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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..e3afa8f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65881 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65881) diff --git a/old/65881-0.txt b/old/65881-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 20efe14..0000000 --- a/old/65881-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2104 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular -Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 28, Vol. I, July 12, -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. 28, Vol. I, July 12, 1884 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: July 20, 2021 [eBook #65881] - -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. 28, VOL. I, JULY 12, -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. 28.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, JULY 12, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -ON MOOR AND LOCH. - - -About eight o’clock of a June morning the train draws up at a small -station within a short run south of the Scottish metropolis. It is not -a typical June morning. There has been a fortnight’s drought, followed -by two days of rain—the latter rejoicing the heart of the agriculturist -and the angler; but yesternight the rain ceased, and its place has -been taken by a gray mist, or _haar_, which the east wind is bringing -up from the German Ocean. No angler loves mist. Is it not set down in -the angler’s book of common-law precedents, that in the case of Man -_versus_ Trout, this obscure element is to be construed in favour of -the defender? The station at which we alight is situated in an upland -valley, shut in on the north and west by the mounded Pentlands; but -this morning their outline shows only like a denser and darker bank -of clouds in a gray waste of cloudland. Down into the valley also, -thin streaks of mist are creeping dismally and slow, groping their way -forward with long dripping fingers, like a belated band of midnight -ghosts which the morning light has struck with sudden blindness. To -the south-west, the Peeblesshire hills are less obscured, but there -is floating over them the dull glaze, the leaden hue, which makes my -companion sadly prognosticate thunder—and thunder to the angler’s sport -is as fatal as mist. - -It is indeed very far from being a typical June morning. The earth is -gray, and the sky is gray; and the trees and hedgerows that flank the -fields and overshadow the cottages and the little inn, are not musical -with the song of any bird. There is even in the air a touch of the -east wind, that fiend of the North Sea who comes to us annually with -the crocus and the primrose, and spends at least three months of his -baneful existence in tying innumerable knots upon human nerves. His -sublime excellency the Sun is doubtless up, as his custom is, long ere -now, but this morning he wilfully persists in keeping his chamber. All -this is marked in the time we take to alight at the railway station, -give up our tickets, and, shouldering basket and rod, set out towards -our destination for the day, which lies over this long ridge to the -right. - -Everything is very still—with the soft stillness of a misty summer -morning. Except for the noise of the train we have just left, as it -goes coughing hysterically out of the station, one might almost hear -the grass growing. The recent rain has washed the dust from leaf and -flower, and the fields of young grain are in the reawakened freshness -of early growth. The pastures have drunk in the moisture; and the cows -that stop feeding for a moment to gaze on us with large soft eyes as we -pass, return with fresh zest to their juicy morning meal. The watchdog -at the farm salutes us, as is his wont, with a little gruff language; -not meaning any great harm perhaps, but only in the way of duty. -‘You are not beggars,’ he seems to say, ‘and don’t want any strong -measures to be taken with you. But you are strangers, and I dislike -strangers. Don’t stand and look at me so, for that only irritates me. -Good-morning, and be off with you!’ In a few minutes we reach the top -of the ridge, and see the long line of the Moorfoot Hills girdling the -south and east. They are much clearer than the Pentlands behind us, -and we have hopes that a southerly breeze may spring up; for along the -south-eastern horizon, between the hills and the low mist-cloud above, -there is a clear line of light—the _weather-gleam_, as the Border -shepherds poetically name it—showing where the wind is breaking through -the haze and uncurtaining the hills. - -Our road for three or four miles lies straight before us; for the -most part, through a bleak barren moorland. The ditches at the sides, -which serve to drain off the stagnating black bog-water, have an -abundance of bright green mosses and water-plants on their shelving -sides and marshy bottom. There is a broad waste of peat-moss all round, -cracked and broken with black fissures, the higher patches covered -with bent-grass, hard and wiry, brown and dry, and only here and -there showing thin blades of green. One wonders what those straggling -ewes find to eat amid the general barrenness, and how they manage to -maintain themselves and their merry lambs, tiny, black-faced, and -black-footed, that frolic around them. Yet this wild waste bears -promise of beauty ere the winter is on us; for the upper margins of -the ditches and the tops of the knolls are crested with thick bunches -of heather, which, though scarcely noticeable now, will one day shake -out fragrant bells in the autumn wind, and flush the moorland with -a purple glory. Far away to the left we hear the jangling call of -a bird—‘liddle-liddle-liddle’—rapid, bell-like, long-continued. It -is a familiar sound during the summer months to the wanderer among -the hills, arousing, as it does, all the other birds far and near as -if with an alarum-bell. The call is that of the sandpiper—in some -places known, from its cry, as the ‘little fiddler,’ in others as the -‘killieleepie.’ It is one of our migratory birds, reaching us from the -south in the month of April, and starting on its travels again, with -its young family, in the autumn. Among the other bird-calls which its -wild, startling cry has awakened, is a plaintive ‘tee-oo, tee-oo,’ -sounding eerily over the heath. It is the voice of the graceful -redshank, which has left the seashore, as it does every spring, and -come up with its mate to the moors to spend their honeymoon and rear -their young brood; and by-and-by it will lead back to the sandy shore -a little following of red-legs, who will learn to pick crustaceans -from the shallow pools, and prepare for a journey to the hills on -their own account next spring. On before us, in a clump of firs on a -distant height, we hear the deep note of the cuckoo, booming out with -its regular cadences, calling to mind the oldest lyric in the English -tongue: - - Summer is i-cumin in, - Loud sing, cuckoo! - Groweth seed, - And bloweth mead, - And springeth the wood noo. - Sing, cuckoo! - -All this is very well, but it is not the business of the day. These are -but the accidents, or rather the pleasant incidents, of the journey; -and as we reach once more an oasis of cultivation, we know that the -water for which we are bound lies close at hand. The day is gradually -losing its misty moodiness, is indeed slowly brightening up. There is -now a light but decided breeze from the direction in which we lately -saw the weather-gleam appear, and when we come in sight of the lake we -find its surface shaken with a thousand laughing ripples. The sun has -not yet looked out, but we can see, from the transparent whiteness of -the clouds at a certain spot, that his majesty may soon be expected to -show himself. The mist has quite lifted, and save that the higher peaks -of the Moorfoots are each capped with a misty cloud, there is little -trace here of the haze which still hangs thick on the northern hills -behind us. - -At the water’s edge, our interest in the scenery becomes of secondary -moment. We are intent on other things. We look anxiously across the -surface of the brightly rippling water, but not a trout rises to the -surface, and not a plash is heard or a ring seen to tell that the finny -tribe are there. Knowing, from mournful experience, what it is to be -left at the edge of a loch when a dead calm settles down upon it, and -your flies are no longer of use, we have brought some worm-bait with -us; and so, in order to lose no time while the preliminary work of -making up ‘casts’ and donning waders is going on, we put on a Stewart -tackle baited with a nice red-bodied, black-headed worm, which we plant -in that part of the water where worm has already been known to us to -kill. As we make preparations for the further work of the day, we cast -quick glances from time to time towards the uplifted end of our rods -where they rest over the water; but, alas, they moved not nor ‘bobbed.’ -Worm was evidently not in demand with the Fario family as a breakfast -commodity. At length, a sudden plash; and there, about fifty yards out -from the shore, we see a fine trout just dropping back into the water. -The ‘feed’ has begun! The sun had indeed been out for a short time, and -this was a signal for the night-chilled insects to come out also, and -these in their turn, dropping upon the surface of the water, signified -to Master Fario that breakfast was on the table, and he presently piped -all hands to the repast. In a few minutes more the lake was dimpled and -ringed with the plash of the feeding trout. - -There is no time to lose now. The Stewart tackle is discarded, a cast -of flies is presently made fast to our line, and we are ready to -begin. My friend goes a little further afield—if this term may be used -in water parlance; and I am left to do what I can on my own account. -Stepping into the water, and moving gradually forward till I get deep -enough, I cast carefully from side to side, in hope of attracting the -attention of some one of the trout that are rising everywhere before -me. Five minutes pass, ten minutes pass, but without success, and I am -beginning to doubt if my selection of flies is good. By-and-by I see -a trout rise out there in the place where my flies should be; and the -quick touch along the line, as if something had suddenly grazed it, -tells me that a trout has rushed at the lure, and missed. There is hope -in this, and I go on with fresh vigour. A few casts made over the same -spot with as much adroitness as is possible to a clumsy fly-fisher, -brings its reward. There is a sudden tightening of the line, and at the -same moment, a dozen yards ahead, a big yellow trout springs curved -like a bow from the water, and falls back again with a heavy flop. He -is on! An aged countryman on the point of the bay opposite, waiting -to see if perchance his worm-baited rod will bob, has witnessed the -plunge of my captive, and is all intent on the issue. ‘Gie him time!’ -he shouts across the water. ‘Canny wi’ him for a bit, and play him -weel. Dinna hurry, dinna hurry.’ The advice is not unneeded, for I -am nearly fifty yards from the shore, and there is moreover midway a -bank of sand only slightly covered with water, through which the green -rushes are springing up. How will I get him over that reef? I wind up -slowly, while the captive makes vigorous attempts to free himself -from the deadly hook—now springing out of the water, now curling and -twisting serpent-like along the surface, then plunging for a moment -into the deep black water, his yellow side gleaming like a sword-blade -as he shoots below. It is the supreme moment. In a little his efforts -slacken, and he comes oftener to the surface. I make slowly for the -shore, still winding in. I am over the sandy reef with its dangerous -reeds, which I fear may strip him from the hook. At last I have him -safely through them, and he allows himself to be drawn quietly over -the remaining shallow to the shore, and there he now lies—on dry -land—a speckled beauty of three-quarters of a pound, his spotted sides -gleaming like gold in the sunshine. - -With cast put once again in order, I am into the water for a second -trial. This time I avoid the sandy reef with its reeds, and keep clear -water between me and the shore. The lake is deep here, and I cast -slowly, letting the flies sink a little, that the deep-feeding trout -may have a chance to see and seize them. I have succeeded in raising -one or two, but they do not seem to be in earnest; and am in the act -of withdrawing my line preparatory to casting again, when I find that -a trout has taken it. But his tactics are not the same as those of -the former one. He does not leap out of the water, and I only know by -the strain on the line and the curve of the rod that he is on. This -is only for a moment, however; for I have caught a brief glimpse of -him as he dives down into the deep water, making straight for his old -lurking-place under a steep bank a few yards in front of me. As he thus -rushes towards me, the line slackens, the rod straightens itself, and -I reel up hastily, fearing that he is off. But no; he is only sulking; -for as the line shortens, the tension is resumed, and presently he is -obliged to rise once more to the surface; and there he is now, gyrating -and whirling in coils of glittering beauty. He is not so vigorous as -his predecessor, and in a little his strength is exhausted, and he -moves quietly to the shore alongside of me, not above a yard from my -foot. He is as large as the first trout, but not in quite such fine -condition, being flatter about the shoulders, and having a slight -suspicion of lankiness in the sides. Another fortnight of fly-diet and -he might have scaled a pound. - -I fish on for another hour or two, with always some occasional success, -and have, angler-like, begun to estimate the weight of my basket at the -day’s end—counting, of course, my trout before they are caught—when, -alack and well-a-day! I begin to be cognisant of the sad fact that -the breeze is gradually dying down, and that the glorious ripple on -the water is gliding away into a soft glittery waviness, not more -pronounced than the zigzags on watered silk. In a short time the breeze -has actually died off, and the water of the little bay in which I -stand lies smooth and clear before me like a sheet of polished steel. -Alas, what can angler do in such a strait? You may deceive the trout -with your artificial flies when the breeze is blowing and the ripple -is strong; but the advantage is all on the side of the finny ones when -the wind falls and the ripple ceases. You may cast your flies with as -gentle a hand as may be; but his quick eye sees something more than -your flies, and he knows from experience that a respectably born and -bred insect, fresh from its pupa-case, does not come out for a sail on -the water with a yard or two of shining gut trailing behind it, or go -about leading three or four other of its fellows after it in a string. -No, no; trout have learned a thing or two under the operation of the -law of heredity, just as we, his human—or, if you will, inhuman—captors -have done. We may therefore reel up and take to dry land, till it -pleases Eolus again to send us a prospering breeze. - -As we sit on the soft grass and eat our lunch, we can note the aspect -of things around us. The sun is shining steadily down with all his -summer brightness and fervour, and the still air feels sultry and -close. As you look along the surface of the calm water, you can see -the heated air radiating from it like a shimmer of colourless flame. -The white farmhouse on the opposite side basks serenely at the foot -of the hills that overhang it; and a warm dusky haze floats over the -neighbouring ravine, where an ancient stream has cut its way down -through the lofty range. Not a sound breaks the stillness of the air, -not a wavelet disturbs the glassy line of the beach. By-and-by there -arises a low buzzing sound, gradually increasing in intensity, till -you almost think it must be some far-away railway engine blowing off -steam. You look up, and there, on either side of you, a yard deep -as far as you can see, is a colony of innumerable midges disporting -themselves in the hot air. There must be millions of those tiny -creatures, the combined action of whose little wings can send such a -hissing through the stillness. Shoals of them whisk round your head, -poking into your eyes and ears, and tickling your face and hands. A -whiff or two of tobacco-smoke comes in as a handy expedient to drive -off the insignificant troublers; and the pipe, besides, is wonderfully -soothing as you rest your tired shoulders on the grass. But, hark! what -is that long low rumble coming up to us from the far south-west—over -there where Dundreich raises his brown summit in the hot haze, with a -leaden-coloured sky in the distance behind him? My trusty comrade was -right in his morning prognostication: we are in for thunder. - -There is in reality no wind; but, as frequently happens in mountainous -districts even in still days, occasional cold currents of air gravitate -from the hills to lower levels; and yonder is one playing over the -surface of the lake now, just round the corner of this land-locked -bay. We cannot afford to miss even this temporary ripple; for if the -thunder comes near there will be an end to sport for a few hours to -come. As I step along through the patches of rushy grass that grow by -the margin of the lake, I see a small bird glide quickly out of one -of those patches and disappear with suspicious celerity and quietness -behind another a few yards off. I have not lost in middle manhood the -bird-nesting instincts of boyhood’s years, and I am certain, from that -bird’s quick, low, quiet mode of flight, that it has just risen from -its nest. A few minutes’ search confirms this; for there, beneath a -patch of long grass, is the little cavity, lined cosily with dry grass -and hairs and five small oval dusky eggs, mottled with reddish-brown -dots and blotches. It is the nest of the yellowhammer. I lift one of -the eggs, which feels smooth and warm, and think for a minute how -best I might carry it home with me to little town-bred bairns that -scarce ever saw a bird’s nest. But I conclude that I cannot possibly -carry the egg home unbroken, and so return it to its place beside the -other four; where, in due course, if boys and rats and weasels let it -alone, it will produce its gaping addition to the family of yorlings. A -little further on, I descry a small sandpiper flitting before me along -the shore, poking with its lance-like bill into the sand, and wading -leg-deep through the shallow creeks, occasionally flying a yard or two, -just to show me its long pointed brown wings and its breast of snowy -white. It is the dunlin, a gay, active little fellow; and I can see -that its mate is waiting for it a short way ahead, and when they meet, -they make a dip or two to each other, by way of familiar courtesy, and -then disappear together round the bend of the shore. - -I have reached the point of the promontory beyond which the water -shows a temporary ripple, and am into it in a trice. My success is -greater than I had anticipated, for I scarcely expected a rise. At the -third cast, and just as I am drawing out slack from my line in order -to make a longer throw, my lure is seized, and a bright bow of silver -shoots up a yard above the water. It is not a yellow trout this time, -but one of the Lochleven variety, with some thousands of the fry of -which the noble proprietor of these fishings stocked the lake a few -years ago. They are vigorous fellows these Lochleven trout. Five times -did this one leap straight out of the water before I had him on the -shore; and even then, he nearly escaped. He was being guided through -a shallow creek running into the lake, when I noticed that he had -succeeded in unhooking himself. Had he not had the strength played out -of him, he would have been off into the deeper water like a streak of -light. But now he is weak and confused, and aimlessly pokes his nose -into the bank, giving me just sufficient time to get between him and -the lake and throw him out with my hands. He is a beautiful specimen -of half-a-pound, finely spotted, his gleaming sides of a rich creamy -whiteness, with a subdued pink flush shining through. - -But why prolong the story? The thunder came nearer, though it did not -break over us; and by the time the hour arrived for us to re-cross the -moor, under the westering sun, to the little station we had left in the -morning, my companion and myself had—not _big_ baskets, as some baskets -are counted—but baskets big enough to send us home well pleased and -contented. - - * * * * * - -There are two ways of going home from a day’s fishing (we do not refer -to roads or means of travel, but to moods of mind). The one is as we -come home now; the other is when we come home ‘clean’—that is, with -nothing. In the morning we have started with no idea but what relates -to the fish we are to catch, hope being naturally in the ascendant. But -in the evening, if we have had a bad day’s work, we are in a different -mood, with our ideas much enlarged beyond that of merely catching -trout. We suggest and enumerate to each other, with extraordinary -facility, the compensating advantages of our position. We have had a -day in the open air; we have had vigorous healthy exercise for the -shoulders and arms (which are sore enough, perhaps, in all conscience, -though we would not for our lives admit it); we have enjoyed the sights -and sounds of nature, and have something like a triumphant feeling of -superiority over our poor town companions who have been all the day in -chamber or workshop, with nothing better to inflate their lungs than -the smoky city atmosphere, and nothing more to delight their ears than -the monotonous jingle of tramcar bells and the rattling of cabs over -the stony street. Our compensating advantages are immense! Sorry we -have not caught more trout? Pooh, nonsense! What have trout to do with -it, except as an inducement to go out for a day to moor and river? Do -you take us for fishmongers? - -And so, self-consoled, and weary enough, we regain the city with its -flaring lamps and crowded streets, and go home to tell our experiences, -and dream of alder-shaded banks and silver streams, and the landing of -bigger trout than are ever likely to charm us in our waking hours. - - - - -BY MEAD AND STREAM. - - -CHAPTER XXXVII.—DOWN BY THE RIVER. - -They were silent until they reached the stile at the foot of the -Willowmere meadows, where they were to part. - -The information which Mrs Joy had given them was a source of special -anxiety to Madge, apart from her considerations on Pansy’s account. -If Caleb had really determined to leave the country at once, Philip -would lose his most able assistant in carrying out the work, which was -already presenting so many unforeseen and unprovided-for difficulties, -that it was severely taxing the strength of body and mind. Besides, the -few men who still maintained a half-hearted allegiance would take alarm -when they found that even Caleb the foreman had deserted, and abandon -their leader altogether. Madge was afraid to think of what effect this -might have on Philip. Although he had striven hard to hide it from her, -she had detected in his manner undercurrents of excitement, impatience, -and irritability under which he might at any moment break down. His -mind was much troubled; and the knowledge that it was so had been the -main inspiration of her earnest appeal to Mr Beecham to help him. - -She sympathised with Caleb, and understood the bitterness of his -disappointment by the resolution he had so hastily adopted. He was -casting aside what promised to be an opportunity to rise in the -world in the manner in which he would most desire to rise—with his -fellow-workers; and abandoning a friend who needed his help and -who, he was aware, held him in much respect. On Pansy’s account she -was grieved, but not angry; for although she had been misled by her -conduct towards Caleb, as he had been, she would not have the girl act -otherwise than she was doing, if she really felt that she could not -give the man her whole thought and heart, as a wife should do. But -there was the question—Did she understand herself? The sulky insistence -that she would not have him seemed to say ‘yes;’ but the pale face and -quivering lips when she heard that he was about to emigrate seemed to -say ‘no.’ A few days’ reflection would enable her to decide, and in -the meanwhile some effort must be made to induce Caleb to postpone his -departure. - -‘You will think about all this, Pansy,’ she said when they halted by -the stile; ‘and to-morrow, or next day, perhaps, or some time soon, you -will tell me how you have come to change your mind about him.’ - -‘It is better he should go,’ answered the girl without looking at Madge. - -Pansy did not take the shortest way home. She passed between the -dancing beeches—their bare branches had no claim to that festive -designation, unless it might be a dance of hags—and under the blackened -willows which cast a shadow over the little footpath by the river-side. -Lances of light crossed the path, and seemed to be darting out towards -the silver shields which the sun made on the running water. The lances -of light dazzled her eyes, and the shadows seemed to press down on her -head; whilst the sharp tinkle made by the rippling water in the clear -atmosphere sounded discordantly in her ears. She saw no beauty anywhere -and heard no pleasant sounds. - -She was walking against the stream: thinking about nothing: stupid -and unhappy: figures seemed to flit before her without conveying any -meaning to her senses. She neither knew nor asked herself why she had -chosen this way by the stream, instead of taking the straight road home -through the forest. Some instinct had suggested that by taking this way -she was less likely to meet any one. - -Walking quickly, the keen wind made her cheeks tingle and seemed -gradually to clear the fog out of her head. She had heard girls, and -women too, boast about the number of men who had ‘asked’ them, and she -knew that some of them had even multiplied the number for their own -exaltation. They all considered it a thing to be proud of, and the more -disappointments they had caused, the merrier they were. Why, then, -should she take on so because she had been obliged to say ‘no’ to one -man? She ought rather to be sorry that it was only one. Of course there -was something in Caleb different from the other lads who had come about -her, and who would have been ready enough to put the great question if -she had shown any willingness to listen to it. She had not done so, and -they had caused her no bother. But then she could not deny to herself -that she had given Caleb reason to think that she was willing; and she -liked him—liked him very much. That was why she was distressed, as she -had told Madge. - -And what was the phantom in her brain which had rendered it necessary -to cause so much worry to Caleb and herself?... She would not admit -that there was any phantom. She was quite sure of it (and there was -an unconscious toss of the head at this point); and her refusal meant -no more than that she did not care enough for him. Surely that was -reason enough for saying ‘no’ without seeking for any other. And yet -this satisfactory answer to her own question made her the more uneasy -with herself, because she was conscious that she was shirking the whole -truth. - -She passed out from under the shadow of the willows at a point where -a broken branch of a huge old elm had formed an archway, and a little -farther on was the ford, where a shaky wooden foot-bridge crossed the -water leading to the door of the squat white alehouse where thirsty -carriers felt bound to halt. Unlike most other wayside inns, its glory -had not been completely destroyed by the railways. The walls were kept -white. The old thatch-roof was neatly trimmed and carefully patched -wherever age or the elements rendered patching requisite, so that it -presented a fine study of variegated greens and browns, with here and -there a dash of bright yellow. The inside was clean and tidy; and in -cold weather there was always a cheerful blaze in the big fireplace. -The secret of this pleasant condition of the _Ford Inn_ was that the -tenant farmed a bit of the contiguous land, on which he depended more -than on the profits of his excellent ‘home-brewed.’ - -The road southward from the ford passed the gates of Ringsford Manor. -Going in that direction, Coutts Hadleigh was crossing the foot-bridge -when Pansy reached the elm, and at sight of him she halted under the -broken branch. The colour came back to her cheeks for an instant and -left them paler than before. She had often heard of the pitfalls which -beset the steps of maidens who lift their eyes too high; but she was -incapable of nice arguments about the proper level of sight for one in -her position. He had said many pretty things to her, always asked a -flower from her, and at the harvest-home he had danced with her more -than with any of the other girls. She was pleased; and now she owned -that she had more than once wondered, when the Manor carriage with the -ladies passed and she was courtesying by the wayside, how she would -look if sitting in their place. - -But that admission under the light of this day’s experience revealed an -ugly possibility, and taught her the alphabet of a disagreeable lesson -in life. - -She waited until Coutts had got some distance from the ford; then she -crossed the road, and entering a ploughed field, hurried homeward, -keeping close by the hedge, as if afraid to be seen. - -Her father was kneeling on the hearth lighting the fire, his thin -cheeks drawn into hollows as he blew the wood into flame. - -‘That you, Pansy?’ (poof). ‘What ails you the day’ (poof), ‘that -there’s neither fire nor’ (poof) ‘dinner for me when I come in frae my -work?’ - -A series of vigorous ‘poofs’ followed. Pansy, whilst quickly relieving -him of his task and arranging the table, explained what had happened in -the washhouse, and how Miss Heathcote had taken her to the doctor. - -‘Oh, you were wi’ her,’ said the gardener, paying little attention to -her accident. ‘I thought you might have been awa wi’ some other body, -for I never knew women-folk neglectin’ the dinner exceptin’ in cases o’ -courtin’ or deein’.’ - -Most men would have been in a temper on returning hungry from work and -finding that the fire had to be lighted to heat the food; but Sam -having been rarely subjected to such an experience, and being under the -impression that he was soon to be left to look after himself entirely, -accepted the present position calmly, as a foretaste of what was coming. - -‘And you have had nothing yoursel’, Pansy. Aweel, I’m no astonished. -I daresay your mother whiles wanted her dinner when she was thinking -about me.’ - -Sam, finding dinner a hopeless achievement, began, with customary -deliberation, to fill and light his pipe. His daughter’s short answers -he attributed to the natural shyness in the presence of her father of a -maiden who was expecting soon to become a wife. - -‘I ken what you are thinking about, Pansy; but I’m no going to say a -word on the subject at this time of day. There’s another matter to -speak about.’ - -What relief she felt! How gladly she put the question: - -‘What’s that, father?’ - -‘There’s news come of your gran’father. He is bad wi’ the rheumatics -again, and no a creature to look after him. I’m thinking we’ll have to -make a journey over to Camberwell, and see what can be done for him, -since he’ll no come to us here.’ - -‘I will go to him to-day,’ she ejaculated with surprising energy; ‘and -I can take that stuff the doctor sent for you; and I can stay with him -and nurse him until he is able to get about again.’ - -‘Hooly, hooly,’ cried Sam, taking the pipe out of his mouth and staring -at his daughter. ‘Kersey doesna bide in the town, though he works -there.’ - -‘I don’t want to see him at all; I want to go to grandfather,’ she -answered. But it was not entirely anxiety on account of that relative -which prompted the desire to visit Camberwell, although her affection -for the old man was strong enough to make her eager to nurse him. -She also saw in this temporary exile the opportunity to escape from -surroundings which were threatening to mar all her chances of happiness. - -‘And what am I to do when ye’re awa?’ - -‘You can go up to the House for your meals, or you can get them ready -for yourself, as you have done before. We cannot leave grandfather -alone.’ - -‘True enough, true enough, my lass; and I suppose you’ll need to go. -You’ll maybe do the auld man some good. It would be the saving o’ him, -body and sowl, if you could get him to sup parritch and drink a wee -thing less. You can take him some flowers; but it’s a pity that you -cannot have ane of the new geraaniums for him.’ - -So that was settled; and Pansy had never thought there would come a day -when she would prepare eagerly to leave home. - -When Madge heard of the mission which called Pansy away from the -cottage for a time, she felt as well pleased as if fortune had bestowed -some good gift upon her. She saw in it something like a providential -rescue of the girl from a dangerous position; and the readiness with -which the summons had been obeyed was a guarantee that no great -mischief had been done yet. Away from Ringsford, with change of -scenes and faces, and with new duties of affection to perform, the -best qualities of her nature would be brought into action, whilst she -would have leisure enough to arrive at a clear understanding of her -own feelings. It was a pity that the old man should be ill; but it was -lucky for Pansy—and probably for Caleb—that this call should have been -made upon her. - -She had made no sign to her friend; and it was not until Madge arrived -at the gardener’s cottage on the following afternoon that Pansy’s -sudden departure became known to her. It was odd that she had not even -left a word of good-bye with her father for one who, she was aware, -would be anxious about her. But the folly, whatever it might be, which -had for the time so altered the girl’s simple nature would be the -more easily forgotten if there were no speech about it. Evidently Sam -was still ignorant of the fact that Caleb had spoken and received a -refusal. Madge hoped that they would soon have good news of Pansy and -her patient. - -‘I daresay we’ll hear about them in twa or three days; but it’s little -good she can do her gran’father. He’s a stupid auld body; and as soon -as he gets on his feet again, he’ll just be off trailing round the -town, making-believe to be selling laces and things; but that’s no what -takes him about.’ - -‘What, then?’ - -‘Singing bits o’ sangs and making a fool of himsel’ at public-houses, -for the treats he gets from folk that ought to know better,’ replied -the gardener, shaking his head gloomily. ‘I havena much hope for -him; but I was aye minded to gie him another chance; and as it was -to be given, the sooner the better. Besides that, Pansy was most -extraordinary anxious to get awa to him. If she could just fetch him -here, something might be done for him.’ - -Madge sympathised with this kindly wish, and hoped it might be realised -in spite of Sam’s misgivings. Then she went on to the Manor. - - - - -ROYAL PERSIAN SHERBET. - - -Under this sounding title, most of us have a remembrance of a white -effervescing powder, flavoured with essence of lemons, which in the -summer-time was sold to us as children; a large spoonful was stirred -into a tumbler of water, cool or the reverse, and known to boys as -a ‘fizzer.’ It is not to this mawkish draught we wish to draw the -reader’s attention, but rather to the real thing as used in Persia and -throughout the East. Persian sherbet is a very comprehensive term, and -there are many varieties of it. Before we come to what it is, it may -be as well to explain when and how it is drunk. Sherbet is used as a -thirst-quencher, and a cooling drink in hot weather; it is either the -drink taken at meals, or it is handed to visitors in warm weather in -lieu of coffee. As a drink at meals, it is placed in Chinese porcelain -bowls, there being usually several varieties of the sherbet, more or -less, according to the size of the party and the position of the host. -Each bowl stands in its saucer; and across the vessel is laid one of -the pear-wood spoons of Abadeh, famed for their carving and lightness -throughout the Eastern world. - -A sherbet spoon is from one to two feet in length; the bowl, cut from a -solid block, holds from a claret-glass to a tumbler of the liquid. This -bowl is so thin as to be semi-transparent, and is frequently ornamented -with an inscription, the letters of which are in high-relief. To retain -their semi-transparency, each letter is undercut, so that, although -standing up an eighth of an inch from the surface of the bowl, yet the -whole is of the same light and delicate texture, no part thicker than -another. One-half of the surface of the spoon-bowl is covered by two -cleverly applied pieces of carved wood, which appear to be carved from -one block. But this is not the case—they are really cemented there. -These pieces are carved in such a delicate manner as to be almost filmy -in appearance, resembling fine lacework. The handle of the spoon—at -times twenty inches long—is formed in a separate piece, and inserted -into the edge of the bowl in a groove cut to receive it. This handle is -also elaborately carved in delicate tracery; and a wonderful effect is -produced by the rhomboid-shaped handle, at times four inches broad at -the widest part, and only a tenth of an inch thick. The groove where -the handle is inserted into the edge of the bowl of the spoon, and the -point of junction, are hidden by a rosette of carved wood, circular in -shape, only a tenth of an inch thick. This, too, is carved in lacelike -work, and it is cemented to the shaft of the spoon. A kind of flying -buttress of similar delicate woodwork unites the back-part of the -shaft to the shoulder of the bowl. The spoon, which when it leaves the -carver’s bench is white, is varnished with _Kaman_ oil, which acts as -a waterproof and preservative, and dyes the whole of a fine gamboge -yellow similar to our boxwood. The weight of the spoon is in the -largest sizes two ounces. - -The tools used by the carver are a plane, a rough sort of gouge, and a -common penknife. Each spoon is of a separate and original design, no -two being alike, save when ordered in pairs or sets. The price of the -finest specimens is from five to fifteen shillings each. These sherbet -spoons are really works of art, and are valued by oriental amateurs. -Many of the merchants are very proud of their sherbet spoons; and -being wood, they are ‘lawful;’ for a metal spoon, if of silver, is an -abomination; consequently, the teaspoons in Persia have a filigree hole -in the bowl, and thus can be used for stirring the tea only, and not -for the unlawful act of conveying it to the mouth in a silver spoon. -Of course, these high-art sherbet spoons are only seen at the houses -of the better classes, a coarser wooden spoon being used by the lower -classes. The spoons at dinner serve as drinking-vessels, for tumblers -are unknown; and the metal drinking-cups so much in use are merely for -travelling, or the pottle-deep potations of the irreligious. - -During the seven months of Persian summer, it is usual to serve sherbet -at all visits, in lieu of coffee, for coffee is supposed to be heating -in the hot afternoons, at which time formal visits are often made; -and as the visitor must be given something—for he is never sent empty -away—sherbet in glass tankards or _istakans_—a word borrowed from the -Russian term for a tumbler—is handed round. These _istakans_ are often -very handsome, being always of cut or coloured glass, often elaborately -gilded and painted in colours, or what is termed jewelled—that is, -ornamented with an imitation of gems. - -And now, what is Persian sherbet? A draught of sweetened water -flavoured to the taste of the drinker. The only exception to this -definition is the _sherbet-i-kand_, or _eau sucrée_, which is simply -water in which lump-sugar has been dissolved. The varieties of sherbet -may be divided into those made from the fresh juice of fruit, which are -mixed with water and sweetened to the taste; and those made from sirup, -in which the juice of fruit has been boiled. - -It will be thus seen that the effervescing qualities of royal Persian -sherbet only exist in the imagination of the English confectioner. -But there is one all-important point that the English vendor would do -well to imitate: Persian sherbet is served very cool, or iced. Blocks -of snow or lumps of ice are always dissolved in the sherbet drunk in -Persia, unless the water has been previously artificially cooled. Fresh -sherbets are usually lemon, orange, or pomegranate; and the first two -are particularly delicious. The fresh juice is expressed in the room in -the presence of the guest, passed through a small silver strainer, to -remove the pips, portions of pulp, &c.; lumps of sugar are then placed -in the _istakan_; water is poured in till the vessel is two-thirds -full, and it is then filled to the brim with blocks of ice or snow. - -The preserved sherbets are generally contained in small decanters of -coloured Bohemian glass similar to the _istakans_ in style. They are -in the form of clear and concentrated sirup. This sirup is poured into -the bowl or _istakan_, as the case may be; water is added; the whole -is stirred; and the requisite quantity of ice or snow completes the -sherbet. - -When bowls are used—as they invariably are by the rich at meals, and by -the poor at all times—the spoons are dipped into the bowl, and after -being emptied into the mouth, are replaced in the bowl of sherbet. -Thus the use of glass vessels, until lately very expensive in Persia, -is dispensed with. Probably with the continuous introduction of the -ugly and cheap, but strong and serviceable, Russian glass, the dainty -sherbet-spoon of Abadeh will gradually disappear, the more prosaic -tumbler taking its place. - -One kind of sherbet is not a fruit-sirup, but a distilled water; this -is the _sherbet i-beed-mishk_, or willow-flower sherbet. The fresh -flowers of a particular kind of willow are distilled with water; a -rather insipid but grateful distilled water is the result. Of this, the -Persians are immoderately fond, and they ascribe great power to it in -the ‘fattening of the thin.’ It is a popular and harmless drink, and is -drunk in the early morning, not iced, but simply sweetened. - -Persians are very particular as to the water they drink, and are as -great connoisseurs in it as some Englishmen are curious in wines. -The water they habitually drink must be cool, and if possible, from -a spring of good repute. It is often brought long distances in skins -daily from the favourite spring of the locality. Given good water, and -pleasant, grateful beverages of all sorts, it is easy to refrain from -the strong drinks which Mohammed so wisely forbade his followers to -indulge in, making drunkenness a crime, and the drunkard an object of -disgust and loathing to his fellow-man. Undoubtedly, strong drinks in -hot climates, or even in hot weather, are incompatible with good health. - -The varieties of the preserved sirups are numerous: orange, lemon, -quince, cranberry—the raspberry is unknown in Persia—cherry, -pomegranate, apricot, plum, and grape juice; while various combinations -of a very grateful nature are made by mixing two or even three of the -above. - - - - -TERRIBLY FULFILLED. - - -IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II. - -The auctioneer looked at his watch. Past three o’clock in the morning. -He went into the hall, put on his hat, softly opened the front-door, -and went out. He was going to make a visit of inspection which no -amount of distress would have induced him to omit before retiring -to rest. The house was a corner one, turning a dead wall to the -side-street which ran out of the square. Turning down this street, he -stopped at a low door at the further extremity of the house, having a -massive iron handle and a small keyhole. Taking a key from his pocket, -he turned it in the lock, twisted the handle round, and, exerting -his strength, drew the door towards him. It was then to be seen that -this door, though to outward view consisting of nothing stronger than -wood, was of massive steel within—was, in fact, a thief-proof door. -The idea was an original one. Our brethren who follow the honourable -profession of burglary find, we are told, little difficulty in dealing -with matters of this nature, however skilfully constructed and widely -advertised, if only they can be secure from interruption. The mere -fact that safes and strong-room doors are always to be found _inside_ -a building, affords to the burglar this very security. Once within -and alone, with the long hours of night before him, he can go about -his work in a leisurely and scientific fashion, with at least a fair -chance of success. But it had occurred to the auctioneer that if the -door were made to open directly upon the street, it would be extremely -difficult for the most daring and experienced cracksman to prosecute -to a successful conclusion, at the momentary risk of detection, a -labour of several hours, requiring the employment of numerous tools. -Besides which, the police being aware of the existence of the door, the -constable on the beat was accustomed to examine it carefully whenever -he passed; so that if any attempt to force it had been made since the -last inspection, he could not fail to detect the fact immediately. - -The auctioneer stepped through the doorway and shut the door behind -him. Striking a match, he lit the candle in a small lantern which he -carried; and it was then evident that, supposing our burglar to have -forced the outer door, he would so far have found little to reward -his pains, for a second strong-door at some distance from the first -required to be opened also. This done, the interior of the safe was -seen. It was a small room, about ten feet square, entirely without -access to the house, the walls and vaulted ceiling strongly constructed -of stone. Its only furniture was a small table and chair, and a nest of -drawers clamped to the wall. Close by this, reaching from the floor to -the spring of the arch, was what appeared to be a dingy, full-length -portrait of a gentleman of the time of Charles II., in a tarnished -gilt frame. On inspection, this picture looked as if painted on panel; -but if sounded with the knuckles, it was found to be of a different -material—solid metal. - -Most men, especially rich men, have a hobby. Mr Cross had two. They -were, first, diamonds; secondly, mechanics. His trade was not of the -ordinary class; and he, with one or two other firms, had practically a -monopoly of it in London. He dealt only in precious stones, jewellery, -valuable pictures, and such-like articles. To his rooms, pawnbrokers -sent their unredeemed pledges of this kind for sale by public auction, -as the law directs. Where it was necessary, under the terms of a -will, to dispose of family plate and jewellery, the executors were -generally advised to retain the services of Mr Cross. Should the more -valuable and less bulky effects of the Right Honourable the Earl of -Englethorpe ever come to the hammer, as sometimes appeared to that -nobleman to be a not quite impossible occurrence, it was by no means -unlikely—such is the irony of fate—that Mr Cross would wield the fatal -hammer. In this way it happened that the auctioneer, being brought into -business contact with dealers in precious stones, enjoyed opportunities -of gratifying his passion for diamonds at a cost which would have -astounded the general public, who are accustomed to shop-window prices. -During some twenty years, he had expended in this way over thirty -thousand pounds, and had destined his collection to form a parure for -his daughter on her marriage, which should at least equal that of any -duchess in the three kingdoms. And it contributed not a little to his -grief, that the possibility of her ever coming to wear those diamonds -seemed to be but a very remote one. - -For the protection of the fruits of his first hobby, his second had -come into play. In his youth, when the choice of a trade or profession -had been offered to him by his father—also an auctioneer with a large -business—he had elected to be a mechanical engineer. He had accordingly -been apprenticed to an eminent firm, and had gone through the drudgery -exacted from all, without distinction of class or means, who enter -that profession, in which there is no royal road to learning. He had -developed such ingenuity and ability, that there would have been no -difficulty about a future partnership, when his father died suddenly. -It was highly advisable that the business, a large and lucrative one, -should be carried on. Young Cross, with that decision of character -which marked him through life, instantly determined to abandon -engineering and adopt his father’s trade, which prospered in his hands -until it reached its present dimensions. But he never wasted anything; -and he turned his mechanical knowledge and skill to such purpose by -way of recreation, that amongst other sources of wealth he was the -owner of several valuable patents of his own invention. He had a small -workshop and forge fitted up in the rear of his house, and here he was -accustomed often to occupy himself in the evening and early morning. It -was his only amusement; for of books he was wont to say, and believe, -that they were but the brains of other men, and of little use to a man -who had brains of his own. - -His next proceedings will show how he had turned his mechanical genius -to account for the safe keeping of his diamonds. Any person opening -the drawers in the nest would have found them full of old papers, and -would also have found that they would not come entirely out of their -places. Opening, however, the third drawer from the top, the auctioneer -pulled at it strongly, until it came out with a sharp snap, exposing -the opening into which it fitted. The back of this drawer was a movable -flap, working on hinges, and retained in its place by a powerful -spring, so that it required a considerable exertion of strength to -extract the drawer from the nest. Putting his hand into the aperture, -Mr Cross grasped an iron semicircular handle which fitted into a niche -in the wall at the back of the drawers, and drew it towards him. As he -did so, the seeming picture glided noiselessly away, leaving its frame -surrounding a dark opening. Through this he passed into what was in -effect a huge inner safe; a closet about four feet square by six in -height, lined throughout with inch-thick steel, and within that again -with four inches of fire-resisting composition contained in an iron -skin. The sliding door was steel, very thick and massive, fastening -with half-a-dozen spring catches, moving in a groove four inches in -depth, and absolutely impervious to any one not acquainted with the -machinery. - -Every portion of this latter apparatus had been devised and constructed -by the auctioneer with his own hands, and placed in position by him -after the safe—made to his order by a famous maker—had been set up. The -rest was a mere matter of stone-masonry, completed by ordinary workmen -under his own eye; so that the secret was with him alone. Even now the -whole has not been revealed. Prior to withdrawing the semicircular -handle, it was necessary to turn it to the right, from a perpendicular -to a horizontal position. Unless this were done, the act of pulling -out the handle set in motion a clockwork apparatus, which at the end -of thirty seconds released a heavy counterpoise, the effect of which -was to close the sliding door of the inner safe smartly, and to throw -out of gear the machinery which worked it. It could then only be opened -by means of a second mechanical arrangement, connected with another -handle which was concealed behind a block of stone in the wall near the -roof. It is evident that any person entering the safe after opening -the door, unless in possession of the second part of this secret, -would be effectually trapped. His comrades, if any, would be unable to -deliver him, and he would have to abide an ignominious capture. This -device the auctioneer considered superior to any system of spring-guns -or such-like vulgarities, which are almost as likely to injure the -owner as the thief. Against each side of the safe were piled ordinary -deed-boxes, containing the various securities representing the bulk of -his fortune; but against the side opposite to the door was an iron box -weighing perhaps five hundredweight, and clamped firmly to the floor. - -The auctioneer knelt down, and with a small key fastened to the handle -of the larger one, opened the box, disclosing a number of jewel-trays. -As he lifted them out one after the other, the light of the lantern -twinkled upon the rare and valuable gems, of all sizes and shapes, -which lay loose upon the satin cushions. He looked at them long and -earnestly, counting them over and over again, and flashing the more -precious of them to and fro against the light. - -‘Ay!’ he muttered—‘all for her—for little Amy. What use in them now? -It’s all over—all over and done with for ever.’ But again came the -thought that if Amy were to become a widow, she might wear the diamonds -after all. - -He closed and locked the box, rose from his knees, and went back to -the nest of drawers outside. As he forced the handle into its place, -the picture reappeared, and the sliding-door shut to with a click. -Pushing back the movable flap, he insinuated the drawer into its place, -replaced the papers taken from it, and closed it. Then, closing the -inner strong-door, he stepped again into the street, shutting the outer -door after him; and having satisfied himself that it was securely -closed, went into the house and to bed, where he slept heavily, being -quite tired out, until nearly ten o’clock in the morning. - - * * * * * - -Despite his vigils of the night before, Mr Cross was tolerably punctual -to his eleven o’clock appointment at the rooms occupied by Captain -Ferrard and his wife in Duke Street. That gentleman received him with -smooth looks and fair words, for it was by no means his cue to be the -first to quarrel. So he courteously hoped that Mr Cross was well, -invited him to a seat, making no allusion to the fact that this was the -first time they had met since the marriage, and then left his visitor -to state the reason of his call. - -‘I’m a plain business man, sir,’ said the auctioneer after a moment or -two; ‘and I’ve got little time to spare, so I’ll come to the point at -once. It seems, from what my daughter told me last night, that you and -she don’t get on quite so well together as you should.’ - -‘Ay, ay!’ said the captain carelessly. The demon within him was being -aroused. He had not the slightest intention of allowing this tradesman -to lecture him. The latter waited for some further remark, but none -came. - -‘That isn’t as it should be between man and wife, you know,’ said he at -last, somewhat nonplussed. - -‘I’ll be as plain with you, Mr Cross, as you can possibly be with me,’ -said the captain, turning round suddenly so as to face his visitor. ‘My -wife has been complaining to you, it seems. Well, I suppose we have -our trifling disagreements, like other couples, and scarcity of money -does not tend to sweeten the temper—does it? I quite agree with you -that this is not as it should be; but then, how few things are! Am I to -suppose that it is only on this subject that you wish to speak to me?’ - -‘Don’t be hasty,’ replied Mr Cross. ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault, -nor anybody’s fault. I come to you in a friendly way, not to have words -about it. I’ve been thinking the matter over a good deal since last -night, and I’ve come to fancy things might somehow be arranged between -us, after all.’ - -Ferrard pricked up his ears. ‘Very good of you to say so,’ he said -politely. - -‘I don’t say that I’ve quite thought it out, and I don’t say what I -will do, you understand, or what I won’t. But no doubt there’s a good -deal of truth in your remark about money and temper. I’m a rough, -cross-grained sort of fellow, and perhaps I may have been too quick -over this affair. I’m afraid I wasn’t too civil to you that day; and -you must own _you_ were a bit aggravating too. I only want my girl to -be happy.’ - -‘I assure you, Mr Cross,’ said the captain, with engaging frankness, -‘that in that respect we are entirely at one. I have every desire -for your daughter’s happiness—and, I may add, for my own; of course, -in a secondary degree. But I have already pointed out to you, and -you have been good enough to agree with me, that good temper and -easy circumstances are intimately allied; and I think you will also -admit that bad temper and happiness are entirely incompatible. And -considering our respective tastes and habits, five hundred a year can -scarcely be considered affluence.’ - -For all his desire to be conciliatory, he could not entirely repress -the slight sneer which pervaded his tone and manner. - -The auctioneer looked steadily and gravely at him as he replied: ‘I -daresay we shall find some way of getting rid of the inconvenience, -sir. But I’m due in the City long before this, so I’ll only say that I -hope we shall be better acquainted, and we can’t be that without seeing -more of one another. What do you say to a bit of dinner at my house on -Thursday and staying the night? Then you and I can talk this little -matter over by ourselves, between man and man. I’m going out of town -for a week on Friday; and if you don’t mind, I’ll arrange for Amy to -meet me at London Bridge and keep me company—she looks as if a whiff of -the sea wouldn’t hurt her—and then, you know, you could think over any -proposal I might make to you, alone and quietly; and tell me what you -say to it, when we come back.’ - -The captain’s heart leaped within him at these proposals. Pressing -claims were at this moment hanging over him, which it seemed that he -might now be able to meet. He could ask no fairer opportunity for -captivating his father-in-law and so turning his dearth into plenty. So -he responded to the invitation with great heartiness, professed himself -delighted at the prospect of so pleasant a trip for his wife; and they -shook hands and parted. - -Mr Cross stood on the doorstep for a moment, deep in thought. His mind -sadly misgave him. He mistrusted his power of dealing with this cool, -sarcastic, easy-mannered vagabond, as he would have dealt with one of -his own class. He shook his head as he walked away. If the man would -but die! - -That night, feeling weary and worn out, he thought he would indulge in -a little tinkering of some sort in his workshop—to him a never-failing -source of relaxation. For some time past he had been engaged in -making a duplicate set of keys for the doors of the strong-room and -the iron box which held the diamonds, as a useful precaution in case -the originals should be lost or mislaid. So, after dinner, he put on -his leathern apron and again set to work, pipe in mouth. When he had -finished the work, he paid the usual evening visit to his diamonds, -using the new keys. With a touch or two of the small file which he -carried in his hand, he found that they fitted perfectly. - -Amy had been the same day to her father in the City, all anxiety to -learn the result of the interview, as her husband declined to tell her -anything. Mr Cross had, as we know, but little to tell; he could only -bid her, as before, keep a good heart, and it would all come right. -He informed her of the arrangements which had been made for Thursday -and Friday next, named the hour at which she was to meet him at London -Bridge, and sent her away a little perplexed, but rejoicing greatly -at the prospect of the trip, and trusting implicitly in her father’s -wisdom. - - - - -THE ART OF CONVERSATION. - - -Certain things are supposed to come by the grace of nature and the -free gift of providence; and the Art of Conversation is one of them. -No one dreams of cultivating this art, either in its perfected form or -in those rudiments which stand as a ‘grammar in use for beginners;’ -that is—correct diction, just expression, that inflection of the voice -which shall be eloquent without being theatrical, and that emphasis -which shall be indicative without being exaggerated. People drawl out -their words into long tails or clip them into docked stumps; they loop -them on to the other with a running chain of ‘_er_s,’ or they bite them -off short, each word falling plumb and isolated, disconnected from -all the rest; they let their labials go by the board, and bury their -_r_s in the recesses of their larynx; they throw the accent on the -wrong syllable, and transform their vowels according to their liking; -they say ‘wuz’ for ‘was,’ ‘onnibus’ for ‘omnibus,’ and ‘y’ are’ for -‘you are;’ they shoulder out all the middle aspirates and some of -the initial, and forget that words ending in ‘ing’ have a final _g_ -which is neither to be burked out of existence nor hardened into a -ringing _k_. All which lingual misdemeanours they commit with a clear -conscience and a light heart, because ignorant that they have committed -any misdemeanour at all. - -Even people of birth and breeding, who should be without offence in -those matters, fail in their grammar, and say the queerest things in -the world. ‘These sort of things;’ ‘Who have you asked?’ ‘Every one of -them know you;’ ‘Between you and I;’ ‘Neither men or women;’ ‘No one’ -as the antecedent, and ‘they’ as the relative—these are just a few of -the commonest errors of daily speech of which no one is ashamed, and -to which were you to make a formal objection, you would be thought a -pedant for your pains, and laughed at when your back was turned. If -these things are done in the green tree of method, what may not be -looked for in the dry of substance? And sure it is that we find very -queer things indeed in that dry of substance, and prove for ourselves -how the Art of Conversation is reduced to its primitive elements, -which few give themselves the trouble to embellish, and fewer still to -perfect. - -To begin at the beginning, how seldom people pay undivided attention to -the conversation on hand, and how often their thoughts wander and stray -everywhere but where they should be! The most absurd, the most trivial, -thing distracts them. A spider on the wall breaks the thread of an -enthralling narrative, and a butterfly on the lawn breaks into the -gravest, or the most poetic, talk as ruthlessly as the proverbial bull -smashes into the proverbial china-shop. Another alumnus in the same -school, though of a different class, will not let you speak without -interruption. Like a cockerel, spurring and springing at its brother, -this kind dashes at you with an answer before you have half stated your -case. ‘You mean this?’ he says, performing that feat called ‘taking -the words out of your mouth.’ And forthwith he begins his refutation -of that which you have not said and probably had no intention of -saying. Another will not wait until you have finished. His words cross -and intermingle with yours in hopeless confusion of both sound and -sense. You both speak together, and neither listens to the other—you, -because you ‘have the floor,’ and he, because he wishes to have it. -Conversation with such is impossible. It is a battle of words—mere -words—like a heap of loose stones shot pell-mell out of a cart; and -not that orderly interchange of ideas which is what true conversation -should be. - -Others, cousins-german to these, interfere in talk with which they -have no business. They do not join in; thus enlarging the basis and -enriching the superstructure; but they break in with something quite -irrelevant, destroying the most interesting discussion on the most -puerile pretence, as a feather whisk might knock down a Sèvres vase. -This form of bad-breeding is much in use among women when they are -jealous, and want to make themselves unpleasant to each other. The -poet or the lord, the bishop or the general, that grand name or this -great fortune—the man who is the feminine cynosure and whose attention -confers distinction—is talking to some one singled out from the rest. -He has to be detached and made to transfer himself. Accordingly, one of -the boldest of the discontented outsiders goes up to the charge, and -in the midst of a talk on literature, art, politics, on his travels or -her experiences, cuts in with a question about the next flower-show or -the last murder; with Who? What? When? How? no nearer to the subject -on hand than the moon is near to Middlesex. This is an offence of -daily occurrence, even among well-bred people—human nature having the -ugly trick of breaking out of the delicate swaddling-clothes in which -education and refinement would fain confine it. - -Sometimes your interlocutor is a mother abnormally occupied with her -children, and unable for two consecutive minutes to free her thoughts -from the petty details of their lives. She does not even pretend to -listen to what you are saying. All the time you are speaking, her eyes -are wandering about the room, to make sure that Tom is not forgetting -his manners, and that Jane is not making holes in hers—that Frank is -where he should be, and Sarah not where she should not be—that Edith -is not talking too much, and that Charley is not talking too little: -it does not matter what she is anxious about, seeing that if it be not -one thing it will be another. And you need not be offended, nor take -her inattention as a slight special to yourself. The Golden-mouthed -himself could not fix her thoughts, wandering as they always are over -the pathless spaces of her maternal fear. She is one of the most -disagreeable of the whole tribe of the conversational awkward-squad. -You have nothing for it but to stop dead—in the midst of a sentence, -if need be—until she has brought her roving eyes back to the point -which presupposes attention, and appears to be conscious that you are -speaking to her. - -Others yawn in your face with frank and undisguised weariness; and -some put up the transparent screen of a fan or two fingers; others, -again, make that constrained grimace which accompanies the eating -and the swallowing of the yawn, and think that their sudden gulp and -hesitation will pass unobserved. Some give wrong answers, with their -eyes fixed on yours, as if listening devoutly to all you say, and -absorbed in your conversation. They have mastered this part of the -form, and can look as if drinking in to the last verbal drop. The -reality is analogous to that condition of Baron Münchhausen’s horse -with which we are all familiar, and which we express by the phrase: -‘Going in at one ear and out by another.’ One who had learned this art -of looking attention without giving it, once fell into a pit whence was -no possible extraction. ‘Do you call gentlemen in England It?’ said -an English-speaking German who thought his sweet companion had been -entirely interested in his talk. Her eyes—and what eyes they were!—had -been all he could desire—fixed, listening, interested. Meanwhile, her -ears had been occupied elsewhere. At her back, on the ottoman where -she was sitting, was being carried on a conversation in which she was -deeply interested. Before her sat her German, labouring heavily among -the stiff clay-clods of his imperfect English. Her answer to his remark -betrayed the absence of the mind underneath all the steadfastness -of her bewildering eyes. ‘Do you call gentlemen in England It?’ he -repeated with mingled reproach, sorrow, and—enlightenment. That random -answer to his previous question cost her the offer of a spray of orange -blossom—and him the pain of its refusal. - -Beyond these rudiments comes the higher art reaching into grace, and -needing enlightened intelligence for its perfection. The section which -we have been considering belongs only to the grammar, the beginning, -the mere infancy of things, like the New Zealander’s tattoo for -personal decoration, or his hideous idol for representative art. Beyond -the good-breeding of attention comes the supreme art, we had almost -said the science of conversation—of all things the most difficult, to -judge by its rarity at least in England. It is more common in France, -where it is better understood, and where a good conversationalist -is prized as a Master in his own degree. And be it observed—a good -conversationalist is not the same thing as a good anecdotist, a good -debater, a good talker—this last too often sinning with Coleridge in -monopolising all the talk to himself, and granting only some ‘brilliant -flashes of silence’ wherein the ruck may have their innings. A good -conversationalist, on the contrary, is essentially reciprocal. He -flings his own ball, but he catches the return and waits for its throw. -He has a light touch, and that kind of skill which glances off rather -than hits fair and square. He has also the power of suggestiveness -and direction, as perfect in its way as the skill with which certain -adepts can make a ball wind in and out of stumps and stakes by the -clever twist of their first throw off. He is not one of those who run -a subject to earth and finish it all the same as one would finish a -fox; but he keeps it alive and going with the neatest, deftest, little -fillips possible—as the Japanese keep up their paper butterflies -with airy puffs of their flimsy fans, or as a thaumaturgist guides -his spinning-plates with the tip of his forefinger. When it is all -over, and you ask yourself what you have got by it, you are forced -to confess, Nothing. You have been superficially amused, and for the -moment interested; but you have learned nothing, and are no richer -mentally than you were before the verbal butterfly began to flutter and -the wordy plate to spin. - -We in England, however, know but little of this kind of talk. We have -men who argue, and men who assert; and we have men, and women too, -who come down with a thud on the toes of all whom they encounter in -the various walks of conversation. But of the light bright thrust and -parry, the brilliant quarte and tierce, the flashing ‘pinked’ and quick -_riposte_ characteristic of the palmy days of Parisian society, we have -but very little. For foils we use bludgeons; for paper butterflies, -leaden bullets. We are too much in earnest to be graceful, and too -anxious about our subject to be careful of our method. Hence we have -better dialecticians than conversationalists, and better fighters than -fencers. But really, say, at a dinner, or in the crowded corners of a -fashionable soirée, you cannot go into the mazes of ‘evidences,’ nor -discuss the value of esoteric Buddhism, nor yet winnow your sheaf of -political economy, beginning with Adam Smith and ending with Henry -George. You can only play with words and toss up airy bubbles of ideas. -And he who can play with most dexterity, and whose airy bubbles have -the brightest iridescence, is the hero of the moment and the master of -the situation. - -As a rule, authors are but dull dogs in conversation. They keep their -good things for their books. Those who expect in literary society the -feast of reason and the flow of soul, find themselves for the most part -wofully disappointed. More is to be got out of the amateurist set—that -fringe which would be if it could, and which hangs on to the main -body as the best thing it can do in the circumstances. But authors -of the professional and bread-winning class will talk only of things -already known, repeating what they have written, but taking care not to -forestall what they have not yet printed. They, and all professionals -of any denomination whatsoever, are also given to talk shop among -themselves; and shop is usually disagreeable to the outsider. - -We might do worse than cultivate Conversation as an Art. Time has room -for all things in his hand, and life has need of variety. Desperately -busy and terribly in earnest as we may be, blowing bubbles has yet -its value. Moreover, the true art of conversation is a lesson in -good-breeding, which, in its turn, is the _fine fleur_ of civilisation; -and thus, from the rootwork of manner to the efflorescence of matter, -there is something to be gained by the perfection of the art. - - - - -IN QUEER COMPANY. - - -IN TWO PARTS.—PART I. - -If the following account of what happened to me a few years ago serves -no other purpose, it may pass muster as an illustration of two old -sayings, namely, that ‘One half of the world does not know how the -other half lives,’ and that ‘Truth is often stranger than fiction.’ - -It was late on a very cold afternoon during the winter of 1876-77, -that I was hurrying westward along the Marylebone Road, congratulating -myself upon having turned my back upon the bitter east wind, and -comparing the climate of London towards the end of December with that -which I had been enjoying exactly twelve months previously, when -at Calcutta, as one of the Special Correspondents with the Prince -of Wales. I had got nearly as far as the Edgware Road, when a man -touched his hat to me and asked me for the wherewith to get a night’s -lodging. He did not look like an ordinary or a professional beggar. -His clothes, although very shabby, were evidently well made. He looked -so pinched and weary, that I stopped and fumbled in the ticket-pocket -of my overcoat for a sixpence to give him. He stared at me very hard -indeed whilst I was getting the money, and as I handed it to him, broke -out with an exclamation of wonder, asking me whether my name was not -so-and-so. I replied that it was; and asked him where he had ever seen -me before. To make a long story short, this poverty-stricken man asking -alms on the public streets turned out to be a gentleman I had known -many years before, when he was a captain in one of our crack lancer -regiments, and had a private fortune of his own of more than fifteen -hundred a year. When I had last seen him, he was a man of little over -thirty; but was now on the wrong side of fifty; and owing to want, -care, hunger, cold, and dirt, looked very much older. He had always -been a very fast man. Betting, cards, and doing bills at sixty per -cent., had worked out their legitimate ends upon him. I had lost all -sight of him for fully twenty years, but remembered having heard that -he had been obliged to sell out on account of his many debts. All this, -and much more too, he related when he came to my house, as I had told -him to do, and helped him as far as it was in my power, with a little -money and some old clothes. - -When I asked him what he intended to do for the future, he said that -if he could only get a decent outfit and a few pounds for travelling -expenses, he had an opening in Paris that would soon put him on his -legs again. It so happened that I knew slightly two or three men who -had been in the same regiment with this individual; and of these there -was one who was very well off. I therefore wrote out an appeal for the -poor fellow, sent it to the different parties; and was greatly pleased -when I found that instead of realising, as I had hoped, some ten or -fifteen pounds, the contributions sent me came to upwards of thirty -pounds. With this money I first got the unfortunate man a fairly good -outfit of clothes, and then made over to him the balance left, about -six pounds, to use as he liked. He was exceedingly grateful; and asked -me to express his thanks to those who had responded so generously to my -letters. It was about a fortnight after I had met him on the Marylebone -Road that he called to bid me farewell, and to thank me again for all I -had done, which, after all, was merely having written some half-dozen -letters, and taken a little trouble in getting his clothes as good and -as cheap as I could. He told me that he was leaving for Paris that -evening. - -For five or six months I neither saw nor heard anything about him. At -the end of that time I received a note from this individual, telling -me he was in London, saying he would like to see me, and giving me -his address at a respectable hotel near Leicester Square. I wrote an -answer; and as I happened to be going into the neighbourhood, called at -the hotel, intending to leave it there. But as the waiter told me that -the gentleman was at home, and was then writing in the coffee-room, I -went there, and found my former acquaintance, who seemed delighted to -see me. He had evidently prospered since I last saw him. He was well, -if perhaps somewhat flashily dressed; had what seemed to be a valuable -pin in his neck-scarf, a thick gold chain from one waistcoat pocket to -another, and two or three rings on his fingers. He looked more like a -Frenchman than an Englishman; and would certainly have passed a better -muster at Brebant’s or in the _Café du Helder_ than he could have done -in a London club. But what showed more plainly than anything else that -he had done well, and what pleased me greatly, was that he there and -then pulled out a roll of bank-notes and insisted upon repaying me what -I had collected for him from his former friends. It was in vain that I -protested that those gentlemen had parted with their money as a gift -and not as a loan; that I did not know where to find them at present; -and that I begged he would not think of repaying me the small portion I -had contributed to the amount. No; nothing would serve him but to make -me take the money and to give it back as best I could to those who had -assisted him in his great distress. - -As a matter of course, I was very curious to know by what means he had, -in some measure at anyrate, recovered his position in the world; or -how he had managed to fill his empty purse. But to all my questions he -gave the most evasive answers. Remembering what his pursuits used to -be long ago, I felt certain that he had got into some lucky vein of -play or of betting, and that he was making a living either by cards or -on the racecourse. But after a few days’ observation of what he did, -I was sure that I was labouring under a mistake. Just at that time of -the year several of our great race-meetings were in full swing; but he -never went near any of them; nor did he ever attempt to go back amongst -the men who had been his companions long ago. I offered to get his name -put down as an honorary or visiting member of one or two good clubs; -but he invariably declined. When he asked me, as he often did, to dine -with him, it was always at one or other of the best foreign restaurants -in London. When I called on him at his hotel, he seemed to be always -busy either writing or receiving letters. One night I looked him up -about eleven P.M. on my way back from the theatre. But they told me at -the hotel he always went out between nine and ten P.M., and seldom came -back before the small-hours of the morning. - -In London, a busy man has little or no time to think of any one’s -affairs except his own; but I confess that this gentleman used often -to puzzle me not a little. His seeming prosperity in money matters as -compared with his former circumstances, and the singular life he led, -caused me often to wonder what were the sources whence he derived his -income, my curiosity being not a little increased by his evident desire -to keep me in the dark as to the truth of the case. But the solution of -a difficult social problem almost invariably comes to hand when least -expected, and this case was no exception to the rule. - -I had not seen my friend for some two or three weeks, when I received -a note asking me to call upon him, as he had met with a bad accident -and was confined to his bed. I accordingly went to see him; and found -that he had slipped upon the street, had injured his knee somewhat -severely, and was suffering great pain. He had called in a surgeon, who -had ordered the most perfect rest for at least ten days or a fortnight; -and having no other friend in London of whom he could ask a favour, he -begged me to help him in certain matters of business which could not -be neglected. As a matter of course, I offered to be of any service I -could to him; and he said that the first favour he would ask of me was -to go to a small news-agent near Soho Square and ask for any letters -directed to ‘T. D.; to be left till called for.’ - -I did so; and found there four letters so addressed, all bearing -French post-marks, and took them to him at the hotel. He opened them -with evident eagerness, and read them with an anxiety which he could -not disguise from me, although he very evidently tried his best to -do so. The contents of these communications seemed to give him great -annoyance. After a short time, during which he seemed deep in thought, -he wrote out a curious, mysterious advertisement, such as we read -almost every day in the ‘Agony column’ of the _Times_, and asked -me to get it inserted in three of the chief morning papers. I read -what he had written, and wondered not a little what he meant. In the -advertisement, ‘Adventure’ was requested to ‘keep dark until Phillip -wrote.’ The sick man saw me smile as I read it, and looked very anxious -and embarrassed, assuring me that there was no harm whatever in the -hidden meaning of the notice. Having work of my own to attend to, I -left him, saying I would call again the next day. But he begged so -earnestly for me to come before post-time, that I consented to do so. -He told me that he did not like intrusting his letters to the people -of the hotel, who were either very curious or extremely neglectful on -all such matters. I therefore returned in the afternoon, when he handed -me two letters, which he asked me to post. They were both addressed to -Paris, to persons with French-like names, and were to be left _poste -restante_ at different post-offices. The next day but one he asked me -to go to the same small news-agent near Soho Square and ask for any -letters that might be there for him. I found two, and brought them to -him. He read them with great eagerness; and again wrote two letters, -which he asked me to post for him, evidently not caring to trust the -people of the hotel with his correspondence. This went on almost every -day. On one occasion, he took out of one of the letters I brought him -a draft from a Paris bank upon one in London for one hundred pounds -payable to ‘T. C. Dane, or order.’ He indorsed it, and asked me to get -it cashed for him, which I did. He evidently saw that I was not only -puzzled as to what his mysterious business could be, but that I had -serious thoughts of not coming near him again until I found out whether -my doing so would compromise myself. And apparently acting upon a -sudden impulse, he all at once opened out and made what I may call his -confession to me. - -‘For some time past,’ he began, ‘I have seen that you wonder what my -business is, and why I am so mysterious with regard to what I do and -what I write. Well, I will now make a clean breast of it.’ - -He then told me that some two or three years previously, he had got -into what he called ‘worse than a mess’ in Paris. He had somehow -got mixed up with a gang of card-sharpers, without knowing to what -an extent they carried on their dishonest practices, and had so far -compromised himself, that the French police had him at their mercy. -They had, however, let him off, holding over him the power they had -to prosecute him at any future time, should they think he deserved -it. But they made certain conditions with him; and these were, that -he should go to London, and furnish them from time to time with all -the information he could gather respecting certain receivers of goods, -stolen in France, who resided in this metropolis. In order to do this -the more effectually, he had managed not only to get acquainted with -the leaders of a gang which worked for their friends in Paris, but -he had also got himself received as one of them, and used to go to -their meetings almost every night. The work, as he told me, had been -most unpleasant, but it was nearly at an end; and the French police -had promised that he should very soon be altogether free from his -engagements with them. - -To mix with people of whom little or nothing is known, and to penetrate -into places which are hidden from the generality of mankind, has -always had a great charm for me. Mr Dane was not a little surprised -when, instead of leaving him after I had heard his story, I told him he -would do me a great favour if he took me to a meeting of his dishonest -friends; and that I would pledge myself never to give any information -that might lead to a single member of the band getting into trouble. -After making some objections to my request, he at last consented; and -said that the first night he could get out he would go to the meeting -of the gang by himself, but would then make arrangements for me to -accompany him the following evening. And thus it was that I managed to -get into very ‘queer company.’ - -If any one was to offer me one hundred pounds to show him where the -place in which the thieves and receivers of stolen goods is or was -situated, I could not do so, even if it was honourable to divulge what -I had promised faithfully to keep secret. This much I may say, that -having dined in the Strand, we walked up Catherine Street, and turned -to the right when we came to the court that flanks the south side of -Drury Lane Theatre. Here my companion stopped, took out of his pocket -a pair of spectacles, and said I must put them on before he could take -me any farther. I did as he desired; and found the glasses to be so -dark that I could not see an inch beyond my nose. My friend laughed; -and linking his arm in mine, said he would conduct me safely; but that -he was obliged to make it a point I should not be able to recognise -the streets we passed through, even if I wanted to do so. As near as I -could guess, we took some ten minutes to reach our destination, after -I had put on the glasses. My companion then stopped, knocked in a -peculiar manner at a street door, told me to take off the spectacles, -and led me through what seemed to be a coffee-shop of the most humble -kind. In a large room beyond this, there were seated six or seven -men, who were not by any means all of the same type. Two or three -were evidently Frenchmen, and were talking together with the usual -volubility of their nation. The rest were scattered here and there. -All were smoking. Some had cups of tea or coffee before them, whilst -others seemed to be indulging in spirits-and-water. My companion was -greeted by all present as a friend they had been waiting for and were -glad to see. He introduced me to the party assembled as ‘one of us, -just come from Paris.’ No questions were asked, nor, beyond one or two -civil inquiries, was any particular notice taken of me. I was asked -what I would drink, offered my choice of cigars or cigarettes; and then -the meeting commenced to discuss, in an informal kind of manner, the -business which had brought those present together. - -From what I could gather, it seemed that there had been, a few days -before, a robbery of valuable jewels in Paris; and that the difficulty -of those connected with the affair was to get the plunder safely over -to the United States. The London police had been put on the alert; but -the thieves—or shall I call them the agents and helpers of thieves?—did -not seem to fear them. They discussed very freely the relative merits -of the French and English detective systems; saying, that in cases -of housebreaking and murders, the latter rarely failed to bring the -offenders to justice; but that in cases of clever ‘plants,’ the former -were much more to be feared. - -‘You never know,’ said one Englishman present, with a round oath, -‘where or when you may come across those horrible French spies. Why, we -might have here, in the very midst of us, some one who is in their pay.’ - -I thought to myself how little these fellows knew that my friend who -had introduced me into the room belonged to the very tribe whom they -feared so much. But of the United States they spoke in the highest -terms; or in very much the same manner that an artisan who could not -earn the wherewith to pay for dry bread in this country, might praise -some place in the Far West where industry was certain to gain an honest -living. From what I gathered, it would seem that whenever a robbery on -a large scale is carried out, the first object of those concerned is -to get ‘the swag’ out of the country as soon as possible. Thus, the -produce of a plunder in Paris is almost invariably taken to London, -and _vice versâ_. If the thieves can so arrange beforehand as to get -away from where the theft has been committed within a few hours of the -completion of their handiwork, they believe themselves to be all but -safe, or at least the chances are about five to one in their favour. If -they have the luck to get clear of Europe and safely land in America, -the chances are that they will get clear altogether, realise a good -price for their plunder, and make things pleasant all round. The United -States, as I said before, is a capital country to go to; but South -America is still better. In neither of these parts are many questions -asked; but in the latter country the prices given are higher than in -the north, and sales are more readily effected. In London, the market -for jewelry is by no means good; for, as a rule, the stones have to -be taken out of the setting; and the latter has to be secreted or -instantly melted, else the police are pretty certain to get scent of -the affair. - -It must not be thought that those composing the very singular company -amongst whom I found myself were at all in the burglar line. I don’t -believe that there was a single housebreaking implement to be found -amongst them. From all I gathered, they were the receivers, and not the -actual robbers, of valuable goods. They talked together of their common -pursuit much in the same manner that so many brokers might converse -respecting the fluctuations of the Stock Exchange, or a party of -farmers might give their opinions respecting the coming corn or other -crops. What surprised me most was the manner in which the company, -one and all, spoke of what they called their ‘business,’ as if it was -of the most legitimate kind; and I feel certain that they would have -resented warmly the words of any one who threw the shadow of a doubt -upon the propriety of their occupation. In what they said of things in -general, they all appeared to be very much of the same way of thinking; -or, at anyrate, they expressed themselves as holding very much the same -views. On one subject only did I hear strong language expressed, and -that was when one of them—who, from what he said, seemed to have come -from France very recently—gave an account of the manner in which the -Paris detectives had found out a certain robbery, and had brought those -who had perpetrated the same to justice. For individuals in the pay of -the police, or rather who belonged to the same, to disguise themselves -and mix with the individuals who were more or less ‘wanted,’ they -regarded as ‘low’ and ‘sneaking’ in the extreme. They were unanimous in -their opinion that if the French system of detecting robberies was ever -introduced into England, this ‘would no longer’—as one of the party -expressed himself—‘be a country for any honest man to live in.’ - - - - -HINTS FOR HOUSEWIVES. - - -So much information about everything is now so easily obtainable, -that there is little excuse for enduring many of the small domestic -worries to which housekeepers and others are often subjected. Why, -for instance, need any one be inconvenienced by damp cupboards, when -we read that a bowl of quicklime placed therein will speedily absorb -the moisture? Some of us are nervous about beds not being well aired, -and yet we have only to fill a large stone bottle with boiling water -and put it into the bed, pressing the bolster and pillows round it in -a heap. By this simple contrivance, it is comforting to learn, no one -need fear giving a friend a damp bed, even if this is done only once a -fortnight. - -Flies are a familiar nuisance; but we are told of a foreign remedy in -laurel oil, which, better than glass fly-catchers and others, will -not only rid us of these pests, but preserves looking-glasses and -picture-frames when coated with it. Jane the ‘help’ should derive -satisfaction from the assurance that beetles may be effectually got rid -of by sprinkling once or twice on the floor a mixture of pure carbolic -acid and water, one part to ten. - -It is not frequenters of restaurants only who wonder why the simple -precaution of throwing red pepper pods or a few pieces of charcoal into -the pan—said to prevent odours from boiling-ham, cabbage, &c.—is not -oftener observed. Cooks are further reminded that in roasting meat, -salt should not be put upon the joint before it is put in the oven, as -salt extracts the juice; and that lime-water will improve the condition -of old potatoes in boiling. - -Eggs could be purchased with greater confidence if the German method of -preserving them by means of silicate of soda was generally followed. A -small quantity of the clear sirup solution is smeared over the surface -of the shell. On drying, a thin, hard, glassy film remains, which -serves as an admirable protection and substitute for wax, oil, gums, &c. - -Economy in housekeeping would be facilitated by the better observance -of what are known in common parlance as ‘wrinkles.’ For example, why -purchase inferior nutmegs, when their quality can be tested by pricking -them with a pin? If they are good, the oil will instantly spread around -the puncture. It is worth recollecting that bar-soap should be cut -into square pieces, and put in a dry place, as it lasts better after -shrinking. If we wish to keep lemons fresh for some time, we have -only to place them in a jar of water and change it every morning. In -selecting flour, we are advised to look to the colour. If it is white -with a yellowish straw-colour tint, we should buy it; but if it is -white with a bluish cast, or with black specks, we should refuse it. - -Broken china can be mended with a useful glutine made with a piece of -old cheese mixed with lime; and the wooden palings of the garden may be -preserved from the weather by coating them with a composition of boiled -linseed oil and pulverised charcoal, mixed to the consistence of paint. -In this way wood can be made to last longer than iron in the ground. -If we consult our health, we should plant the garden with odoriferous -plants such as wall-flowers, mignonette, and other old English flowers -and herbs, which have a remarkable power of developing ozone and -purifying the atmosphere from miasmatic poisons. - -Amateur joiners may derive comfort from the knowledge that nails and -screws if rubbed with a little soap are easily driven into hard wood. -The same household commodity, of a fine white quality, if rubbed over -new linen will enable it to be more easily embroidered, as it prevents -the threads from cracking. - -A deal of breakage amongst glass and crockery can be prevented by the -simple precaution of placing lamp-chimneys, tumblers, and such articles -in a pot filled with cold water to which some common table-salt has -been added. Boil the water well, and then allow it to cool slowly. When -the articles are taken out and washed, they will resist any sudden -changes of temperature. - -Crape may be renovated by thoroughly brushing all dust from the -material, sprinkling with alcohol, and rolling in newspaper, commencing -with the paper and crape together, so that the paper may be between -every portion of the material. Allow it to remain so until dry. - -A better plan for removing grease-spots than by applying a hot iron is -to rub in some spirit of wine with the hand until the grease is brought -to powder, and there will be no trace of it. Every schoolboy is not -aware that ink-spots can be removed from the leaves of books by using -a solution of oxalic acid in water; nor does every housemaid know that -‘spots’ are easily cleaned from varnished furniture by rubbing it with -spirit of camphor. - -The elasticity of cane-chair bottoms can be restored by washing the -cane with soap and water until it is well soaked, and then drying -thoroughly in the air, after which they will become as tight and firm -as new, if none of the canes are broken. - -Marks on tables caused by leaving hot jugs or plates there will -disappear under the soothing influence of lamp-oil well rubbed in with -a soft cloth, finishing with a little spirit of wine or eau-de-Cologne -rubbed dry with another cloth. When the white pianoforte keys become -discoloured, we should remove the front door, fall, and slip of wood -just over them; then lift up each key separately from the front—do not -take them out—and rub the keys with a white cloth slightly damped with -cold water, and dry off with a cloth slightly warm. Should the keys be -sticky, first damp the cloth with a little spirit of wine or gin. Soap -or washing-powder must not be used. It is worth while keeping a supply -of ammonia in the household, in case we wish to remove finger-marks -from paint, or require to cleanse brushes or greasy pans. A teaspoonful -in a basin of warm water will make hair-brushes beautifully white; but -care must be taken not to let the backs of the brushes dip below the -surface. Rinse them with clean warm water, and put in a sunny window to -dry. - -Egg-shells crushed into small bits and shaken well in decanters three -parts filled with cold water, will not only clean them thoroughly, but -make the glass look like new. By rubbing with a damp flannel dipped in -the best whiting, the brown discolorations may be taken off cups in -which custards have been baked. Again, are all of us aware that emery -powder will remove ordinary stains from white ivory knife-handles, or -that the lustre of morocco leather is restored by varnishing with white -of egg? - -Nothing, it is said, is better to clean silver with than alcohol and -ammonia, finishing with a little whiting on a soft cloth. When putting -away the silver tea or coffee pot which is not in use every day, lay a -little stick across the top under the cover. This will allow fresh air -to get in, and prevent the mustiness of the contents, familiar to hotel -and lodging-house sufferers. - - - - -A BLACKBIRD’S NEST. - -BY ALEXANDER ANDERSON. - - [In the month of May might be seen, at the Forth Bridge Works, - South Queensferry, a blackbird sitting on her nest, which was - built on an elevated projecting beam in the engineering shed, - in close proximity to the driving-shaft, and immediately above - a powerful steam-engine.] - - - She sits upon her nest all day, - Secure amid the toiling din - Of serpent belts that coil and play, - And, moaning, ever twist and spin. - - What cares she for the noise and whir - Of clanking hammers sounding near? - A mother’s heart has lifted her - Beyond a single touch of fear. - - Beneath her, throbbing anvils shout, - And lift their voice with ringing peal, - While engines groan and toss about - Their tentacles of gleaming steel. - - Around her, plates of metal, smote - And beat upon by clutch and strain, - Take shape beneath the grasp of Thought— - The mute Napoleon of the brain. - - She, caring in nowise for this, - But, as an anxious mother should, - Dreams of a certain coming bliss, - The rearing of her callow brood. - - Thou little rebel, thus to fly - The summer shadows of the trees, - The sunlight of the gracious sky, - The tender toying of the breeze. - - What made thee leave thy leafy home, - The deep hid shelter of the tree, - The sounds of wind and stream, and come - To where all sounds are strange to thee? - - Thou wilt not answer anything; - Thy thoughts from these are far away; - Five little globes beneath thy wing, - Are all thou thinkest on to-day. - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, -and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. - - * * * * * - -_All Rights Reserved._ - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 28, VOL. I, JULY 12, -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. 28, Vol. I, July 12, 1884</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various </p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 20, 2021 [eBook #65881]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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)</p> -<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. 28, VOL. I, JULY 12, 1884 ***</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">{433}</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="#ON_MOOR_AND_LOCH">ON MOOR AND LOCH.</a><br /> -<a href="#BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</a><br /> -<a href="#ROYAL_PERSIAN_SHERBET">ROYAL PERSIAN SHERBET.</a><br /> -<a href="#TERRIBLY_FULFILLED">TERRIBLY FULFILLED.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_ART_OF_CONVERSATION">THE ART OF CONVERSATION.</a><br /> -<a href="#IN_QUEER_COMPANY">IN QUEER COMPANY.</a><br /> -<a href="#HINTS_FOR_HOUSEWIVES">HINTS FOR HOUSEWIVES.</a><br /> -<a href="#A_BLACKBIRDS_NEST">A BLACKBIRD’S NEST.</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. 28.—Vol. I.</span></p> -<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p> -<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, JULY 12, 1884.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_MOOR_AND_LOCH">ON MOOR AND LOCH.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">About</span> eight o’clock of a June morning the train -draws up at a small station within a short run -south of the Scottish metropolis. It is not a -typical June morning. There has been a fortnight’s -drought, followed by two days of rain—the -latter rejoicing the heart of the agriculturist -and the angler; but yesternight the rain ceased, -and its place has been taken by a gray mist, or -<i>haar</i>, which the east wind is bringing up from -the German Ocean. No angler loves mist. Is it -not set down in the angler’s book of common-law -precedents, that in the case of Man <i>versus</i> -Trout, this obscure element is to be construed -in favour of the defender? The station at -which we alight is situated in an upland valley, -shut in on the north and west by the mounded -Pentlands; but this morning their outline shows -only like a denser and darker bank of clouds -in a gray waste of cloudland. Down into the -valley also, thin streaks of mist are creeping -dismally and slow, groping their way forward -with long dripping fingers, like a belated band -of midnight ghosts which the morning light has -struck with sudden blindness. To the south-west, -the Peeblesshire hills are less obscured, but -there is floating over them the dull glaze, the -leaden hue, which makes my companion sadly -prognosticate thunder—and thunder to the angler’s -sport is as fatal as mist.</p> - -<p>It is indeed very far from being a typical June -morning. The earth is gray, and the sky is gray; -and the trees and hedgerows that flank the fields -and overshadow the cottages and the little inn, -are not musical with the song of any bird. There -is even in the air a touch of the east wind, that -fiend of the North Sea who comes to us annually -with the crocus and the primrose, and spends at -least three months of his baneful existence in -tying innumerable knots upon human nerves. -His sublime excellency the Sun is doubtless up, -as his custom is, long ere now, but this morning -he wilfully persists in keeping his chamber. -All this is marked in the time we take to alight -at the railway station, give up our tickets, and, -shouldering basket and rod, set out towards our -destination for the day, which lies over this long -ridge to the right.</p> - -<p>Everything is very still—with the soft stillness -of a misty summer morning. Except for the -noise of the train we have just left, as it goes -coughing hysterically out of the station, one might -almost hear the grass growing. The recent rain -has washed the dust from leaf and flower, and -the fields of young grain are in the reawakened -freshness of early growth. The pastures have -drunk in the moisture; and the cows that stop -feeding for a moment to gaze on us with large -soft eyes as we pass, return with fresh zest to -their juicy morning meal. The watchdog at the -farm salutes us, as is his wont, with a little -gruff language; not meaning any great harm -perhaps, but only in the way of duty. ‘You -are not beggars,’ he seems to say, ‘and don’t -want any strong measures to be taken with you. -But you are strangers, and I dislike strangers. -Don’t stand and look at me so, for that only -irritates me. Good-morning, and be off with -you!’ In a few minutes we reach the top of -the ridge, and see the long line of the Moorfoot -Hills girdling the south and east. They are much -clearer than the Pentlands behind us, and we -have hopes that a southerly breeze may spring -up; for along the south-eastern horizon, between -the hills and the low mist-cloud above, there is -a clear line of light—the <i>weather-gleam</i>, as the -Border shepherds poetically name it—showing -where the wind is breaking through the haze -and uncurtaining the hills.</p> - -<p>Our road for three or four miles lies straight -before us; for the most part, through a bleak -barren moorland. The ditches at the sides, which -serve to drain off the stagnating black bog-water, -have an abundance of bright green mosses -and water-plants on their shelving sides and -marshy bottom. There is a broad waste of peat-moss -all round, cracked and broken with black -fissures, the higher patches covered with bent-grass, -hard and wiry, brown and dry, and only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">{434}</span> -here and there showing thin blades of green. -One wonders what those straggling ewes find to -eat amid the general barrenness, and how they -manage to maintain themselves and their merry -lambs, tiny, black-faced, and black-footed, that -frolic around them. Yet this wild waste bears -promise of beauty ere the winter is on us; for -the upper margins of the ditches and the tops -of the knolls are crested with thick bunches of -heather, which, though scarcely noticeable now, -will one day shake out fragrant bells in the -autumn wind, and flush the moorland with a -purple glory. Far away to the left we hear the -jangling call of a bird—‘liddle-liddle-liddle’—rapid, -bell-like, long-continued. It is a familiar -sound during the summer months to the -wanderer among the hills, arousing, as it does, -all the other birds far and near as if with an -alarum-bell. The call is that of the sandpiper—in -some places known, from its cry, as -the ‘little fiddler,’ in others as the ‘killieleepie.’ -It is one of our migratory birds, reaching us -from the south in the month of April, and -starting on its travels again, with its young -family, in the autumn. Among the other bird-calls -which its wild, startling cry has awakened, -is a plaintive ‘tee-oo, tee-oo,’ sounding eerily -over the heath. It is the voice of the graceful -redshank, which has left the seashore, as it does -every spring, and come up with its mate to -the moors to spend their honeymoon and rear -their young brood; and by-and-by it will lead -back to the sandy shore a little following of red-legs, -who will learn to pick crustaceans from the -shallow pools, and prepare for a journey to the -hills on their own account next spring. On -before us, in a clump of firs on a distant height, -we hear the deep note of the cuckoo, booming -out with its regular cadences, calling to mind -the oldest lyric in the English tongue:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Summer is i-cumin in,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Loud sing, cuckoo!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Groweth seed,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And bloweth mead,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And springeth the wood noo.</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Sing, cuckoo!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>All this is very well, but it is not the business -of the day. These are but the accidents, or -rather the pleasant incidents, of the journey; and -as we reach once more an oasis of cultivation, -we know that the water for which we are bound -lies close at hand. The day is gradually losing -its misty moodiness, is indeed slowly brightening -up. There is now a light but decided breeze -from the direction in which we lately saw the -weather-gleam appear, and when we come in -sight of the lake we find its surface shaken with -a thousand laughing ripples. The sun has not -yet looked out, but we can see, from the transparent -whiteness of the clouds at a certain spot, -that his majesty may soon be expected to show -himself. The mist has quite lifted, and save -that the higher peaks of the Moorfoots are each -capped with a misty cloud, there is little trace -here of the haze which still hangs thick on the -northern hills behind us.</p> - -<p>At the water’s edge, our interest in the scenery -becomes of secondary moment. We are intent -on other things. We look anxiously across the -surface of the brightly rippling water, but not -a trout rises to the surface, and not a plash -is heard or a ring seen to tell that the finny -tribe are there. Knowing, from mournful experience, -what it is to be left at the edge of a -loch when a dead calm settles down upon it, and -your flies are no longer of use, we have brought -some worm-bait with us; and so, in order to lose -no time while the preliminary work of making -up ‘casts’ and donning waders is going on, we -put on a Stewart tackle baited with a nice -red-bodied, black-headed worm, which we plant in -that part of the water where worm has already -been known to us to kill. As we make preparations -for the further work of the day, we cast -quick glances from time to time towards the -uplifted end of our rods where they rest over -the water; but, alas, they moved not nor -‘bobbed.’ Worm was evidently not in demand -with the Fario family as a breakfast commodity. -At length, a sudden plash; and there, about -fifty yards out from the shore, we see a fine -trout just dropping back into the water. The -‘feed’ has begun! The sun had indeed been out -for a short time, and this was a signal for the -night-chilled insects to come out also, and these -in their turn, dropping upon the surface of the -water, signified to Master Fario that breakfast was -on the table, and he presently piped all hands -to the repast. In a few minutes more the lake -was dimpled and ringed with the plash of the -feeding trout.</p> - -<p>There is no time to lose now. The Stewart -tackle is discarded, a cast of flies is presently -made fast to our line, and we are ready to -begin. My friend goes a little further afield—if -this term may be used in water parlance; -and I am left to do what I can on -my own account. Stepping into the water, and -moving gradually forward till I get deep enough, -I cast carefully from side to side, in hope of -attracting the attention of some one of the trout -that are rising everywhere before me. Five -minutes pass, ten minutes pass, but without -success, and I am beginning to doubt if my -selection of flies is good. By-and-by I see a -trout rise out there in the place where my -flies should be; and the quick touch along -the line, as if something had suddenly grazed -it, tells me that a trout has rushed at the -lure, and missed. There is hope in this, and -I go on with fresh vigour. A few casts made -over the same spot with as much adroitness -as is possible to a clumsy fly-fisher, brings -its reward. There is a sudden tightening of -the line, and at the same moment, a dozen yards -ahead, a big yellow trout springs curved like -a bow from the water, and falls back again with -a heavy flop. He is on! An aged countryman -on the point of the bay opposite, waiting to -see if perchance his worm-baited rod will bob, -has witnessed the plunge of my captive, and is -all intent on the issue. ‘Gie him time!’ he -shouts across the water. ‘Canny wi’ him for a -bit, and play him weel. Dinna hurry, dinna -hurry.’ The advice is not unneeded, for I am -nearly fifty yards from the shore, and there is -moreover midway a bank of sand only slightly -covered with water, through which the green -rushes are springing up. How will I get him -over that reef? I wind up slowly, while the -captive makes vigorous attempts to free himself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">{435}</span> -from the deadly hook—now springing out of the -water, now curling and twisting serpent-like along -the surface, then plunging for a moment into -the deep black water, his yellow side gleaming -like a sword-blade as he shoots below. It is -the supreme moment. In a little his efforts -slacken, and he comes oftener to the surface. -I make slowly for the shore, still winding in. I -am over the sandy reef with its dangerous reeds, -which I fear may strip him from the hook. At -last I have him safely through them, and he -allows himself to be drawn quietly over the -remaining shallow to the shore, and there he -now lies—on dry land—a speckled beauty of -three-quarters of a pound, his spotted sides -gleaming like gold in the sunshine.</p> - -<p>With cast put once again in order, I am into -the water for a second trial. This time I avoid -the sandy reef with its reeds, and keep clear -water between me and the shore. The lake is -deep here, and I cast slowly, letting the flies sink -a little, that the deep-feeding trout may have a -chance to see and seize them. I have succeeded -in raising one or two, but they do not seem to -be in earnest; and am in the act of withdrawing -my line preparatory to casting again, when -I find that a trout has taken it. But his tactics -are not the same as those of the former one. -He does not leap out of the water, and I only -know by the strain on the line and the curve -of the rod that he is on. This is only for a -moment, however; for I have caught a brief -glimpse of him as he dives down into the deep -water, making straight for his old lurking-place -under a steep bank a few yards in front -of me. As he thus rushes towards me, the line -slackens, the rod straightens itself, and I reel up -hastily, fearing that he is off. But no; he is only -sulking; for as the line shortens, the tension is -resumed, and presently he is obliged to rise -once more to the surface; and there he is now, -gyrating and whirling in coils of glittering -beauty. He is not so vigorous as his predecessor, -and in a little his strength is exhausted, -and he moves quietly to the shore alongside of -me, not above a yard from my foot. He is as -large as the first trout, but not in quite such -fine condition, being flatter about the shoulders, -and having a slight suspicion of lankiness in -the sides. Another fortnight of fly-diet and he -might have scaled a pound.</p> - -<p>I fish on for another hour or two, with always -some occasional success, and have, angler-like, -begun to estimate the weight of my basket at the -day’s end—counting, of course, my trout before -they are caught—when, alack and well-a-day! I -begin to be cognisant of the sad fact that the -breeze is gradually dying down, and that the -glorious ripple on the water is gliding away into -a soft glittery waviness, not more pronounced than -the zigzags on watered silk. In a short time -the breeze has actually died off, and the water -of the little bay in which I stand lies smooth -and clear before me like a sheet of polished -steel. Alas, what can angler do in such a strait? -You may deceive the trout with your artificial -flies when the breeze is blowing and the ripple -is strong; but the advantage is all on the -side of the finny ones when the wind falls and -the ripple ceases. You may cast your flies -with as gentle a hand as may be; but his -quick eye sees something more than your flies, -and he knows from experience that a respectably -born and bred insect, fresh from its pupa-case, -does not come out for a sail on the water with -a yard or two of shining gut trailing behind -it, or go about leading three or four other of its -fellows after it in a string. No, no; trout have -learned a thing or two under the operation of -the law of heredity, just as we, his human—or, -if you will, inhuman—captors have done. -We may therefore reel up and take to dry land, -till it pleases Eolus again to send us a prospering -breeze.</p> - -<p>As we sit on the soft grass and eat our lunch, -we can note the aspect of things around us. -The sun is shining steadily down with all his -summer brightness and fervour, and the still air -feels sultry and close. As you look along the -surface of the calm water, you can see the -heated air radiating from it like a shimmer of -colourless flame. The white farmhouse on the -opposite side basks serenely at the foot of the -hills that overhang it; and a warm dusky haze -floats over the neighbouring ravine, where an -ancient stream has cut its way down through the -lofty range. Not a sound breaks the stillness -of the air, not a wavelet disturbs the glassy -line of the beach. By-and-by there arises a low -buzzing sound, gradually increasing in intensity, -till you almost think it must be some far-away -railway engine blowing off steam. You look up, -and there, on either side of you, a yard deep as -far as you can see, is a colony of innumerable -midges disporting themselves in the hot air. -There must be millions of those tiny creatures, -the combined action of whose little wings can -send such a hissing through the stillness. Shoals -of them whisk round your head, poking into -your eyes and ears, and tickling your face and -hands. A whiff or two of tobacco-smoke comes -in as a handy expedient to drive off the insignificant -troublers; and the pipe, besides, is wonderfully -soothing as you rest your tired shoulders -on the grass. But, hark! what is that long -low rumble coming up to us from the far south-west—over -there where Dundreich raises his -brown summit in the hot haze, with a leaden-coloured -sky in the distance behind him? My -trusty comrade was right in his morning prognostication: -we are in for thunder.</p> - -<p>There is in reality no wind; but, as frequently -happens in mountainous districts even in still -days, occasional cold currents of air gravitate -from the hills to lower levels; and yonder is -one playing over the surface of the lake now, -just round the corner of this land-locked bay. -We cannot afford to miss even this temporary -ripple; for if the thunder comes near there -will be an end to sport for a few hours to -come. As I step along through the patches -of rushy grass that grow by the margin of -the lake, I see a small bird glide quickly out -of one of those patches and disappear with -suspicious celerity and quietness behind another -a few yards off. I have not lost in middle manhood -the bird-nesting instincts of boyhood’s years, -and I am certain, from that bird’s quick, low, -quiet mode of flight, that it has just risen from -its nest. A few minutes’ search confirms this; -for there, beneath a patch of long grass, is the -little cavity, lined cosily with dry grass and hairs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_436">{436}</span> -and five small oval dusky eggs, mottled with -reddish-brown dots and blotches. It is the nest -of the yellowhammer. I lift one of the eggs, -which feels smooth and warm, and think for a -minute how best I might carry it home with me -to little town-bred bairns that scarce ever saw a -bird’s nest. But I conclude that I cannot possibly -carry the egg home unbroken, and so return it -to its place beside the other four; where, in due -course, if boys and rats and weasels let it -alone, it will produce its gaping addition to the -family of yorlings. A little further on, I descry -a small sandpiper flitting before me along the -shore, poking with its lance-like bill into the -sand, and wading leg-deep through the shallow -creeks, occasionally flying a yard or two, just to -show me its long pointed brown wings and its -breast of snowy white. It is the dunlin, a gay, -active little fellow; and I can see that its mate -is waiting for it a short way ahead, and when -they meet, they make a dip or two to each other, -by way of familiar courtesy, and then disappear -together round the bend of the shore.</p> - -<p>I have reached the point of the promontory -beyond which the water shows a temporary -ripple, and am into it in a trice. My success -is greater than I had anticipated, for I scarcely -expected a rise. At the third cast, and just as I -am drawing out slack from my line in order to -make a longer throw, my lure is seized, and a -bright bow of silver shoots up a yard above the -water. It is not a yellow trout this time, but -one of the Lochleven variety, with some thousands -of the fry of which the noble proprietor of these -fishings stocked the lake a few years ago. They -are vigorous fellows these Lochleven trout. Five -times did this one leap straight out of the water -before I had him on the shore; and even then, -he nearly escaped. He was being guided through -a shallow creek running into the lake, when I -noticed that he had succeeded in unhooking -himself. Had he not had the strength played -out of him, he would have been off into the -deeper water like a streak of light. But now -he is weak and confused, and aimlessly pokes his -nose into the bank, giving me just sufficient time -to get between him and the lake and throw him -out with my hands. He is a beautiful specimen -of half-a-pound, finely spotted, his gleaming sides -of a rich creamy whiteness, with a subdued pink -flush shining through.</p> - -<p>But why prolong the story? The thunder came -nearer, though it did not break over us; and by -the time the hour arrived for us to re-cross the -moor, under the westering sun, to the little -station we had left in the morning, my companion -and myself had—not <i>big</i> baskets, as some -baskets are counted—but baskets big enough to -send us home well pleased and contented.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There are two ways of going home from a -day’s fishing (we do not refer to roads or means -of travel, but to moods of mind). The one is -as we come home now; the other is when we -come home ‘clean’—that is, with nothing. In -the morning we have started with no idea but -what relates to the fish we are to catch, hope -being naturally in the ascendant. But in the -evening, if we have had a bad day’s work, we -are in a different mood, with our ideas much -enlarged beyond that of merely catching trout. -We suggest and enumerate to each other, with -extraordinary facility, the compensating advantages -of our position. We have had a day in -the open air; we have had vigorous healthy -exercise for the shoulders and arms (which are -sore enough, perhaps, in all conscience, though -we would not for our lives admit it); we have -enjoyed the sights and sounds of nature, and -have something like a triumphant feeling of -superiority over our poor town companions who -have been all the day in chamber or workshop, -with nothing better to inflate their lungs than -the smoky city atmosphere, and nothing more to -delight their ears than the monotonous jingle of -tramcar bells and the rattling of cabs over the -stony street. Our compensating advantages are -immense! Sorry we have not caught more -trout? Pooh, nonsense! What have trout to do -with it, except as an inducement to go out for a -day to moor and river? Do you take us for fishmongers?</p> - -<p>And so, self-consoled, and weary enough, -we regain the city with its flaring lamps -and crowded streets, and go home to tell our -experiences, and dream of alder-shaded banks and -silver streams, and the landing of bigger trout -than are ever likely to charm us in our waking -hours.</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 XXXVII.—DOWN BY THE RIVER.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> were silent until they reached the stile at -the foot of the Willowmere meadows, where they -were to part.</p> - -<p>The information which Mrs Joy had given -them was a source of special anxiety to Madge, -apart from her considerations on Pansy’s account. -If Caleb had really determined to leave the -country at once, Philip would lose his most able -assistant in carrying out the work, which was -already presenting so many unforeseen and -unprovided-for difficulties, that it was severely -taxing the strength of body and mind. Besides, -the few men who still maintained a half-hearted -allegiance would take alarm when they found -that even Caleb the foreman had deserted, and -abandon their leader altogether. Madge was -afraid to think of what effect this might have -on Philip. Although he had striven hard to -hide it from her, she had detected in his manner -undercurrents of excitement, impatience, and irritability -under which he might at any moment -break down. His mind was much troubled; and -the knowledge that it was so had been the main -inspiration of her earnest appeal to Mr Beecham -to help him.</p> - -<p>She sympathised with Caleb, and understood -the bitterness of his disappointment by the resolution -he had so hastily adopted. He was casting -aside what promised to be an opportunity to -rise in the world in the manner in which he -would most desire to rise—with his fellow-workers; -and abandoning a friend who needed -his help and who, he was aware, held him in -much respect. On Pansy’s account she was -grieved, but not angry; for although she had -been misled by her conduct towards Caleb, as -he had been, she would not have the girl act -otherwise than she was doing, if she really felt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">{437}</span> -that she could not give the man her whole thought -and heart, as a wife should do. But there was -the question—Did she understand herself? The -sulky insistence that she would not have him -seemed to say ‘yes;’ but the pale face and -quivering lips when she heard that he was about -to emigrate seemed to say ‘no.’ A few days’ -reflection would enable her to decide, and in -the meanwhile some effort must be made to induce -Caleb to postpone his departure.</p> - -<p>‘You will think about all this, Pansy,’ she said -when they halted by the stile; ‘and to-morrow, -or next day, perhaps, or some time soon, you -will tell me how you have come to change your -mind about him.’</p> - -<p>‘It is better he should go,’ answered the girl -without looking at Madge.</p> - -<p>Pansy did not take the shortest way home. -She passed between the dancing beeches—their -bare branches had no claim to that festive designation, -unless it might be a dance of hags—and -under the blackened willows which cast a shadow -over the little footpath by the river-side. Lances -of light crossed the path, and seemed to be darting -out towards the silver shields which the sun -made on the running water. The lances of light -dazzled her eyes, and the shadows seemed to -press down on her head; whilst the sharp tinkle -made by the rippling water in the clear atmosphere -sounded discordantly in her ears. She -saw no beauty anywhere and heard no pleasant -sounds.</p> - -<p>She was walking against the stream: thinking -about nothing: stupid and unhappy: figures -seemed to flit before her without conveying any -meaning to her senses. She neither knew nor -asked herself why she had chosen this way by the -stream, instead of taking the straight road home -through the forest. Some instinct had suggested -that by taking this way she was less likely to meet -any one.</p> - -<p>Walking quickly, the keen wind made her cheeks -tingle and seemed gradually to clear the fog out -of her head. She had heard girls, and women too, -boast about the number of men who had ‘asked’ -them, and she knew that some of them had even -multiplied the number for their own exaltation. -They all considered it a thing to be proud of, and -the more disappointments they had caused, the -merrier they were. Why, then, should she take -on so because she had been obliged to say ‘no’ to -one man? She ought rather to be sorry that it -was only one. Of course there was something in -Caleb different from the other lads who had come -about her, and who would have been ready enough -to put the great question if she had shown any -willingness to listen to it. She had not done so, -and they had caused her no bother. But then she -could not deny to herself that she had given Caleb -reason to think that she was willing; and she liked -him—liked him very much. That was why she -was distressed, as she had told Madge.</p> - -<p>And what was the phantom in her brain which -had rendered it necessary to cause so much worry -to Caleb and herself?... She would not admit -that there was any phantom. She was quite sure -of it (and there was an unconscious toss of the head -at this point); and her refusal meant no more -than that she did not care enough for him. Surely -that was reason enough for saying ‘no’ without -seeking for any other. And yet this satisfactory -answer to her own question made her the more -uneasy with herself, because she was conscious that -she was shirking the whole truth.</p> - -<p>She passed out from under the shadow of the -willows at a point where a broken branch of a -huge old elm had formed an archway, and a little -farther on was the ford, where a shaky wooden -foot-bridge crossed the water leading to the door -of the squat white alehouse where thirsty carriers -felt bound to halt. Unlike most other wayside -inns, its glory had not been completely destroyed -by the railways. The walls were kept white. -The old thatch-roof was neatly trimmed and carefully -patched wherever age or the elements -rendered patching requisite, so that it presented -a fine study of variegated greens and browns, with -here and there a dash of bright yellow. The -inside was clean and tidy; and in cold weather -there was always a cheerful blaze in the big fireplace. -The secret of this pleasant condition of -the <i>Ford Inn</i> was that the tenant farmed a bit of -the contiguous land, on which he depended more -than on the profits of his excellent ‘home-brewed.’</p> - -<p>The road southward from the ford passed the -gates of Ringsford Manor. Going in that direction, -Coutts Hadleigh was crossing the foot-bridge -when Pansy reached the elm, and at sight of him -she halted under the broken branch. The colour -came back to her cheeks for an instant and left -them paler than before. She had often heard of -the pitfalls which beset the steps of maidens who -lift their eyes too high; but she was incapable of -nice arguments about the proper level of sight -for one in her position. He had said many pretty -things to her, always asked a flower from her, -and at the harvest-home he had danced with her -more than with any of the other girls. She was -pleased; and now she owned that she had more -than once wondered, when the Manor carriage -with the ladies passed and she was courtesying by -the wayside, how she would look if sitting in -their place.</p> - -<p>But that admission under the light of this -day’s experience revealed an ugly possibility, and -taught her the alphabet of a disagreeable lesson -in life.</p> - -<p>She waited until Coutts had got some distance -from the ford; then she crossed the road, and -entering a ploughed field, hurried homeward, -keeping close by the hedge, as if afraid to be -seen.</p> - -<p>Her father was kneeling on the hearth lighting -the fire, his thin cheeks drawn into hollows as -he blew the wood into flame.</p> - -<p>‘That you, Pansy?’ (poof). ‘What ails you -the day’ (poof), ‘that there’s neither fire nor’ -(poof) ‘dinner for me when I come in frae my -work?’</p> - -<p>A series of vigorous ‘poofs’ followed. Pansy, -whilst quickly relieving him of his task and -arranging the table, explained what had happened -in the washhouse, and how Miss Heathcote had -taken her to the doctor.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, you were wi’ her,’ said the gardener, -paying little attention to her accident. ‘I -thought you might have been awa wi’ some other -body, for I never knew women-folk neglectin’ -the dinner exceptin’ in cases o’ courtin’ or deein’.’</p> - -<p>Most men would have been in a temper on -returning hungry from work and finding that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">{438}</span> -the fire had to be lighted to heat the food; but -Sam having been rarely subjected to such an -experience, and being under the impression that -he was soon to be left to look after himself -entirely, accepted the present position calmly, -as a foretaste of what was coming.</p> - -<p>‘And you have had nothing yoursel’, Pansy. -Aweel, I’m no astonished. I daresay your -mother whiles wanted her dinner when she was -thinking about me.’</p> - -<p>Sam, finding dinner a hopeless achievement, -began, with customary deliberation, to fill and -light his pipe. His daughter’s short answers he -attributed to the natural shyness in the presence -of her father of a maiden who was expecting soon -to become a wife.</p> - -<p>‘I ken what you are thinking about, Pansy; -but I’m no going to say a word on the subject -at this time of day. There’s another matter to -speak about.’</p> - -<p>What relief she felt! How gladly she put the -question:</p> - -<p>‘What’s that, father?’</p> - -<p>‘There’s news come of your gran’father. He -is bad wi’ the rheumatics again, and no a creature -to look after him. I’m thinking we’ll have to -make a journey over to Camberwell, and see -what can be done for him, since he’ll no come -to us here.’</p> - -<p>‘I will go to him to-day,’ she ejaculated with -surprising energy; ‘and I can take that stuff the -doctor sent for you; and I can stay with him -and nurse him until he is able to get about -again.’</p> - -<p>‘Hooly, hooly,’ cried Sam, taking the pipe out -of his mouth and staring at his daughter. ‘Kersey -doesna bide in the town, though he works -there.’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t want to see him at all; I want to go -to grandfather,’ she answered. But it was not -entirely anxiety on account of that relative which -prompted the desire to visit Camberwell, although -her affection for the old man was strong enough -to make her eager to nurse him. She also saw -in this temporary exile the opportunity to escape -from surroundings which were threatening to -mar all her chances of happiness.</p> - -<p>‘And what am I to do when ye’re awa?’</p> - -<p>‘You can go up to the House for your meals, -or you can get them ready for yourself, as you -have done before. We cannot leave grandfather -alone.’</p> - -<p>‘True enough, true enough, my lass; and I -suppose you’ll need to go. You’ll maybe do the -auld man some good. It would be the saving o’ -him, body and sowl, if you could get him to sup -parritch and drink a wee thing less. You can -take him some flowers; but it’s a pity that you -cannot have ane of the new geraaniums for -him.’</p> - -<p>So that was settled; and Pansy had never -thought there would come a day when she would -prepare eagerly to leave home.</p> - -<p>When Madge heard of the mission which called -Pansy away from the cottage for a time, she felt -as well pleased as if fortune had bestowed some -good gift upon her. She saw in it something -like a providential rescue of the girl from a -dangerous position; and the readiness with which -the summons had been obeyed was a guarantee -that no great mischief had been done yet. Away -from Ringsford, with change of scenes and faces, -and with new duties of affection to perform, the -best qualities of her nature would be brought -into action, whilst she would have leisure enough -to arrive at a clear understanding of her own -feelings. It was a pity that the old man should -be ill; but it was lucky for Pansy—and probably -for Caleb—that this call should have been made -upon her.</p> - -<p>She had made no sign to her friend; and it -was not until Madge arrived at the gardener’s -cottage on the following afternoon that Pansy’s -sudden departure became known to her. It was -odd that she had not even left a word of good-bye -with her father for one who, she was aware, -would be anxious about her. But the folly, -whatever it might be, which had for the time so -altered the girl’s simple nature would be the more -easily forgotten if there were no speech about it. -Evidently Sam was still ignorant of the fact that -Caleb had spoken and received a refusal. Madge -hoped that they would soon have good news of -Pansy and her patient.</p> - -<p>‘I daresay we’ll hear about them in twa or -three days; but it’s little good she can do her -gran’father. He’s a stupid auld body; and as -soon as he gets on his feet again, he’ll just be off -trailing round the town, making-believe to be -selling laces and things; but that’s no what -takes him about.’</p> - -<p>‘What, then?’</p> - -<p>‘Singing bits o’ sangs and making a fool of -himsel’ at public-houses, for the treats he gets -from folk that ought to know better,’ replied the -gardener, shaking his head gloomily. ‘I havena -much hope for him; but I was aye minded to gie -him another chance; and as it was to be given, -the sooner the better. Besides that, Pansy was -most extraordinary anxious to get awa to him. -If she could just fetch him here, something -might be done for him.’</p> - -<p>Madge sympathised with this kindly wish, and -hoped it might be realised in spite of Sam’s -misgivings. Then she went on to the Manor.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ROYAL_PERSIAN_SHERBET">ROYAL PERSIAN SHERBET.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Under</span> this sounding title, most of us have a -remembrance of a white effervescing powder, -flavoured with essence of lemons, which in the -summer-time was sold to us as children; a large -spoonful was stirred into a tumbler of water, cool -or the reverse, and known to boys as a ‘fizzer.’ -It is not to this mawkish draught we wish -to draw the reader’s attention, but rather to the -real thing as used in Persia and throughout the -East. Persian sherbet is a very comprehensive -term, and there are many varieties of it. Before -we come to what it is, it may be as well to -explain when and how it is drunk. Sherbet -is used as a thirst-quencher, and a cooling drink -in hot weather; it is either the drink taken at -meals, or it is handed to visitors in warm weather -in lieu of coffee. As a drink at meals, it is placed -in Chinese porcelain bowls, there being usually -several varieties of the sherbet, more or less, -according to the size of the party and the position -of the host. Each bowl stands in its saucer; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_439">{439}</span> -across the vessel is laid one of the pear-wood -spoons of Abadeh, famed for their carving and -lightness throughout the Eastern world.</p> - -<p>A sherbet spoon is from one to two feet in -length; the bowl, cut from a solid block, holds -from a claret-glass to a tumbler of the liquid. -This bowl is so thin as to be semi-transparent, -and is frequently ornamented with an inscription, -the letters of which are in high-relief. To -retain their semi-transparency, each letter is -undercut, so that, although standing up an eighth -of an inch from the surface of the bowl, yet -the whole is of the same light and delicate texture, -no part thicker than another. One-half of -the surface of the spoon-bowl is covered by two -cleverly applied pieces of carved wood, which -appear to be carved from one block. But this -is not the case—they are really cemented there. -These pieces are carved in such a delicate manner -as to be almost filmy in appearance, resembling -fine lacework. The handle of the spoon—at -times twenty inches long—is formed in a separate -piece, and inserted into the edge of the -bowl in a groove cut to receive it. This handle -is also elaborately carved in delicate tracery; -and a wonderful effect is produced by the -rhomboid-shaped handle, at times four inches -broad at the widest part, and only a tenth of -an inch thick. The groove where the handle -is inserted into the edge of the bowl of the spoon, -and the point of junction, are hidden by a -rosette of carved wood, circular in shape, only -a tenth of an inch thick. This, too, is carved in -lacelike work, and it is cemented to the shaft of -the spoon. A kind of flying buttress of similar -delicate woodwork unites the back-part of the -shaft to the shoulder of the bowl. The spoon, -which when it leaves the carver’s bench is white, -is varnished with <i>Kaman</i> oil, which acts as a -waterproof and preservative, and dyes the whole -of a fine gamboge yellow similar to our boxwood. -The weight of the spoon is in the largest sizes -two ounces.</p> - -<p>The tools used by the carver are a plane, a -rough sort of gouge, and a common penknife. -Each spoon is of a separate and original design, -no two being alike, save when ordered in pairs -or sets. The price of the finest specimens is from -five to fifteen shillings each. These sherbet spoons -are really works of art, and are valued by oriental -amateurs. Many of the merchants are very proud -of their sherbet spoons; and being wood, they -are ‘lawful;’ for a metal spoon, if of silver, is -an abomination; consequently, the teaspoons in -Persia have a filigree hole in the bowl, and thus -can be used for stirring the tea only, and not for -the unlawful act of conveying it to the mouth -in a silver spoon. Of course, these high-art -sherbet spoons are only seen at the houses of the -better classes, a coarser wooden spoon being used -by the lower classes. The spoons at dinner serve -as drinking-vessels, for tumblers are unknown; -and the metal drinking-cups so much in use are -merely for travelling, or the pottle-deep potations -of the irreligious.</p> - -<p>During the seven months of Persian summer, -it is usual to serve sherbet at all visits, in lieu of -coffee, for coffee is supposed to be heating in the -hot afternoons, at which time formal visits are -often made; and as the visitor must be given -something—for he is never sent empty away—sherbet -in glass tankards or <i>istakans</i>—a word -borrowed from the Russian term for a tumbler—is -handed round. These <i>istakans</i> are often very -handsome, being always of cut or coloured glass, -often elaborately gilded and painted in colours, -or what is termed jewelled—that is, ornamented -with an imitation of gems.</p> - -<p>And now, what is Persian sherbet? A draught -of sweetened water flavoured to the taste of the -drinker. The only exception to this definition -is the <i>sherbet-i-kand</i>, or <i>eau sucrée</i>, which is -simply water in which lump-sugar has been -dissolved. The varieties of sherbet may be -divided into those made from the fresh juice of -fruit, which are mixed with water and sweetened -to the taste; and those made from sirup, in -which the juice of fruit has been boiled.</p> - -<p>It will be thus seen that the effervescing qualities -of royal Persian sherbet only exist in the -imagination of the English confectioner. But -there is one all-important point that the English -vendor would do well to imitate: Persian sherbet -is served very cool, or iced. Blocks of snow -or lumps of ice are always dissolved in the -sherbet drunk in Persia, unless the water has -been previously artificially cooled. Fresh sherbets -are usually lemon, orange, or pomegranate; -and the first two are particularly delicious. The -fresh juice is expressed in the room in the -presence of the guest, passed through a small -silver strainer, to remove the pips, portions of -pulp, &c.; lumps of sugar are then placed in the -<i>istakan</i>; water is poured in till the vessel is two-thirds -full, and it is then filled to the brim with -blocks of ice or snow.</p> - -<p>The preserved sherbets are generally contained -in small decanters of coloured Bohemian glass -similar to the <i>istakans</i> in style. They are in the -form of clear and concentrated sirup. This sirup -is poured into the bowl or <i>istakan</i>, as the case -may be; water is added; the whole is stirred; -and the requisite quantity of ice or snow completes -the sherbet.</p> - -<p>When bowls are used—as they invariably are -by the rich at meals, and by the poor at all -times—the spoons are dipped into the bowl, and -after being emptied into the mouth, are replaced -in the bowl of sherbet. Thus the use of glass -vessels, until lately very expensive in Persia, is -dispensed with. Probably with the continuous -introduction of the ugly and cheap, but strong -and serviceable, Russian glass, the dainty sherbet-spoon -of Abadeh will gradually disappear, the -more prosaic tumbler taking its place.</p> - -<p>One kind of sherbet is not a fruit-sirup, but -a distilled water; this is the <i>sherbet i-beed-mishk</i>, -or willow-flower sherbet. The fresh flowers of -a particular kind of willow are distilled with -water; a rather insipid but grateful distilled -water is the result. Of this, the Persians are -immoderately fond, and they ascribe great power -to it in the ‘fattening of the thin.’ It is -a popular and harmless drink, and is drunk -in the early morning, not iced, but simply -sweetened.</p> - -<p>Persians are very particular as to the water -they drink, and are as great connoisseurs in it -as some Englishmen are curious in wines. The -water they habitually drink must be cool, and -if possible, from a spring of good repute. It is -often brought long distances in skins daily from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">{440}</span> -the favourite spring of the locality. Given good -water, and pleasant, grateful beverages of all -sorts, it is easy to refrain from the strong drinks -which Mohammed so wisely forbade his followers -to indulge in, making drunkenness a crime, and -the drunkard an object of disgust and loathing -to his fellow-man. Undoubtedly, strong drinks -in hot climates, or even in hot weather, are -incompatible with good health.</p> - -<p>The varieties of the preserved sirups are -numerous: orange, lemon, quince, cranberry—the -raspberry is unknown in Persia—cherry, pomegranate, -apricot, plum, and grape juice; while -various combinations of a very grateful nature -are made by mixing two or even three of the -above.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TERRIBLY_FULFILLED">TERRIBLY FULFILLED.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3 title="CHAPTER II.">IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> auctioneer looked at his watch. Past -three o’clock in the morning. He went into -the hall, put on his hat, softly opened the -front-door, and went out. He was going to -make a visit of inspection which no amount of -distress would have induced him to omit before -retiring to rest. The house was a corner one, -turning a dead wall to the side-street which -ran out of the square. Turning down this -street, he stopped at a low door at the further -extremity of the house, having a massive iron -handle and a small keyhole. Taking a key from -his pocket, he turned it in the lock, twisted -the handle round, and, exerting his strength, -drew the door towards him. It was then to -be seen that this door, though to outward view -consisting of nothing stronger than wood, was of -massive steel within—was, in fact, a thief-proof -door. The idea was an original one. Our -brethren who follow the honourable profession -of burglary find, we are told, little difficulty in -dealing with matters of this nature, however -skilfully constructed and widely advertised, if -only they can be secure from interruption. The -mere fact that safes and strong-room doors are -always to be found <i>inside</i> a building, affords -to the burglar this very security. Once within -and alone, with the long hours of night before -him, he can go about his work in a leisurely and -scientific fashion, with at least a fair chance of -success. But it had occurred to the auctioneer -that if the door were made to open directly -upon the street, it would be extremely difficult -for the most daring and experienced cracksman -to prosecute to a successful conclusion, at -the momentary risk of detection, a labour of -several hours, requiring the employment of -numerous tools. Besides which, the police being -aware of the existence of the door, the constable -on the beat was accustomed to examine it carefully -whenever he passed; so that if any attempt -to force it had been made since the last inspection, -he could not fail to detect the fact -immediately.</p> - -<p>The auctioneer stepped through the doorway -and shut the door behind him. Striking a match, -he lit the candle in a small lantern which he -carried; and it was then evident that, supposing -our burglar to have forced the outer door, he -would so far have found little to reward his -pains, for a second strong-door at some distance -from the first required to be opened also. This -done, the interior of the safe was seen. It -was a small room, about ten feet square, entirely -without access to the house, the walls and -vaulted ceiling strongly constructed of stone. Its -only furniture was a small table and chair, and -a nest of drawers clamped to the wall. Close -by this, reaching from the floor to the spring of -the arch, was what appeared to be a dingy, full-length -portrait of a gentleman of the time of -Charles II., in a tarnished gilt frame. On inspection, -this picture looked as if painted on panel; -but if sounded with the knuckles, it was found -to be of a different material—solid metal.</p> - -<p>Most men, especially rich men, have a hobby. -Mr Cross had two. They were, first, diamonds; -secondly, mechanics. His trade was not of the -ordinary class; and he, with one or two other -firms, had practically a monopoly of it in London. -He dealt only in precious stones, jewellery, -valuable pictures, and such-like articles. To his -rooms, pawnbrokers sent their unredeemed pledges -of this kind for sale by public auction, as the -law directs. Where it was necessary, under the -terms of a will, to dispose of family plate and -jewellery, the executors were generally advised -to retain the services of Mr Cross. Should the -more valuable and less bulky effects of the Right -Honourable the Earl of Englethorpe ever come -to the hammer, as sometimes appeared to that -nobleman to be a not quite impossible occurrence, -it was by no means unlikely—such is the irony -of fate—that Mr Cross would wield the fatal -hammer. In this way it happened that the -auctioneer, being brought into business contact -with dealers in precious stones, enjoyed opportunities -of gratifying his passion for diamonds at -a cost which would have astounded the general -public, who are accustomed to shop-window prices. -During some twenty years, he had expended in -this way over thirty thousand pounds, and had -destined his collection to form a parure for his -daughter on her marriage, which should at least -equal that of any duchess in the three kingdoms. -And it contributed not a little to his grief, that -the possibility of her ever coming to wear those -diamonds seemed to be but a very remote -one.</p> - -<p>For the protection of the fruits of his first -hobby, his second had come into play. In his -youth, when the choice of a trade or profession -had been offered to him by his father—also an -auctioneer with a large business—he had elected -to be a mechanical engineer. He had accordingly -been apprenticed to an eminent firm, and -had gone through the drudgery exacted from all, -without distinction of class or means, who enter -that profession, in which there is no royal road -to learning. He had developed such ingenuity -and ability, that there would have been no difficulty -about a future partnership, when his father -died suddenly. It was highly advisable that -the business, a large and lucrative one, should -be carried on. Young Cross, with that decision -of character which marked him through life, -instantly determined to abandon engineering and -adopt his father’s trade, which prospered in his -hands until it reached its present dimensions. -But he never wasted anything; and he turned -his mechanical knowledge and skill to such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">{441}</span> -purpose by way of recreation, that amongst other -sources of wealth he was the owner of several -valuable patents of his own invention. He had -a small workshop and forge fitted up in the rear -of his house, and here he was accustomed often -to occupy himself in the evening and early -morning. It was his only amusement; for of -books he was wont to say, and believe, that -they were but the brains of other men, and -of little use to a man who had brains of his -own.</p> - -<p>His next proceedings will show how he had -turned his mechanical genius to account for the -safe keeping of his diamonds. Any person opening -the drawers in the nest would have found -them full of old papers, and would also have -found that they would not come entirely out of -their places. Opening, however, the third drawer -from the top, the auctioneer pulled at it strongly, -until it came out with a sharp snap, exposing -the opening into which it fitted. The back of -this drawer was a movable flap, working on -hinges, and retained in its place by a powerful -spring, so that it required a considerable exertion -of strength to extract the drawer from the nest. -Putting his hand into the aperture, Mr Cross -grasped an iron semicircular handle which fitted -into a niche in the wall at the back of the drawers, -and drew it towards him. As he did so, the -seeming picture glided noiselessly away, leaving -its frame surrounding a dark opening. Through -this he passed into what was in effect a huge -inner safe; a closet about four feet square by six -in height, lined throughout with inch-thick steel, -and within that again with four inches of fire-resisting -composition contained in an iron skin. -The sliding door was steel, very thick and massive, -fastening with half-a-dozen spring catches, -moving in a groove four inches in depth, and -absolutely impervious to any one not acquainted -with the machinery.</p> - -<p>Every portion of this latter apparatus had been -devised and constructed by the auctioneer with -his own hands, and placed in position by him -after the safe—made to his order by a famous -maker—had been set up. The rest was a mere -matter of stone-masonry, completed by ordinary -workmen under his own eye; so that the secret -was with him alone. Even now the whole has -not been revealed. Prior to withdrawing the -semicircular handle, it was necessary to turn it -to the right, from a perpendicular to a horizontal -position. Unless this were done, the act of pulling -out the handle set in motion a clockwork -apparatus, which at the end of thirty seconds -released a heavy counterpoise, the effect of which -was to close the sliding door of the inner safe -smartly, and to throw out of gear the machinery -which worked it. It could then only be opened -by means of a second mechanical arrangement, -connected with another handle which was concealed -behind a block of stone in the wall near -the roof. It is evident that any person entering -the safe after opening the door, unless in possession -of the second part of this secret, would -be effectually trapped. His comrades, if any, -would be unable to deliver him, and he would -have to abide an ignominious capture. This -device the auctioneer considered superior to any -system of spring-guns or such-like vulgarities, -which are almost as likely to injure the owner -as the thief. Against each side of the safe were -piled ordinary deed-boxes, containing the various -securities representing the bulk of his fortune; -but against the side opposite to the door was an -iron box weighing perhaps five hundredweight, -and clamped firmly to the floor.</p> - -<p>The auctioneer knelt down, and with a small -key fastened to the handle of the larger one, -opened the box, disclosing a number of jewel-trays. -As he lifted them out one after the other, -the light of the lantern twinkled upon the rare -and valuable gems, of all sizes and shapes, which -lay loose upon the satin cushions. He looked at -them long and earnestly, counting them over and -over again, and flashing the more precious of -them to and fro against the light.</p> - -<p>‘Ay!’ he muttered—‘all for her—for little -Amy. What use in them now? It’s all over—all -over and done with for ever.’ But again -came the thought that if Amy were to become -a widow, she might wear the diamonds after -all.</p> - -<p>He closed and locked the box, rose from his -knees, and went back to the nest of drawers -outside. As he forced the handle into its place, -the picture reappeared, and the sliding-door shut -to with a click. Pushing back the movable flap, -he insinuated the drawer into its place, replaced -the papers taken from it, and closed it. Then, -closing the inner strong-door, he stepped again -into the street, shutting the outer door after -him; and having satisfied himself that it was -securely closed, went into the house and to bed, -where he slept heavily, being quite tired out, -until nearly ten o’clock in the morning.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Despite his vigils of the night before, Mr Cross -was tolerably punctual to his eleven o’clock -appointment at the rooms occupied by Captain -Ferrard and his wife in Duke Street. That -gentleman received him with smooth looks and -fair words, for it was by no means his cue to -be the first to quarrel. So he courteously hoped -that Mr Cross was well, invited him to a seat, -making no allusion to the fact that this was the -first time they had met since the marriage, -and then left his visitor to state the reason of -his call.</p> - -<p>‘I’m a plain business man, sir,’ said the -auctioneer after a moment or two; ‘and I’ve got -little time to spare, so I’ll come to the point at -once. It seems, from what my daughter told me -last night, that you and she don’t get on quite so -well together as you should.’</p> - -<p>‘Ay, ay!’ said the captain carelessly. The -demon within him was being aroused. He had -not the slightest intention of allowing this -tradesman to lecture him. The latter waited -for some further remark, but none came.</p> - -<p>‘That isn’t as it should be between man and -wife, you know,’ said he at last, somewhat -nonplussed.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll be as plain with you, Mr Cross, as you -can possibly be with me,’ said the captain, turning -round suddenly so as to face his visitor. ‘My -wife has been complaining to you, it seems. Well, -I suppose we have our trifling disagreements, -like other couples, and scarcity of money does -not tend to sweeten the temper—does it? I quite -agree with you that this is not as it should be; -but then, how few things are! Am I to suppose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">{442}</span> -that it is only on this subject that you wish to -speak to me?’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t be hasty,’ replied Mr Cross. ‘I’m not -saying it’s your fault, nor anybody’s fault. I -come to you in a friendly way, not to have words -about it. I’ve been thinking the matter over a -good deal since last night, and I’ve come to fancy -things might somehow be arranged between us, -after all.’</p> - -<p>Ferrard pricked up his ears. ‘Very good of -you to say so,’ he said politely.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t say that I’ve quite thought it out, and -I don’t say what I will do, you understand, or -what I won’t. But no doubt there’s a good -deal of truth in your remark about money and -temper. I’m a rough, cross-grained sort of -fellow, and perhaps I may have been too quick -over this affair. I’m afraid I wasn’t too civil -to you that day; and you must own <i>you</i> were -a bit aggravating too. I only want my girl to -be happy.’</p> - -<p>‘I assure you, Mr Cross,’ said the captain, with -engaging frankness, ‘that in that respect we are -entirely at one. I have every desire for your -daughter’s happiness—and, I may add, for my -own; of course, in a secondary degree. But I -have already pointed out to you, and you have -been good enough to agree with me, that good -temper and easy circumstances are intimately -allied; and I think you will also admit that bad -temper and happiness are entirely incompatible. -And considering our respective tastes and habits, -five hundred a year can scarcely be considered -affluence.’</p> - -<p>For all his desire to be conciliatory, he could -not entirely repress the slight sneer which pervaded -his tone and manner.</p> - -<p>The auctioneer looked steadily and gravely at -him as he replied: ‘I daresay we shall find some -way of getting rid of the inconvenience, sir. But -I’m due in the City long before this, so I’ll only -say that I hope we shall be better acquainted, -and we can’t be that without seeing more of one -another. What do you say to a bit of dinner at -my house on Thursday and staying the night? -Then you and I can talk this little matter over -by ourselves, between man and man. I’m going -out of town for a week on Friday; and if you -don’t mind, I’ll arrange for Amy to meet me at -London Bridge and keep me company—she looks -as if a whiff of the sea wouldn’t hurt her—and -then, you know, you could think over any proposal -I might make to you, alone and quietly; and -tell me what you say to it, when we come back.’</p> - -<p>The captain’s heart leaped within him at these -proposals. Pressing claims were at this moment -hanging over him, which it seemed that he -might now be able to meet. He could ask no -fairer opportunity for captivating his father-in-law -and so turning his dearth into plenty. So -he responded to the invitation with great heartiness, -professed himself delighted at the prospect -of so pleasant a trip for his wife; and they -shook hands and parted.</p> - -<p>Mr Cross stood on the doorstep for a moment, -deep in thought. His mind sadly misgave him. -He mistrusted his power of dealing with this cool, -sarcastic, easy-mannered vagabond, as he would -have dealt with one of his own class. He shook -his head as he walked away. If the man would -but die!</p> - -<p>That night, feeling weary and worn out, he -thought he would indulge in a little tinkering of -some sort in his workshop—to him a never-failing -source of relaxation. For some time past he had -been engaged in making a duplicate set of keys -for the doors of the strong-room and the iron box -which held the diamonds, as a useful precaution -in case the originals should be lost or mislaid. -So, after dinner, he put on his leathern apron -and again set to work, pipe in mouth. When -he had finished the work, he paid the usual -evening visit to his diamonds, using the new keys. -With a touch or two of the small file which he -carried in his hand, he found that they fitted -perfectly.</p> - -<p>Amy had been the same day to her father in -the City, all anxiety to learn the result of the -interview, as her husband declined to tell her -anything. Mr Cross had, as we know, but little -to tell; he could only bid her, as before, -keep a good heart, and it would all come right. -He informed her of the arrangements which had -been made for Thursday and Friday next, named -the hour at which she was to meet him at -London Bridge, and sent her away a little perplexed, -but rejoicing greatly at the prospect of -the trip, and trusting implicitly in her father’s -wisdom.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_ART_OF_CONVERSATION">THE ART OF CONVERSATION.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Certain</span> things are supposed to come by the -grace of nature and the free gift of providence; -and the Art of Conversation is one of them. -No one dreams of cultivating this art, either in -its perfected form or in those rudiments which -stand as a ‘grammar in use for beginners;’ that -is—correct diction, just expression, that inflection -of the voice which shall be eloquent without -being theatrical, and that emphasis which shall -be indicative without being exaggerated. People -drawl out their words into long tails or clip -them into docked stumps; they loop them on -to the other with a running chain of ‘<i>er</i>s,’ -or they bite them off short, each word falling -plumb and isolated, disconnected from all the -rest; they let their labials go by the board, and -bury their <i>r</i>s in the recesses of their larynx; -they throw the accent on the wrong syllable, -and transform their vowels according to their -liking; they say ‘wuz’ for ‘was,’ ‘onnibus’ for -‘omnibus,’ and ‘y’ are’ for ‘you are;’ they -shoulder out all the middle aspirates and some -of the initial, and forget that words ending -in ‘ing’ have a final <i>g</i> which is neither to be -burked out of existence nor hardened into a -ringing <i>k</i>. All which lingual misdemeanours -they commit with a clear conscience and a light -heart, because ignorant that they have committed -any misdemeanour at all.</p> - -<p>Even people of birth and breeding, who should -be without offence in those matters, fail in their -grammar, and say the queerest things in the -world. ‘These sort of things;’ ‘Who have you -asked?’ ‘Every one of them know you;’ -‘Between you and I;’ ‘Neither men or women;’ -‘No one’ as the antecedent, and ‘they’ as the -relative—these are just a few of the commonest -errors of daily speech of which no one is ashamed, -and to which were you to make a formal objection, -you would be thought a pedant for your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">{443}</span> -pains, and laughed at when your back was turned. -If these things are done in the green tree of -method, what may not be looked for in the dry -of substance? And sure it is that we find very -queer things indeed in that dry of substance, and -prove for ourselves how the Art of Conversation -is reduced to its primitive elements, which -few give themselves the trouble to embellish, and -fewer still to perfect.</p> - -<p>To begin at the beginning, how seldom people -pay undivided attention to the conversation on -hand, and how often their thoughts wander and -stray everywhere but where they should be! -The most absurd, the most trivial, thing distracts -them. A spider on the wall breaks the thread of -an enthralling narrative, and a butterfly on the -lawn breaks into the gravest, or the most poetic, -talk as ruthlessly as the proverbial bull smashes -into the proverbial china-shop. Another alumnus -in the same school, though of a different class, -will not let you speak without interruption. -Like a cockerel, spurring and springing at its -brother, this kind dashes at you with an answer -before you have half stated your case. ‘You -mean this?’ he says, performing that feat called -‘taking the words out of your mouth.’ And -forthwith he begins his refutation of that which -you have not said and probably had no intention -of saying. Another will not wait until you -have finished. His words cross and intermingle -with yours in hopeless confusion of both sound -and sense. You both speak together, and neither -listens to the other—you, because you ‘have the -floor,’ and he, because he wishes to have it. -Conversation with such is impossible. It is -a battle of words—mere words—like a heap of -loose stones shot pell-mell out of a cart; and not -that orderly interchange of ideas which is what -true conversation should be.</p> - -<p>Others, cousins-german to these, interfere in -talk with which they have no business. They -do not join in; thus enlarging the basis and -enriching the superstructure; but they break in -with something quite irrelevant, destroying the -most interesting discussion on the most puerile -pretence, as a feather whisk might knock down a -Sèvres vase. This form of bad-breeding is much -in use among women when they are jealous, and -want to make themselves unpleasant to each -other. The poet or the lord, the bishop or the -general, that grand name or this great fortune—the -man who is the feminine cynosure and -whose attention confers distinction—is talking -to some one singled out from the rest. He -has to be detached and made to transfer -himself. Accordingly, one of the boldest of -the discontented outsiders goes up to the charge, -and in the midst of a talk on literature, art, -politics, on his travels or her experiences, cuts -in with a question about the next flower-show -or the last murder; with Who? What? -When? How? no nearer to the subject on hand -than the moon is near to Middlesex. This is an -offence of daily occurrence, even among well-bred -people—human nature having the ugly trick of -breaking out of the delicate swaddling-clothes -in which education and refinement would fain -confine it.</p> - -<p>Sometimes your interlocutor is a mother -abnormally occupied with her children, and -unable for two consecutive minutes to free her -thoughts from the petty details of their lives. -She does not even pretend to listen to what -you are saying. All the time you are speaking, -her eyes are wandering about the room, to make -sure that Tom is not forgetting his manners, -and that Jane is not making holes in hers—that -Frank is where he should be, and Sarah not -where she should not be—that Edith is not -talking too much, and that Charley is not talking -too little: it does not matter what she is anxious -about, seeing that if it be not one thing it will -be another. And you need not be offended, nor -take her inattention as a slight special to yourself. -The Golden-mouthed himself could not fix -her thoughts, wandering as they always are over -the pathless spaces of her maternal fear. She is -one of the most disagreeable of the whole tribe -of the conversational awkward-squad. You have -nothing for it but to stop dead—in the midst -of a sentence, if need be—until she has brought -her roving eyes back to the point which presupposes -attention, and appears to be conscious -that you are speaking to her.</p> - -<p>Others yawn in your face with frank and -undisguised weariness; and some put up the -transparent screen of a fan or two fingers; others, -again, make that constrained grimace which -accompanies the eating and the swallowing of the -yawn, and think that their sudden gulp and -hesitation will pass unobserved. Some give -wrong answers, with their eyes fixed on yours, -as if listening devoutly to all you say, and -absorbed in your conversation. They have -mastered this part of the form, and can look as -if drinking in to the last verbal drop. The -reality is analogous to that condition of Baron -Münchhausen’s horse with which we are all familiar, -and which we express by the phrase: ‘Going -in at one ear and out by another.’ One who -had learned this art of looking attention without -giving it, once fell into a pit whence was no -possible extraction. ‘Do you call gentlemen in -England It?’ said an English-speaking German -who thought his sweet companion had been -entirely interested in his talk. Her eyes—and -what eyes they were!—had been all he could -desire—fixed, listening, interested. Meanwhile, -her ears had been occupied elsewhere. At her -back, on the ottoman where she was sitting, -was being carried on a conversation in which -she was deeply interested. Before her sat her -German, labouring heavily among the stiff clay-clods -of his imperfect English. Her answer to -his remark betrayed the absence of the mind -underneath all the steadfastness of her bewildering -eyes. ‘Do you call gentlemen in England -It?’ he repeated with mingled reproach, sorrow, -and—enlightenment. That random answer to -his previous question cost her the offer of a spray -of orange blossom—and him the pain of its -refusal.</p> - -<p>Beyond these rudiments comes the higher art -reaching into grace, and needing enlightened -intelligence for its perfection. The section which -we have been considering belongs only to the -grammar, the beginning, the mere infancy of -things, like the New Zealander’s tattoo for personal -decoration, or his hideous idol for representative -art. Beyond the good-breeding of -attention comes the supreme art, we had almost -said the science of conversation—of all things<span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">{444}</span> -the most difficult, to judge by its rarity at least -in England. It is more common in France, -where it is better understood, and where a -good conversationalist is prized as a Master in -his own degree. And be it observed—a good -conversationalist is not the same thing as a -good anecdotist, a good debater, a good talker—this -last too often sinning with Coleridge in -monopolising all the talk to himself, and granting -only some ‘brilliant flashes of silence’ wherein -the ruck may have their innings. A good -conversationalist, on the contrary, is essentially -reciprocal. He flings his own ball, but he -catches the return and waits for its throw. He -has a light touch, and that kind of skill which -glances off rather than hits fair and square. He -has also the power of suggestiveness and direction, -as perfect in its way as the skill with which -certain adepts can make a ball wind in and out of -stumps and stakes by the clever twist of their -first throw off. He is not one of those who run -a subject to earth and finish it all the same as -one would finish a fox; but he keeps it alive -and going with the neatest, deftest, little fillips -possible—as the Japanese keep up their paper -butterflies with airy puffs of their flimsy fans, -or as a thaumaturgist guides his spinning-plates -with the tip of his forefinger. When it is all -over, and you ask yourself what you have got -by it, you are forced to confess, Nothing. You -have been superficially amused, and for the -moment interested; but you have learned nothing, -and are no richer mentally than you were -before the verbal butterfly began to flutter and -the wordy plate to spin.</p> - -<p>We in England, however, know but little of -this kind of talk. We have men who argue, and -men who assert; and we have men, and women -too, who come down with a thud on the toes -of all whom they encounter in the various -walks of conversation. But of the light bright -thrust and parry, the brilliant quarte and tierce, -the flashing ‘pinked’ and quick <i>riposte</i> characteristic -of the palmy days of Parisian society, -we have but very little. For foils we use -bludgeons; for paper butterflies, leaden bullets. -We are too much in earnest to be graceful, and -too anxious about our subject to be careful of -our method. Hence we have better dialecticians -than conversationalists, and better fighters than -fencers. But really, say, at a dinner, or in the -crowded corners of a fashionable soirée, you -cannot go into the mazes of ‘evidences,’ nor -discuss the value of esoteric Buddhism, nor -yet winnow your sheaf of political economy, -beginning with Adam Smith and ending with -Henry George. You can only play with words -and toss up airy bubbles of ideas. And he who -can play with most dexterity, and whose airy -bubbles have the brightest iridescence, is the -hero of the moment and the master of the -situation.</p> - -<p>As a rule, authors are but dull dogs in conversation. -They keep their good things for -their books. Those who expect in literary -society the feast of reason and the flow of -soul, find themselves for the most part wofully -disappointed. More is to be got out of the -amateurist set—that fringe which would be if -it could, and which hangs on to the main body -as the best thing it can do in the circumstances. -But authors of the professional and bread-winning -class will talk only of things already known, -repeating what they have written, but taking -care not to forestall what they have not yet -printed. They, and all professionals of any -denomination whatsoever, are also given to talk -shop among themselves; and shop is usually -disagreeable to the outsider.</p> - -<p>We might do worse than cultivate Conversation -as an Art. Time has room for all things -in his hand, and life has need of variety. Desperately -busy and terribly in earnest as we may be, -blowing bubbles has yet its value. Moreover, -the true art of conversation is a lesson in good-breeding, -which, in its turn, is the <i>fine fleur</i> of -civilisation; and thus, from the rootwork of -manner to the efflorescence of matter, there is -something to be gained by the perfection of the -art.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IN_QUEER_COMPANY">IN QUEER COMPANY.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3 title="PART I.">IN TWO PARTS.—PART I.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">If</span> the following account of what happened to me -a few years ago serves no other purpose, it may -pass muster as an illustration of two old sayings, -namely, that ‘One half of the world does not -know how the other half lives,’ and that ‘Truth -is often stranger than fiction.’</p> - -<p>It was late on a very cold afternoon during -the winter of 1876-77, that I was hurrying westward -along the Marylebone Road, congratulating -myself upon having turned my back upon the -bitter east wind, and comparing the climate of -London towards the end of December with that -which I had been enjoying exactly twelve months -previously, when at Calcutta, as one of the Special -Correspondents with the Prince of Wales. I had -got nearly as far as the Edgware Road, when a -man touched his hat to me and asked me for -the wherewith to get a night’s lodging. He did -not look like an ordinary or a professional beggar. -His clothes, although very shabby, were evidently -well made. He looked so pinched and weary, -that I stopped and fumbled in the ticket-pocket -of my overcoat for a sixpence to give him. He -stared at me very hard indeed whilst I was -getting the money, and as I handed it to him, -broke out with an exclamation of wonder, asking -me whether my name was not so-and-so. I -replied that it was; and asked him where he had -ever seen me before. To make a long story -short, this poverty-stricken man asking alms on -the public streets turned out to be a gentleman -I had known many years before, when he was a -captain in one of our crack lancer regiments, and -had a private fortune of his own of more than -fifteen hundred a year. When I had last seen -him, he was a man of little over thirty; but was -now on the wrong side of fifty; and owing to -want, care, hunger, cold, and dirt, looked very -much older. He had always been a very fast -man. Betting, cards, and doing bills at sixty -per cent., had worked out their legitimate ends -upon him. I had lost all sight of him for fully -twenty years, but remembered having heard that -he had been obliged to sell out on account of -his many debts. All this, and much more too, -he related when he came to my house, as I had -told him to do, and helped him as far as it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_445">{445}</span> -in my power, with a little money and some old -clothes.</p> - -<p>When I asked him what he intended to do -for the future, he said that if he could only get -a decent outfit and a few pounds for travelling -expenses, he had an opening in Paris that would -soon put him on his legs again. It so happened -that I knew slightly two or three men who had -been in the same regiment with this individual; -and of these there was one who was very well -off. I therefore wrote out an appeal for the -poor fellow, sent it to the different parties; and -was greatly pleased when I found that instead of -realising, as I had hoped, some ten or fifteen -pounds, the contributions sent me came to upwards -of thirty pounds. With this money I first -got the unfortunate man a fairly good outfit of -clothes, and then made over to him the balance -left, about six pounds, to use as he liked. He -was exceedingly grateful; and asked me to -express his thanks to those who had responded -so generously to my letters. It was about a -fortnight after I had met him on the Marylebone -Road that he called to bid me farewell, and to -thank me again for all I had done, which, after -all, was merely having written some half-dozen -letters, and taken a little trouble in getting his -clothes as good and as cheap as I could. He -told me that he was leaving for Paris that -evening.</p> - -<p>For five or six months I neither saw nor heard -anything about him. At the end of that time -I received a note from this individual, telling me -he was in London, saying he would like to see -me, and giving me his address at a respectable -hotel near Leicester Square. I wrote an answer; -and as I happened to be going into the neighbourhood, -called at the hotel, intending to leave -it there. But as the waiter told me that the -gentleman was at home, and was then writing -in the coffee-room, I went there, and found my -former acquaintance, who seemed delighted to -see me. He had evidently prospered since I last -saw him. He was well, if perhaps somewhat -flashily dressed; had what seemed to be a valuable -pin in his neck-scarf, a thick gold chain -from one waistcoat pocket to another, and two -or three rings on his fingers. He looked more -like a Frenchman than an Englishman; and -would certainly have passed a better muster -at Brebant’s or in the <i>Café du Helder</i> than he -could have done in a London club. But what -showed more plainly than anything else that he -had done well, and what pleased me greatly, was -that he there and then pulled out a roll of bank-notes -and insisted upon repaying me what I had -collected for him from his former friends. It -was in vain that I protested that those gentlemen -had parted with their money as a gift and not -as a loan; that I did not know where to find -them at present; and that I begged he would -not think of repaying me the small portion I had -contributed to the amount. No; nothing would -serve him but to make me take the money and -to give it back as best I could to those who had -assisted him in his great distress.</p> - -<p>As a matter of course, I was very curious to -know by what means he had, in some measure at -anyrate, recovered his position in the world; or -how he had managed to fill his empty purse. But -to all my questions he gave the most evasive -answers. Remembering what his pursuits used -to be long ago, I felt certain that he had got -into some lucky vein of play or of betting, and -that he was making a living either by cards -or on the racecourse. But after a few days’ -observation of what he did, I was sure that -I was labouring under a mistake. Just at that -time of the year several of our great race-meetings -were in full swing; but he never went -near any of them; nor did he ever attempt to -go back amongst the men who had been his -companions long ago. I offered to get his name -put down as an honorary or visiting member of -one or two good clubs; but he invariably declined. -When he asked me, as he often did, to dine -with him, it was always at one or other of the -best foreign restaurants in London. When I -called on him at his hotel, he seemed to be -always busy either writing or receiving letters. -One night I looked him up about eleven <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> on -my way back from the theatre. But they told -me at the hotel he always went out between -nine and ten <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, and seldom came back -before the small-hours of the morning.</p> - -<p>In London, a busy man has little or no time -to think of any one’s affairs except his own; but -I confess that this gentleman used often to puzzle -me not a little. His seeming prosperity in money -matters as compared with his former circumstances, -and the singular life he led, caused me -often to wonder what were the sources whence -he derived his income, my curiosity being not a -little increased by his evident desire to keep me -in the dark as to the truth of the case. But -the solution of a difficult social problem almost -invariably comes to hand when least expected, -and this case was no exception to the rule.</p> - -<p>I had not seen my friend for some two or -three weeks, when I received a note asking me -to call upon him, as he had met with a bad -accident and was confined to his bed. I accordingly -went to see him; and found that he had -slipped upon the street, had injured his knee -somewhat severely, and was suffering great pain. -He had called in a surgeon, who had ordered the -most perfect rest for at least ten days or a -fortnight; and having no other friend in London -of whom he could ask a favour, he begged me to -help him in certain matters of business which -could not be neglected. As a matter of course, -I offered to be of any service I could to him; -and he said that the first favour he would ask of -me was to go to a small news-agent near Soho -Square and ask for any letters directed to ‘T. D.; -to be left till called for.’</p> - -<p>I did so; and found there four letters so -addressed, all bearing French post-marks, and -took them to him at the hotel. He opened -them with evident eagerness, and read them -with an anxiety which he could not disguise from -me, although he very evidently tried his best -to do so. The contents of these communications -seemed to give him great annoyance. After a -short time, during which he seemed deep in -thought, he wrote out a curious, mysterious -advertisement, such as we read almost every day -in the ‘Agony column’ of the <i>Times</i>, and asked -me to get it inserted in three of the chief morning -papers. I read what he had written, and -wondered not a little what he meant. In the -advertisement, ‘Adventure’ was requested to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_446">{446}</span> -‘keep dark until Phillip wrote.’ The sick man -saw me smile as I read it, and looked very -anxious and embarrassed, assuring me that there -was no harm whatever in the hidden meaning -of the notice. Having work of my own to attend -to, I left him, saying I would call again the next -day. But he begged so earnestly for me to come -before post-time, that I consented to do so. He -told me that he did not like intrusting his letters -to the people of the hotel, who were either -very curious or extremely neglectful on all such -matters. I therefore returned in the afternoon, -when he handed me two letters, which he asked -me to post. They were both addressed to Paris, -to persons with French-like names, and were -to be left <i>poste restante</i> at different post-offices. -The next day but one he asked me to go to -the same small news-agent near Soho Square -and ask for any letters that might be there for -him. I found two, and brought them to him. -He read them with great eagerness; and again -wrote two letters, which he asked me to post for -him, evidently not caring to trust the people of -the hotel with his correspondence. This went -on almost every day. On one occasion, he took -out of one of the letters I brought him a draft -from a Paris bank upon one in London for one -hundred pounds payable to ‘T. C. Dane, or order.’ -He indorsed it, and asked me to get it cashed -for him, which I did. He evidently saw that -I was not only puzzled as to what his mysterious -business could be, but that I had serious thoughts -of not coming near him again until I found out -whether my doing so would compromise myself. -And apparently acting upon a sudden impulse, -he all at once opened out and made what I may -call his confession to me.</p> - -<p>‘For some time past,’ he began, ‘I have seen -that you wonder what my business is, and why -I am so mysterious with regard to what I do -and what I write. Well, I will now make a -clean breast of it.’</p> - -<p>He then told me that some two or three -years previously, he had got into what he called -‘worse than a mess’ in Paris. He had somehow -got mixed up with a gang of card-sharpers, without -knowing to what an extent they carried on -their dishonest practices, and had so far compromised -himself, that the French police had -him at their mercy. They had, however, let -him off, holding over him the power they had -to prosecute him at any future time, should they -think he deserved it. But they made certain -conditions with him; and these were, that he -should go to London, and furnish them from -time to time with all the information he could -gather respecting certain receivers of goods, stolen -in France, who resided in this metropolis. In -order to do this the more effectually, he had -managed not only to get acquainted with the -leaders of a gang which worked for their friends -in Paris, but he had also got himself received -as one of them, and used to go to their meetings -almost every night. The work, as he told me, -had been most unpleasant, but it was nearly -at an end; and the French police had promised -that he should very soon be altogether free from -his engagements with them.</p> - -<p>To mix with people of whom little or nothing -is known, and to penetrate into places which -are hidden from the generality of mankind, has -always had a great charm for me. Mr Dane -was not a little surprised when, instead of leaving -him after I had heard his story, I told him he -would do me a great favour if he took me to a -meeting of his dishonest friends; and that I -would pledge myself never to give any information -that might lead to a single member of the -band getting into trouble. After making some -objections to my request, he at last consented; -and said that the first night he could get out he -would go to the meeting of the gang by himself, -but would then make arrangements for me to -accompany him the following evening. And -thus it was that I managed to get into very -‘queer company.’</p> - -<p>If any one was to offer me one hundred pounds -to show him where the place in which the thieves -and receivers of stolen goods is or was situated, -I could not do so, even if it was honourable to -divulge what I had promised faithfully to keep -secret. This much I may say, that having dined -in the Strand, we walked up Catherine Street, -and turned to the right when we came to the -court that flanks the south side of Drury Lane -Theatre. Here my companion stopped, took out -of his pocket a pair of spectacles, and said I -must put them on before he could take me any -farther. I did as he desired; and found the -glasses to be so dark that I could not see an -inch beyond my nose. My friend laughed; and -linking his arm in mine, said he would conduct -me safely; but that he was obliged to make it -a point I should not be able to recognise the -streets we passed through, even if I wanted to do -so. As near as I could guess, we took some ten -minutes to reach our destination, after I had put -on the glasses. My companion then stopped, -knocked in a peculiar manner at a street door, -told me to take off the spectacles, and led me -through what seemed to be a coffee-shop of the -most humble kind. In a large room beyond this, -there were seated six or seven men, who were -not by any means all of the same type. Two or -three were evidently Frenchmen, and were talking -together with the usual volubility of their nation. -The rest were scattered here and there. All were -smoking. Some had cups of tea or coffee before -them, whilst others seemed to be indulging in -spirits-and-water. My companion was greeted by -all present as a friend they had been waiting -for and were glad to see. He introduced me to -the party assembled as ‘one of us, just come -from Paris.’ No questions were asked, nor, -beyond one or two civil inquiries, was any particular -notice taken of me. I was asked what -I would drink, offered my choice of cigars or -cigarettes; and then the meeting commenced to -discuss, in an informal kind of manner, the business -which had brought those present together.</p> - -<p>From what I could gather, it seemed that there -had been, a few days before, a robbery of valuable -jewels in Paris; and that the difficulty of those -connected with the affair was to get the plunder -safely over to the United States. The London -police had been put on the alert; but the thieves—or -shall I call them the agents and helpers of -thieves?—did not seem to fear them. They discussed -very freely the relative merits of the French -and English detective systems; saying, that in -cases of housebreaking and murders, the latter -rarely failed to bring the offenders to justice; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_447">{447}</span> -that in cases of clever ‘plants,’ the former were -much more to be feared.</p> - -<p>‘You never know,’ said one Englishman present, -with a round oath, ‘where or when you may -come across those horrible French spies. Why, -we might have here, in the very midst of us, -some one who is in their pay.’</p> - -<p>I thought to myself how little these fellows -knew that my friend who had introduced me -into the room belonged to the very tribe whom -they feared so much. But of the United States -they spoke in the highest terms; or in very much -the same manner that an artisan who could not -earn the wherewith to pay for dry bread in this -country, might praise some place in the Far West -where industry was certain to gain an honest -living. From what I gathered, it would seem that -whenever a robbery on a large scale is carried -out, the first object of those concerned is to get -‘the swag’ out of the country as soon as possible. -Thus, the produce of a plunder in Paris is almost -invariably taken to London, and <i>vice versâ</i>. If -the thieves can so arrange beforehand as to get -away from where the theft has been committed -within a few hours of the completion of their -handiwork, they believe themselves to be all but -safe, or at least the chances are about five to one -in their favour. If they have the luck to get clear -of Europe and safely land in America, the chances -are that they will get clear altogether, realise -a good price for their plunder, and make things -pleasant all round. The United States, as I said -before, is a capital country to go to; but South -America is still better. In neither of these parts -are many questions asked; but in the latter -country the prices given are higher than in the -north, and sales are more readily effected. In -London, the market for jewelry is by no means -good; for, as a rule, the stones have to be taken -out of the setting; and the latter has to be -secreted or instantly melted, else the police are -pretty certain to get scent of the affair.</p> - -<p>It must not be thought that those composing -the very singular company amongst whom I -found myself were at all in the burglar line. -I don’t believe that there was a single housebreaking -implement to be found amongst them. -From all I gathered, they were the receivers, -and not the actual robbers, of valuable goods. -They talked together of their common pursuit -much in the same manner that so many brokers -might converse respecting the fluctuations of the -Stock Exchange, or a party of farmers might -give their opinions respecting the coming corn -or other crops. What surprised me most was -the manner in which the company, one and all, -spoke of what they called their ‘business,’ as if it -was of the most legitimate kind; and I feel certain -that they would have resented warmly the words -of any one who threw the shadow of a doubt upon -the propriety of their occupation. In what they -said of things in general, they all appeared to be -very much of the same way of thinking; or, at anyrate, -they expressed themselves as holding very -much the same views. On one subject only did I -hear strong language expressed, and that was when -one of them—who, from what he said, seemed -to have come from France very recently—gave -an account of the manner in which the Paris -detectives had found out a certain robbery, and -had brought those who had perpetrated the same -to justice. For individuals in the pay of the -police, or rather who belonged to the same, to -disguise themselves and mix with the individuals -who were more or less ‘wanted,’ they regarded -as ‘low’ and ‘sneaking’ in the extreme. They -were unanimous in their opinion that if the -French system of detecting robberies was ever -introduced into England, this ‘would no longer’—as -one of the party expressed himself—‘be a -country for any honest man to live in.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="HINTS_FOR_HOUSEWIVES">HINTS FOR HOUSEWIVES.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">So</span> much information about everything is now -so easily obtainable, that there is little excuse for -enduring many of the small domestic worries to -which housekeepers and others are often subjected. -Why, for instance, need any one be inconvenienced -by damp cupboards, when we read that a bowl -of quicklime placed therein will speedily absorb -the moisture? Some of us are nervous about beds -not being well aired, and yet we have only to fill -a large stone bottle with boiling water and put -it into the bed, pressing the bolster and pillows -round it in a heap. By this simple contrivance, it -is comforting to learn, no one need fear giving -a friend a damp bed, even if this is done only -once a fortnight.</p> - -<p>Flies are a familiar nuisance; but we are told -of a foreign remedy in laurel oil, which, better -than glass fly-catchers and others, will not only -rid us of these pests, but preserves looking-glasses -and picture-frames when coated with it. -Jane the ‘help’ should derive satisfaction from -the assurance that beetles may be effectually got -rid of by sprinkling once or twice on the floor -a mixture of pure carbolic acid and water, one -part to ten.</p> - -<p>It is not frequenters of restaurants only who -wonder why the simple precaution of throwing -red pepper pods or a few pieces of charcoal into -the pan—said to prevent odours from boiling-ham, -cabbage, &c.—is not oftener observed. -Cooks are further reminded that in roasting meat, -salt should not be put upon the joint before it -is put in the oven, as salt extracts the juice; and -that lime-water will improve the condition of old -potatoes in boiling.</p> - -<p>Eggs could be purchased with greater confidence -if the German method of preserving them by -means of silicate of soda was generally followed. -A small quantity of the clear sirup solution is -smeared over the surface of the shell. On drying, -a thin, hard, glassy film remains, which serves -as an admirable protection and substitute for wax, -oil, gums, &c.</p> - -<p>Economy in housekeeping would be facilitated -by the better observance of what are known in -common parlance as ‘wrinkles.’ For example, -why purchase inferior nutmegs, when their quality -can be tested by pricking them with a pin? If -they are good, the oil will instantly spread around -the puncture. It is worth recollecting that bar-soap -should be cut into square pieces, and put -in a dry place, as it lasts better after shrinking. -If we wish to keep lemons fresh for some time, -we have only to place them in a jar of water and -change it every morning. In selecting flour, we -are advised to look to the colour. If it is white -with a yellowish straw-colour tint, we should buy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_448">{448}</span> -it; but if it is white with a bluish cast, or with -black specks, we should refuse it.</p> - -<p>Broken china can be mended with a useful -glutine made with a piece of old cheese mixed -with lime; and the wooden palings of the garden -may be preserved from the weather by coating -them with a composition of boiled linseed oil and -pulverised charcoal, mixed to the consistence of -paint. In this way wood can be made to last -longer than iron in the ground. If we consult -our health, we should plant the garden with -odoriferous plants such as wall-flowers, mignonette, -and other old English flowers and herbs, which -have a remarkable power of developing ozone and -purifying the atmosphere from miasmatic poisons.</p> - -<p>Amateur joiners may derive comfort from the -knowledge that nails and screws if rubbed with -a little soap are easily driven into hard wood. -The same household commodity, of a fine white -quality, if rubbed over new linen will enable it -to be more easily embroidered, as it prevents the -threads from cracking.</p> - -<p>A deal of breakage amongst glass and crockery -can be prevented by the simple precaution of -placing lamp-chimneys, tumblers, and such articles -in a pot filled with cold water to which some -common table-salt has been added. Boil the water -well, and then allow it to cool slowly. When -the articles are taken out and washed, they will -resist any sudden changes of temperature.</p> - -<p>Crape may be renovated by thoroughly brushing -all dust from the material, sprinkling with -alcohol, and rolling in newspaper, commencing -with the paper and crape together, so that the -paper may be between every portion of the -material. Allow it to remain so until dry.</p> - -<p>A better plan for removing grease-spots than -by applying a hot iron is to rub in some spirit -of wine with the hand until the grease is brought -to powder, and there will be no trace of it. -Every schoolboy is not aware that ink-spots can -be removed from the leaves of books by using -a solution of oxalic acid in water; nor does every -housemaid know that ‘spots’ are easily cleaned -from varnished furniture by rubbing it with spirit -of camphor.</p> - -<p>The elasticity of cane-chair bottoms can be -restored by washing the cane with soap and -water until it is well soaked, and then drying -thoroughly in the air, after which they will -become as tight and firm as new, if none of the -canes are broken.</p> - -<p>Marks on tables caused by leaving hot jugs or -plates there will disappear under the soothing -influence of lamp-oil well rubbed in with a soft -cloth, finishing with a little spirit of wine or -eau-de-Cologne rubbed dry with another cloth. -When the white pianoforte keys become discoloured, -we should remove the front door, fall, -and slip of wood just over them; then lift up -each key separately from the front—do not take -them out—and rub the keys with a white cloth -slightly damped with cold water, and dry off -with a cloth slightly warm. Should the keys -be sticky, first damp the cloth with a little -spirit of wine or gin. Soap or washing-powder -must not be used. It is worth while keeping a -supply of ammonia in the household, in case -we wish to remove finger-marks from paint, or -require to cleanse brushes or greasy pans. A teaspoonful -in a basin of warm water will make -hair-brushes beautifully white; but care must -be taken not to let the backs of the brushes dip -below the surface. Rinse them with clean warm -water, and put in a sunny window to dry.</p> - -<p>Egg-shells crushed into small bits and shaken -well in decanters three parts filled with cold -water, will not only clean them thoroughly, but -make the glass look like new. By rubbing with -a damp flannel dipped in the best whiting, the -brown discolorations may be taken off cups in -which custards have been baked. Again, are all -of us aware that emery powder will remove -ordinary stains from white ivory knife-handles, -or that the lustre of morocco leather is restored -by varnishing with white of egg?</p> - -<p>Nothing, it is said, is better to clean silver -with than alcohol and ammonia, finishing with -a little whiting on a soft cloth. When putting -away the silver tea or coffee pot which is not in -use every day, lay a little stick across the top -under the cover. This will allow fresh air to get -in, and prevent the mustiness of the contents, -familiar to hotel and lodging-house sufferers.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_BLACKBIRDS_NEST">A BLACKBIRD’S NEST.</h2> -</div> -<p class="ph3">BY ALEXANDER ANDERSON.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>[In the month of May might be seen, at the Forth Bridge -Works, South Queensferry, a blackbird sitting on her nest, -which was built on an elevated projecting beam in the -engineering shed, in close proximity to the driving-shaft, and -immediately above a powerful steam-engine.]</p> -</div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">She</span> sits upon her nest all day,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Secure amid the toiling din</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of serpent belts that coil and play,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And, moaning, ever twist and spin.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">What cares she for the noise and whir</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of clanking hammers sounding near?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A mother’s heart has lifted her</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Beyond a single touch of fear.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Beneath her, throbbing anvils shout,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And lift their voice with ringing peal,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">While engines groan and toss about</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Their tentacles of gleaming steel.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Around her, plates of metal, smote</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And beat upon by clutch and strain,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Take shape beneath the grasp of Thought—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The mute Napoleon of the brain.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">She, caring in nowise for this,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But, as an anxious mother should,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dreams of a certain coming bliss,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The rearing of her callow brood.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou little rebel, thus to fly</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The summer shadows of the trees,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The sunlight of the gracious sky,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The tender toying of the breeze.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">What made thee leave thy leafy home,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The deep hid shelter of the tree,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The sounds of wind and stream, and come</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To where all sounds are strange to thee?</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou wilt not answer anything;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Thy thoughts from these are far away;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Five little globes beneath thy wing,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Are all thou thinkest on to-day.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. & R. 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