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diff --git a/old/65883-0.txt b/old/65883-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e386238..0000000 --- a/old/65883-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2144 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 29, Vol. I, July 19, 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. 29, Vol. I, July 19, 1884 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: July 20, 2021 [eBook #65883] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 29, VOL. I, JULY 19, -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. 29.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, JULY 19, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -SOME CHEERING ASPECTS OF MORTALITY. - - -When eminent men die, we are accustomed to say that the world has lost -something; that their country or party is poorer; that none are left -to fill their place, and other such expressions. But very seldom do we -hear it said that the world gains when great men die; yet we have no -hesitation in saying that the world often gains more by the death of -leading men than it would do by their living indefinitely, or even much -beyond ‘the allotted span.’ Again, it is not our custom to look forward -to the day of our own death as a gain either to ourselves or the world. -We somehow think that no one could exactly fill our shoes or act the -part we have done; but as a matter of fact, our shoes may be better -filled and our part better acted by the generation which follows. This -fact ought to humble us a bit; and perhaps we need humbling, for there -is just the trace of a tendency among moderns to underrate the men who -have immediately preceded them, or who may be going off the far end of -the stage as we take our places at the near. - -Noble lives have often been spent to little purpose so far as their -contemporaries were concerned. The fact is, ‘No man is a hero to his -valet,’ nor is any man ‘a prophet in his own country;’ and as ‘distance -lends enchantment to the view,’ it is only when the world’s best men -have been hid from sight in the greedy grave, that their influence has -been felt in all its power. We are apt to hold even the oldest and best -of our contemporaries in light esteem; but we reverence the ancients. -Nay, many of earth’s noblest sons have been bitterly blamed, and held -up to scorn and derision in their lifetime; and not till death stepped -in and took them away, did the world discover its mistake. - -A poor shoemaker rises while others sleep, and searches among the -wayside weeds of his native lanes, his only inspiration being his -thirst for knowledge, and the joy of adding a few plants to the known -flora of his native land. His neighbours deride him, are doubtful of -his sanity, and think his life a sad warning to the peasant lads around -who may show signs of leaving the beaten path of the monotonous life -their fathers trod. Unmindful of scorn, in defiance of fate, he goes -forward in the thorny path he has chosen for himself, gaining knowledge -that is quite new, making discoveries that were reserved for such as -he, and at last becomes possessed of an herbarium famous for containing -specimens to be found in no other. All the while he is unheard of, -or heard of unfavourably; but when he grows old, and, tottering on -the brink of the grave, hands over his precious scraps to the nearest -university, he becomes famous. A coterie of appreciative men in -far-away London collect something to relieve his pressing necessities, -and—the matter ends. But he dies, and _then_ the world gains—not the -blood and toil stained herbarium, but the stimulating example of a -hero’s life, which, though it repelled the youth of his own time and -district, becomes a burning and a shining light to lighten the path -and fire the noble ambition of every youth who reads the story of the -heroic struggles which bore him above the swamping waves of prejudice, -of poverty, and of scorn. - -When that amiable young man the Prince Imperial fell, done to death by -Zulu assegais, there arose from nearly every heart in the civilised -world a sigh of sympathy for his bereaved mother, and a tear was -dropped by many, as they thought of the far-reaching possibilities -blotted out by African savages. Yet who can doubt that that tragedy -saved a whole nation of men, perhaps for generations, from a host of -plotters against the destiny of their own country, not for Bonapartism, -but for ends at once selfish, unpatriotic, and unworthy. - -In the backwoods of America is born the son of a struggling farmer, who -dies ere his son can earn a crust to sustain life. A noble woman, his -mother, has a hard battle to fight in the rearing of her family; but -bitter though the conflict is, her heroism gains the victory for her -in the unequal contest with want and weakness. Her son, sharing his -mother’s hard lot, showing her nobleness of character, determines to -‘be somebody;’ to serve the world in his day and generation; and, by -efforts such as only heroes make, rises step by step in learning and in -every art that dignifies man. From being a backwoodsman’s son and from -a condition of penury, he rises ‘from high to higher,’ till he fills -the seat of a great Republic, and becomes - - The pillar of a nation’s hope, - The admiration of the world. - -His influence for good is immense, and he promises to use it well. -Suddenly, unexpectedly, a ruffian’s shot lays him on his deathbed. The -world, first shocked, and then moved by pity, cannot help exclaiming -that this is indeed a kingly man. Bright as shone his light, it only -lighted one nation before; but the flash of that pistol made him the -observed of distant peoples. He dies; and the dead Garfield wields an -influence for good such as a thousand living Garfields never could. - -But it is not alone by the rich legacies of well-spent lives which -men leave us when they die, that we gain. It is often necessary that -even good men should be removed, to allow of the world’s progress—much -more bad men, especially if they wield a far-reaching influence. Of no -men is this more true than of statesmen. When in Europe one man once -heads a party, he generally remains leader while he lives. The world -would not suffer from this, if the leaders of parties would move as the -world moves; but they are apt to lag behind. When this is the case—and -it is constantly occurring—a country may be brought to the very brink -of revolutionary overthrow. At times, nations and dynasties have been -saved, simply because death stepped in and removed the obstacle with -which the body-politic threatened to come into collision. - -Sometimes men pursue a certain course, not that it is right, not even -that they think it is right, but because they stand committed to it. -Oftener, men hold upon a course that everybody but themselves sees is -wrong, believing it to be right; but it is only prejudice that blinds -them. This is very apt to be true of us all. When once we have chosen -our way, we generally keep on till death stops us. Our religion, our -politics, our very prejudices, we rarely modify; and we seldom inquire -why we hold certain religious or political creeds. Occasionally, a more -than ordinarily strong-minded man has courage to think for himself, -and even goes the length of acting for himself; but such cases are -comparatively rare. Were men not mortal, were men even to live as long -as did the antediluvians, progress in the world would be very slow. -Threescore years and ten we may hold the world back, but no longer. We -hold very different opinions from our grandfathers; but had they lived -till now, it is doubtful if they would have greatly modified theirs. -Enlightened as we think ourselves, it is quite probable that the -generation that acts a century hence may wonder how we managed to rub -along in our benightedness! - -Many men are morbidly fearful of being thought inconsistent, and will -rather hide their opinion than run the risk of being thought so. -Though a man may cling thus to what he may have reason to believe is -not quite correct, for fear of being inconsistent, nobody will blame -his son, far less his grandson, for maintaining exactly the opposite to -his father’s opinion. Thus, as men die, errors die; as they are swept -from the stage of life, their opinions are replaced by more forward -ones, held by the men who fill the shoes of those that went before. - -As the Angel of Death is the destroyer of prejudices, so is he the -healer of national animosities. The Scotsmen and the Englishmen who -fought so fiercely and hated so bitterly at Bannockburn and at Flodden -are long since gone, and in their place there is a living race of -Scotsmen and Englishmen who belong to one nation, and are proud of each -other. Eighty years ago, Frenchmen and Englishmen hated and fought -as fiends hate and fight; but death has taken the haters away, and a -new race of Englishmen and a new race of Frenchmen to-day regard each -other in a very different way. To-day, the Frenchman spends his surplus -hate on the Prussian, and the Prussian returns it with not a little -insolence, by way of interest. But Death has a drug that is potent -enough to quench even _their_ animosities; and when he has had time -to practise his art, there will remain Germans and Frenchmen ready to -acknowledge that there is room enough in Europe for both; to respect -the greatness of each other, and to exchange, not rifle-shots, but -friendly greetings. - -For centuries, misgovernment has sown evil seed in unhappy Ireland, -and the result is a race of Irishmen smarting under a sense of wrong, -and crying out accordingly. Were men to live for ever, were memories -to live for ever, Ireland never would be pacified. Bit by bit, justice -is being done to Ireland, and man by man, death is removing those in -whose breast the sense of wrong swelled till it has developed into -fury. By-and-by their hatred will be extinguished; in course of time, -the animosities between landlord and tenant will be buried. Death sits -final arbiter in many a strife. - - - - -BY MEAD AND STREAM. - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII.—WHIRLWINDS. - -Miss Hadleigh was always effusive in her welcomes, and on the present -occasion she was more effusive than ever in her reception of Madge. - -‘I have been dying with anxiety to see you, dear; and if you had not -come to-day, I should have gone to Willowmere, or sent for you.’ - -‘I am glad to have come at the proper moment, then—when you wanted me.’ - -‘Oh, it is most, most fortunate!’ (She found a difficulty in -discovering a sufficient superlative, and so doubled the one at her -command.) ‘And it concerns you as much as us, for it is about Philip -and his uncle.’ - -Madge had not been excited with curiosity about the cause of Miss -Hadleigh’s anxiety to see her; and even now she was not disturbed, -although more interested, when she learned that Philip had something to -do with it. - -‘Has anything particular happened?’ - -‘We don’t know yet, dear; that is what vexes us. Philip has not been -here for—oh, ever so long; and such strange things are being said -about them in the city, that a friend of mine’ (a pretty simper here) -‘considered it to be his duty to come out expressly to tell me and ask -if I knew anything.’ - -‘But what is being said and who has told you?’ inquired Madge, still -undisturbed, and even inclined to smile, having experience in the young -lady’s way of revelling in exaggerations on the most trivial occasions. - -‘Alfred—that is Mr Crowell, you know.’ - -The correction was made with a little self-conscious smile, as if she -were saying: ‘Of course you know that I have the right to call him -Alfred.’ - -Madge bowed. - -‘Well, Alfred tells me that people are saying that Mr Shield’s great -fortune is a great bubble swindle; and something about bulls and bears, -that I don’t understand; and that poor Philip will never be able to -meet the engagements he has made in the belief that this man possessed -millions. He has been dreadfully deceived; but nobody will believe -that; and Philip will have to suffer all the blame, because the thing -has been so cunningly done that nobody can touch Mr Shield. He is not a -partner, and is in no way responsible for what Philip said or did.... -It is perfectly frightful, and has made me so nervous that I really -don’t know what I am doing ever since Alfred went away. Alfred is so -generous and so brave—he has gone to search for Philip, and see if -anything can be done to help him out of the mess.’ - -Making all allowance for probable and possible exaggerations, this -news was startling, and it was rendered more so by the excited -interjectional manner in which it was conveyed. But it obtained -additional significance when she remembered what Philip himself had -said of his worries, and what had passed between her and Mr Beecham. -No doubt, Philip, desiring to spare her anxiety, had made too little -of his difficulties, had avoided details, and left her to believe that -they were only of such a nature as to involve temporary embarrassment, -which could be overcome by coolness and resolution. Alfred Crowell, -being under no constraint, had blurted out the truth—or rather, he had -found the rumours of such importance as to induce him to make a special -journey to Ringsford to inquire into their truth. That he should make -the rumours an excuse for an extra visit to his betrothed was out of -the question. He came and went at will. - -If it were true, then, that Philip had fallen into or been led -into such desperate trouble, what was she to think of Mr Beecham’s -assurances that no harm should come to him? And she had pledged herself -to remain silent! - -These things passed through her mind as the panorama of a whole life -appears in one picture to the eyes of a man who is drowning. But with -the same rapidity came the suggestion of what should be done. - -‘You ought to seek the advice of your father.’ The voice was a little -husky, but the manner was decisive. - -Miss Hadleigh moved her hands—they were neat hands, and she was fond of -displaying them—gently upward and stared in despondent astonishment. - -‘We dare not speak to papa about anything connected with Mr Shield. You -can’t know how badly papa has been treated by him, or you would never -think of such a thing.’ - -‘Then I must do it.’ - -She rose and made a pace towards the door as she spoke. - -‘Oh, you must not do it, dear, for your own sake!’ cried Miss Hadleigh, -alarmed at the idea of anybody venturing to speak to her father on a -subject which he had absolutely forbidden to be mentioned. ‘You will -bring us all into trouble if you do. You _do_ know that papa did not -want Philip to have any dealings with this dreadful person, and Philip -would take his own way. You could not expect papa to be pleased with -his disobedience; and you _cannot_ expect him to be ready to give -advice now, when his former advice was neglected. If you have any -notion of papa’s way, you must understand that he would only be angry, -and say that he spoke at the right time, and it was no use speaking -now.’ - -‘I shall not bring any trouble upon you,’ said Madge quietly; ‘and -although I see how unpleasant the subject must be to your father, I -wish to speak to him. Do not be afraid, Beatrice.’ - -She took Miss Hadleigh’s hand in both her own and looked kindly in the -flushed face. But although Miss Hadleigh was afraid of her father, she -could not endure to be assured by another that she need not be so. -Consequently, her shoulders went up, and her chin went up, and her -brows came down a little, whilst her tone became slightly supercilious. - -‘Oh, it is not on my own account that I advise you not to speak to him -about this most painful business. _I_ was thinking of _you_; for it -_will_ be a little awkward if you make him angry and refuse to help -Philip, even when he has got rid of this most extremely disagreeable -relative. But of _course_ you can please yourself. I do not think my -brother will be grateful to you afterwards, when he learns how careful -I was to warn you.... Shall I inquire where papa is?’ - -‘If you please,’ said Madge, attempting to smile; ‘but you are not to -be vexed with me, Beatrice.’ - -‘Not at all, dear,’ was the response, in a slightly hysterical note, as -the bell was rung with emphasis; ‘my anxiety is entirely to save you -disappointment.’ - -‘I must risk that.’ - -The servant who answered Miss Hadleigh’s summons informed her that Mr -Hadleigh was in the library. - -‘He spends nearly all his time there now,’ said Miss Hadleigh, when -the servant had departed with his message; ‘he goes to town seldom, and -often does not go out of the house all day.’ - -She was interrupted by the appearance of her father; and he was so -rarely seen in the drawing-room, except for a few minutes before -dinner—and not always then, unless when there were guests present—that -she was startled by the sudden apparition. Moreover, she had calculated -that he would send a message to the effect that he was engaged, or that -he would see the visitor in the library, and in either case, she would -have been protected from the suspicion of having any share in bringing -about the interview. She was determined that she should not be forced -to take any active part in it, and not being prepared with an excuse, -she said plainly: ‘Madge wants to speak to you,’ and went out of the -room. - -Mr Hadleigh’s cold face never indicated the emotions of his mind or -heart; but his eyes, which followed Miss Hadleigh until the door closed -upon her, turned slowly to Madge, met hers, and noting her disturbed -expression, seemed to ask for explanation. - -‘You so rarely ask to see me, Miss Heathcote, that I am afraid -something unpleasant has occurred.’ - -‘I am sorry to disturb you,’ she began quietly, but the undercurrent of -agitation was revealed by the hesitating awkwardness of her manner. - -‘You ought rather to say that you know I am willing to be disturbed -whenever you wish to see me,’ he rejoined, with that suggestion of a -smile which appeared at times to her and to no one else. - -‘Thank you—thank you. But have you not heard that Philip is in -difficulties?’ - -‘What kind of difficulties—about money?’ - -‘Yes, yes; and his uncle, it is said, will not help him, or cannot. But -you can, and will, if it should be true.’ - -Her hand touched his arm trustfully, as if to signify that her hope of -safety lay in him. He placed his hand on hers. - -‘I know nothing of Philip’s affairs, and have forbidden any one in the -house to speak about them to me. He and I have settled matters between -us: he has chosen his course, and is to abide by it. You are aware that -it is not the course I should have liked him to follow; and being as it -is, I cannot interfere with him.’ - -‘But if you learn that he has been deceived and is on the brink of a -great misfortune—of ruin, which will bring disgrace with it—you would -not refuse to guide him!’ - -For an instant there was a gleam in the man’s eyes, as if he rose in -triumph over a fallen foe. - -‘You must tell me what you mean,’ he said, controlling whatever evil -passion had stirred within him and speaking in his ordinary measured -tone. ‘What you say would be very alarming, if I did not think that you -must be mistaken in regard to Mr Shield. As for Philip’s speculation, I -did not think it had much chance of success, although it seemed to me -worth trying, if it afforded him pleasure, and if—as I understood—the -success or failure of his project was provided for. Has he told you -that the failure has come so quickly?’ - -‘No; he has not told me that failure has come upon him, but that he -feared it. The men, the work, and all the calculations of expenses -seemed to have gone wrong when he last spoke to me. Within this hour, -I learned that it was reported in the city that he would be unable to -meet the engagements he has made.’ - -‘You must not mind city reports about new concerns, Miss Heathcote, -for they are frequently the result of nothing more than the whispers -of rivals who speak of what they wish to happen. Rumours are seldom -circulated about an old established business without some good grounds -for them. But for Philip’s business, you will have to prepare yourself -for all sorts of ridiculous rumours. You must admit that his experiment -is peculiar enough to provoke them.’ - -‘Then you do not think they can be true,’ she said, drawing a long -breath of relief. - -‘That would depend upon their source, as I am trying to make you -understand. You need not in any case be anxious until you have definite -information from Philip himself. I do not like to speak about Mr -Shield; but, eccentric as he is, I do not think he would leave him in -the lurch, when he knows that so long as Philip continues to hold the -position of his heir, I shall do nothing for him.’ - -‘Not even if Philip had been deceived?’ - -‘Not even then.... But I will do anything for you.’ - -‘And that will be the same thing,’ she said, her face brightening. - -‘Not quite,’ he observed with a coldness that was almost harsh. - -But she did not observe the difference of tone and manner: she -only felt that here was the opportunity to make Philip’s rumoured -misfortunes the means of bringing about what Philip most desired—the -reconciliation of his father and Austin Shield. - -‘You say you would do anything for me,’ she said after a moment’s -reflection, her expression becoming very serious as she lifted her eyes -to his with pensive inquiry. - -‘I have said it.’ The coldness had left his voice, and in its stead -there was a subdued fervour, which indicated how much he was in earnest. - -Then she looked at him steadily for a minute—still with that pensive -inquiry in her eyes. - -‘You were kind—most kind and generous to me, when you desired that I -should stop Philip from going to Mr Shield. You were kind, too, in the -calmness with which you accepted my explanation why it was that I could -not comply with your request. I am grateful.’ - -‘Do not speak in this formal way,’ he interrupted—a very unusual breach -of manners for him. ‘Tell me what it is you want, and if it is in my -power, it shall be done.’ - -‘It is quite within your power’—she was speaking very slowly—‘but as I -understand, you will find the task a most disagreeable one.’ - -‘That does not matter. Try me.’ - -‘Your readiness to promise makes me afraid to speak.’ - -‘That is not fair to me, when you say that the task is quite within my -power.’ - -‘It is, it is; and it has been in my mind for months to ask you to do -it.’ - -‘If it is to serve you, have no hesitation in asking.’ - -‘It will be a great service to me, because it will add very much to -my happiness and to Philip’s. I know—I have been told by yourself and -others—that your relations with Mr Shield were of an unpleasant nature.’ - -As she made an awkward pause, he bowed his head slightly, and the cold -expression was beginning to appear on his face again. Her voice was not -quite so steady as at first when she continued: - -‘Well, will you prove to me that there was something more than a mere -good-natured desire to please, when you said that you were ready to -do anything for me? Will you agree to forget, or forgive, whatever -misunderstandings there were between you in the past, and consent to -offer your hand in friendship to your wife’s brother?’ - -Mr Hadleigh stood quite still and silent for a little. Whatever -surprise or displeasure he might be feeling, there was no indication -of either on his face. He was again the hard stern man he appeared -to the people around him. Madge did not like this change, and became -pale as she remembered the terrible charge which was laid against him. -She almost trembled with fear lest she should find it true; and then -there was a flush of anger with herself for pitying one who could be so -heartlessly cruel. - -‘Do you know the man?’ he asked quietly by-and-by. - -‘Yes; I have met him.’ - -‘And like him?’ - -‘I do; and believe him to be our friend, no matter what may be said -about him.’ Even in her present excitement she was surprised at the -singular coincidence in the nature of the questions asked by Mr Beecham -and Mr Hadleigh about her acquaintance with them. - -‘Is it at his suggestion that you have made this proposal to me?’ - -‘He is entirely ignorant that I had any such intention.’ - -‘And if you had told him, he would have scoffed at the idea that I -was capable of saying—even for your sake—Yes; I am ready to give him -my hand in all friendliness, if he is willing to accept it.’ The sad -smile which lightened and softened his features appeared again. ‘Have I -satisfied you that I am ready to do anything for you?’ - -She was astounded by his sudden change of manner and ready consent to -become reconciled to his enemy. Then her face brightened, and there was -something approaching to an hysterical note of joy in her voice as she -exclaimed: ‘Then you are innocent! It is not true that you had any part -in the ruin of his friend George Laurence—it is not true that you had -anything to do with the report of Mr Shield’s marriage which destroyed -my mother’s happiness! Oh, I am glad—glad and grateful!’ - -And in the impulse of her gladness, she would have clasped his hands; -but he looked startled and drew back, as a guilty man might do. Her -astonishment took another turn: was it possible that he yielded so -readily to her proposal because he wished to make atonement for the -past? - -He recovered himself instantly, and took her hand. - -‘I see, Miss Heathcote, that Mr Shield has told you his version of -these unhappy events,’ he said anxiously; ‘and in justice to myself, I -must tell you mine.’ - - - - -ELECTRICITY FOR NOTHING! - - -We recently received an invitation to witness, in London, a new method -of producing electricity for lighting and other purposes ‘free of -cost.’ The announcement that anything, with the exception, perhaps, -of the air we breathe, can in these days be had for nothing, tempted -us without delay to pay a visit to 31 Lombard Street, where, at the -offices of Mr H. A. Fergusson, the new system was to be seen at -work. Here we found a number of the now familiar incandescent globes -dispersed about a large room, together with some small motors for -driving sewing-machines, &c., the whole or any number of which could -be put into operation by the turn of various switches. These lamps -and motors all derived their electrical energy from a primary battery -contained in a cupboard. Upon looking into this cupboard, we saw a -number of wooden trays, lined with sheet-copper, piled one above -the other like a nest of drawers; and we were told that each tray -represented one cell of the battery. Further examination showed that -the constituents of each cell were a plate of zinc, placed horizontally -above a dark layer of oxide of copper in a solution of caustic potash. -Coming to the question of cost, or rather of alleged freedom from cost, -we learned that the cells were easily charged in the first instance, -and that when once charged, would remain without attention for at least -a month. During this time the battery would furnish a current. In the -process, the copper would be gradually exhausted; but by a simple -operation, could be brought back to its pristine state, and would be -ready once more for another month’s work. Meanwhile the zinc would -gradually be dissolved to form oxide of zinc. Now, one ton of metallic -zinc can be transformed in this way to a ton and a quarter of oxide—a -valuable white pigment—and as the oxide sells for a greater price than -the original zinc, the promoters have some ground for their statement -that electricity can be produced by this battery free of cost. - -Unfortunately, recent experience of electric-lighting schemes has -made the public very cautious in their reception of any new thing of -an electrical nature, and there is little doubt that for some time -really promising schemes will suffer for the shortcomings of their -predecessors. It is, too, by no means the first time that a battery has -been brought forward with the intimation that it will pay its own cost -by the value of its by-products. But the effect upon the price of such -by-products of glutting the market with them, is generally omitted from -the calculations. Hitherto, such schemes have proved illusory; though -it by no means follows that they must always do so. We have the example -of gas manufacture before us, where, by careful working, the cost of -the gas could be more than covered by the value of the other products -of the coal. - -A great deal of valuable information on the subject of primary -batteries for electric lighting may be gleaned from a paper recently -read before the Society of Arts, London, by Mr Isaac Probert, and -which has since been published in that Society’s _Journal_. (We may -here point out that the word ‘primary,’ as applied to batteries, -has become necessary in quite recent times, to distinguish those -which furnish a direct current from those which, under the name of -accumulators, storage or secondary batteries, require charging, in the -first instance, from another battery, or dynamo-machine. The current so -stored can be afterwards utilised, as convenience may dictate.) This -paper records in a lucid manner the numberless attempts which have -been made to utilise primary batteries; but, except for experimental -purposes, the cost has always proved prohibitive. The unhealthy fumes -given by such batteries as those of Grove and Bunsen—which were, until -lately, practically the only forms that could be used for electric -lighting—also limited their use to situations where the fumes could -do no harm. In process of time, Faraday’s grand discovery, that -electricity could be generated by a magnet, and the ultimate outcome of -that discovery—the introduction of the Gramme machine and its hosts of -fellows—gave for a time the _coup de grace_ to battery projects, and -for a long time they were heard of no more. But why was this? Let the -question be answered by the practical illustration given by Mr Probert, -which we must quote—for want of space—in a very condensed form. - -Let it be supposed that a house is furnished with one hundred -incandescent lamps, the electric energy for which is provided by -a dynamo-machine and its necessary companion, a steam-engine. The -mechanical energy required for the work is, say, twelve and a half -horse-power. This is of course derived from the combustion of so much -coal; and if there were such a thing as a perfect engine where no heat -was wasted, the amount of fuel required would be very small indeed. -But, as a matter of fact, with an ordinary engine the weight of coal -required to furnish the power given would be about fifty-six pounds -per hour—costing, say, sixpence. Giving the lights a working period of -five hours a day all the year round, we have a cost for fuel alone of -forty-five pounds. Then we have to take into account the first cost -of the machinery, the interest on that cost, annual depreciation, and -attendance. We need not dwell on the separate estimate for each item, -but may state the total yearly cost of the installation at one hundred -and forty-seven pounds, or nearly thirty shillings per lamp. - -Now, let us assume that instead of a dynamo-machine and its motor, a -galvanic battery is employed, and that the amount of energy furnished -is the same as before. In this case, we shall owe our energy to the -combustion of zinc in lieu of coal; and instead of obtaining the oxygen -for the process from the air, which costs nothing, we must of necessity -get it from an acid, which costs a great deal. The total amount of zinc -dissolved per hour in the acid, to furnish the current required for our -one hundred lamps, will be about thirteen pounds-weight, the cost being -nearly three shillings. Added to this sum must be the amount expended -on acids, the cost of attendance, prime cost of apparatus, interest, -depreciation, &c., bringing up the total annual charge to seven -hundred and fifty-nine pounds ten shillings, or seven pounds eleven -shillings and eightpence per lamp. - -These figures will be both interesting and instructive to many persons -who wish to have some idea of the probable cost of changing their old -lamps for new ones; but they serve our present purpose in pointing out -the reason why the battery current has been superseded for lighting -purposes by the far more economical dynamo-machine. Still, it is not -every one who requires so many as a hundred lamps; and for smaller -installations, an efficient, easily managed, and cheaply working -battery would have a wide application. But it must be remembered that -electricity can now be had at comparatively little cost to light a -dozen lamps or so by employing a small dynamo-machine driven by a -gas-engine. Inventors of batteries must, therefore, remember that they -have rivals in the field, and that if they would successfully compete -with them, they must offer something as cheap and efficient. Hitherto, -this something has not appeared. But human nature is sanguine, and -the most sanguine of mortals perhaps is one in whom the inventive -faculty is highly developed. In spite of previous failures, no fewer -than one hundred and fifty patents for primary batteries have been -taken out during the past three years. Some of these are acknowledged -improvements upon past models. Many batteries now before the public -cannot be critically examined, for they employ fluids the nature of -which are kept secret. (Of course this objection cannot apply to a -patented invention, for one of the conditions of granting protection is -that the invention must be so described in the specification that any -intelligent workman can understand its nature and construction.) Others -cannot be well described without diagrams and technical details of no -interest to the majority of our readers. - -To return to the primary cell of Mr Fergusson—which, by the way, is -called the Domestic Primary Battery—and putting aside all its claims to -produce electricity for nothing, we may broadly state that it possesses -many advantages. It is compact enough to be put away in any odd corner; -it is constant in its action; it seldom requires recharging, and such -recharging is a simple operation; and lastly, it has the very rare -merit of giving off no fumes whatever. - - - - -TERRIBLY FULFILLED. - - -IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER III. - -Thursday evening came, and with it Captain Ferrard; and the two shook -hands with a certain guarded cordiality, as of prize-fighters about -to ‘get to business.’ But the dinner was a good one; Ferrard thawed -considerably under the influence of a bottle of old Johannisberg, and -enjoyed himself more than he had anticipated. His host treated him with -much deference, and seemed considerably impressed by his conversation. -The captain was consequently in great good-humour with himself and all -the world, and exerted himself—as, to do him justice, he well knew -how—to be agreeable and amusing and to make a favourable impression. -He was surprised also to find that this auctioneering father-in-law -of his was really a very entertaining fellow. He overflowed with -anecdote of a certain highly flavoured kind, and was full of curious -experiences; he talked a good deal of ‘shop,’ about pictures and -precious stones and such matters in the way of his trade, but it was -amusing ‘shop,’ and served to introduce many strange and out-of-the-way -facts and incidents. - -The truth was that Mr Cross was taking a good deal more wine than -usual, whereby he was ably seconded in his loyal resolve to think -as well of his son-in-law and to be as friendly and open with him -as possible. The pleasingly insinuating ways of the gallant captain -were not without their effect, and the auctioneer began to feel more -favourably disposed towards him than he had at one time thought -possible. He appeared, now that one knew him, to be an open-hearted, -good-humoured sort of fellow, one who was nobody’s enemy but his own, -who was more sinned against than sinning, and so on. In his then -condition, it seemed to Mr Cross that he had perhaps been rather too -hasty and prone to think evil. His daughter, as he well knew, had her -‘little tempers,’ and might herself to some extent have contributed to -her wedded unhappiness. No doubt the young man would be amenable to -reason, and with judicious management and some outlay, might make a -tolerable son-in-law after all. - -The talk at last centred itself upon diamonds, and Ferrard was in the -midst of an animated description of those belonging to certain family -connections of his own, when the auctioneer interrupted him. - -‘I know all about the Frayer diamonds,’ he said—‘no one better. But I -wouldn’t mind laying you a wager that I could show you some, and not -far off either, that would beat them hollow.’ - -‘I think you would lose your money,’ said Ferrard. - -The auctioneer regarded him with vinous solemnity. ‘Look here, my boy,’ -he suddenly said; ‘I’ve taken a fancy to you, and I’m sorry we should -have been at odds so long. Perhaps I may have something else to say to -you to-morrow, and perhaps you may be glad to hear it—I can’t tell. -Anyhow, to prove to you that I’m in earnest, I’ll show you to-night -what I wouldn’t show to any other man alive. Just you come with me.’ - -‘Are you going to let me have a sight of the wonderful diamonds?’ -laughed Ferrard, as he followed his host into the hall. - -‘That’s just what I am going to do, and a little more besides. But -first of all, you give me your word as an officer and a gentleman that -you’ll tell nobody about anything you may see to-night. Promise!’ - -‘By all means—of course,’ assented Ferrard carelessly. He was becoming -a little bored, and had no expectation of seeing anything out of the -common. - -‘That’s all right. Put on your hat,’ said Mr Cross, taking his lantern -from a cupboard and opening the hall-door. - -They were absent about half an hour. When they returned, Ferrard was -in a state of dazzled amazement. He did not in truth know which most -to wonder at—the number and beauty of the gems, the ingenuity of their -safe keeping, or the fatuous folly of the man who, even under the -influence of wine, could impart such a secret to a person of whom he -knew next to nothing, except that—as the captain frankly confessed to -himself—he did not bear the best of characters. And he fairly hugged -himself at the thought, that if he played his cards well, the wealth -which was capable of affording such surprises as this might one day be -his own. - -‘I am glad we did not bet, Mr Cross,’ he said, ‘for I cannot afford to -lose. They are far the most splendid diamonds I have ever seen. I must -really thank you for giving me such a sight, and especially for the -confidence you have placed in me, which I hope is an earnest of our -future friendship.’ - -‘Wait till to-morrow—that’s all I say—wait till to-morrow,’ said the -auctioneer thickly. ‘I’m hardly fit to talk business just now. But I -_will_ say,’ he continued, laying a heavy hand on Ferrard’s shoulder, -‘though I always knew, of course, that you were quite the gentleman, -I never thought I should have taken to any man, least of all to you, -as I have done. We had best be going to bed—it’s late; and I must -have an hour in the City to-morrow, before I meet Amy at London -Bridge.—Good-night, and pleasant dreams, my boy.’ - -Some men, the worship of Bacchus visits with heavy and dreamless -slumber; others it renders wakeful and uneasy. This latter was the case -with Mr Cross. He tossed and turned, courting sleep in vain; and thirst -and dyspepsia supervened on excitement. His thickly crowding thoughts -took a gloomy and despondent tone. Now that he was sober and sorry, he -anathematised his folly in betraying the secret of his safe, so closely -guarded through long years, even from his nearest friends, only to be -blurted out in a moment of ill-judged confidence to a mere stranger, -of whom he knew nothing but ill. All his old dislike and distrust of -Ferrard returned, intensified by the consciousness that that gentleman -had gained a distinct advantage over him. He determined that, although -he would not altogether go back from his implied promise, he would -hedge its fulfilment about with such conditions as should insure an -entire change in Ferrard’s habits and mode of life, and should oblige -him to cast in his lot with the class to which his wife belonged. In -this way alone, he considered, could he ascertain whether it would be -possible to trust the man and to secure peace, if not happiness, for -Amy; and at the same time to patch up to some extent her husband’s -shattered plans. At last he rose from an almost sleepless bed, feeling -ill and worried, and more disposed than ever to repeat his wish for -Captain Ferrard’s speedy dissolution. - -When guest and host met at the breakfast-table, the manner of the -latter, to Ferrard’s surprise, had totally changed. He was nervous -and irritable; he complained that he was growing old, and said that a -bottle or two of wine overnight would not once have affected him in -this way. He ate little, but drank a good deal of coffee, and kept -fussing nervously with several keys which lay beside his plate, putting -them into his pockets, taking them out again, dropping them on the -floor, and grumbling at his own awkwardness; altogether, behaving like -a man considerably off his balance. - -‘I’ve been up and about, for all I took too much last night,’ he said; -‘and sent my traps off to the cloak-room at London Bridge before you -were out of your bed, young man. I’ve found time to take a look at the -sparklers too,’ he added, holding up two of the keys, fastened together -by a ring. ‘Always do, every day of my life, before I leave in the -morning, and the last thing at night. Wouldn’t leave it undone for -anything you could mention. These diamonds—I meant them for Amy, poor -girl; and if—— But never mind about that just now.’ - -‘As I understood you last night,’ said Ferrard, who was growing -impatient, ‘you had something of importance to say to me this morning -touching our mutual relations.’ - -‘Well, I don’t know—I don’t know,’ replied the auctioneer. ‘You mustn’t -take everything for gospel a man says when he’s had a glass.’ - -The captain’s face grew long. - -‘Oh, you needn’t look so glum. I’m not going back upon what I intended, -though perhaps it may not be all you were expecting. I have felt -uncommon sore about this business, Ferrard, I can tell you; and if you -and I are to patch up a bad job, you’ll have to make a fresh start -altogether, and that’s flat.’ - -Ferrard remained silent. - -‘I’m pretty plain-spoken, and I tell you straight that I can’t bear -an idle man, and won’t have anything to do with one, if I can help -it. All the same, I want to be friends with you, and let bygones be -bygones; and so this is what I offer. Cut the West End, and racing and -billiards and gallivanting, and come into the City. I’ll employ you in -the business. If you give your mind to it and work hard, you’ll soon -find your feet; and then I’ll take you into partnership. When I go, -you will have it all to yourself; and a very pretty penny it will be -in your pocket. Your father will stop your allowance, of course; but -you and Amy can live here with me, free; that’ll save you a good bit; -and giving up your expensive habits will save you a lot more. Till you -are in the business, I’ll allow you—ah, I’ll allow you three hundred -a year; and altogether, you’ll be better off in this way than you’ve -been for some time.—Don’t say anything now’ (not that the captain had -any such intention, being stricken literally dumb); ‘think it over, and -make up your mind by the time I come back.’ - -He gathered his keys together with a good deal of unnecessary clatter, -and locked them into a leathern wallet, muttering something about -leaving them at his bank. Then he looked at his watch. ‘Hillo! I have -not got another minute. You must excuse me, captain—don’t hurry over -your breakfast, but I must leave you at once—there’s a deal to be seen -to before we start. Good-bye; don’t move; and think it over—think it -over.’ - -He had shaken hands, talked himself into the hall, and slammed the -front-door, before the captain had been able in the slightest degree -to grasp the situation, so utterly confused and astounded was he at -this sudden wreck of his hopes. Anger had no place whatever in his -mind. At another time, he might have been both amused and indignant -at the offer which had been made him and at the manner of its making. -The picture of himself as an auctioneer’s clerk, with the prospect of -becoming in time, if he were good, a real auctioneer, might have struck -him as exquisitely ludicrous; yet, though a gambler, a spendthrift, a -debauchee, he was no fool; and it was just possible that, considering -the splendid reward in prospective, he might at anyrate have seemed -to assent, in the hope of making better terms after a while. But now, -there was no room for any such speculations, for absolute ruin stared -him in the face. The auctioneer had supposed him to be hard pressed for -money; but what was the real nature of the pressure, he was far from -imagining. In a short while, a certain acceptance for a heavy amount -would fall due, renewal of which had been definitely and decidedly -refused on the very day of Amy’s visit to her father. Unless that -acceptance were taken up on presentation, it would forthwith be known -that the signature of one of the indorsers had never been written by -that gentleman; and in that case, the career of the Honourable James -Ferrard would be most unpleasantly terminated. This was more than -suspected by the holders of the bill; it was their reason for refusing -renewal; and it was their intention to use it as a lever for extorting -from the captain or his family, not only payment of the debt, but a -goodly sum, by way of hush-money, into the bargain. Money he must -have somehow, and that immediately, even if he had to appeal to his -father; a last resource which, though audacious enough in general, -he could not contemplate without dismay. Besides, the earl’s affairs -were themselves so desperate, and the amount was so large, that he had -little expectation that assistance would be possible, even if the will -to afford it were good. A faint hope of escape had been held out to -him by the auctioneer’s visit; and last night, from the friendliness -of his host’s manner and the extraordinary mark of his confidence, he -had fully expected that, with a little management, the money would be -forthcoming. But this chance was now utterly gone; and flight, suicide, -or penal servitude seemed to be the only alternatives left to him. - -At this stage of his meditations, he became aware of three keys in a -ring which were lying under the edge of his host’s plate. He continued -to gaze abstractedly at them for some moments, half-unconsciously -noting certain peculiarities in the shape of the larger of them. All -at once he came to himself with a start. They were the keys of the -strong-room and the iron box; overlooked, of course, by the auctioneer -when he put the others into the locked-up wallet. To do him justice, -Ferrard’s first thought was to snatch them up, take a cab into the -City, and restore them to their owner. Mechanically he stretched out -his hand, then drew it quickly away, and fell back in his chair, -horrified at the thought which had at that moment seized upon him. He -had written the name of another man; it was done in a minute, and was -comparatively easy. But it is not easy, for the first time at least, to -take the goods of another man—to steal. - -There they lay, close to his hand as it were, utterly in his power. -All that sweet and desirable money, frozen into a few crystals, the -property of this plebeian, who had so poor an idea of enjoying it, so -hateful an objection to parting with it. He tingled with envious rage -at the thought. Why, a poor dozen of them, like angels of light, would -put to the rout his persecuting demons of difficulty and danger; yet to -help himself to them would be—theft. He looked at his watch. Half-past -ten. The train was to leave at ten minutes to eleven. No doubt Cross -would discover his oversight, and return with all speed to remedy it. -He sat on and on, and gazed at the fatal keys until they seemed to -fill his eye and brain. Once a footstep approached the door of the -room. Without knowing why, he hastily moved the plate so as completely -to hide them. A servant looked in, and seeing him still there, begged -pardon and withdrew, wondering when he would have finished breakfast. -Then he softly moved the plate back, and again sat looking at the keys. -One thought ebbed and flowed continually in his mind, flowing more -and more fiercely, ebbing with surely decreasing force. To take the -diamonds—theft. Not to take them—ruin. - -Half-past eleven. No cab at the door, no hurried step in the hall. -Cross must now be well on his way to Brighton, and under the idea that -the keys were safe at his bank. At anyrate, the things must not be left -lying there. Clearly, it was his duty to take charge of them until they -could be restored to their owner. - -Ferrard presently rose from his chair, and put the keys in his -waistcoat pocket. Then he left the house, stealthily, like one in fear. - -That night, or rather the next morning, for it was between one and two -o’clock, a figure came round the corner of the street from the square -and walked a few paces past the iron door. Then the figure stood still -for a moment and peered up and down the road. Not a sound, save the -distant rattle of a night-cab—not a movement anywhere around. The -figure turned and walked back. It stood in the shadow of the wall, -glanced round once more, seemed to listen, opened the door, entered, -and closed it gently from within. - -The few hours of night wore out, the bright summer morning was come. -The blinking policeman drifted slowly up the street, and as usual -inspected the door. All well. He thought he heard a distant cry, and -raised his head to listen. The cry was repeated. Satisfied that it -was very far off—nowhere near _his_ beat—he smote his chilled hands -together and sauntered away, to meet his welcome relief. - - -CHAPTER IV.—CONCLUSION. - -Amy did not greatly enjoy herself at Brighton. Her father was kind -to her, but he was not the jovial, light-hearted companion whom -she remembered of old. He was dull, heavy, and irritable, and was -constantly engrossed in thought, muttering anxiously to himself. He -did not sleep well, for she heard him walking about his room in the -night; and he grew more haggard and weary-looking every day. He was -clearly not benefiting by the sea-air. He spoke but little; and on the -question of her relations with her husband, he, much to her surprise -and disgust, declined to speak at all. When she once began to babble -of her wrongs, he turned upon her with positive anger; told her that he -had come there for rest, not to be worried; that it would no doubt all -be arranged comfortably on their return; and that, till then, she was -to preserve silence on the subject. All this made Mrs Ferrard extremely -dignified and sulky; but being a young person of no great depth, she -simply concluded that Pa had a fit of indigestion, and contrived to -amuse herself fairly well with shopping, drives, and promenades, in -the company of certain friends of her maiden days who chanced to be at -Brighton, and who were by no means averse to the society of a lady of -title. At all events, the life was a pleasant contrast to that which -the Honourable Mrs Ferrard had enjoyed of late in the company of her -lord and master. - -The truth was that Mr Cross was very ill both in body and mind. He had, -though he knew it not, been ailing ever since his daughter’s flight; -and the perplexity and distress he was now enduring were telling upon -him fearfully. He had quite lost faith in the success of his plans; -calmer reflection told him that it would be vain to hope that the -leopard could change his spots in the manner he had proposed. Ferrard’s -blank silence at the breakfast-table, and the fact that no letter had -been received from him since, bore out this opinion. - -But what caused him greater trouble and alarm than anything else was -the manner in which the idea of Ferrard’s death had taken hold upon -his mind, to the exclusion of all other thoughts, until it had assumed -the pitiless tyranny of a fixed idea. Night and day it was all before -him—the uselessness of the man’s existence, the evils which would -cease with it, the chances for and against its duration, the various -causes which might perhaps terminate it. And through all, a fierce -and devouring longing for its termination, such as he dared not now -acknowledge to himself. He was maddened at the difficulties in his way, -horrified at the tendency of his thoughts; and there were times when he -felt that the safest and easiest thing to do would be to row himself -out a mile or two from the beach and hide his troubles and temptations -for ever under the careless waves. - -They had only been at Brighton five days, when Mr Cross, to his -daughter’s surprise and chagrin, announced his intention of returning -to town at once. Amy expostulated, but in vain; he declared that he was -sick of the place; that it was doing him no good—which was quite true; -that he must get back to work and occupy his mind. Finding opposition -useless, Mrs Ferrard made her preparations with the best grace she -might, and they took the noon-train to London the same day. - -On arrival, they drove first to the lodgings in Duke Street, and the -auctioneer entered the house with his daughter. To their surprise, they -found that Ferrard was not only absent, but had not been seen or heard -of since the day of his wife’s departure, when he had remained indoors -until ten o’clock at night, and had then gone out; leaving, according -to his wont, no word as to when he should return. The people of the -house had after a time concluded that he also must be at Brighton. Amy, -being used to these absences, though never before of such duration, -was less surprised than her father, who was not only astonished, but -greatly cast down at what seemed to be an additional evidence of -Ferrard’s rejection of his plans, and determination to continue the old -courses. - -‘There, it’s no use talking,’ he said at last. ‘He’ll come home some -time, I suppose; and when he does, send him on to me at once, d’ye -hear, Amy? Tell him—ay, tell him that I’ve altered my mind—that I have -proposals to make to him which will suit him much better than the last. -I must try and hit on something else. And if he’s not back to-morrow, -come over and let me know in the evening, will you? There, good-bye; -and keep up your spirits, my pet—father’ll see you all right, don’t you -fear.’ - -He kissed her and departed. He must get home, and quietly think matters -over. Suppose the fellow had bolted for good and all? What was to be -done in that event? It required careful consideration, and should have -it at once. - -He called at the bank on the way home, to get his keys. The parcel, -tied with string and sealed with his own seal, was delivered to him -just as he had left it. He drove to his house, where he found several -letters awaiting him. Like a good man of business, he set to work -to dispose of all lighter matters, before addressing himself to the -consideration of the weightier. He opened and glanced at the letters; -he took up the parcel, once more examined the seal, tore off the paper, -unlocked the wallet, and spread the keys on the table. All right. Was -it? Surely there was something wrong? - -What could it be? - -He puzzled over the keys again and again, but without result. He seemed -to be constantly on the verge of detecting the deficiency, whatever it -was; but the clearness and readiness of his thinking powers had of late -in great measure departed, and it continued to escape him. At last he -thought that he must be the victim of a nervous delusion, and with an -effort, turned his thoughts to other matters. He would first, according -to custom, visit his diamonds; then he would answer such of the letters -as required a reply; then he would be at leisure to reflect upon the -next step to be taken with regard to his son-in-law. And once more the -dominant wish rose in his mind, filling it like a poisonous mist. - -He took his lantern and the keys, and went to the strong-room, which -he entered, closing the doors as usual carefully behind him. What was -it, as he turned towards the safe, that sent him staggering back to the -wall, his eyes starting from his head, his hair crisping with horror? -The drawer full of papers lay on the table. The iron semicircular -handle projected from the orifice. It was in an upright position—it had -not been turned to the horizontal one. And the safe was closed. - -He saw the whole sequence of events in one agonising second of time, -as drowning men are said to review instantaneously the whole course -of their past lives. It was the absence of the duplicate keys which -had puzzled him in the study; and their absence at once explained the -absence of Ferrard. He now remembered how, while at breakfast, just -before leaving the house, he had placed all his keys, as he had then -supposed, into his wallet; how he had then and there put the locked -wallet into his pocket, and had driven straight to the bank, where, -without opening it, he had made it into a parcel, sealed it with his -signet, and handed it to the manager, taking his receipt. The parcel -had been given back to him exactly as he had left it—of that he had -assured himself. Only one thing could have happened. The duplicates -had never been in the wallet at all. Unused to their presence, he -had doubtless left them behind; and the wretched man whom he had so -insanely trusted had stolen them, had the same night entered the -strong-room and the safe, and—— - -What would he have to face, when that massy door should glide away? The -dingy face of the picture, guardian of the deadly trap and its awful -secret, seemed to sneer and gibe at him, daring him to seek an answer -to the question. - -Stay! There was one hope. He might have carried away the keys in his -hand or his pockets, and dropped them in the street, or left them on -the bank counter. If this were so, some common marauder might have met -with his deserts—or, if he had recently entered, might even now be -waiting to make a dash for liberty! - -He approached the door, and listened. All was silent. He called in -a quavering voice, which rang weirdly in the vaulted roof, ‘Who is -there?’ No reply—no movement. - -He sat down in the one chair, and tried to remember whether on that -fatal night he had withheld from his guest the ultimate secret, of the -necessity for half-turning the handle before withdrawing it. In vain. -All was confused and dream-like. Either he had disclosed the secret, or -he had not. If he had not—— - -He dragged the table desperately to the corner of the room and mounted -upon it. Pushing at one end a stone seemingly as firmly fixed as its -fellows, it revolved on a pivot. Thrusting his hand through the gap, he -withdrew the second handle, and the safe-door glided back. One look was -enough. The next moment, he was groping blindly for the door—for escape -from the horror which was behind him. - -His wish was terribly fulfilled! His daughter was a widow! - -He crept into the sunlit street, with difficulty closing the heavy -door. White and ghastly, he leaned one hand on the wall as he went, and -gasped for breath. Two or three passers-by stopped and looked after -him, expecting to see him fall. He did not do so, but gained the house, -let himself in, staggered into the dining-room, dropped into a chair, -and, for a space, knew no more. - -When he regained his senses, he contrived to get to the cellaret and -to swallow a heavy dose of brandy. This restored him sufficiently -to enable him to think over his discovery and to settle his plan of -action. He rang the bell. - -‘Something dreadful has happened,’ he said to the parlour-maid, who had -uttered an exclamation on seeing him. ‘No, no; I’m not ill—only a bit -upset. Get me a pen and ink and paper, and send John for a cab. I want -him to take a letter.’ - -He wrote a line or two with difficulty, and addressed it to the Earl of -Englethorpe. Having despatched his messenger, he remained in a kind of -stupor until wheels were heard at the door and the earl was announced. -Their greeting was of the briefest kind, though they remained together -for a considerable time. Then they repaired to the strong-room. The -auctioneer on his return was more composed than he had hitherto been, -but his visitor was terribly agitated. Again they were closeted -together. Various deputations from the kitchen, which by this time -was in a ferment of the most unendurable curiosity, failed, in spite -of enterprising approaches to the keyhole, to hear more than a low -murmuring within. At length the earl departed; and then the dreadful -event which had happened became known to the amazed and awe-stricken -household. Mr Cross had, it was said, met Captain Ferrard just outside -the door, and had been accompanied by him to the strong-room, where -he had fallen down—in a fit, as the auctioneer had at first supposed; -stone-dead, as he had perceived immediately afterwards. Without delay, -Mr Cross had gone for a doctor, who had stated that death had been -instantaneous—cause, apoplexy; and would in due course formally certify -to that effect. - -The body was put into a coffin within two hours, and removed to the -Englethorpe town-house. The father of the deceased was the only mourner -at the very plain and quiet funeral which took place soon after. There -was no inquest, for the necessary medical certificate was actually -obtained; how obtained, it is no concern of ours to relate. Money is -powerful; in every profession and calling, there are those with whom it -is all-powerful. - -There was a little talk at first over James Ferrard’s death. People -were found to say that there was something queer about the matter, -and to comment on the fact that nothing had been seen of the dead man -for some days before his death. But it was speedily known that he was -a defaulter on the turf, which fully accounted for his disappearance -from his usual haunts. Nothing, therefore, came of these suspicions, -though others of a different kind were rife enough, if rather vague. -The earl sternly forbade all reference to the subject, even in his own -household; it was understood that something awkward was behind, which -for family reasons was to be hushed up. Hushed up it accordingly was; -and in a fortnight’s time James Ferrard, except to his creditors, was -as though he had never been. - -All this was, of course, distinctly wrong, and contrary to public -policy. Yet a coroner’s jury could only have dragged to light matters -the disclosure of which would have inflicted cruel shame and disgrace -upon a noble and hitherto stainless house. The blame of the death could -have attached to no one save the dead man himself; least of all to Mr -Cross. His evidence would have been that he had shown the diamonds -and explained the mechanism, but that he could not remember, owing to -his state at the time, whether he had called attention to the secret -connected with the handle. It would have been clear, either that he -had not done so, or that Ferrard had forgotten it. Beyond this, there -would have been absolutely nothing to connect him with the matter. He -was in a different part of the kingdom during the whole period of the -occurrence, as would have been conclusively proved. ‘Accidental death’ -would have been the only possible verdict; and it would have been as -clear as daylight that the felonious intention of the deceased had -brought with it its own terrible punishment. - -The auctioneer followed his son-in-law to the grave in little more -than a year, a broken-hearted man. It was said that he never got over -the shock received on the morning of his return from Brighton. This -was undoubtedly the truth; yet, as we know, it was not all the truth. -Though without his knowledge or design, yet in accordance with his -morbid wish, and indirectly by his act, had Ferrard died a miserable -death; and the auctioneer regarded himself as a murderer, though -unpunishable by the laws of this world. An already enfeebled body -was unable to resist the effect of the mental torture of ceaseless -self-reprobation, and the end was not long in coming. - -But he lived to see Amy married to such a husband as he would have -chosen for her in the old happy days, and to bestow upon her by will -the bulk of his fortune. This did not, however, include the diamonds or -the proceeds of their sale, which he distributed before his death among -the London hospitals. Amy and her husband lived in the house in the -square; but the safe was sold, its ingenious mechanical arrangements -destroyed, and the fatal vault and its ghastly associations bricked up -together. - -With much diminished hopes, owing to the death of the acceptor, the -holders of the forged bill made their first cautious advances, in the -hope that consideration for the honour of the family might still induce -the relations of the deceased to pay a good price for silence. To their -surprise, their exorbitant demands were paid in full without cavil or -hesitation, and the acceptance redeemed. Where the money came from was -a mystery; but it was observed that the earl always thenceforth spoke -of the auctioneer as a most respectable and worthy man, to whom he was -under the greatest obligations. - - - - -LIFEBOAT COMPETITION. - - -The success of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution in the recent -lifeboat competition will give general satisfaction. It is in the -first place very gratifying that it should have won the substantial -prize of six hundred pounds which was offered by the Committee of the -International Fisheries Exhibition for ‘the best full-sized lifeboat, -fully equipped, and on a carriage, adapted to aid stranded or wrecked -vessels from the shore in gales of wind, and through heavy broken seas -and surf;’ since it is now certain that the sum in question has been -devoted to the best of all possible objects. It is also reassuring to -know that the model boat of an English Institution which has not only -earned a world-wide reputation for saving life at sea, but in a great -measure makes up for our national shortcomings in this respect, should -have held its own against all comers. - -The competition was carried out under difficult circumstances, and -frequent postponements were necessary before the judges could declare -the state of wind and weather to be satisfactory. The successful boat -had to contend with two formidable competitors—the Hodgson Patent -Lifeboat, and one built by Messrs Forrest and Son, of Limehouse; and -the public interest in the experiment was considerably heightened by -the fact that all three boats were exhibited in the International -Fisheries Exhibition and had been examined by many thousands of -persons. The Hodgson Patent Lifeboat in particular excited general -curiosity from its novel construction; and the fact that it was claimed -for it that it was uncapsizable, unimmergible, and reversible, gave -additional interest to its behaviour in the water. It should be added -that the boat in question was built as a ship’s boat, and that it -therefore had to contend under a disadvantage against the heavier and -more serviceable pattern of the Institution. It was, however, almost a -foregone conclusion that both of these boats would fail to wrest the -palm of superiority from the model built on those familiar lines which -have earned such a wonderful reputation off all our coasts and under -the identical conditions of the competition. - -Few boats can stand the terrible test of being launched from an exposed -beach through mountains of surf, and fewer still prove manageable -under either oars or sails in broken water. Further, the boats of the -National Lifeboat Institution possess seven qualities which experience -has proved to be essential, and in each of these they have some claim -to be regarded as being as nearly perfect as possible. Thus they are -buoyant, self-discharging, self-righting, stable and with great power -of ballasting; and they possess speed, stowage-room, and strength of -build. It is perhaps in this last respect that they especially excel. -One of the greatest dangers to which lifeboats are exposed is that -of being stove-in against wreck or rocks; and the present pattern of -boat is designed so as to possess the greatest possible strength and -elasticity compatible with portability. - -It is, of course, only too true that lifeboat service is, and always -must be, terribly hazardous. Nearly every winter some of the heroes who -man our lifeboats lay down their lives in attempting to save those of -others; but this is happily but seldom the fault of the boat. It may -fairly be contended that human ingenuity has exhausted its resources -in this direction, and that, with certain modifications to suit local -requirements, the pattern of the Lifeboat Institution is the best -possible; and that even when it has to yield the palm in some one or -two particulars, the rare combination of qualities which it possesses -still entitles it to be considered _facile princeps_. - -Now that the loss of life at sea is attracting general attention, -the work of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution seems to again -call for marked recognition. At a time when the national conscience -is being awakened to the inefficiency of the shipping laws to secure -a reasonable measure of safety for seamen, it is refreshing to turn -to the sixtieth annual Report of this inestimable society. Practical -benevolence is always attractive; and the facts and figures which the -Institution adduces in order to justify its claim to public support, -certainly point to a vigorous usefulness. Last year, lifeboats were -launched two hundred and eighty-three times, saving seven hundred -and twenty-five lives, and thirty vessels. It may be added that the -number of vessels would doubtless have been greatly increased but -for the imperative orders that the saving of life shall be the first -consideration; and it is only on those comparatively rare occasions -when it can be done without endangering the safety of the crew, that -lifeboats render salvage services. Two hundred and thirty lives were -also saved last year by shore-boats and other means, rewards being -bestowed by this Institution; and this brings up the total of lives -rescued to nine hundred and fifty-five. Further, in the sixty years -ending 31st December 1883, the Institution has been instrumental in -saving thirty thousand five hundred and sixty-three lives, and has -recompensed these noble services by the payment of seventy-seven -thousand nine hundred and eighty-four pounds as rewards, and the -distribution of gold and silver medals. These figures are a sufficient -testimonial to secure a substantial increase of support from a nation -which is nothing if not maritime. Yet it is impossible to regard the -present state of things as wholly satisfactory. It is a great thing -that some hundreds of lives should be saved off our coasts every year; -but it should not be forgotten that some thousands are annually lost. -Thus, in the year 1880-81, two thousand nine hundred and twenty-three -lives were lost in British or colonial vessels off British coasts; and -in the year 1881-82, this number was increased to three thousand nine -hundred and seventy-eight. Later figures are not yet available; but -there is little hope that they will show a decrease. Again, a recent -Board of Trade return shows that the total number of lives lost in -British merchant-ships in the twelve years from 1871 to 1882 inclusive -amounted to thirty-eight thousand seven hundred and twenty-two. These -figures are simply appalling. Doubtless a large proportion of these -poor fellows perished far away from help; but it is within common -knowledge that much can be done, by strengthening the resources of the -Lifeboat Institution, to diminish this terrible mortality. - -Let any one take the wreck-charts for a few years past, and note those -districts where clusters of black spots appropriately mark the scene -of fatal wrecks. Let him then turn to the Reports of the Lifeboat -Institution, and see what lifeboats were stationed there, and he -will find that the number of fatalities are in an inverse ratio to -the number of lifeboats. Thus, many stretches of coast which bore a -terrible reputation only a few years back have, chiefly owing to the -increased number and efficiency of the lifeboats stationed upon them, -lately become much less fearful. But the total number of lifeboats -now under the management of the Institution is only two hundred and -seventy-four; and although we have the best reasons for believing that -no effort is spared in this direction, it is notorious that a certain -number of them are very old, if not unseaworthy, craft, which should be -at once replaced by new ones. Indeed, no inconsiderable proportion of -the funds of the Institution is necessarily devoted to these purposes. -Thus, last year, old lifeboats were replaced by new ones at Caister, -Cardigan, Margate, Padstow, Swansea, Winchelsea, and Withernsea; while -wholly new stations were established at Llanaelhaiarn, Mablethorp, Port -Erin, and Aranmore Island. Others are in course of formation. But, -turning to the wreck-chart, it is easy to see at a glance how much -remains to be done. - -Legislation of a drastic character, with a view to diminishing -sea-risks, is in contemplation; the necessity of new harbours of -refuge is attracting more attention, and the very recent official -Report in favour of building a harbour at Peterhead commends itself -to everybody. But both these are matters which involve delay. In -the meantime, with our enormously increased tonnage, and with the -heightened competition which practically compels steamships to travel -in any state of weather under the significant orders, ‘Full speed -ahead,’ with the result that collisions are year by year becoming more -frequent and more fatal, it is idle to hope for a decrease in the loss -of life at sea. Our lifeboats have done good work, and will do good -work in the storms to come; but it is a question which will sooner -or later have to be answered, whether the time has not come when, at -every point on the English, Scotch, Welsh, and Irish coasts, fully -equipped and serviceable lifeboats should be ready for use. This is not -only perfectly feasible, but it is a national duty. The time has gone -by when we can afford to be satisfied with an open verdict upon our -drowned sailors and fishermen; and, apart from other considerations, -such as the overloading of vessels, until we have done all that can be -done to render rescue possible, we cannot be content with the selfish -excuse that ‘no one’s to blame.’ - - - - -IN QUEER COMPANY. - - -IN TWO PARTS.—PART II. - -In the company to which I had been introduced, it was exceedingly -difficult to ask any questions respecting the details, or working, of -what I may call the profession to which all present belonged. But as -the evening wore on, those present became much more communicative than -they had been at first. Welsh-rabbits, devilled kidneys, and other -supper-dishes were called for; and were followed by potations, which, -if not intoxicating, had the effect of loosing men’s tongues, and of -making them talk of what they regarded as past triumphs, and of future -success, which they hoped and believed would come to pass. Some of the -stories related I remembered, and made rough notes of when I went home -that night; but many more I forgot; for with the most earnest intention -in the world, it is almost impossible to recollect tales that are told -one after another, and with not a few interruptions between them. - -There was one member of this respectable society to whom I happened -to sit next, and who told me in an undertone that he had once held a -commission in the Indian army. Without appearing to do so, I put in the -course of the evening some half-dozen leading questions to him, and -found that not only was he telling me the truth, but that I remembered -perfectly well the circumstances, some fifteen years previously, which -caused him to be tried by a general court-martial and cashiered. He was -evidently a leading spirit amongst those present. What his real name -is—or rather was, for I learned by accident, a short time ago, that -he was dead—I don’t care to mention. Under the peculiar circumstances -which brought me amongst those I spent the evening with, there may well -be applied the old adage of ‘honour amongst thieves.’ And although -only the younger son of a younger son, this man belonged to a family -of which the head is a respectable baronet, not unknown in either the -political or the fashionable world. But never once, throughout the -whole evening, was this individual addressed by his right name, of -which I am certain the rest of the company were ignorant. In fact, he -never told me in so many words who he really was; it was only when he -mentioned the circumstances connected with his court-martial and said -to what corps he had belonged, that I remembered all about him. He -appeared to be not only very popular, but quite a leading man, and an -authority amongst those present. But it certainly seemed wonderful to -see him, a well-born, well-brought-up man, who had been educated at -Harrow, had afterwards held a commission for some years in the Indian -army, and had risen to the rank of captain, so fallen as to have become -not only a professional thief, but even to glory in his shame. - -Throughout the evening, he told stories of his adventures in -rascal-land, which were always listened to, and invariably applauded. -In one of these tales he related how he had, some years previously, -taken lodgings in a well-known street near St James’s Square, calling -himself Lord So-and-so. A ‘pal’ of his, who was ‘in the swim’ with -him, had gone to a certain wealthy gentleman in South Kensington and -had asked for the place of butler, giving a reference to the so-called -‘lord,’ who told the tale with great glee. The gentleman who had -advertised for a butler was known to have in his house a considerable -quantity of plate, and his wife to have a great deal of valuable -jewellery. They were wealthy people, having lately returned from one -of the colonies, where the gentleman had acquired a large fortune. The -latter called upon the would-be nobleman to ask about the character of -the butler. - -‘I received him,’ said he who told the tale, ‘with a kindly -condescension and consideration which seemed to please him, and yet to -make him very respectful. I gave Tommy’—the sham-butler—‘an excellent -character, saying that I had only parted with him because I was going -to travel in the East for a couple of years. The party was quite -satisfied, and quite agreeable to take him. Tommy got the place, was -much liked, and remained there about two months. Then’—winking his -eye—‘there was a robbery of plate and jewels to a large amount. Tommy -beat a speedy retreat, and I went to the States; and there Tommy met -me. It was a good thing, a very good thing, was that plant, and a very -simple one too. To this day, I don’t believe the party has any idea -that the noble lord in the West End lodgings was a deceiver. He wrote -to me to say how he had been robbed, and that he feared the butler had -had a hand in the business. I replied—on paper with a coronet, if you -please—that I was very sorry, but could hardly believe my old servant -would have been guilty of such a crime. In these days the police were -not very fly, and the whole affair was soon forgotten.’ - -Another little adventure of the same kind which this ex-officer related -of himself did not turn out quite so fortunate; or rather, as he -expressed himself, he had ‘very nearly come to grief.’ He had gone to -Paris, put up at a very good hotel, paid his way regularly, and had -purchased from time to time a considerable quantity of jewellery at a -fashionable shop; for which he had, as he expressed it, ‘parted with -the ready’ to the extent of some two hundred pounds. When he thought -that he had won the confidence of the shopkeeper, he ordered a number -of bracelets, necklaces, and earrings, all of great value, to be -sent to the hotel, intending to play off the old trick of taking the -goods into another room for an imaginary lady—who was said to be ill -in bed—to select from, and then to make off with the whole parcel. -But the shopman who took the things to the hotel seemed to have some -misgiving about the intending purchaser, and insisted upon following -the latter into the inner room, where there was no lady at all, either -sick or well. As the individual who told the story said of himself, he -blundered over the affair, and did not deserve to succeed, for he ought -to have secured assistance to work the affair properly. The shopman -got angry and went away, threatening to expose him. But the intending -thief was too sharp for him. He had already paid his hotel bill and had -ordered a cab, so as to be ready for a start. He now took advantage -of these preparations, and drove off to the Calais railway station, -remained there a short time; then ordered another vehicle, made his way -to the St Lazare station, got to Havre, and arrived safely in London. - -But his regrets, when he told the story, at having expended two -hundred pounds without making any profit, were curious to hear. Any -one who listened to him, without hearing the first part of his story, -would have imagined that he had lost the money in the most legitimate -speculation. The company who heard his tale condoled with him, as if -he was a merchant who had been unfortunate in some venture that he had -tried and failed. - -I was anxious to know what the company I was amongst thought of the -London as compared with the French police in the work of detecting -crime. But under the circumstances, it was a difficult matter to -question them about. I was afraid to ask questions on the subject, -lest I should be thought to display too much curiosity, and should -awaken the suspicions of those amongst whom I was, and so cause them -to suspect I was not one of themselves. But it so happened that I -found the subject made easy for me. The newspapers had very lately -been discussing the details of a robbery of bullion that had taken -place on one of the French railways. To the company amongst whom I -found myself, such a subject was as interesting and as certain to be -discussed as the Two Thousand or the Derby would be at a sporting -club. In this affair the thieves had been successful at first; but so -soon as it became known, the French police had telegraphed to every -seaport in France, and had set themselves to work in Paris to find out -the culprits. They were successful, and managed to lay their hands upon -the three men who had carried out the robbery. But this had been done -in a manner which the company I was amongst that evening stigmatised as -‘sneaking’ and ‘cowardly.’ - -‘In England,’ said one of those present, ‘the police are hard upon -a fellow when they catch him. But when they are trying to find the -men they want, they are fair and above-board. They have no dirty -spies; they act honourably. You can always tell pretty well when a -plain-clothes officer is after you. But the French have a low, sneaking -way of going to work. You never know but what the landlord of the -hotel, or the waiter, or the porter, or the shopman who brings you a -parcel, may not be a detective in disguise. No; give me Old England to -do business in! Everybody here, even the police, is on the square.’ - -To this patriotic sentiment (!) there was a universal assent given. - -‘Yes,’ said one of the party, who talked a good deal about Paris, and -seemed, from what he said, to have ‘done business’ in that city to some -extent; ‘and that’s not the worst of it. Why, I have known these French -police employ women to spot down a fellow. There was two years ago a -big affair in the Champs-Elysées. The chief hand in it was a New-Yorker -called Johnson. He would have got clean away with everything, had it -not been for a female with whom he associated. He was caught, and got -what they call _travaux forcés_ for ten years. He never could find out -who it was that peached on him. But one of his French pals discovered, -after he was taken, that this woman had been all along in the pay of -the police, receiving money from them as well as from Johnson.—Do you -call _that_ fair-play?’ he asked indignantly; to which a universal cry -of ‘Shame! shame!’ was set up in reply. - -There was one thing which struck me very forcibly throughout the -evening I spent in what Frenchmen would call this eccentric company; -and that was, how none of those present ever once compromised -themselves by talking of any future ‘business.’ At anyrate, such -matters were never made a subject of general conversation. For some -time after I first joined the party, I noticed that some one or other -of them would go and talk to another individual in a low tone of voice; -but those who thus spoke to one another evidently took great care that -what they said should not be heard. - -In England, we set great value upon the publicity given by the press -to everything that takes place. The company in which I found myself -on this memorable evening—or at anyrate those with whom I spoke on -the subject—praised this national peculiarity as much as, or even -more than, most of us do. They said that the newspaper reports about -‘plants’ and the manner in which robberies are carried out, are, as a -rule, the most utter rubbish; and that the daily accounts of what the -police had or had not done in any particular case were of the utmost -service to them, and virtually kept them informed of what their -enemies, the guardians of society, were doing. The more publicity -given to all cases in which they were concerned, the better prepared -were they to avoid places and persons that might be dangerous to their -safety, from arrest and other troubles. Several of the party expressed -themselves very earnestly to the effect that the English newspapers -would always be allowed to publish the fullest details of what the -police knew in cases of robbery. On the other hand, they abused the -French government in no measured terms for not allowing similar -intelligence to be made public; one of the company asking in a very -sarcastic tone and manner, whether _that_ was republican liberty, which -put a stop to the press telling people facts which had really happened. -From what was said on this subject, it would seem that the gentlemen -who follow the profession of those amongst whom I found myself that -night look upon publicity in all police inquiries as of the greatest -use to them. - -In the course of the evening I got my friend who had brought me to the -place to ask one of the party, in a sort of offhand manner, whether he -and his friends were not afraid of a detective officer coming amongst -them and giving information to the authorities of all he saw and heard. -The question was purposely put in a rather loud tone of voice, and at -a moment when there was a lull in the general conversation, so that -others might hear it. For answer, there was returned a general laugh; -and then a burly, somewhat elderly man—who, if I may judge from his -talk, must have had considerable experience in the profession—spoke up. - -‘Detectives!’ said he. ‘We don’t fear no detectives here, in London. -We know them all in their plain clothes, just as well as if they wore -uniform. They acts on the square with us. _They_ don’t go a-making of -themselves up to be what they ain’t. They don’t _tell_ us what they -are; but we know ’em well. Just let any one with eyes in his head go -a-loafing round the police courts for a minute or two, and he’ll know -every detective in London.’ After a short pause, this individual—who -was evidently a sort of oracle amongst his fellows—continued: ‘There’s -one thing I will say for the plain-clothes officers, you can’t “square” -them; and it’s no use trying to do so. But then you have them in -another way; you know them at first sight; and it would only be a -duffer of the first water that would allow hisself to be taken in by -them.’ - -To this my friend replied: ‘Well, there _are_ people who get taken in -by them.’ - -‘More fools they,’ was the rejoinder. ‘I don’t think you’ll find one of -this ere company who has ever come to trouble through them, unless it -were his own fault.’ - -As the night advanced, the persons who formed this assembly began to -leave the place, singly and by twos and threes, bringing to a close the -most extraordinary evening it was ever my lot to pass. On leaving the -place, my friend linked his arm in mine, and took me through several -narrow streets, none of which I recognised—crossing and turning very -often—until all of a sudden we found ourselves on the south side of -Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and in a few minutes more were in Fleet Street. -My companion, knowing that I wrote for newspapers and periodicals, -asked me, as a personal favour, not to give any account of the affair -until at least a couple of years should have passed. This I promised -to do. And as more than seven years have elapsed since I passed that -evening amongst the agents of thieves, my promise has not been broken. -As for the person who was my guide that night, I only saw him once or -twice afterwards. He came to call on me in the winter of 1878, and told -me he was about to sail for America, but would not be away more than -four or five months. But from that day to this I have never heard a -word about him, and cannot tell whether he is dead or alive. - - - - -SOME INSTANCES OF EASTERN TRADING. - - -The inevitable necessity that a Levantine or Asiatic feels to ask more -than double the actual value of his goods, and allow himself afterwards -to be beaten down to something less than half what he originally -asked, is a cause of bewilderment to the untravelled Briton, and a -continual sore rankling in the bosom of the unwary tourist who has -fallen a victim. It is not only the unlicensed hawker who takes his -wares on board ships as they put in to the various ports along their -route, and whose prices are merely a speculation as to how great an -extent his customer may be imposed upon; but in the regular shops -and markets, this system of haggling is perfectly recognised; and -a trader who fixed a fair price on his goods, and kept to the one -price, would run considerable risk of losing his entire custom, as -the satisfaction of having beaten down a tradesman, and forced him to -strike off something from his original price, gives an appreciable -flavour to the transaction. As an instance of how ingrained is this -idea of trading, I remember a story a friend of mine in the navy told -me of a Greek messman on board his ship, who was paying his first visit -to England. The first time he went on shore to buy provisions, he was -in a butcher’s shop, and inquired the price of some prime beef he saw -hanging up. ‘Fourteenpence a pound,’ was the reply. ‘I will give you -eightpence,’ said he, in perfect good faith, and without a minute’s -hesitation. This somewhat startled the butcher; and it was only after a -considerable amount of difficulty that the Greek was made to understand -that his system of trading was not in accordance with English ideas. -For long afterwards, he spoke of English shopkeepers as ‘wonderful -people—they have but one price.’ - -But the ship’s hawker or the small shopkeeper in the East is different. -For a good thorough-paced scoundrel in trade, he carries off the -palm. He looks at his customer, making up his mind how much he may -ask him, which is usually about three times as much as he thinks he -may get, that being about five hundred per cent. beyond the actual -value of the article. The year before last, when I was quartered in -Alexandria, I went into a small _boutique_ to buy a trifle I saw in the -window. I asked the price. ‘Ten francs.’ ‘Nonsense!’ I said. ‘Five, -sir’—‘Two’—‘One franc only.’ Eventually, I bought it for two large -piastres (fourpence-halfpenny). Not a bad instance that of a sudden -fall in the prices. - -But it is the passengers by the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s -steamers who are the most readily recognised objects for fleecing -purposes; so much so, that a special expression has been strung -together to denote one of this highly favoured victim band. A few -days after I was sent out to Aden, I had the imprudence to go out -shopping on the day that the Peninsular and Oriental boat called into -that port. I inquired the price of a few ostrich feathers. ‘Seventy -rupees,’ the man said. ‘Do you take me for a Peninsular and Oriental -passenger-fool?’ I asked, having been instructed by old hands as to the -little ways of these innocent Arab dealers, and the proper responses -with which to meet them. ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he replied, and -offered them to me for twenty-five rupees. I got them eventually for -five. - -But of all the stories of imposture of this description, none excels -the following, which was told me by my naval friend mentioned above. -Being on his way home from China, the ship put in at one of the Ceylon -ports, and the usual crowd of hucksters invaded the ship. My friend had -gone on shore, and only returned on board about half an hour before -the time fixed for sailing. Coming out on deck, he was accosted by a -be-turbaned, venerable old gentleman, who said he had some valuable -stones for sale, if my friend would only look at them. He opened -his case, and presented for inspection a small number of rubies and -emeralds of various sizes, a fine collection of stones unset—the usual -condition in which they are offered for sale in Ceylon—and said that -the price was thirty pounds, apparently about their actual value out -there. This was a large sum to my friend; so, after admiring the stones -for some time, he said he was afraid he could not spend so much money. -After considerable hesitation, and declaring that he should not make a -penny by the transaction, the dealer lowered his price to twenty-nine -pounds. My friend still considered, and was on the point of offering -twenty-five pounds, as the stones would then have been a really good -bargain, when the trader went down to twenty-eight pounds. My friend -waited, and eventually twenty pounds was reached. A slight suspicion -dawned over my friend’s mind, and on the chance, he looked straight -into the man’s face and said: ‘I will give you a shilling.’ ‘Very good, -sir,’ said the man, pocketed his shilling, handed in his ‘precious -stones,’ and was over the side just in time before the ship got under -weigh. The precious stones were mere glass. - - - - -‘JERRY-BUILDING’ IN THE MIDDLE AGES. - - -It has been generally thought that this peculiar style of building, -that is outward show and inward rottenness, was a modern invention; -but the public will be somewhat astonished to hear that a specimen -of genuine jerry-work has recently been discovered in Peterborough -Cathedral, of all places in the world. It will be remembered that early -in 1883 certain ominous-looking rents and cracks showed themselves in -the great central tower, and in the two eastern of the four great piers -which supported it. After a careful survey by Mr Pearson, the architect -of Truro Cathedral, it was determined at once to take down the tower -itself and these two piers; and it was during this operation that the -amazing discovery was made that these great massive piers, which, with -the two corresponding piers on the west, had to carry the enormous -weight of the tower above, and which, of course, every one had supposed -were of solid masonry, were found to be mere hollow shams—cases, in -fact, so to speak, of Barnack ragstone, with no solid interior beyond a -quantity of loose stones and rubble just thrown in, without mortar or -packing, by which the outer casing of the piers was really weakened, -instead of being in any way strengthened. This system was continued -from top to bottom. Further investigations brought to light the fact -that these great piers did not even rest on proper or firm foundations, -but on sand and loose stones thrown in upon gravel, when a fine -foundation on the solid rock might easily have been secured only two -feet below. The two western piers were now examined, and were found to -have been constructed in the same shameful manner; and it is almost -a miracle that the tower has not collapsed long ago without sign or -warning. Nothing but the strength and tenacity of the Barnack ragstone -prevented so terrible a catastrophe. - -All these four piers are now being rebuilt in the most substantial -manner, and founded on the solid rock. The sum of twenty-one thousand -pounds has already been secured for these restorations; but sixty-one -thousand pounds will be required for the entire work, which it is -proposed to raise by general subscriptions. - - - - -JULY. - - - Scarcely a whisper stirs the summer leaves, - Or bends the whitening barley; sultry-fierce, - The July sunshine beats upon the sward, - The brown-parched sward, whose scorching grass-blades thirst - For the life-giving rain! - The fuchsias droop; - The full-blown roses drop their withering leaves; - The thrush sits mute upon the apple-bough; - A drowsy silence, an unnatural calm, - Pervades the face of nature! - In the fields, - The cattle idly lie beside the hedge, - Seeking for shelter from the sweltering heat; - The blackbird, tenant of the farmhouse porch, - Listless and dumb, sits in his wicker cage; - The house-dog, curled, lies blinking in the sun, - Careless of passing tramps. - Hark! What is that? - A threatening rumble, muttered, sullen, low, - In the far-distant sky; a thunder-peal, - Telling of welcome rain! - Anon the drops, - The thick big drops, in quick succession fall - Upon the parching earth: the flowers revive; - The house-dog rises; and the cattle crowd - Beneath the meadow trees; a gentle breeze - Springs up, and rustles through the barley-ears; - The sultry air is cooled: the fresh earth owns - The power beneficent of healing rain! - - * * * * * - -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. 29, VOL. 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