer marvellously; but where the skin is -raised or broken, something of an oily nature—Carron -oil, for instance—should be substituted. -Cover it up with lots of cotton-wool, as though -you wished to keep it as warm as possible; and, -mind, no soap and sugar on any account!</p> - -<p>What is the origin of the popular idea that -the finger-nails are poisonous to a wound? It -does not do a wound much good to scratch it, -or indeed touch it, but that is no reason why -those useful little shields of our finger-ends should -be so libelled. Whence comes the notion that -to pierce a girl’s ears and compel her to wear -earrings improves her eyesight? Possibly this -may have arisen from the fact that medical -men sometimes put blisters behind the ears as -counter-irritants, to relieve some chronic ophthalmic -disorders. Why is a glass of hot rum-and-water -with a lump of butter in it not only -familiarly prescribed for but familiarly swallowed -by catarrh-afflicted mankind? Speaking of colds -generally, we may remark in passing that treacle -posset, hot gruel, putting the feet in mustard-and-water, -&c., are all capital things, but that -they effect only the one object of inducing -perspiration. There is nothing specifically curative -about any of them. It is a mistake, however, -to give spirits, negus, or any alcoholic fluids in -influenza colds where there is much congestion -of the mucous membranes, as it increases the -incidental headache.</p> - -<p>Some people fancy that a magnet will draw -out a needle, broken off short in the hand, even -when it has passed in altogether out of sight. -When a medical practitioner is called upon to -extract a broken needle, he usually finds that -it has been driven beyond reach by injudicious -squeezing and other futile home-attempts at -extraction, for the lightest touch makes a needle -travel. A very troublesome class of case this -is, owing to the uncertainty of its exact situation, -of the direction of its long axis, and of its even -being there at all—each sufficient to create the -disagreeable possibility of cutting into the flesh -without finding it. In such a state of affairs, -one might as well put a magnet in the mouth -to draw one’s boots on, as to expect to extract -the needle by its influence. But a celebrated -surgeon, Mr Marshall, has devised an ingenious -application of this force for the purpose of -detection. A powerful magnet is held upon the -part which contains the suspected needle for some -time, so as to influence it. Then a finely-hung -polarised needle is suspended over it, and is -immediately deflected, if any metal be concealed -beneath. Never press or squeeze the flesh about -a broken needle or bit of glass. If you cannot -lay hold of it with the fingers or scissors, or, -still better, a pair of tweezers, and pull it right -out at once, keep quite still until a doctor has -seen it. By so doing, you may save yourself -weeks or months of pain, and even possible -amputation of a limb.</p> - -<p>Tea if taken in excess is indigestible and nerve-destroying; -but in sickness this delightful fluid -gives a temporary stimulus to the brain, and -though possessing no feeding qualities in itself, -it prevents or retards the waste of tissue—a property -of considerable importance in illness where -but little food is taken. Above all, the fact of -being allowed one favourite beverage, albeit -greatly diluted, when everything else that pertains -to the routine of daily life seems interdicted or -upset, has a beneficial effect on the patient, who -welcomes his cup of weak tea with something -of the anticipation of that refreshment and social -enjoyment he derives from it under brighter -circumstances.</p> - -<p>‘Is the bone broken, or only fractured, doctor?’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">{301}</span> -is an anxious question often asked apropos of an -injured limb. Broken and fractured are synonymous -terms in surgery, my dear madam—it is -always a lady who asks this—but I think I know -what you mean. A fully developed bone is rarely -cracked—nearly always it snaps in two pieces—but -the soft cartilaginous bones of children -sometimes sustain what is called a ‘green-stick -fracture,’ a name which almost explains itself, -meaning that the bone is broken through part -of its thickness, but not separated, as happens with -the green bough of a tree. Many people have a -totally erroneous idea, when an arm or leg is badly -bruised only, that it would be better if it were -broken. ‘Right across the muscle, too!’ implies -that an injury has been received across the upper -arm in the region of the biceps, that being the -only ‘muscle’ which is honoured by general -public recognition. How many people know that -what they call their flesh, and the lean part of -meat, is nothing but muscles, the pulleys by which -every action of the body is performed? Common -mistakes lie in trying to ‘walk off’ rheumatism, -sprains, and other things which should be kept -entirely at rest; and in squeezing collections -of matter which have burst or been lanced, with -a view to hasten their healing by the more speedy -emptying of their contents.</p> - -<p>Of late years, the Latin or other scientific -equivalents for diseases have crept into general -use, with the curious result that in many cases -they are taken to mean different things. Scarlatina, -for instance, not only sounds much nicer than -scarlet fever, but is often considered to be that -disease in a milder form; and the identity of -pneumonia with inflammation of the lungs, or -of gastric with typhoid fever, or of the various -terms ending in ‘itis’ with the inflammation they -are intended to specify, is far from being universally -recognised. Abscess is a better word -than ‘gathering;’ and though, on the other hand, -‘tumour’ seems very dreadful, we may find -consolation in remembering that after all it only -means a swelling, whatever the nature may be, -from a gum-boil to a cancer. There is much -in a name. Dipsomania sounds much better than -the other thing; and kleptomania by any other -name would not smell so sweet. Much in a name? -I should think so. Read what follows, if you -doubt it. When a ship arrives in an English -port from abroad, before those on board are -allowed to have any communication with the -shore, the ship must be declared healthy by the -sanitary authorities, who accordingly board her at -once, inspect her bills of health, and especially -the list of those who have been ill during the -voyage. If any of these are entered on the sick-list -as having suffered from intermittent fever, -printed forms have to be filled up, declarations -made and signed, certificates written out, all sorts -of questions answered about whether their bedding -or clothing has been destroyed; and the men -themselves paraded on deck for inspection. But -if it is stated, instead, that they have suffered -from ague—only another word for intermittent -fever—then no notice is taken of it!</p> - -<p>After all, there is very little rationale in any -amateur system of medicine; all its treatment is -purely empirical, and has its root in that love of -mysticism which prevails in everything. Medicine, -like every other science, is built up of hard, -unromantic facts, amenable to the laws of logic -and common-sense. The popular idea runs always -on specifics. Every bottle in a druggist’s shop -is supposed to contain a definite remedy for -a definite disease; and the patient weaving -of link with link in a chain of logical inferences, -of the correlation of causes and effects, -which constitutes medical science, is unknown. -‘What’s good for so-and-so?’ is a query constantly -put to a doctor; and if he answers -honestly, he must confess that in nine cases out -of ten he can give no absolute reply, but must -preface his words with, ‘That depends!’ Take -two very frequent illustrations by way of conclusion. -What is ‘good for’ indigestion? and what -for a headache? But what is indigestion? Not -a disease, but a generic name for fifty different -diseases, all attended with the same symptoms in -some measure, but proceeding from not only -different but often entirely opposite causes. Thus, -the pain may be produced by a deficiency or -by an excess of the gastric juice; and by any -derangement, from a simple error in diet to a -cancer; and it requires the practised eye, ear, -and hand of the physician to detect and appreciate -those minute differences which point to the root -of the evil. As for a headache, such a complaint -hardly exists <i>per se</i>, but is almost invariably a -symptom only of some other disorder; and we all -know how many varying states of the body will -give us headache. Nevertheless, may the practice -of domestic medicine and the virtues which go -with it long continue in our midst, and let no -man be so ill-advised as to banish the harmless -little medicine-chest with its associations from his -hearth.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OUTWARD_AND_HOMEWARD_BOUND">OUTWARD AND HOMEWARD BOUND.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Many</span> a long journey by sea and land, in fair -weather and in foul, has fallen to my lot; but -to none can I look back with such vivid delight -as to the first which found me turning from -wintry England to seek a perpetual summer -beneath Eastern skies.</p> - -<p>I fancy every one’s first voyage by one of -the P. and O. steam-packets must be a matter -of considerable amusement, from the novelty -of everything. Perhaps one of the most curious -sights is the coming on board of the Indian -and Colonial mails. It seems scarcely possible -that such a multitude of boxes and sacks as -those which lie heaped up in such solid masses -can really be all postal matter. A very great -man on board is the guardian of Her Majesty’s -mails. A man of wondrous authority—occasionally -a thorn in the side of the captain, as -being the possessor of certain powers of interference -or of counsel, rarely, however, brought -into action. Then as to fellow-passengers, there -is no type of man, woman, or child who is not -here represented. Happily, when outward bound, -the proportion of children is very small. The -return voyage is very different. Perhaps ninety -or a hundred children of all sizes and ages, -flying from oriental climates, in which young -English life cannot flourish, and all more or less<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">{302}</span> -spoilt by the care of ayahs and native servants, -whose sole idea of training is to give a child -whatever it cries for. Imagine the torture which -must be inflicted by such an army of babies on -the older passengers, probably never, at the best, -much addicted to babiolatry, but now rendered -doubly irritable by long battles with sun and -liver; for on a voyage homeward there are -generally a sad proportion of sickly folk; men -conscious of possessing a liver, and all manner of -other complaints, or, worse still, unconscious alike -of life’s cares or pleasures. On our return to -England, there were no less than twelve lunatics -on board, victims of the combined influence of -the sun and the system of incessant ‘pegs,’ alias -brandy and soda-water.</p> - -<p>Outward bound, we find abundant studies of -character in ship-life, where business is laid aside, -and in general every one tries to make the best of -his neighbours. From the grave old Indian -official, returning to his high post in some distant -corner of the empire, down to the beardless -Competition Wallah, still breathless from the -educational high-pressure to which he has been -subjected, all minds are naturally more or less -tinged with thoughts of the land for which they -are bound; and we hear more of Indian and Colonial -manners and customs than we should do -in a year in Britain. A considerable number of -the more energetic set to work at once to learn -Hindustani or some other oriental language—generally -a fruitless struggle, as only an exceptional -few, with wondrous powers of abstraction, -can find leisure for any settled work.</p> - -<p>Among the small novelties which catch the -unaccustomed eye, is the setting of a great -dinner-table in stormy weather. The table from -end to end is covered with skeleton frames of -mahogany, laid over the tablecloth. These are -called ‘fiddles,’ and keep your plate from rolling -too far. As to your cup or wine-glass, it stands -on a swinging table opposite your nose, and -preserves so perfect an equilibrium, that in the -wildest storm, not one drop of the contents is -spilt. How the stewards manage to wait, and the -cooks to cook, for such a multitude, in such a -rolling and turmoil, and in such limited space, is -a matter for perpetual wonder and admiration. -If you go for’ard, you will find a regular town—butcher’s -shop and baker’s shop, carpenter’s shop -and engineer’s shop, tailors and laundrymen—that -is, sailors doing amateur work; and as to the live-stock, -there are sheep and pigs, and cows and -oxen, and poultry of every description; in short, -a regular farmyard; and I think some of the big -children find as much amusement as the little -ones in that corner of the ship.</p> - -<p>One thing startling to a new traveller is the -rapidity with which time changes. He finds his -watch going very wrong, and perhaps, for the -first day or two, is weak enough to alter it, till he -finds it simpler to count ‘bells’ after the manner -of the sea. Speaking of hours, one of the many -small gambling devices to relieve the tedium -of the voyage is a system of sweepstakes as to -the exact moment when the vessel will drop -anchor at any given port, tickets being issued -for every five or ten minutes of the expected -forenoon or afternoon, and the winnings being -sometimes presented to a Sailors’ Orphan Fund. -Some of my fellow-travellers have told me that -in long weary voyages they had been driven to -institute races for short distances, the steeds -being cheese-mites, or maggots carefully extracted -from the nuts. These races at last became -positively exciting; and the same creatures being -preserved from day to day, were, if of approved -speed, worth small fortunes to their owners. A -very swift maggot would sell for a large sum! -Fly loo was another favourite game, but happily, -we have never had occasion to try such singular -amusements. There are games at Bull for those -who want exercise; and sedentary games and -books, and singing and chatting, for sociable folk. -For my part, being an unsocial sort of animal, -I think that ‘to be talked to all day’ is the sum -of human misery, as much on board ship as on -land. So, on my memorable first voyage, when -all was new and delightful, I soon discovered a -quiet nook on the top of the deck cabin, right -astern, where, with infinite satisfaction, I established -myself, and there read in peace, no one -venturing to invade that haven of refuge save -under a solemn vow of silence. But when the -light began to wane, the silence was no more; -for the sons and daughters of music there -assembled, and as there were several good voices -and a first-rate leader, the glees and choruses -were sometimes very effective.</p> - -<p>Thus pleasantly day and night slipped by -in quick succession. Casual acquaintanceships -ripened into lifelong friendships; and when at -length we reached our journey’s end, the joy -of arrival was tempered by true regret for the -break-up of a pleasant party, and the dispersion -of many friends, of whom the majority in all -probability might never meet again.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A brief year passed away—a year of ever-changing -delight in the wondrous Indian land, -and ere we realised that our allotted twelve months -were over, we found ourselves numbered with -<i>The Homeward Bound</i>. Very different was our -return journey from the last. Instead of finding -ourselves surrounded by a superabundance of -bright energetic life, our companions were almost -all on the sick-list, as few people who were not -driven home by illness, would exchange an Indian -winter for the chilly frosts and snows of England. -Instead of the continuous sunshine of our outward -journey, we had bitter winds and sharp storms, -and though we were too good sailors to be thereby -affected, some of our neighbours were wretched -enough.</p> - -<p>But the saddest change of all was the long list -of funerals, which, commencing ere we left the -deep-blue Indian Ocean, only ended as we -neared the English shores. Sometimes we heard -the beautiful words of the solemn funeral service -read in the quiet moonlight, and sometimes when -we could scarcely distinguish a word for the -howling of the storm and roar of waters, and -only knew by the sad, earnest faces of sailors and -soldiers crowding round, that the uncoffined clay, -which lay so still beneath the outspread Union-jack, -was about to be committed to the deep. -The first who thus ‘fell asleep’ was a little child, -on whom the tropical sun had laid its fiery finger. -Not all the ice of Himla could cool the burning -of that fevered, throbbing brow; and the wistful -baby-eyes looked vainly up, in piteous mute -appeal, to those who knew too bitterly how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">{303}</span> -utterly powerless they were to help. But when the -red glowing sun sank below the mellow waters, -that tender spirit rose to its Home, far beyond -the stars; and loving hands laid the tiny marble -form in a pure white shell, meet for so fair a -pearl. Then kind, warm-hearted British tars -covered that little coffin with England’s flag, -and laid it down gently and reverently, standing -round bareheaded in the warm southern moonlight, -while holy words were uttered as the -little white coffin sank down into the quiet depths -of that wondrously blue sea.</p> - -<p>A few more days went by, and again the Angel -of Death was among us. This time he came to -call away a poor fellow with the frame of a -young giant, who but a few months before had -left the Emerald Isle in glowing health and -strength, but who now wearily dragged himself -along sun-stricken, utterly unconscious that the -shadow of the angel’s wing already darkened -over him; only craving once more to reach the -old home, where mother and sisters would welcome -him. But when the sun rose, one cold, bleak -morning, we were told he had passed away in -the night. We were on the Red Sea; but it was -bitterly cold and stormy, and the dull, drear, -wintry winds were echoing over bleak bare shores, -and sighing among the masts and rigging. Even -the sea was leaden-hued; and when the funeral -service was read, and the body lowered into the -sullen waves, the pale sunrise was overclouded -by a heavy drifting shower. It was the saddest, -dreariest funeral at which I was ever present. In -the cabin next to his was another victim of the -sun—a handsome young bride, with mind, alas! -all unstrung. Of course she could not have known -what was passing so near, yet, through all those -sad hours she kept on crooning a low plaintive -song, telling how</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Somebody’s darling, so young, and so fair,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Somebody’s darling lay dying there.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>An hour later we lay-to, off the wreck of the -ill-fated <i>Carnatic</i>, the property of the same Company -as the ship in which we sailed; which, -but a few weeks previously, had, one Sunday night, -in calmest weather, diverged but a little from her -course, and struck upon a hidden coral reef. -There she lay all the long day in the sunshine. -So little was danger suspected, that not even Her -Majesty’s mails, or the precious human lives on -board, were landed on the island of Shadwan, -which lay at a distance of about three miles; -and where all might have found a safe refuge. -Meals continued to be served with the usual wonderful -regularity; and between whiles, the passengers -amused themselves with angling for fish -of dazzling colours, which swarmed all round the -coral rock. In short, the affair seems to have -been treated in the light of a summer picnic, -till the dread moment when, at midnight, the -vessel suddenly parted mid-ships and went down. -Thus, like another <i>Royal George</i>, the good ship -suddenly foundered in a calm sea, carrying -with her many a brave British heart. Some -good swimmers, though carried down with the -swirl, struggled to the surface, and after many -a hard blow from floating spars and luggage, -escaped with their lives; and a few boats likewise -got beyond the reach of the whirlpool. It was -Tuesday night before the survivors were all safe -on the isle of Shadwan; and of their goods, only -one dressing-bag and one dry box of matches had -escaped. Some huge bales of dry cotton had, however, -been cast ashore, so tightly packed that the -centre was still quite dry. This they heaped up -as material for a bonfire, wherewith to greet the -first sail that hove in sight; and while some stood -by, ready to kindle the blaze, others rowed out -to sea again, taking with them their only rocket. -They had not long to wait. Soon a great steamer -belonging to the same Company drew near, and -the Homeward-bound rescued the survivors of the -Outward-bound, whose journey sunward had been -thus sadly damped at the outset. All we saw of -the wreck were the extreme tips of the masts -appearing above the waters, to mark where the -divers were even then at work, seeking to rescue -property of all sorts. The mails had previously -been rescued, and many half-legible letters had -reached India before we had sailed thence.</p> - -<p>Strangely, in truth, fell our Christmas Eve, -as we landed, on the dull shore of Suez, where, -on a little sandy island, so many of England’s -sons, ‘homeward-bound,’ sleep their last sleep -beneath the burning sun; and as we stood in -the starlight, watching the last of our companions -hurrying on to Alexandria, it was hard indeed -to realise that festive Yule had found us in such -dreary quarters. Nor—for it was before the -Suez Canal days—did it mend matters much -to spend our Christmas Day whirling across the -Desert in an Egyptian railway. But when evening -brought us to the green banks of the Nile, -we were content.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OCCASIONAL_NOTES">OCCASIONAL NOTES.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>WHY DO WE NOW DRINK LESS COFFEE?</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">For</span> many years past it has been plainly -apparent that there has been a decline in the consumption -of coffee; and while the use of spirits, -wine, tobacco, tea, and cocoa has considerably -increased, that of coffee has fallen off to a considerable -extent. Dr Wallace, F.R.S.E., in a paper read -before the Society of Public Analysts, is of opinion -that the people of this country are losing their -taste for coffee because of the difficulty of obtaining -it in a pure state. About the time when the -consumption per head was highest, coffee began -to be adulterated with chicory, and now this is -done so universally, that many people prefer the -mixture to pure coffee, and few know the taste of -the genuine article.</p> - -<p>When travelling on the continent, the tourist -enjoys the fragrant cup; but the beverage supplied -at the best hotels and restaurants in this -country is not coffee, but a mixture of that -substance with chicory, in the proportion of -three-fourths to one-third of the whole, and -sometimes more. As Dr Wallace correctly says, -this substance may be described as chicory -flavoured with coffee. Chicory being bitter, with -three times the colouring power of coffee, gives -it the appearance of great strength; but it should -always be remembered that it contains no caffeine, -and wants the exhilarating qualities for which -good coffee is partaken. The sooner the public -awakens to a sense of this fact, the better.</p> - -<p>Pure coffee can be had; but it is only sold -with a grudge, for the grocer has his chief profit<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">{304}</span> -in the chicory with which it is adulterated. To -show where the profit lies, take the case of a -particular coffee sold in tins, which contains one -part of coffee to three parts of chicory, and is -sold at one-and-fourpence per pound. The coffee -in a pound of it costs, retail, say sevenpence, the -chicory, say fourpence, tins, say threepence, profit -twopence—total, one-and-fourpence. But the -purchaser gets no value except the sevenpenceworth -of coffee, the chicory only adding colour, -bitterness, and body, so that he pays one-and-fourpence -for sevenpenceworth of coffee.</p> - -<p>Amongst the other substances used to adulterate -coffee in order to yield a higher profit to the -dealer, are burnt sugar or caramel, dried and -roasted figs, dried dates, date-stones, decayed ships’ -biscuits, beans, peas, acorns, malt, dandelion root, -turnips, carrots, parsnips, and mangold-wurzel, -all of which are roasted in imitation of coffee. -There is little wonder, therefore, that coffee, -which lends itself so easily to unprincipled -adulteration, is becoming unpopular. According -to Dr Wallace, the quantity used per head in -1843 was 1.1 lb., increasing up to 1848, when it -was 1.37 lb. It has since slowly but steadily -declined, especially since 1853, and is now only -.89 lb.; a decrease since 1843 of nineteen per cent., -and since 1853 of fifty-four per cent. About -five pounds of tea per head are consumed to one -of coffee. In France, with a heavier duty, the -consumption of coffee is 3.23 lbs. a head; Germany -and Holland, 5.3 lbs.; Switzerland, 6.68 lbs.; -Italy, only 1.05 lb.; while Belgium is largest of -all, being 9 lbs. a head. The total consumption -in Europe is about four hundred thousand -tons, of which Great Britain used fourteen -thousand tons in 1880. In the same year, -about six thousand tons of chicory were retained -for home consumption, which is an index to the -extent of the adulteration. When the public -taste ceases to lend itself to coffee adulterated -with chicory and other rubbish, and when folks -have acquired the art of making it properly, -then the beverage might take the high place -in general estimation to which it is justly -entitled.</p> - - -<h3>ABNORMAL HUMANITY.</h3> - -<p>A new phenomenon has lately appeared in -Paris in the shape of a man with a head resembling -that of a calf. The similarity is said to be -wonderful. For his own sake, it is to be hoped -that this eccentric-looking person will prove -as great a financial success as his three recent -celebrated predecessors—the Man-frog, the man -with a goose’s head, and the Man-dog, who have -all retired into private life, having made a nice -little fortune. The Man-frog was first exhibited -in 1866, at a French country fête. He had a -stout ill-shapen body, covered with a skin like -a leather bottle, and a face exactly like a frog’s, -large eyes, an enormous mouth, and the skin cold -and clammy. He attracted a good deal of attention -from the Academy of Medicine, and a delegate -was deputed to make him an object of study. He -went all over France; and at the end of a few -years, retired to his native place, Puyre, in -Gers.</p> - -<p>The man with the goose’s head was first shown -at the Gingerbread Fair in 1872. He was twenty -years of age, had round eyes, a long and flat nose -the shape and size of a goose’s bill, an immensely -long neck, and was without a single hair on his -head. He only wanted feathers to make him -complete. The effect of his interminably long -neck twisting about was extremely ludicrous, and -was so much appreciated, that his receipts were -very large. He now passes under his proper name -of Jean Rondier, and is established at Dijon as -a photographer. He is married; and, thanks to -enormously high collars and a wig, is now tolerably -presentable.</p> - -<p>The Man-dog came from Russia, and was for -a long time exhibited in Paris. He is now settled -at Pesth, having established a bird-fancier’s business -there, which is decidedly flourishing.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SOLITARY_SINGER">THE SOLITARY SINGER.</h2> -</div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span> singer!—sweet to hear when only one</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Among the thousand voices of the spring</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou carollest—how sweeter far, alone</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And all unrivalled, art thou wont to fling</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The spell of music o’er the list’ning air</div> - <div class="verse indent0">From yon drear spray by winter’s blight left bare.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Say what the burden of that patient strain</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Which answer seeketh none, but ever forth</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is poured, and by itself its own refrain,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Still echo’d, findeth—save that from the North</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Responsive plainings through the leafless tree</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mingle, methinks, with thine in sympathy.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">It cannot but be sad—a low-tuned sigh</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For lost delights thy callow youth once knew,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When all the grove was blossom, all the sky</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A smile above thee, and the glad hours flew</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Unmarred from when thy notes brought in the day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till evening’s hush was mellowed by thy lay.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">It cannot all be sad—some sweet alloy</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of Hope would seem to tremble through thy song,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And serve, when all thy mates are mute, to buoy</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thy heart, though clouds across thy heaven throng,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Though strewn all blossom, and the rude winds’ brawl</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sound the sad dirge of twilight’s sombre fall.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Whate’er it be, clear-throated, soft, and low,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">It woos the stern hour with a lulling tone,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">According well with streams that whispering flow</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ice-muffled, with the sound of sere leaves blown</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In rustling eddies ’neath their parent shade,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where Autumn’s glory by the wind is laid.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p>The Conductor of <span class="smcap">Chambers’s Journal</span> begs to direct -the attention of <span class="smcap">Contributors</span> to the following notice:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><i>1st.</i> All communications should be addressed to the -‘Editor, 339 High Street, Edinburgh.’</p> - -<p><i>2d.</i> For its return in case of ineligibility, postage-stamps -should accompany every manuscript.</p> - -<p><i>3d.</i> <span class="smcap">Manuscripts</span> should bear the author’s full <i>Christian</i> -name, Surname, and Address, legibly written; and -should be written on white (not blue) paper, and on -one side of the leaf only.</p> - -<p><i>4th.</i> Offerings of Verse should invariably be accompanied -by a stamped and directed envelope.</p> -</div> - -<p><i>If the above rules are complied with, the Editor will -do his best to insure the safe return of ineligible papers.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. & R. Chambers</span>, 47 Paternoster -Row, <span class="smcap">London</span>, and 339 High Street, <span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center"><i>All Rights Reserved.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p>[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text.</p> - -<p>Page 294: generelly to generally—“generally abortive”.]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 19, VOL. 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